More Childhood Memories...

We moved from the house on 85th Ave to the house on Superior Road when I was seven.  The LIRR ran right behind the house and no one could sleep the first night we moved in.  Dad packed us up and we went somewhere for the weekend.  I don't remember what happened after that weekend, but eventually we hardly noticed the trains and were always surprised when someone else did.  Hardly noticed them, that is, except when Glen and I were competing.  We worked out a system that awarded points.  If a freight train ended with a red caboose, I got a point; if it ended with an orange caboose, Glen got a point.  If a passenger train ended with a double-decker car, point to Gail.  Standard single-decker passenger car at the end went to Glen.  Most of the trains ended with either an orange caboose or a single level passenger car...so Glen "won" most of the time.  It seems my habit of rooting for the underdog started early.

Life changed in the new neighbothood.  It was quieter and more affluent - only we weren't...affluent that it.  Mom and Dad kept me in the Catholic Elementary School in the old neighborhood - so I went to school with one group of kids, lived near another and didn't fit in either place.  There were no kids running around in the streets or jumping rope on the sidewalk...they played quietly in each other's back yards...and ignored me, the Italian Catholic girl who didn't go to their school.  It hurt being snubbed regularly, but I learned to keep quiet and pretend to ignore it.   At some point I made friends with three or four boys who attended the same Catholic school I did...Johnny Rebhann, Jimmy Grennen, Tommy McMahon and sometimes Kevin Heath  Kevin was orphaned after a few years and went to live with relatives in Michigan.  It felt so strange to have a friend with no parents.  It was hard during the times when the boys would go through a "girls are yucky" stage - but they ultimately became the source of some limited experimentation (I hated being the "victim" of the "TV game" as the boys called it), my first kiss (Jimmy...I was 14 and devastated to later learn that the only reason he kissed me was to win a bet among them as to who could get kissed first; I tried to get him to "like" me for years after that) and my first boyfriend (Johnny...I was 14 and had had a crush on him since the second grade).

When I was eleven, Mom had a surprise pregnancy and I got a baby brother just before my twelfth birthday.  It was exciting at first - brought out my nurturing qualities.  I learned to change diapers, feed and burp and rarely went anywhere without the baby carriage.  After a while it got old, but the bond was established...really more mother-child than big sister-little brother.  It remains that way to this day.

Day to day life was not particularly memorable.  Glen and I tended to stay out of Dad's way as his moods were volatile...though I was better at that than Glen was.  For the few years that Amy was with us, I was enamoured of her life and crazy about her boyfriend, Richie.  She introduced me to rock 'n' roll and taught me how to dance, but she left home when I was about ten.

As time went on, I made a few girlfriends...Nettie Roos, the Dutch only child whose Mom was six feet tall, rode every where on a bicycle and taught us how to do Eeeny, Meeny, Miney Moe in Dutch;  Alene Zully, the oldest of five sisters was my friend in the sixth grade but then moved away to Oyster Bay; Carol Lee Pallin, my friend in the seventh and eighth grades, hung out with me and the boys and became Tommy's girlfriend for a little while. 

High school days rolled around and things changed again.  I found a Best Friend.  Mary Anne Rotolo was a year behind me in school, but she lived in my neighborhood and went to the same Catholic HS I did.  We became inseperable and were often taken for sisters with our dark Italian good looks and long black hair - only I am 5'3" and she is 5'10" - we were a female Mutt and Jeff!  She was from a large family that welcomed me with open arms.  I spent a lot of time there during my HS years and had a mad crush on her brother, Joey.



74 Superior Road
Bellerose, New York

 I lived in the house on Superior Road for fourteen years - from the time I was seven until the day of my wedding at age 21 - in the front upstairs bedroom with the ugly green and pink wallpaper and two windows overlooking the rooftop.  I remember the pantry with the freezer big enough to hold a body, the red breakfast nook, the knotty pine all over the kitchen and basement, the brick fireplace that never saw a fire, the window seat in the foyer that held Dad's old books and the great big walk up attic that I loved to retreat to.

My parents sold the house and moved south decades ago, but I can still see the interior like it was yesterday.  I have good memories and bad memories of those fourteen years...and more as I returned often with my babies to visit.  Thanksgivings around the dining room table...and the trees on the dining room wallpaper.  My grandparents all sitting out in lawn chairs in the backyard...conversation suspended every time a train went by.  Glen and I in the yard waving at the engineers...cheering if they waved back.  A slap in the face from Dad when I was fourteen - I didn't speak to him for a week and he never did it again.  Mom bathing my new son in the kitchen sink.  Dead birds in the chimmney and bugs in the carpet - I was glad to see the ugly green carpet go.  So much green in that house, I did not use green in my own house for almost forty years!  Grandmommy fallng in the basement and breaking her hip.  My first baby shower held in the living room.  A quickie with my fiance` in the basement when everyone else was asleep.  The mailman shouting through the screen door when an airmail letter arrived for me from my Marine boyfriend.  Guys subjected to the third degree when they came to take me on dates.  Denting the rear corner of the house with Mom's car when I came up the driveway too fast - Mom thought it was an earthquake - I thought life as I knew it was over - but Dad was surpisingly calm about it.  Hiding at the top of the stairs as a kid listening to Mom and Dad fight.  The conversation in the kitchen when I told Mom and Dad I was getting married.  And another conversation a few years later in the same kitchen, when they told me they were thinking about getting a divorce (the divorce never came to be).  So many things helped shape the woman I am today...

