Saturday, December 31, 2011

So I Was Thinking...


I'll be the first one to admit I have been waxing nostalgic for the past few months. I think I do that most when I am sick. Having been sick for a few months, I had time, lots of time to roll around in my head. I had a conversation with someone who I could tell was thinking it was all about them, my need to spend my time thinking through past missteps, present quandaries and future conundrums. I tried to correct them saying, "Look, I have all this time on the couch, I might as well figure some things out," but unfortunately they did not have ears. My friend Dr. Erin taught me about people without ears, the ones who say they heard you, but clearly everything you just said went through their filter because they did not have open ears to take in the actual words. In the end they didn't hear me, but I still had lots of time, so I continued on my quest. Being sick and incapacitated, I was faced with two real choices, I could either think, or spend my time feeling really sorry for myself. I had felt sorry for myself and I didn't like it. Nothing got accomplished, I didn't feel any better, so the next logical step was to think. When I was married before he used to say, "You think too much." I always looked at him completely puzzled and asked this, "As opposed to being thoughtless or empty headed?" At that point a fight would ensue. How could I possibly have known that would happen? O.K., I baited him, I did. But the idea that one could "think too much" is a concept I absolutely do not understand. I do understand about letting go of things when we have no control. I understand that obsessing over a problem may not change a thing, but I am not ready to relinquish my beautiful brain's ability to take me on whatever journey I need to go in order to spare myself the same path I had just gotten away from.

I love my brain, the little quirky crevices that lead me into places much too dark and scary for the average person. I love the way I my heart has a direct link, which is why my jobs have always been about helping people. I love the way my brain directs conflict right back to me, mirroring it, so I look at my place in whatever misunderstanding is taking place. I almost never think I am right, until I know I am. I tend to leave the situation and think about what I could have done differently, what my responsibility was, how I could improve. I really love that about my beautiful brain. I say beautiful brain, because my brain is all out hot. It has taken some real hits and bounced back. It continues to work out, straining to keep it's girlie figure. It works overtime without complaint, although the rest of my body whines like a child. My beautiful brain, woke up when I was 28 years old after giving birth to Betty, and it could not work right away. Starved of oxygen and deprived of blood, it lay in my skull trying desperately to get it's bearings. It could not remember things it used to know, it could not even remember how to tell my lungs to breathe again. My poor sickly, beautiful brain was really struggling. It took two years for it to gain back nearly everything it had lost. Luckily for me, it never gave up. I gotta hand it to my brain, it came back with a vengeance and has not stopped working since.

The new year is coming and in this past month when I was at my sickest, my beautiful brain and I began plotting some real changes for the future. This is where the nostalgia comes in. I started to think a lot about the past, so I could gently release it into the world, back to it's time, so I could move on from here, the exact spot I am standing in now. I know not everyone has to go to all that trouble, but maybe my beautiful brain requires more attention. Whatever my brain needs, I try and give it. It's the least I could do since it has saved my life on more than one occasion.

New Year's Eve has always been a real mixed bag for me. It never lives up to the hype, never! But I like it anyway, as it is the way, the clear path, to the new year. Years ago when Mike and I spent more time at home than out in the world, doing family things, I gave up on the whole "Party like it's 1999" thing. But I will tell you, I get so excited for the new year to come. I am completely child like about the idea of a fresh start, new opportunities, new adventures, new people, places and things. Michael is less enthusiastic, or at least he used to be. I have worn him down over time, being my dorky self, cheering just short of pom-poms for the upcoming year. This year is no different. Actually, I am more excited about this year, than I have been in a while. The possibilities seem endless to me.
I was sitting at work when one of the college students said on December 21, " A year from today the world is supposed to end." Well, there is a real buzz kill for New Year's, but here is what I said and I absolutely believe, "I think it is an end of an era. The world as we know it will end, but what will prevail will be so much better."
For me, this year marks the end of an era, a time in motherhood. Yes, they are always my kids, but they are not kids anymore so unless I plan to follow them out into the world, I had better move on. Not to worry, they have insured they will do me harm if I stalk them. It is the end of the life Michael and I thought we might have, and used to have. It's definitely time to think outside the box. This New Year's Eve marks the end of me watching out for the family in the same way. I am not having to to worry about homes, jobs and security like I used to. I never made a single decision without that worry and this is the year, where, POOF, in an instant it will all be gone. I'll still worry for my kids, but not about school districts.

This upcoming year is all about insecurity and not knowing. I think the adventure this year will be about having no answers to anything. I am calling this the "I DON'T KNOW YEAR, 2012." For example, where will we live-I don't know. What job will Michael or I have?-I don't know. Will the kids still be with us?-I don't know. See what I mean? 2012 is all about open ended questions that will only be answered when they are answered. That freaked me out in 2011, but since my couch thinking, I have to realize it has so much freedom, it allows for so much great and wonderful surprises. You know those people who say, "I hate surprise parties, never do that!" Yeah, well, I am just the opposite of that. I love fun surprises. I adore them, especially since I have hit middle age and I have started to feel like I have seen too much.

I really, really hope something wonderful and surprising happens for you tonight and for the upcoming year. I hope you meet someone who knocks your socks off. I met a couple of folks like that this year and it was fandamntastic! I hope something you might have given up on, comes true for you in spades. I hope for you, this year you feel loved, safe, secure, engaged, involved, and welcome. As my beautiful brain takes on the new year's list of all the possibilities, the one item that is going on the top of my list is for you. I want for you to be the happiest you have ever been. My resolution list isn't just about resolutions, it's about my prayers, too. I wish for all of us, peace, prosperity, and most of all, above all else, love, lots and lots of over flowing, come out of nowhere love, so much in fact I would like all our hearts to hurt a little because they have to stretch so far in order to take it all in.
Tonight, as I dance in the arms of the love of my life, I will open my clenched fist and let go, sinking deep into the year of the unknown. I am giving my beautiful brain the night off.

Happy New Year, Dearest Ones!

Friday, December 30, 2011

Write Or Wrong?