...always hoping for a red caboose.

An Ending...

It's been along time since my last post and lots has happened.  Actually, only one thing has happened, but it feels like lots.  My relationship has ended.

We were together for over two years and we lived together for a year and eight months.  Ending our relationship was a mutual decision.  Turns out we are as different as night and day.  In the beginning, we thought we had so much in common, but it seems we were looking at our common interests through rose-colored glasses.  My niece, a therapist, pointed out that in new relationships commonalities tend to get blown out of proportion - "You like white?  Wow, I like white, too!"  Don't know if that's what happened with us, but the end result is the same.  The relationship died slowly months ago; he moved out a couple of weeks ago.

We did have one true commonality - a love of family.  We both place a high priority on family and on merging families.  We created some good memories of family gatherings, times I will always remember and cherish.  I can't speak for him, but I will miss those gatherings...and his family. 

If My Glass Is Half Full - Better Make It a Double!

"Some men see things as they are and ask why, I dream things that never were and ask why not."    ~ George Bernard Shaw ~ quoted by RFK

Is it better to aim high and not reach, or to aim at average and reach it?  Is it better to be good or to be fair?  Is it better to be an optimist or a pessimist?  An idealist?  A realist?  A cynic?  A pragmatic?  Some may have answers.  Me...I'm still trying to figure out the questions.

I have an acute sense of fairness and have been disappointed ever since I discovered that life is not fair.  It should be, it ought to be and I'll never understand why it isn't.  Babies should all be born perfect, children shouldn't die, kittens should all be wanted and loyalty should always be rewarded.  I am an idealist...

I don't expect life to move along smoothly.  I expect Murphy and his law to rear their ugly heads.  The drought ends while my house is half-way through a new roofing job;  the water pump quits working two days after the the closing and I get the flu as soon as I've used up my last sick day.  I am a cynic...

I don't dream big.  I try to keep my aspirations in the realm of the possible.  I'll never have that Mercedes 450 SL so I dream about a new Honda Accord.  I surf the Internet in search of travel deals to Charleston...not Venice or Paris.  I am a realist...

My glass is usually half full.  I look for the silver lining.  My ex used to refer to me (somewhat disdainfully) as Pollyanna.  When I arrived home, the ballgame I was attending having been rained out, to find it was raining in my living room, I commented on what a great story this would make in years to come...and so it has.  I am an optimist...

Life doesn't go according to plan...at least not according to my plan.  It's a great job, just what I want, the benefits and salary are good, the hours are great, the interview went OK...but I'm not counting on it.  Aim low and I won't have as far to fall.  I am a pragmatic...
 
I worry and expect the worst.  I take leaps of faith and hope for the best.  I make a plan...and a back-up plan - or I dive in with no plan at all.

I close my eyes, cross my fingers and step forward...

"The Wives of Henry Oades"

The Wives of Henry Oades is a first novel by Johanna Moran...and it is an amazing one.  Based on an old legal abstract, that may or may not have been a hoax, the author tells a story of a man who, through no fault of his own, ends up with two wives...and two women who, through no fault of their own, end up married to the same man. 

Henry and Margaret are a young couple living in England in the late 1880s with their two children and another on the way.  Henry, presented with an opportunity to go to New Zealand for two years as an accountant, is eager to accept this promotion and honor; Margaret, good wife that she is, accompanies him...although she is reluctant to leave home.

After a grueling sea journey, they arrive in New Zealand and make a life for themselves.  They are a loving family, obviously devoted to one another and to their children.  In due course, Margaret and the children are kidnapped by the native Maori - Henry arrives home to find them gone, their home in ashes and an unidentifiable body in the rubble.  While friends and townspeople are sure they are all dead, Henry refuses to give up, searching for them for months.  He eventually comes to accept what everyone else seems to know and decides he can no longer stay in New Zealand.  Not wanting to return to England without his family, Henry sets sail for California.  He begins a quiet life there and finds a new career path, all the while still mourning his family. After a time he meets Nancy, a young widow with a newborn and no one to turn to; they marry and begin to build a life.

Six years after their abduction, having managed to escape the Maori and years in captivity, Margaret and the children arrive on Henry's doorstep.  The worlds of Henry, Margaret, Nancy and the children are turned upside down.  When the town learns that Henry Oades has two wives, they assume he is Mormon and ostracize the family as well as levying legal charges of adultery, cohabitation and bigamy.  There are trials, traitors and tribulations that would confound King Solomon. 

I can not recommend this book highly enough.  I read it in two sittings, staying up until five am to finish and then was sorry to have to put it down.  The characters are well-drawn, the writing is excellent, the story gripping, heart-breaking and thought-provoking. It can not leave you untouched.

Another Road Trip...

Just returned from another road trip.  Went to Florida this time to visit family - Ed's brother Mike, his wife Lot, and kids Tony, Gina and Vinnie.  They live on Merritt Island, just minutes from the beach.  I often forget how much I like Florida till I arrive; there's nothing prettier than a row of stately palm trees silhouetted against a sunny blue sky.  The landscape just shouts out, "Beach!"

We started out Monday and drove to Savannah, where we had a reservation in the Historic district.  Spent some time walking along the river, bought some pralines (a favorite of mine), then headed to Uncle Bubba's for dinner.  Uncle Bubba's Oyster House is situated outside town on a marsh; there was a wait for an inside table so we took one out on the deck.  I was happily surprised to learn there are some resident cats in the vicinity of the deck and they will approach customers in the hopes of being fed.  They were the highlight of my evening!  Ed was more interestered in the grilled oysters, which came from Apalachicola and were very good!  After the oysters and a seafood dip we split a "Full Bubba" - shrimp, scallops, oysters and catch of the day - and couldn't come close to finishing it.  A nice evening in a favorite city!

Drove the rest of the way to Merritt Island the next day.  We always have a good visit with Mike and Lot and this time was no exception.  Lot's a great cook and they are both congenial hosts.  I feel very at home there.  Three year old Vinnie is a charmer and immediately jumped in the pool to show off his rather impressive swimming skills to Uncle Bud and Aunt Gail.

The plan was to just relax and visit.  Henry, their other brother, was coming over from the Gulf side for a visit on Thursday.  We would relax around the pool and feast on shrimp.  Unfortunately, Henry had a stroke on Wednesday!  After a flurry of phone calls to gather information and let other family members know, we made a plan to drive across state to see Henry.  The trip was an arduous one; Mike got lost at least three times, making the three hour drive in only four and a half hours!  On the upside, Vinnie traveled like a trooper, never once getting whiney or cranky.  Most importanly, we saw Henry - he is recovering, the few symptoms he has are expected to resolve and he returned home on Saturday.

We returned home to NC on Friday and have been spending the weekend with Ed's boys.  Tim and Alex came down from Michigan and NY to celebrate Tim's birthday, which means lots of good meals at both Mark's house and ours!

We're already planning our next trip to Merritt Island...for Thanksgiving.

Reunited and It Feels So Good...

I was excited and nervous.  Excited to finally be seeing Laura after so many years and a little nervous that our reunion might not live up to my expectations.  We've been in touch online for over a year now and have found many things we have in common.  I was twenty-one the last time we saw each other ...and she was nine.  Now we are sixty and forty-eight...with a lifetime of experiences behind us.  What if we turned out to be two strangers?  I was also going to be meeting her husband and two sons - my great nephews.  How would that go?

Laura and Aunt Gail

The short answer is that it went well.  Laura and I started talking when I got in her car at the airport...and didn't stop until we tearfully waved goodby at the same airport four days later!  We did errands together, stayed up late together, played on our laptops together, all the while talking...about the past, the present, feelings, family, problems, good times, bad times, the future...and more.  We were like peas in a pod...being with her felt more like being with a daughter than a niece.  The love that was between us thirty-nine years ago has blossomed into a very special relationship. 

As for the men in her life - Laura's husband Martin is a really nice guy with an easy smile and he went out of his way to give us lots of alone time. The boys, John and Eric, are bright and fun and, although it took them some time to warm up to me, we were getting comfortable by the end of the visit. While I was there Eric turned nine, so I got to meet friends and be part of the celebration.  I am looking forward to getting to know the guys better.

It was hard to say good by...especially to Laura.  I plan on racking up up those frequent flyer miles visiting often!

Reconnecting and Family Bonds...

In July I wrote about a reunion with my half-sister after thirty-nine years apart.  We were together for much of my childhood and I always just thought of her as my big sister - didn't even know she was a half-sister for many years - and when I did find out, it changed nothing.  Well, she has two daughters and the last time I saw them was the same thirty-nine years ago.  There was never an estrangement between me and either my sister or my nieces; the separation was due in part to what was going on in my sister's life at that time and in part to differences and misunderstandings between her and our father.  Sadly, my nieces were the innocent victims...missing a whole section of family for so may years.

I found them all thanks to the wonders of social networking - Facebook to be specific.  After exploring the site and learning my way around, it ocurred to me I might find some people from my past and started searching.  I found my nieces first...and through them, my sister.  As we live in different parts of the country, we've been reconnecting via phone, email and Facebook for the last year and a half.  Now we are doing face to face reunions...one at a time.  The reunion with my sister proved that, though we may have grown into vastly different people, the sibling bond is strong and we picked up right where we left off all those years ago.

Since then, I have had another reunion.  I returned only days ago from visiting the older of my two nieces...and meeting her family for the first time.  She was a nine-year-old little girl when we were last together - now she is a beautiful forty-eight year-old woman with a terrific husband, two wonderful boys and an impressive career.  My next blog will tell the tale of that visit.  I don't know how strong the bond was between a nine-year old child and a twenty-one year old girl, but the women they became are like peas in a pod and their love is strong.

A New York Reunion...

Went to New York last weekend for the TMLA Class of ‘68’s Second Annual Luncheon, a long title of my invention for a small gathering of women. I’ve never made it to previous high school reunions before, distance, money or family obligations usually being the obstacles. Money was an obstacle this year, but with the help of my old friend, Jayne, who put me up and chauffeured me around – thus saving me the cost of both a hotel and a rental car – I finally made it!