I was thinking about the writing I have been doing. I was caught up in the idea that I have to accomplish some things, that started to feel, well, forced. I had put all this pressure on myself about what I thought should be expected instead of what I actually wanted to do. Originally I wrote for me, just simple little thoughts or stories that were floating around in my head. Since everything was in a spiral notebook and no one saw them, it didn't matter what I wrote. Once the book came out, I started to feel all this pressure to write another book. The truth is the first book came out of writings just like this. It started out as a few paragraphs on a few pages which turned into a book. Writing the second book became this thing for me which felt a whole lot more as if I were working at a job, where I was clock watching, then the writing I had grown to love.
It seems funny to me that the one thing I love doing had morphed into something I now dreaded. I would sit at my computer and feel completely stagnant, when just a few years ago I would sit and write until my hand felt as if it were about to fall off. I had to take some time to figure out where I had gone wrong.
I belong to writing groups and I watch them talk online about their "process". Most are prolific writers who crank out books, the same way I crank out pot roasts for dinner. One writer produces about three books a year. She writes her books for hours on end, novels about murder mysteries, love affairs anything that can be named she puts into plot form. Most of the writers in the groups write fiction. They help each other with plot twists, technical details and historical facts to bolster their stories. My little dog and pony show didn't seem to fit in on any level. When asked what I was working on, I carefully put that I blog about everyday events. As an essayist, I write about life stuff. I swear to you I heard crickets chirp after I wrote that. No one made a single comment or gave even a fragment of helpful advice. I got nada, nothing, as I waited for a response. Eventually one person wrote that they could not relate to "bloggers". In order to spare myself any further decline in my confidence I slowly backed away from the "writing group".
The question became, if all I wanted to do was write, why did I feel so wrong about it?
Preconceptions can be a dangerous thing. How we are perceived, what is expected, the unnecessary stress that can and often does happen to those who produce anything from their imagination can stop the creativity in it's tracks.
All this "thinking" led me back to a story about a teacher I had in high school, my English teacher, a rotund woman with a bad dye job and a fierce attitude. I was taking advanced English classes being on track for college. I had no inclination of being a writer back then. I had no idea what I wanted to be. I took the necessary classes allowing for the maximum amount of choices later on. This round, Weeble shaped teacher was tough. She was palatable if she like you, and completely distasteful if she didn't. She never got along with my straight "A" sister, but for some unknown reason she was entertained by me. In her class we explored writing of every type. We were expected to write long, double spaced, typed papers about what we had learned. I cranked out my papers much like I did all of my homework, begrudgingly with little or no forethought. On a few occasions we were allowed to write stories about whatever we wanted. It was there, in that space of freedom where I shined. She would read my stories, correct what errors existed, but she was always generous with my grade on those particular assignments. There was this grading thing, that only she did, if we made an unacceptable grammatical or writing error on any paper, that made most of us shake in our shoes. She would not just put an "F" on your paper and flunk you for the assignment. She had this saying "Fatal Error" and she would mark a giant "FE" on your paper. If the error was particularly egregious or offensive she would put exclamation points after it and point it out in class. Those were the moments I wanted to live under my desk and never come out. Failing was bad enough, but to receive a "Fatal Error", well, my friends, it was akin to tucking your dress into your underwear and walking around town. I did some of my best praying in her classes.
Ever since my first experience with the "FE" grading system, I became riveted by the notion that a mistake could be fatal. We all know that video killed the radio star, but what error could I possibly make as a writer that would terminate my talent?
Recently, I think I know the answer to this quandary. I started doing things with my writing which actually took away from my talent, instead of building on the skills I already have. I would love to tell you that my second book will come out soon, but the truth is I don't want to write books. I am an essayist. I want to write essays. If one day I have enough essays to make a book, as in the same way I produced my first book, then so be it, but all this pressure to write books, well, I find it too unsettling for me. I am a writer because I write, it's what I do and the way I think. Some people like to take pictures of their vacations, I like to write about them. I am not a writer because of a degree I have, or because someone told me I was. I am a writer because I write, because I can't exist without writing.
If the fatal error exists in the idea that I am not focused on the writing I want to do, but rather what I feel I am obligated to do, then the answer here is easy. It's time to let go of the idea of a second book and focus on being an essayist, which is what I have been doing for the last several weeks. Whether or not I ever write another book is something I no longer want to think about. I love writing this blog, working at the college, answering my "Dear Kellie" letters. These are the things I love doing, so these are the things I will focus on.
My mom, my biggest fan, said to me, "I have made copies of all of your blogs, and they now fill a binder. That should be your next book." I smiled as she told me how she painstakingly copied and bound everything I have ever put into print on this blog. She also told me how she has kept the cards and letters I have written her through the years, laughing at all the silly stuff I have sent or given her. When talking to her about the pressure of producing another book, she said something I remind myself of when I feel as if somehow I have failed. "Kellie, you should see how thick your next book is. The binder is full of your writing. Your second book is already written."
The idea that my second book is already written and waiting in the wings until I am ready, takes all the unnecessary pressure I had put on myself and makes it disappear into the atmosphere, like steam from a boiling pot.
I had originally put the changes I wanted to make about my idea of what kind of writer I was on my resolution list for 2012, but after talking to my mom, I see I can already cross that one off.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

JT Had a Good Idea


So Mike and I have been talking about making plans and here is why...I believe that "good luck" is preparedness meeting opportunity. Mike believes the same, and we both realize just exactly how lucky we have been. Even in the last couple of years when we were consumed by renovating, house hunting, job changes and the constant flux of our kids, things have managed to work out pretty well. Sure we spent some real time praying, but we also spent some real time planning and executing. Our preparedness has allowed us to be in the right places at the right times, not without some disruption and a little whining, but we made it where we needed to go.

This coming year I think we deserve a little more "us" and a little less "them" regardless of who the "them" is. The last couple of days we have been talking about what we want to do for us and where we want to go. It's an interesting concept to discuss moving, or staying or big changes that have nothing to do with what schools there are, or how our kids will be effected. We have talked to the kids about our future and they have generously told us to do what we want.
Basically what they said was this in a nut shell: "You two always tell us to be happy and do what we want, well, do the same. We want you two to be happy, so go figure it out." Hmmmm, I thought, "go be happy..." What a novel concept, to go and just do what we want, when we want, the way we want it. I haven't had that thought since 1985. There is a lot of freedom in our kids letting us go wherever we want. I see in their faces they mean it, too. I must say it is one thing this family does quite well, the idea of letting each live according to their wants and happiness. Ours is an accepting family. We all want the others to find their happiness. They are really good, kind, generous kids. It's without a doubt, impressive.

While Mike and I were talking I brought up a single notion that had nearly escaped us for the last few months. I looked at my beloved and said this simple statement,"In 2012, I am bringing sexy back." Mike looked at me smiling with a glint in his eye, "Yeeeeessss, I am listening..." "Well," I continued, "We have been so caught up in other stuff I think we need to bring back the hot. I would like this year to be about us, the us that used to be smoking hot, the us that used to date, who used to dance, who used to get caught up in the moment forgetting where we were. I really would like to bring that 'us' back." Mike leaned in and kissed me. "I like it. It's a good and lofty goal. You can count me in."
Anyone who has been married for any length of time and has kids knows it is nearly impossible to keep the focus on the relationship. I think we all start out saying we won't change, but life happens and kids are time consuming, so change is inevitable. I realized something a few years ago, nearly all of my close friends do not have kids. My friends know the work and sacrifice it takes to keep kids on track because they actually listen to me. I don't think some folks without kids understand how difficult it is all the time. Mike and I have our jobs, his is uber stressful and I have three part-time jobs, then there are the household duties like cleaning out the cat box, doing laundry, shopping, cooking, home repair, car repair, errands, lawn care and on and on. By the time we sit down to relax it is our bed time so we have enough energy to turn right around and start all over the very next day. We are not unusual, we are actually a stereo type, a cliche. One day while we were in Lowe's picking up whatever plumbing part we needed at the moment I looked at us and how we were dressed. Both of us had gotten up and donned our "work" clothes. I stood staring at Mike and then at myself and gasped. "My God! We look like homeless people!" Mike still looking at fittings stopped and glanced in my direction briefly stating, "No, we look exactly like someone who owns a home and now has to spend all their time and money fixing it."
We made a few other stops before going home and it occurred to me that we should feel a little embarrassed. It really wasn't so much about what other people thought, I could care less about that, but about what we thought of each other.
At one store I had picked up these shoes, these gorgeous "throw me down on the bed and have your way with me" shoes. I then looked at the hideous, paint splattered, worn out tennis shoes I was wearing. "Look at the shoes I have become..." Mike looked at the sexy shoes and then down at my tennis shoes. "You are still the CFM shoes. We just haven't have had the time for you to wear them recently." "Am I?" I asked in all sincerity. "Am I still the wildly sexy shoes that drive you crazy?" Michael took me in his arms in the middle of the discount store and whispered this in my ear, "Baby, you will always be the sexy shoes no matter where we are or what you are wearing." I melted like a pat of butter on a hot summer day.
It was precisely in that moment I decided it was time to bring sexy back. It's not really about sex, it's about the hours of foreplay we have been missing out on. It's about the getting dressed for each other, the quiet romantic dinners, the glasses of wine, the slow dances in the bar where it's just us, just him and me and not one other single thing exists in the world. We have had moments, really fleeting moments of that, but we have been so consumed with family and other stuff, we have sort of gotten lost in the shuffle. I think this is the year we shift our focus from family to couple.

My first order of business was New Year's Eve. We used to go out, I used to dress in high heels, hair perfectly coiffed, Mike in a suit, smelling so delicious I wanted to bite him. If I meant what I had said, then we needed to go out for New Year's Eve, just the two of us. I called our favorite restaurant in town and made reservations for 9PM. "I hope we can stay up long enough to eat," Michael joked. I laughed at my boy, hugging him, as it was me whispering in his ear this time, "I really am bringing sexy back in 2012. It's going to be a really good year, ya know." Michael dipped me and said, "Oh, I know it is. When you make up your mind to something, I have no doubt it will happen. I'm just glad it's happening with me."

2012, you are going to really be something. I can't wait to see what is next for "us".

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Home Sweet Poland


Yesterday my man/friend and I went to a restaurant here in town that is known to be the best Polish restaurant in town. It's clear across town, so we nearly had to pack a lunch to go. Houston traffic, for those who are unaware is a nightmare. We had found this restaurant a while ago in our search for things to do in Houston, but had never made it. It's on our never ending list of things to do, places to go and things to see. We went now because near it is the Polish market where we could buy real homemade Polish delights like pierogis and Kielbasa. You see, every year on New Year's Day we invite our friends to come over for a Polish feast. It's something Mike's mom had always done and I wanted Mike to be able to continue his family tradition even though we are no where near our hometown. I searched for recipes for pierogis, bought whatever kielbasa I could find and made stuffed cabbage, and baked bread. I am not the Polish cook my mother-in-law is. Being 100% Polish and being married to a Pol, she does things without even thinking that I can not even begin to imagine. I have to remind myself that for being English and Irish, I do OK.
In the restaurant we ordered the sampler platter for two which turned out to be a cookie sheet sized Polish extravaganza that could feed a family of six. Meats, potatoes, sauerkraut, all heaped on the platter put in front of us with a warming candle. We sat in Polonia Restaurant, just the two of us, since we were there on their down time about 3:00 pm just staring at the mountain of food and taking in the smells. I watched my beloved husband relive the flavors of his youth. I sat back in my seat watching Michael try everything they had put in front of us. He savored every bite, stopping once to tell me about how he could taste the same exact same flavors as when he was a child at his grandmother's house. He smiled as he talked, looking into my eyes as he spoke quietly about his family and their unique traditions. Just seeing him enjoy the food so much made me happy. I could have sat there all day long just watching him. The lovely blond woman who waited on us asked if she could bring us anything else. She spoke with a heavy eastern European accent. "Are you Polish?" I asked. She nodded and I told her about Michael and his family. She smiled as she picked up our dishes and disappeared back into the kitchen. Stuffed to the gills, we went and paid the check and headed out to the Polish market down the street. Michael accidentally missed the entrance and entered through the exit and laughed as he said, "See? As a Pollock I had to do that!" We laughed at his goofiness and headed into the market where we saw people standing in line at the meat counter. Nearly everything was imported from Poland. The people working the counter spoke Polish as did most of the people waiting in line. Michael and stood listening, as the hoard talked back and forth ordering up their goods. As ethnic as Cleveland, Ohio is, I had never encountered this, where most of the people spoke Polish. I do not think I ever heard conversational Polish before. I watched fascinated and listened as they spoke their native language back and forth. We walked the isles and looked at everything from Polish candy to cookies to spices to syrups to meats to pierogis.
After we were done browsing it was time to do some serious shopping for the Polish feast on New Year's. We bought horseradish, real kielbasa, and enough pierogis for the masses. We tried to talk to the girl working behind the counter but I could see she did not understand us. We paid for our groceries and headed back to the car excited about our rare find, making plans to come back when we could. Who knew moving to Houston, Texas would garner us an opportunity to hang out with Polish immigrants? Neither of us saw that coming, that is for sure.
There are things about being away from home and our families that has been really tough. Being away from Mom's homemade Polish cooking on New year's has been one of the toughest. The delicious hearty fare on a cold Ohio day is one of the finest pleasures we used to enjoy. We haven't been home for a holiday since we left seven years ago. That part, not seeing or being with family is really tough. Finding this restaurant, this little gem of authentic dishes, surrounded by the Polish language, the rich, sweet smells of Polish food, well, it does not make up for being gone all the time, but for a few minutes we got to close our eyes and think about home. It was almost like being in Mom's kitchen on New Year's day.

The Remedy for Cool





"if you are in the same age group as my dad, you're too old to ask me out. And fyi, I'm at work to serve mediocre Italian food to the masses, not to get hit on and harassed. The fact that you had to put on your readers to write down your number to give to me is just too much!" December 17, 2011.



The picture of the beautiful girl, well, she is my beautiful daughter, my nearly 24 year old daughter to be exact. I was browsing facebook to see what my adults are up to and there was her status. I laughed so hard I nearly woke the dad mentioned above. The thought of someone our age being with our daughter, well, I think that is gross. Maybe I think that because she thinks it. I know there are happy couples with large age differences, but this is more about the old men hitting on someone who is clearly not interested. She came home one night after going out and described men who were once again mine and Mike's ages, hitting on her, asking to buy her drinks and then after her refusal pretty much following her around. Now that is really gross. Girlie's response to these type of advances are always the same, she has this thing where she can say something so mean in such a way you don't even know she has cut you until much later.

She can handle herself. She is smart and savvy and not about to go out with some old man when there are plenty of interested young ones. Of course, my comment was if she had any real daddy issues they would found her working the pole instead of a restaraunt. I told my daughter these guys are the remedy for cool.

I had the same thing when I was young and older men who thought they were still bringing their "A" game hit on me. It seemed someone should tell them that the maintenance they have to do on their ear hair, nose hair, random white chest hair, really any hair that is not on their usually balding by now head, is something that no one in the twenties are going to understand. I don't know how men miss the fact that they are no longer cool. It still floors me when an older man who buys a sports car, and tries so hard to be a hippster, doesn't see that the only one he has convinced that he is still cool is himself.