Most of us looked pretty good for our sixtieth year - a few would have been recognizable anywhere – as for the rest of us, thank goodness for name tags with our H.S. pics on them!  It was fun seeing old faces and catching up with old friends' news.  We're widowed, divorced, remarried, long-time married and single....we have grown children, teens still at home, grandchildren and no children...we're retired, still working and involuntarily unemployed.  We laughed, hugged, talked, reminisced and made plans to do it again!

I hadn't seen Jayne in twenty-five or thirty years but it didn't take long at all to fall into comfortable conversation and catch up on years of happenings.  The friends you can pick up with after years, as though you'd last visited only days or weeks ago, are the best kind!  I'm resolving to keep our friendship current this time around...can't afford to wait another twenty-five or thirty years to see each other again!

Thanks in part to Facebook, I am also forging a new friendship.  Randy and I knew each other in high school, but not well.  Reconnecting on FB before the reunion, we found we had much in common, so we made a point to spend some time together.  Jayne, and I had a leisurely lunch with Randy on Sunday and had such fun.  I wish Randy and I had taken time to get to know each other better forty-two years ago...but it's never too late!

The reunion lunch took me back to Long Island for the first time in over twenty years and it was a real trip down memory lane.  I don't know what was more fun...seeing what's changed or seeing what hasn't.  My old elementary school has taken on the look of a reform school...run down, bars on the windows and neglected lawns.  The house where I grew up looked great, but the house we lived in when I was born had a decidedly unkempt feel to it.  The old drugstore on the corner where I met my first husband is now a nail salon and his favorite bowling alley is a mini-mall with a Staples.  Nancy's Fireside lounge, scene of many of our dates is still there, only it is just called Nancy's.  Our luncheon was held at Stella's, also scene of many dates, but I wouldn't have recognized it - it had been completely renovated from pizza place to lovely Italian Ristorante - but the food hadn't changed a bit...it was delicious!

It was truly a fun weekend.  I'm glad I went...and hope to go again!

Sunflowers...and Broken Toes...

Just bouncing around the house yesterday trying to get ready for my weekend trip to NY when I thought I noticed a new sunflower in the yard.  Darted over to the window for a better look and BAM!  Rammed my foot into a heavy wooden chest.  The first word out of my mouth was not for family viewing...nor were the second or third!  By now Ed is standing in the doorway asking, "Are you all right?"  Looked down at my throbbing foot, saw the last little piggy sitting at a decidedly unnatural angle and cried, "NO!"

Once we had me settled on the couch - still throbbing, but no longer crying - I called my friend, Tricia, described my foot and asked for some free medical advice.  She and her husband Mitch own and operate Masonboro Urgent Care.  The consensus was that I could try moving my toe into place and buddy-taping it or see a doc and get it x-rayed.  I considered the first option but the lightest touch caused me to see stars...so told them I'd be along shortly.

The first x-ray showed it was broken in two separate places and totally out of alignment.  After three attempts to realign and set the fracture...involving two men pulling and twisting my toe, some excited utterances (that was me - on the last attempt, I shouted, "I'll tell you anything you want to know!"), local anesthetic (which dulled the pain, but did not mask it), and two more x-rays...it was declared "almost perfect" and taped up.  I left armed with a fracture shoe for protection and pain pills for relief...

On the way home Ed took me for seafood on the Intercoastal :)  As for my weekend in NY...I'll be the one hobbling.

Childhood Memories...

I have very few warm,fuzzy memories of my early childhood...but lots of "snapshots" of people, places and events.  My childhood was neither particularly happy nor particularly unhappy...it just was.

Born in New York, I was the first child of a white collar Dad and a stay-at-home Mom in a blue collar, predominantly Catholic neighborhood.  Dad was a good deal older than Mom and provided me with an eight-year-old half-sister from a previous marriage.  Following quickly on my heels, my brother Glen arrived before my second birthday.

I remember our house on 85th Ave, the gravel driveway, the white picket fence in the back, the climbing roses on the side of the garage, the flagstone patio, the umbrella tree and the flocks, and getting stung by a yellow-jacket as I climbed in to my blow-up Howdy Doody pool.  I remember the names of our neighbors, and of my friends...and the candy store on the corner that was forbidden territory.

I recall the day Mom and Dad brought Glen home from the hospital; dancing in the kitchen with my sister while she did the dinner dishes; the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room by the picture window...and the time I tried to get my new trike from behind it and sent the tree flying across the room.  I remember Nanny and Poppy babysitting one evening...and Poppy taking me for a late-night walk around the neighbor hood in my PJ's to calm my cries because I wanted to find mom.  I can still see my newly-finished pink room in what had been the attic and the odd sideways rock wallpaper they put up in the downstairs bedroom that became home to Dad's old wood desk and two new, ugly green studio couches.

I have a vague picture of the downstairs apartment on Little Neck Parkway where Nanny and Poppy lived for a brief time...until Dad made them move back to Brooklyn. Although I don't know any details, I know they moved there to be close to us, but he didn't like it...and they didn't stay there long. I remember Toy, the Mexican Chihuahua we acquired...a casualty of my Uncle Vince's divorce. A dog too high-strung to be relegated to the basement much of the time because Dad didn't want her running around the house. Dad was not a person who should have pets.

I remember walking with Mom to Kollner's grocery store on Hillside Ave and bringing the groceries home in an old-lady push-cart; the corner where the bus picked me up for kindergarten...and my teacher, Mrs. Kiernan.  I remember starting first grade at St. Gregory's...and Mom walking me to school every day as she pushed Glen in his stroller.