She and I had a conversation one night about older men. Christy asked, "You dated older guys, didn't you?" I thought for moment, "Yeah, I was in my thirties and I dated a guy who was older. Ultimately the age difference was too big." She looked at me and asked, "What about they way he looked?" Again I paused, "I was never interested so much in how they looked as much as how they acted. I dated the guy because he was more into me than he was himself. I was in my thirties, still young enough to be out doing things but I had a family and most the guys my age were still staring at their own reflections. I needed someone with a little more substance. It was fun for a while, but he was too old, and we didn't really have anything in common. I didn't need another generation gap in my life." Christy laughed. I could see the whole "Eeewww!" thing happening for her. "Mike is older than you," she pointed out. "Yes, but only by three years. We still reference the same bands, the same events, we went to college together. Three years is nothing. We have nearly everything in common. I think it just makes things easier. Besides he knows how old he is and doesn't try to be 'cool' anymore. Once you hit 50, I think it's time to let that go. Aging gracefully is half the battle." Christy looked at me and said, "All I could think of when the guy gave me his number was he looked as old as my dad. That and he could not pull off the v-neck sweater he was wearing, at least not without an under shirt. His white chest hair was poking out." And with that we both fell out laughing.
I have been observing the amount of people in my generation who are still trying to "party like a rock star". And yes, I have heard it put that exact way. They have kids the same ages as mine and it makes me wonder why at this time in our lives they still have to work so hard at being "cool". Personally, after forty, I was relieved that I was no longer expected to know the things hippsters know, keep up with all the changing music, hair styles or clothing. It's a lot of maintenance. Besides, I never wanted to be that mom who borrows her daughters clothes and then insists on telling people, as my mortified daughter stands by looking at me horrified, wishing me gone. I am not letting myself go as much as I am letting go of the idea that I will ever be a "cool kid" anymore. I had that time in my life and parts of it were glorious, and parts were utterly impossible. I think the coolest thing in the world is the really smart and funny person who doesn't even know they are cool. They wear what they like and go and do what they want with no concern about how it may or may not look. It seems nearly impossible to be "cool" if that is your goal. The ones who expend so much effort in the "cool" department usually look anything but. The middle aged man with sports car looks desperate, sorry guys, but it is so accepted as a cliche there is no other way to look at it. The older man who shops too much, spends much of his time manscaping, well, the really "cool" guys I know do some of that but spend most of their time living life rather than appearing in it. The women I find fascinating are the ones who are out trying new things now that the kids are gone. They are the ones who laugh easily without worrying about their face or their next botox appointment. I think it is fine to try and not wear the same things for thirty years, but if your over forty I do not care how in shape you are, your skin a little crepe-y so please put a whole shirt on. Bikini's, are for the young, firm bodies of the twenties and thirties, not the desperate for attention woman who cannot reconcile the fact that she now has a daughter the same age she wishes she were. Unless you are Heidi Klum, who by the way is a complete anomaly, so ladies do not try that at home.

I suppose it is each to his own, but for the sake of humility and a little dignity, gentlemen, if you have lost the hair on your head, but found it in new and unexpected places, if you have to put on your readers to see a menu, watch a movie, or drive a car, if you are old enough to be someone's father, remember the Vietnam War or beta max, then it might be best if you realize that you are no longer "cool" but the remedy for it. One day you will thank me. The girls in their twenties already have.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Making a List, Checking It Twice


Mike and I are both on a stay-cation. I have off, since the college is closed, and he is on his last vacation of the year. We have so many things going on we didn't even consider leaving town. I suppose we could have gone somewhere for over night, but even the effort to do that seemed like a bit much, so here we are. Don't get me wrong, I am perfectly fine with staying home. Christmas is over and now it's time to kick back and relax. I have enough leftovers in the fridge I am not required to cook for at least the next four days and my laundry is done.
Since getting my day job, I missed out on any opportunity to go on vacation. We have to schedule our vacation time a year in advance and it was scheduled for the fall when I was required to be at work. I won't lie, I was less than thrilled at missing the entire year's worth of vacation, but I love my new job and felt guilty for even entertaining the idea of complaining. Next year...we are Clevelanders so we utter that phrase without even thinking.
This is the week I start my New Year's resolutions. For all the bitter and cynical people who hate those, well, you are excused. I, personally love them, the idea that I get to come up with any new hopes and dreams for myself to further my life's work, my quest for becoming a better human being. Being fatally flawed, I have some real work to do, and this is my way of planning for it. I start making an insane list of things I want to accomplish, habits I need to change or acquire, and at least five new things to try. Why five new things? I don't know, I suppose it seems more "do-able" than seven and more ambitious than three, so five it is, a perfect little number for me to try and conquer.
I keep my lists from year to year to see in December what I may or may not have accomplished. I did pretty well this past year. I changed some things, being more tolerant when needed and less tolerant to those who brought the bad juju around me. I kept friends who deserved to be a part of my family and gently released those with love, who needed to go. I got new jobs, auditioned and performed, made new friends, and made some very necessary and mandatory changes with my health. I am about at 80% so far and the year is not over...yet. I still have a few days to cram some things in if I really want to. Last year's list seemed insurmountable. I wrote it all down and then looked at it again realizing just how tall of an order I had produced. Last January, after the list was complete I felt almost depressed by all I had put on paper. My first initial thought was, "This is nuts! There is no way I will even come close to this!" But I did, partly because I wrote it down and mostly because I worked my ass off trying to accomplish the list. That's the thing about resolutions, they won't magically happen, they have to be tended to and worked on. Remember the book "The Secret"? I read it, and what I got from it was this: It is important to visualize your goals, to be able to see them in three dimensions. It is important to put things out in the universe that you want. And lastly, the most important part of the strategy is to work toward your goals and DO SOMETHING!
Being a praying kind of girl, I love it when certain folks tell me to hand it over to God. No worries, I got that, but I am not the kind of girl who then sits on my laurels and does nothing expecting Him to fix my life. I am capable of helping out. Whether you believe in God or the universe, the most important thing I think we can do is get out of our own way and allow things to happen around us while we are working toward our goals. I am a part-time control freak. I say part-time because my kids are adults and my need to know everything, be a part of everything, hear everything, well those days are gratefully, OVER. Now I am a control freak about my pets and our house. It allows me to feel like I have some control or power over anything, but limits me to things and animals who take no offense. It's what is referred to as a win/win situation. I know I still get in my own way, thinking negatively when I do not have even an inkling of an answer, or seeing the potential wrong before anything has happened. Knowing this, I will have to relinquish my bad habit the newly formed list of resolutions and make an active attempt to cut it out. Once I know better I have to try and do better. While making my list of things I need to catch and release, there have been things that have come up over the years as new discoveries for me. It's usually something banal that I do that needs to go. Like, saying "like" too often when speaking making myself sound like a twelve year old, as if. It's usually something like that, something my family is very aware of, but I am hearing for the time. One year I became acutely aware of every time I said, "Huh?" It was the year I was writing the book and working long hours at the computer. People would walk over to me and just start talking without asking if I were available. "Huh?" I would look at them as if they had three heads. That December, I put "huh" on the list of things that needed to go.
This year I have a couple of repeat offenders that I still have not removed from my repertoire. I have still a few other things that I have not accomplished from before, so they too will make an encore to this new list. I am not 100% sure of what all else will be on it. I think this year is going to be a big one. We still do not know if we are moving north, we certainly do not know where the kids will end up and there are adventures for Mike and myself to have, so the list will morph into the direction of where we are or where we are headed. The uncertainty can and sometimes does make me nuts, but that is what I said about last year's list and things turned out pretty well.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Some Times You Just Have To Wear Pants On Your Head


Years ago now, when I was still working as a nurse, I had to try and explain to my very young children why I had to leave very early on Christmas morning to go to work.
I had, because of job changes, or multiple jobs worked five Christmases in a row. My children being very little, and their father being gone, were very unhappy that their remaining parent had to leave them on such a big day. The guilt was nearly unbearable, but I knew I had to do what I had to do. Taking care of them, of us, was my number one priority, so Christmas morning I got dressed to go to work.
This one Christmas I asked the kids if they wanted to sleep in and open gifts later, after I got home since I had to be at work at 6 A.M. Adamantly they shook their heads in a collective "NO!" "OK, but that means we all have to get up at 5 o'clock in the morning if we are going to do this," I warned my little ones. Again, in unison, they all nodded.
My parents had come up to be with the children for a few hours while I worked. I had very little time, so they drove the hour, spent the night and got up at the crack of dawn with us to celebrate before the sun rose. I worked in nursing homes and Christmas was not the happiest time for my patients, some being unaware that Christmas was even upon us. The staff was anxious to get home to their own families, so it was an atmosphere of what can only be described as bitter sweet. I, wanting not be miserable, would dress just short of a Santa suit to brighten things up.
Christmas morning came and my sleepy children looked under the tree for their gifts as I grabbed a quick cup of coffee. They opened their gifts with heavy eyes and yawning lips. Mom and Dad tried to cheer them up about me leaving for work, but the kids still looked as though I were abandoning them. Their sad little faces, their questions as to why I had to go was tugging so hard at my heart. I had told them every year why I had to work. I had explained about the older people, some with no family who needed our help. My kids being raised by a nurse had heard all the reasons, they knew every explanation of why their mommy had to work on holidays, but this one Christmas they looked especially sad.
I had tried everything I could think of to make them laugh or even smile before I left. I danced around, put bows on my face to no response. I looked at my mom who shrugged.
Michael and I were dating and he had gotten me a fancy new pair of ski goggles and some thermal underwear. Desperate to see my kids happy, or at least less unhappy, I donned the goggles and put the pants on my head. I danced around and called myself "Super Mom!" I chased them around the living room and tickled them as the new super hero who could leap tall wheelchairs in a single bound. My kids laughing made fun of me and someone took my picture. I am still trying to find that culprit.
Moments later it was time for me to go. I kissed my beautiful children, thanked my parents and headed off to work. I did remember to take off the goggles and the pants from my head before I left. "I will be home before you know it," I promised. Waving I got in my snow covered car and drove through the darkness to my job.
My children can tell lots of stories of what it is like to have a mom for nurse. They can recall all the holidays I missed, the nights I came home late and the mornings I had to leave unexpectedly due to folks calling off. As children, even when they were disappointed that I had to leave, they knew there were others who were if not for the staff would be completely alone. They were understanding and patient. They remain that way today. They acknowledge all those people who have to go to work on Christmas leaving their warm beds, their loving families to do the right thing.
For every nurse, doctor, and medical personnel, who had to get up and go to work to take care of those who so desperately need it, I and my family thank you and wish a very Merry and Peaceful Christmas.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Simple Gifts



Back when the children were young they would gladly and with great enthusiasm dress up for pictures for Christmas. As they aged they became well, uh, less enthusiastic. What started out as a Christmas tradition ended up a family fight. In recent years it went a little like this: "Why do we have to do this again?" "Stop getting so close to me, you moron, you need to shower." "I can't find anything to wear." "He keeps touching me and I can't stand it." "Has anyone seen Tom?" "I don't have time for this." "This is stupid."
Needless to say, having older, adult kids made my simple tradition more, let's say, challenging. In the end someone always looked as though they had escaped from some sort of prison camp. Sighing deeply, I would give up and try to remember what it was like to be that age. Michael would lecture about being selfless, while the others grumbled their unhappiness at being "forced" to participate.
My kids, not really kids at all, all have responsibilities away from home. They have friends, jobs, school, cars to maintain, bills to pay and all kinds of adult things they need to take care of. Family Christmas obligations have slowly slipped down to the bottom of their list.
I get it, I do. On one hand I think it only takes a few minutes to make me happy, but on the other hand I know they have done things for me over the years, and maybe I should change my expectations. There have been recent years when I would just give up. It wasn't really worth the fights and misery to get them all together, even for a few a minutes. The pressure of Christmas was on them too, now, so maybe it was time to flip the script.
This year it was Betty who asked for pictures for the grandparents and us. Being the one who always has a camera at the ready, she texted everyone a time to get together and get it done. The time came and went, there were some who got stuck at work, others were sleeping in due to late nights working and still others just didn't feel it enough to care. Betty got frustrated and said, "Why bother? We should just forget it!" I looked at her and smiled, knowing how frustrating it is to get them all together for anything. "Hang on, I just got a text, Christy will be here in an hour, Dan is coming and Tom is ready. Just give it another hour. Please!"
Betty grumbled and decided, for me, she would wait a little longer to try and get it done.
Our kids are busy, the kind of busy that sucks the joy out of holidays and makes it nearly impossible to even have a meal together. If not for the leftovers they would not know what we had for holiday dinners. It does get frustrating, not being able to be in the same room, let alone the same activity. Being in our house does not make them children, it makes them more roommates than anything. I send them messages of what needs to be done or things they need to take care of. They are more sounds, nearly apparitions that float in and out of our house, with only a slamming door or a starting car to prove their existence.
The hour passed and within minutes of the deadline, my kids poured into the living room. They were not dressed in their Christmas best, or for some even enthusiastic, but they were there, all of them in the same room at the same time.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" I exclaimed. They shot me a look that would have killed a lesser human being. Betty set up her camera and set the timer. They posed, they hammed it up, and they, laughing and cutting up took all the pictures without incident. There we were, our family all together in front of the Christmas tree for the first time in years. You could not have wiped the smile from my face.
An hour after they had appeared, they all vanished, leaving behind them only the memory of the happy photo session that is now documented for me and their extended family. "Look..." I said, pointing to the pictures showing Mike, "I have proof that we are a happy family!" Michael laughed and hugged me whispering in my ear, "We are, we just forget sometimes."
Tonight, we as a family, will be celebrating Christmas just after midnight. No one wants to get up early anymore, including Michael and I. We did that schtick for years. Now we all just want to uncork the champagne, open some gifts, eat some food and sleep in. We are together, with no one being away, or at work, or obligated elsewhere. We will be a family, whole and happy for one more Christmas. Next year, I seriously doubt we will be this fortunate. Some are planning to work abroad, others are planning to move up north and others will have jobs that keep them at work on Christmas. It is the way of it for our family, where most are just starting their lives.
I wish for all of you the gift of being with those you love. I wish you peace and joy and utter happiness.
We will be having a very merry Christmas, I have proof(see above).