Glen was diagnosed around age two with Rheumatic Fever and St. Vitus' Dance and the doctor said too much activity was dangerous for his heart, so Mom and Dad acquired a very old, over-sized stroller for him and covered the seat with turquoise blue contact paper with a diamond pattern.  Glen rode in that stroller until he was nearly six years old.  For some reason, related to Glen's illness, the family had to have chest x-rays and I recall being embarrassed at having to remove my blouse in front of strangers...I was four years old!

I remember birthday parties, my green bike with the training wheels, learning to jump rope on the sidewalk with the other neighborhood kids, hanging on to Mom for dear life as I tried to roller skate and having a crush on Drew who lived across the street.

The five of us lived in the house on 85th Ave until I turned seven...then my parents decided to move. 

The Unexamined Life...

One of the perks of being older is being more comfortable with myself.

A common phrase heard in the sixties (the decade, not my age group!) had to do with "going to find myself."  It was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery and the vehicle for that journey was often drugs.  I didn't embark on the trip back then...naively thought I had it all together...and (fortunately) steered clear of the drugs.  It wasn't until much later that I realized not only did I not have it all together, but I wasn't sure just who was the real me or if I even liked her!

So, I now find myself traveling the road of self-discovery (minus drugs) and - to use a cliche (Mom was fond of them, so it is an inherited flaw) - I am a work in progress.  A product of past experiences, genetics, environment, poor choices, good decisions, personal encounters and more to come.  I've filled a variety of roles over the years ~ girl, woman, daughter, mother, sister, wife, nurse, girlfriend, caregiver, employee, mother-in-law, friend, stepmother, grandmother, aunt, co-worker, student, teacher, sister-in-law, divorcee ~ and how I've performed in each role is part of who I have and will become.

I realize this is not new territory; Socrates said, at his trial for heresy in 399 B.C., "The unexamined life is not worth living."  Six decades is a lot to look at, but it might aid in the process of "finding myself" and who I've come to be.

Stay tuned...

Old Friends, New Friends and The Blue Virgin...

My brother Glen is here again.  A friend of his from high school just published her first novel and was in town this weekend for a book signing.  He has the coolest friends.

Marni's a retired nurse and has always loved writing - poetry as a young girl, articles for nursing journals during her nursing career and fiction...mysteries to be precise.

The Blue Virgin

Her new novel is a mystery, set in Oxford, England, and Marni's first hand experience in Oxford is evident in her book, as is her grasp of the intricacies of the mystery genre.

I read The Blue Virgin several months ago and thoroughly enjoyed it...but have to confess...I was just a teeny bit jealous.   I too am a nurse (currently being forced to contemplate retirement), an avid reader (partial to mysteries) and a wishful writer...I have some skills but lack the creativity and imagination required for success.  Needless to say, I was excited at the prospect of meeting someone who succeeded in bringing this particular dream to reality.  Our plan was to attend the book signing and then all have dinner together.

Marni felt like a friend the first minute we met...warm and outgoing with a contagious smile...and just too nice to be the least bit jealous of!  Turns out we went to the same nursing school and trained in the same hospitals...at almost the same time...and likely crossed paths at some point!  Her husband, Arthur - a retired plastic surgeon - although on the quieter side, was just as down-to-earth as Marni.  They are people I would enjoy getting to know better.

The book signing, which resulted in the sale of ten books, was a success.  Dinner at The Pilot House was an even bigger success.  Another HS friend of Glen's and Marni's...Simone and her husband, Tom...joined us.  The good food, the camraderie and the peaceful atmosphere that accompanies dining on the riverfront added up to a really great time and by the end of the evening I felt like I had new friends.

P.S. ~ If you'd like to read The Blue Virgin, you can either request that your Barnes and Noble store order it for you or you can order directly from this website:  The Blue Virgin.  Meanwhile, Marni is hard at work on the next novel in this series.

A Sibling Reunion...

Last week my brother Glen and I reunited with our half sister Amy - after thirty-nine years!

Gail, Glen and Amy ~ July 18, 2010

We lost touch with each other due to circumstances not of our making and our various efforts to locate one another hit obstacles time and time again.  Then a little over a year ago I hit paydirt.  After a number of letters and phone calls between Pennsylvania and North Carolina getting us all  reacquainted, Glen and I hatched a plan for the three of us to get together, presented it to Amy, and our reunion was born.

We spent four days together at my house near the beach.  We talked a lot, ate a lot, did a little sightseeing and talked some more.  We discovered various characteristics of our parents and grandparents in each other and retold story after story of our childhood experiences.  We probably spent more time reminiscing than we did talking about the missed years!

When they retired twenty years ago, Mom and Dad gave me their dining room set and it was a really great moment when we realized that we three were sitting around the same table where we ate dinner together so many times as kids!  Seems no matter what our differences today, the bond created growing up together is what binds us together now.

Amy met some of her nieces and nephews for the first time last week and I am planning to visit my niece and meet my nephews next month.  Our family is a little larger now and we won't lose touch again.

Cousins...