Thursday, December 22, 2011

A Letter to Santa


A couple of years after the kids' father, Danny, died it was Christmas time and time to go to the mall and see Santa. It was a double edged sword for my kids because it was the same mall they had celebrated all the fun, the excitement of Santa with their dad, but they still didn't want to miss it. I dressed them up in festive sweaters and dresses so they could sit on Santa's lap and ask for anything they wanted. I told them to ask for anything, to think big, to take their time, to allow themselves to be the innocent children they were supposed to be instead of the tiny forty year olds they had become. I encouraged those who could write to write down what they wanted because our Santa had a mail box where he kept all the children's letters. We had the same Santa for years at our local mall. He had a real beard, a kind smile and a large lap. As far as Santas went he was as good as it gets.
Going anywhere with my kids was no easy task. The good news was we were a big, boisterous family. The bad news was, we were a big, boisterous family. I had multiple car seats for years stuffed in, all over our family van. By the time this trip arrived only Elizabeth remained in a booster seat. The logistics of coats, hats, mittens, boots and scarves were a nightmare. No one had a matching set of anything, one kid always refused to sip their coat, don their hat or tie their shoes. By the time I got everyone in the car and buckled, I was thoroughly exhausted. Heavy sighs emanated from me as I took a moment at the wheel to just sit and gather myself, so I would have the strength, once at the mall, to undo everything I had just done. It wasn't a long trip as far as the driving went, but no trip with all the kids was an easy one. I recently told a story to my friend about how much effort went in to just getting to the store when we lived in an apartment that was a 3 story walk up.
We got to the to the mall and went to stand in line to see old St. Nick. It was stifling hot and the kids were a little afraid, as they were every year, and there was lots of fidgeting. I fussed over them straightening shirts, combing hair, generally just checking every child for small imperfections that could be fixed before the picture was taken.
Finally we got to the front and the children got their turn on Santa's lap, sitting asking for the things they were sure I could not afford. One by one they sat, whispered into the ear of the big guy and then patiently stood to the side to allow the next sibling their shot.
The last to go was Thomas. He stood nervously hand wringing, holding onto the crayon scribed letter he had written to Santa. Thomas, not really being afraid of Santa himself, hopped right up and sat on his lap. Santa beamed at Tom, smiling and asking what Tom wanted this year as he big gift. Tom leaned in close to Santa's ear and whispered his heart's desire. "Oh my,"Santa replied looking perplexed. I saw this and immediately wondered what on earth my little guy had asked for. Santa sat and thought for a moment. He motioned for Mrs. Clause to come and get me. I had been standing just out of range of the camera and I gathered all of our coats and hats and walked over to Santa. Santa looked almost sad for a moment when he said, "Thomas has asked for a most unusual gift. It seems he worries for you. He asked me to find you a husband this year for Christmas. He says you are lonely and he wants you to be happy again." I stood looking into the eyes of my young son, and for the first time noticed the worry on his face for his mom. I stood unable to speak at first and then told Santa that we had lost their father to cancer and we were on on our own now. I stood watching as my youngest son take his one chance with Santa, the one time of year when he could ask for anything and use it to ask for something for me. Tears filled my eyes. My lip had begun to quiver and I turned away long enough to gather myself. I felt Mrs. Clause' arm around me as she comforted me in this incredible moment of gracious giving. As I turned to look at Santa in order to try and maybe change the subject or encourage Tom to ask for something else Santa did the most remarkable thing. "Hmmmm," Santa said, "Thomas, I know you want your mom to be happy, but I think if anyone is going to get her a new husband it might be better if she find the right man. I trust your mom to meet a nice fellow one day. In the mean time I want you to put your wish in my letter box and we'll see what we can do. So since we know that matter is in very capable hands, what else would you like for Christmas?" Tom's face lit up like a Christmas tree thinking he had taken care of his mom and he went on to ask for trucks and army guys and games. As Santa listened to Tom's list of toys I mouthed the words "Thank You" to him. He nodded and smiled. Once Tom was finished it was time for the family picture and everyone sat around Santa as Mrs. Clause snapped the photo. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my feet as I watched with such pride as my crew, my darlings smiled for the camera.
I squeezed my darling little boy until the stuffing almost came out of him. I hugged and kissed him and said "I love you so much! We will be OK, I promise." Tom looked up at me with a tiny smile and said, "I know you are all by yourself, I just want someone to love you back."
"One day, when I least expect it, someone will love me back. But for now, I have you!" And I hugged him again. Tom giggle and wiggled away from me, "Mom, I know..."
The other children had witnessed Tom's act of selflessness for his old mom. We all had a bounce to our step as we made our way around the mall, stopping at the food court, buying treats at the stands in the middle of the isle. We went home that night and could barely contain the smile's from our faces.
That night when I put my children to bed, all clean with teeth sparkling and jammies on, I watched as they drifted off to sleep, happy and sated. For the first time in forever I was not lonely, I was only happy, content knowing I had everything I would ever need. That night when I prayed it was all "Thank you's" to God for my children, for Christmas miracles, and for Santa's kindness and compassion for a single mom and a generous little boy who wanted nothing more this Christmas than for his mom to be happy.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

I Sat Listening



I don't get a whole lot of time with my kids these days. I consider myself lucky if I get any time. I remember being in my twenties and spending quality time with my parents wasn't a high priority (sorry Mom). I just remember thinking how much I wanted to go out, get out, get on with it. My kids are not unique in their want to be out of our house or away from our view. Luckily, my kids try hard not to do anything overt that may hurt my feelings in this regard and I try hard to respect the fact that they are now people, full grown people who have the capability of making their own decisions whether I agree or not. It's a mutual understanding that allows us all to grow. I have no idea where we would be as a family if we did not have this. I suppose we would be like many parents who got shut out.
The other day my son and I were talking, just talking about his life, his concerns, his thoughts, his future. He isn't a huge talker, but when he has the opportunity, he does find me and we sit and chat. He does come to me occasionally for advice. As my child he has heard most of my advice already in one form or another, so he does not always seek me out. "Trust me, I know practically every word you have ever said to me by heart," the boy laughing told me. I smiled, grinning ear to ear because even when I know he does the exact opposite of what I think is best my voice remains in his head.
I sat looking at my son, his face covered in beard, his hair short, his voice so much deeper than when he was younger even just a few years ago. I sat and looked into the face of the man who faced me looking me square in my eyes, unafraid, unapologetic, just being himself, comfortable in his own skin in front of me. I listened as he talked. He is intelligent, compassionate and kind. He is sarcastic, even caustic sometimes, not having had his edges worn down yet by time or experience. He makes me laugh as he uses silly faces and voices to explain or tell a story. He teases me relentlessly about nearly everything, including the pink fuzzy robe I wear to keep me warm.
I like his face, not so much because it resembles my own, but rather because of the new configuration of his father and me together and the angles it forms. I like his blue eyes and how they flash a deep sea blue when he is speaking passionately about something. I like the way the edges of his mouth curl up when he says something funny. His hands never stop for even a moment from activity when he talks, as he fidgets with whatever is handy at the time. His face, his frame is thin, pale, and sinewy. My boy is often guarded, weighing out his words, tempering his speech, careful not to divulge too much to the wrong person. He may appear as though he does not trust you, well, he probably doesn't. He was altered by his father's death in 1997 and although the pain has subsided some, he still bears the scar.
Later that day he came home from work and asked to talk again. We did, on the back patio this time, just hanging out, laughing, being silly, playing for a few minutes before he went to bed.
My son always says "I love you, Mom." He always kisses the top of my head before he leaves or when he comes home again. He always hugs me every day like clockwork. I always smile when he does those things. I remember everyday he is doing his level best to be a good man. Those are our "always" things.
Yesterday, I sat and listened to my boy, my son. As I listened to every word he had to say, laughed at every joke, I heard the faint sound of the ticking clock in the background reminding me that these moments for us are numbered. Soon, very soon, he will be moving out and moving on and we won't have the convenience of these little talks.
Yesterday, I sat and listened and while I did, my heart beat began it's own message, thumping out, "I love this boy, I love this boy, I love this boy."