Forty-eight hours after we got home from Michigan, my brother Ken arrived for a week long visit...Ken, my nephew Matt - nineteen and a sophomore at UNC-CH, my niece Ciera - six and a half and a proud first-grader, and Chase the Beagle!  They visit every summer, ostensibly to see me, but I often think the proximity of the beach adds to my natural magnetism!

We had a great time!  Frequent get-togethers with Rebecca's family, lots of beach time - I enjoyed seeing everyone and Ed cooked up some great food, but I think I enjoyed watching the little cousins the most.

Ciera and Katie

Ciera and my granddaughter Katie - also six - were inseparable.  Three and a half year old Jackson adores his sister and quickly added Ciera to his worship list.  They played together, ate together, swam together and even slept together!  The love among them was palpable and the goodbyes were bittersweet.  It did my heart good to watch them! 

The Michigan Road Trip...

Our few days in Michigan were packed full.  We stayed in Kalamazoo with Ed's sister Maryann and her family.  Maryann's skill as a hostess is exceded only by her fabulous cooking and we were made to feel very much at home.

The wedding of Ed's niece, which was the catalyst for our trip, was lovely.  Five of Ed's six siblings were there, as well as spouses, children, cousins, friends...  I met more people than I can possibly remember!

Family Reunion

The next day we had breakfast with Tim's grandmother, Pat...an interesting and elegant lady; followed later by a spaghetti and meatball dinner at Maryann's - with more family.

The long-awaited family reunion took place our final day there.  More good food, more relatives, lots of photos and some games...I even made the Scavenger Hunt List!

We left early the next morning and headed to Bluefield, West Virginia to see my son Michael.  We arrived about dinner time and tried to get a room in the only hotel...with no luck.  There were plenty of rooms available, but the computer system was down and the clerk said she could not rent us a room without the computer or the manager...and the manager was no where to be found!!  I booked a room in the next town - over the mountain about forty minutes away - and enjoyed an all too short visit with Michael.  The next day it was back to Wilmington...stopping in Greensboro for lunch with my brother Glen on the way.

It was a good trip.  I love my family but always wished it was larger because I thought having a big family would be so cool...and Ed's did not disappoint me! 

Welcome to Ohio?

This has been a month of travel and visitors...and it's been both exciting and exhausting!

Took a road trip to Michigan in June.  Added two states to my list of "States I've Been To"...went to a wedding and a family reunion...met, literally, dozens of Ed's relatives...visited my son in West Virginia...  It was a busy seven days!

We made the drive up in two days...stopping the first night just over the border into Ohio, in Athens, home to Ohio University.  As we first entered Ohio we decided it was time for a pit stop, so Ed pulled into a rest area.  Imagine my surprise when I entered the ladies' and found ...two open latrines!  Welcome to Ohio???

It was about 6 when we reached Athens.  The local Holiday Inn Express was booked up.  Fortunately the only other hotel in town had a non-smoking room available  The cycling group in town that filled the rooms also created long waits at the usual chain restaurants.  We ended up eating less than mediocre Mexican food.  After a good night's sleep, we got back on the road.

Reached Ann Arbor in time to have lunch with Ed's son, Tim.  And what a lunch!  The Jeruselem Garden in Ann Arbor is fantastic and the hummus...well I'm craving it just writing about it!  Another couple of hours to Battle Creek to visit with Ed's sister, Fran and meet up with brother Mike, just in from Florida.  Then on to Kalamazoo, his sister Mary Ann and a real Michigan welcome!

We The People...

My Big Fat Straight Wedding - Magazine - The Atlantic

I came upon this article the other day.  So much is written - pro and con - about same-sex marriage.  Those against tend to speak out based on fear or the need to impose their religious convictions on others.  Those in favor want homosexuals to have the same rights as heterosexuals.  I've always had some difficulty articulating the reasons behind my feeling that it ought not be an issue.  This article from 2008 articulates my perspective that it ought not be gay marriage vs. straight marriage, homosexuals vs. heterosexuals.  People are entitled to marry the person of their choice.

The Declaration of Independence - "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness..."
The rights in our Constitution are awarded the people.  "We the people" - it doesn't get any plainer than that.  Not just male people or white people or young people or Christian people or heterosexual people - all people.  Yes, I know we have amendments stating certain rights may not be denied or abridged on account of race or color or sex.  When will we realize this is redundant???  "We the people"...plain and simple.  The Eighth Amendment addresses rights not specifically named in the Constitution:  "The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people."
 
The right to marry the person of our choice is a right retained by the people...all the people.  It's in the Constitution.

Sister Margaret Mc Bride's Choice...

A 27 year old woman, mother of four, arrives at a Catholic hospital critically ill.  She is eleven weeks pregnant.  Doctors determine that, if she continues with the pregnancy, there is a nealy one hundred percent chance she and her unborn baby will die.  Her only chance of survival is to terminate the pregnancy.  A tragic situation, but it seems a clear cut choice.  Terminate the pregnancy and she has a good chance to live and continue to raise her four children.  Continue the pregnancy and she dies, her unborn baby dies and her four children are left motherless.

You have probably read about Sister Margaret McBride, an administrator and member of the Ethics Committee at the Catholic hospital where this young woman was treated.  She has been excommuncated from the Church for approving this abortion.  It appears the Catholic Church...or at least its hierarchy...would have preferred to prohibit the abortion and watch the mother of four die along with her unborn baby.  This case exemplifies some of my issues with the Catholic Church today.

I grew up Catholic.  Twelve years of Catholic schools gave me great academics as well as plenty of religious education.  One of the things my classmates and I were fond of doing in Religion Class was coming up with "what-if's" - challenging the nuns to address extreme cases of whatever issue was under discussion.  And each time, on the issue of abortion, the answer was the same.  While wrong in most cases, it is permissable when the life of the mother is at stake.  I was taught to believe in a compassionate God.  One who would not require sacificing a mother's life and leaving four children motherless for the sake of principle.

Truly, the issue in this case was not the fate of the unborn baby.  The eleven week fetus was not going to survive to birth.  The issue was the mother's survival.  Would she die along with the unborn or be given a chance to survive on her own?  In a Catholic hospital, a case like this called for wisdom and compassion, qualities Sister Margaret McBride and the Ethics Committee exhibited.  Instead of being praised for making a courageous, compasionate choice within the spirit of the rules of her faith, the Sister is being humiliated and punished for not adhering to the letter of the rules.  Perhaps the Bishop of Phoenix needs a refresher religion class.  I will be happy to refer him to my former teachers.

Middlesex ~ A Novel by Jeffrey Eugenides

"I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974."

Thus begins Middlesex.  Narrated by Calliope Stephanides...called Callie, later Cal, an hermaphrodite born into a Greek-American family, it is the story of the journey that took them from the slopes of Mount Olympus to the suburbs of Detroit...carrying with them a silkworm box, a dark secret and a mutant, recessive gene.  The story, told in both the first and third person as Callie shifts from present to past and back again, takes us through the history of that time as it intertwines with the lives of the Stephanides family.  It is an epic and a coming of age story...told by a young girl who grows up to be a man.

Eugenides writes with an energy that never flails.  It is a compelling tale...one I didn't want to put down and hated to see come to an end.  The author demonstrates a real understanding of the human condition as he tackles taboo issues with humor, irony, drama, and poignancy.  Middlesex is a long read - over 500 pages - but well worth it.  I don't know how I missed it when it was published in 2002 and awarded the Pulitzer in 2003, but I'm glad to have discovered it in 2010! 

Happy Birthday, Dad...

May 17, Dad would have been 98.  He missed it by 17 months.

He was a hard man, opinionated and dominant, but he loved his family in his own way.  As kids we used to say, there were three ways of doing things:  Dad's way, the Navy's way and the right way!  He often drove Mama crazy with his insistance that he knew best; but he would tell anyone who would listen that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.  My brothers had to toe a very hard line...especially the older one.  I got by a little easier being a girl - feminism would never win him over - he was more demanding of the boys.  Often said women should just tend to the cooking and laundry - his version of barefoot and pregnant!  I was eager to grow up and leave home...and did.

I can think of many stories to tell - some good and some bad.  Whatever else he was, Dad was interesting!  We all inherited - to different degrees - his temper and his odd sense of humor.  One brother has his sports ability, the other his writing skill.  I have his memory and sense of direction.  Our relationships with him were distant...and close...at different times of our lives.

As he got older, family assumed a more prominent place in his life and he worked harder at being a good Dad...and a good husband.  He helped all of us as we needed it and always said as long as he was alive, we had no problems...and he had plans to live forever!  He made it 96 years and 7 months...and lived independently for all but the last three months - though it was sometimes difficult during the last year or two to discern his stubborness from the senility of old age. 

Mom and Dad
~ Nov.2008 ~
Just weeks before they died

 During one of Mom's last hospitalizations the Social Workers wanted to send her to a Nursing Home because she needed 24-hour supervision.  I watched him argue with them...and ultimately convince them to let her go home with him.  He wanted to take care of her - said he promised her father on his deathbed and was going to keep that promise.  He gave her meds, helped her dress, cleaned her up when she had an accident and picked her up when she fell.  He was 96.  He always said he wanted to die one hour after Mom so he wouldn't have to worry about leaving her.  Well he died first, but Mom had a stroke the same day...and joined him five days later.  I don't think she knew how to live without him.

Wish I could tell you how much I love you and miss you, Dad.

Life in a Trash Bag...

Brother #1 and I spent yesterday going through my late parents' condo one last time before Habitat comes to pick up the furniture.  Brother #2 is recovering from a recent surgery.
 
It has been slow going.  Mom and Dad died 16 months ago - within a few days of each other.  It took some time before any of us were ready to face their place.  We eventually made some trips there, sorted through some things, claimed various mementos, but life kept getting in the way and slowing down our progress.  We're finally down to the nitty-gritty - emptying the place out, getting estimates for painting and flooring so we can sell.
Every time I go up there, it makes me sad.  Not just because I've lost my parents, but because this whole process seems to reduce one's life to a pile of things - many of which seem destined for the trash.  Each time we sibs gather at their place to sort and clean out, it feels like I'm throwing away my parents' lives.

We spend our lives accumulating things - then our children have to go through the pain of cleaning it all out.  Certainly there are emotionally valuable mementos...photos, military keepsakes, jewelry, cards and letters, individual items that go back to our childhood...but these are a small part of the large collection that comes from 90 years of living.  The rest gets donated...or trashed.