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Oh Tannenbaum


I called my friend and laughed harder than I have laughed in weeks. We did our usual schtick and talked about a myriad of topics from fun to completely gross. One topic that came up was about my car I have owned for the past ten years, it's a Ford mini van. I was a rolling cliche. Mike and I had bought the car after my other car was on it's death bed. The mini van was a wedding gift to the family. We had just gotten married and the kids were young and into everything. There was baseball practice, soccer practice, roller skating parties, ski trips, football, band practice and girl scouts to name only a few. With four very diverse children, I never knew on any certain day where my beast of a car would have to go. It contained me, the two dogs and the four kids while we drove around in a foot of snow when we were selling our house to move to Houston. With the heat blasting I drove along slick roads to allow time for the potential buyers to make up their minds.
My van was there to drive kids to college, teach them to drive, move us from our family home to the apartment and take kids to their jobs. It kept my son safe when he was in a hit and run causing him to skid off the road onto a curb slamming the tires into the concrete. It had kept us safe during hurricanes, torrential down pours and droughts. My car took my beloved dog to the hospital when she got sick and needed emergency care. It housed my animals once again while buyers perused the next house as we packed up and moved out. So very many times my van, my girl, kept us safe and sound during our travels.
Old Bessie died recently. She had gone from Cleveland Ohio to Houston Texas and could go no more. On her last trip she gracefully gave way in a parking lot, keeping my son off the road and into safety.
I know she is just a car. I know she is an inanimate object with no feelings or heart, but there are so many memories in that old car, it's hard for me not to take this personally. Emails and calls have been put out to have someone come and get her to drag her off to the junk yard. The St. Christopher medal that hung on the rear view mirror has been taken down. I got that medal from a patient who worried about me when I worked in the inner city on the 3-11 shift. My patient said to me one day, "Take this and put it into your car. It will keep you safe. Oh, and don't stop at the stop lights, it's dangerous on these streets at night." I took her advice on both counts putting the medal in my then car and not always stopping because I knew it was smart to be a little afraid. Since she gave me the medal I have always put it into the car I owned. I will now put it into my newest car.
We bought a car from a friend that is older, but brand new to me. Betty called it my new old car.
I told my friend how much I will miss my old car, and the memories it contains. We laughed about what Betty calls my new car when my friend said, "Oh, it's like what we used to say about our Christmas trees, they were real live dead trees." That made laugh. My newest car is my real live dead tree. Mike and I have always named certain objects in our lives. It's kind of a goober thing to do, but it always makes us giggle. I told him I will be naming my new old car Tannenbaum after what my friend had said. It's appropriate since we got it right before Christmas.
I will miss my mini van. Letting it go now is one more thing I will do that pushes me forward out of Mom mode. That van drove our children around when they were young. Most now have their own cars and have no need to ride in a seven seater. It's another step into my new role of mother of adult kids. It's not a bad role, but as a mother, I remember what it was like to see our kids when they were younger, smaller and needed us so much more, so it is a little bitter sweet.
Old Bessie did well by us living out her existence in service to our kids. She will be put to rest and used for parts to hopefully serve some other family as they wheel their way around town.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

She Looks Good For Her Age


This is my dog Asti. I have written about her several times. I wrote about when a utility worker threw a rock the size of a fist that hit her, I wrote about her vestibular neuritis which at the time I thought might be a stroke. She is my friend, my beloved, my gorgeous dog. She is by nature regal. She still sits guard looking more like a sculpture from Egypt than a family pet. Her posture, even at her age is impeccable. She turns 16 years old this month. Every year that passes I remain awe struck by her love, her loyalty and her stamina. She is 112 years old in dog years. She continues to round up the wiener dogs, put fear in the minds of strangers who dare approach, and ignores the other furry friends who may wander over to give her a good sniff.
She has failing eye sight, her hearing is now selective, but her bark remains fierce. Her love for Mike, me and the children has no bounds. She is as loyal now as when she was a puppy. We cater to her now. She has earned her spoiling after of years of keeping the kids safe, guarding the house and reigning in the other furry friends. She has the biggest cushion, the first choice at bones and extra time being petted and pampered. Really, it's the least we could do, after all of her years of service.
Asti never had special training to watch over children, yet she took to the job as if born for it. I have on many occasions referred to her as my "Nanny" like in Peter Pan. Her instincts were to take care of our kids no matter the cost to her. She would run in constant circles for hours making sure the perimeter of the yard was secure from intruders. God help you if you tried to gain access to my house when I was a single mom. Asti took great pleasure in making grown men scream and cry. She never once stopped Michael from coming over, but when we split for a time, the other men I attempted to date got iced out by the gate keeper. I saw grown men, big, rugged, strong men, beg my dog for access to the house. They tried bribing her with treats which she never accepted one, not one. They spoke in that sweet sing-songy voice as if she were a child only to have her raise up leaning on her front paws, baring her teeth getting ready to strike. Yep, my dog decided who I needed to marry and wasn't giving up until she could make it happen. I confess that early on when I was trying to date, I was at first frustrated by her lack of compassion for me in my loneliness. Later I understood how right she was and how her instincts were so much better than mine. I have never questioned her since.
My beloved is 16 years old. She still runs being leader of the pack. She still loves all of us without condition. She remains patient, loyal and protective. She is one of her kind, a rare and precious gem. There is no other dog in the world like her. I celebrate her now, as I celebrate her always, knowing just exactly how extraordinary she is. There are a million cliche and cheesy marketed goobies that refer to the fact that dog is God backwards. I am not a goobie collector, but if I were, that would be the one for me to have. I am a fan of truth even if it comes in the form of t-shirt or paper weight. Asti is about as close to a heavenly being as I have ever met.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Temporary Glitch

I am currently unrecognizable, my face gaunt, with cheeks flushed red from fever, my eyes sunken and blood shot, my breathing audible with wheezing sounds and gurgling coming from deep within my body. My hands shake, sometimes uncontrollably as I hold my latest cup of tea trying to force fluids down my nearly closed throat. I am sick, the kind of sick I have not been in years, decades even. I am frustrated to the point of tears, real hot stinging tears that fall from my eyes leaving streaks down my face, wetting my shirt below. Everything on me hurts, my body aching from the strain of the latest influenza to wrack my already weak person. I was thinking back to the time I had knee surgery and I had to spend months recuperating. We lived in a split level then, with stairs everywhere, and I had to be confined to the family room, unable to climb even the few steps into the kitchen. One day I had to drive with my knee confined to a brace, I hobbled outside only to have the pin that kept my knee straight and me from agonizing pain fall out of the brace leaving me to crawl around in the driveway. I went from angry to feeling completely out of control and I lay on the concrete sobbing at my fate. Eventually I was able crawl around enough to find the pin and put it back into place so I could hoist myself into the mini van to pick up the child who was stranded. I hadn't felt that type of frustration until recently when I became so sick I couldn't work, couldn't do even the simplest of activities, even having to plan out taking a shower so I could lay down immediately after.
I miss my job, my friends, my life. I haven't felt great in about six months but at least I was functional. I am no longer functional. It pains me beyond words that I am confined to the couch, getting up only on occasion to use the bathroom, or take more medication. I am spent. I had always, prior to this, minus the knee thing, been able to push my way out of or past any illness or calamity that came my way, but this time, I am firmly in the grips of something much bigger than me and my sheer will.
I am whining, when truly even I think I have little right to do so. I know how lucky I am. I have a job I love, friends who are incredible people who would do nearly anything for me, children I adore and a husband who loves me, even in my current state. It almost makes my illness worse to know exactly what I am missing.
Being a praying kind of person, I have the all the time in the world right now to pray and I am. I am praying for my health back, for my family because so many of them are sick with the flu also right now, and my job, my beloved job that I will be able to return to it very soon.
My dog, Schnitzel has been at my feet for days now. He whines as he lays next to the couch, wagging his tail in great enthusiasm every time I touch him. It's as if he knows.
I feel the fever building again. My face is growing ever hotter, my throat is starting to hurt more and my mind is growing fuzzy. I know cognitively I will survive this. I know there are many people sicker, much sicker than I, so even as I write this I have some guilt about whining about a temporary influenza. I have been changed by this. I have changed some habits, been more aware of my body and felt more than just a little grateful for all I have been given in my life. The truth is if I were any sicker and unable to recover, I know I have had a good life. Since I know I will one day recover, I understand now more than ever just how much I appreciate every minute that I am here and how completely blessed I am with all my good fortune. Much like George Baily from "It's A Wonderful Life" I am the richest woman in town.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