This experience has gotten me thinking.  I don't want my kids to go through this when I'm gone.  There's no escaping that they'll have to do some sorting and cleaning, but maybe I can minimize it.  I hope I have another thirty years left - it's time to start lightening my load...

Legal Again...

In NC, we have to renew our driver's licenses every five years - timed to coincide with birthdays ending in five and zero.  Having just hit one of those milestones last month, it was time to renew mine.  Only, amidst the excitement of planning my first trip to Europe and going on said trip, I totally forgot.

Went to get my hair done this morning (it looks fabulous!) and on the way home  realize I've been driving around with an expired license for almost two months.  Seems like a good time to stop at the DMV.  The young woman behind the counter explains that today is a "slow" day and there's only an hour's wait - "not guarenteed."  Grab my current read from the car - ninety minutes later I've finished 5 chapters and am told my new license will be mailed.  They used to give it to you on the spot - now you get a piece of paper to use in the interim until your license arrives.  Not sure how that qualifies as progress, just hope my eyes are open in the picture. :-)

Then I notice that my car tag expired...in March.  I was sure I'd renewed online...but realize I couldn't have 'cause I'd never gotten my car inspected.  Go to an inspection station and get lucky - in and out in thirty minutes.  Now to the License Tag Agency.  They always seem to be in seedy strip malls and this one is no different.  When I walk in there are a lot of people sitting; the sign says take a number, sit down and wait.  I pull number 29 and discover they're only on 16.  It's 3:30.  Finally my turn arrives.  At 4:30, I walk out with my 2011 tag and stick it on my license plate right there in the parking lot.
 It's been a long day, I've had nothing to eat but a donut, and spent over $200.  But, my hair looks great and...I'm legal.

Update 5/24 ~ My license came, my eyes are open and the picture's not bad.  Don't have to worry about that for another five years!

A Reader is Born...

I've carried on a lifelong love affair with books.  I don't know just when its seeds were planted; my earliest memories all take place after we moved to the house on Superior Road.  The books started coming when I was seven or eight.  Dad would come home from work every so often with a gift...even though it wasn't a special occasion...a book.  A perfect speciman...a new straight spine, beautiful, soft, cream-colored pages filled with words in crisp black type, a cover illustration that just hinted at the the story within...and no pictures.  I have no idea if Dad picked out the titles himself or if he had help from Mom...or a knowledgeable salesperson.  It never ocurred to me to ask until just this moment, so it goes unanswered.

First came The Five Little Peppers, I don't recall anything about that series other than I was not particularly enamored of them.  Next to arrive were The Bobbsey Twins - Flossie and Freddie were too young, I liked Nan with her dark hair that matched mine but not enough to care what happened next.  Still, I read them all because they were gifts from Dad.  Then one day he came home with Trixie Belden.  It was love at first sight!  I couldn't wait to find out what Trixie's and Honey's next adventure would be!  For the first time I found myself drawn into another world...again and again!  After finishing the entire series (in those days that was only about 6 books), I moved on.  Nancy Drew, Sue Barton: Student Nurse, Tom Sawyer, Little Women...I loved Jo, and Becky Thatcher!  Years later I even named my daughter Rebecca.

At the same time Dad was bringing books to me, Mom was bringing me to the books.  We went to the Floral Park library every two weeks like clockwork.  The librarian introduced me to Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace...and to Booth Tarkington.  I devoured those and many others until I eventually read my way through most of the children's section.  I read ravenously - every waking minute and after bedtime under the covers with a flashlight.

I must have been around eleven when Mom signed for a library card that allowed me to check out books from the adult section...and a whole new world opened up for me.

Happy Birthday, Mom...

April 24, 2010 was Mom’s birthday.  She would have been 86.  I miss her.  Not the person she had become in her last few years – forgetful, eventually blossoming into full-blown dementia, so wrapped up in her own frailties that she no longer focused on anything else, depressed over her circumstances and about where life had taken her, unable to carry on a real conversation about anything else; that isn’t the Mom I miss.  I miss the Mother I could talk to about anything, who loved me without question, the one to whom I was truly amazing. When your children are grown and your parents are gone, you are no longer perfect in anyone’s eyes.

After Nanny died, I asked Mom what it felt like to lose your parents.  She said when your parents are gone, the wall between you and eternity disappears.  There is no one standing between you and death.  In the nearly year and a half since Mom and Dad died I have come to understand what she meant.  I find myself thinking about my own demise. It no longer seems distant and far off.  There’s no one in the family older than me – I’m next.  I don’t worry about what form it will take or what the process will be like.  I worry that I won’t have finished living yet.  So many things yet to do; so many things I may not get to experience.  How can I cram it all in and why didn’t I do more when I was younger?

It wasn’t so long ago that I was young…beautiful…desirable…self sufficient…able to stand tall in the world.  Now I’m tired.  Yes, on occasion, I’m still told I’m beautiful…desirable, not so much.  I have gone from looking good to looking good for my age. 

My parents were my cheering section…and my back-up plan.  It wasn’t hard being strong when I had a safety net.  It wasn't hard being confident when there was someone in this world who thought I was fabulous!  Everything's a little harder now, but life's cycle continues... I am my kids' cheering section. I think they're fabulous, amazing and perfect!  I am the wall between them and eternity.

I miss my Mom. Wish I could tell her how much I love her, miss her and appreciated her.