My Year In Review


I was looking at the calender and I noticed that the new year is only weeks away. It seemed odd to me that the year 2011 is coming to a close so quickly, yet it seems as though we have been in it forever. Some months crawled by as if they were never ending while other months flew by as if they barely existed. It's been a year of learning, listening and most of all appreciating what I have.
Last December I had a remarkable thing happen when someone from my past, a veritable ghost, showed themselves to me by internet. Stunned to learn that this person still existed, I was even more shocked to learn they had lived only hours from me when I had been certain they were they states away. Written exchanges were made, revelations revealed, and yet when all was said and done I felt no resolve. To this day I wonder why they appeared. Maybe there is no better reason then curiosity, maybe, they just wondered...maybe it all didn't matter. Regardless of the reason behind the appearance, I was left with dealing with feelings I had long ago shoved deep into my psyche, wanting nothing more than to have them disappear, never to be heard from again. But there they were, all my past bubbling up on me in unpleasant, unexpected ways, forcing me to deal with a past I find no pride in. I did deal with my unresolved bits and pieces to the best of my abilities, which I confess are somewhat lacking most days. In the end I did not get what I wanted from the exchange, and I then had to let it all go. If there is meaning in it, I have yet to figure it out.
In January, my eldest a college graduate was forced to come home against her will. Her beloved rabbit, her personal confidante and best friend was taken too soon by the paws of my beloved dog. It was tragic, accidental and I to this day cannot get the image of the limp and lifeless body of Tuvia out of my head. This brought the entrance of Jim the new bunny to our home. He is bright, funny, loving and a terminal 2 year old. He is madly in love with my daughter, reveling in every minute of her attention. Christy is now adjusting to her new life in Houston, making progress, figuring things out. Still very unhappy about living with her parents, she and I have had the opportunity to spend some real time together, which for years we have not had. One day in the near future she will pack up and move on, move out, leaving her childhood behind her, and once again our correspondence will be by phone or email.
January also brought with it my column, Dear Kellie, my life long dream of being an advice columnist, writing for our local paper. Every other week I answer questions from those who have honored me with their questions. Sometimes heart breaking, sometimes enormously funny, I do my best to answer in honesty and love.
February brought our family closer to the reality of having Michael move to Chicago, a move I still do not understand. The merger we saw coming for years, but the move to an expensive city was something we never really counted on. Houston being home to us for several years now, is livable. Our cost of living is reasonable, and housing is something most can afford. It remains a quandary.
March brought our garden, containers full of veggies, fruits and spices. We began planting our flowered versions too, with vines blooming in every shape and color of flower imaginable, covering our wine bistro area, a patio we created shading us from the hot sun.
April brought an early start to summer. The temperatures began to rise and the drought was on it's way. We were finally moved all the way in to our home and felt pretty settled.
May brought biking, writing, long sunny days and the end of another school year for most of my kids.
June came in hot and dry. We made our way to the community pool, I had my first radio interview with the brilliantly funny Brady, and we were making weekly trips to the library. Michael and I talked about how to plan for impending separation if he had to go to Chicago. Finding a job, a part time job became my next big venture.
July saw more heat, no rain and dying trees. Lake Houston had begun to dry up and I started my new job as a financial aid specialist at the local community college. I had noticed I had become more tired, feeling not really ill, but certainly not right.
August had me working full time, while the heat remained relentless. Kids got jobs, changed jobs, took second jobs and started school. Still very tired, I noticed a persistent cough, mostly at night and slight gurgling sound when I exhaled. Thinking it might be allergies, I ignored my growing symptoms.
In September I got cast in The Vagina Monologues at the college and rehearsals were under way. I worked in the morning and rehearsed every evening. I went to the hospital one night after having coughed up a sizable amount of blood, something I had never before experienced and was certain I never wanted to experience it again. Diagnosed with pneumonia, I began to see myself and my body in a different light. I began to notice things I had simply ignored. It was a turning point for me. I knew I would not take my health for granted as I always had, but would now start to be more appreciative of what I had.
October saw record numbers of days without rain, trees marked for removal since they were deceased and an overgrown swamp where the lake had once been. The play I was in got advanced, work was something I had to come to love and I had made a best friend. Mike and I went to Chicago and loved the city, but realized for sure what we had suspected and that we could not afford to move there. With stagnant wages, and my certain unemployment and the separation of our family from our kids, well, beautiful or not, Chicago was not for us. Halloween was celebrated with costumes and my new fog machine a I fussed and delighted over the children who came to the door. The look on their faces is priceless to me. With my usual fanfare, I decorated with blood, ghouls, ghosts and sound effects. The month ended for me on a high note of sitting outside enjoying my favorite holiday with one of my kids.
November was a bit more quiet than the other months. The only real thing that sticks out is of course, Thanksgiving. Turkey, green bean casserole, all the usual suspects, nothing more than a family meal, with all the trimmings. I call it the work holiday, since that is all I do all day long.
December found us doing more home improvement, in case we move, in hoping we stay. The kitchen remains without a sink, tile has yet to be laid, and the new stove remains in he middle of floor. I got sick, really sick again and this time wasted no time going tot he doctor. I am now on every medicine known to mankind. I walking pharmacy, filled to the brim with a plethora nasal sprays, inhalers, antibiotics, steroids and other such things, I now drink my weight in water, and pee out twice as much. The Christmas decorations are up, the twinkle lights brighten my mood every time I see them, which soothes my steroid rage. Tea is my drink of choice now that he weather is cool and the rain has finally fallen on multiple occasions. I still love my job, and Mike is still uncertain about his and where he will end up. I am still insomniac, some of which is blamed on my current medication implosion. I am not as tired as i have been in my recent past and feel very hopeful that the new year will bring me good health. Let's face it, I am due.
So here we are a few weeks before the new year. I have made more friends, gotten a good job, been in a play, written a biweekly column and remained in love with my husband. I have traveled to the big city of Chicago, been on the radio and watched my children continue to mature facing some pretty daunting things in their own future. When I look back to whole of it, I am stunned by how much I have done personally for me. I am stunned at how the time moves ever faster the older we get. I remain humbled at the wonderful people I now have in my life and how generous they were to let me in. It turns out 2011 was a big year for us, as a family.
2012? Well, if nothing else I think it's going to be really interesting.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Adult Behavior

I was up at 2:00 AM with insomnia, again. This not sleeping thing is starting to effect my motor skills. I notice my reaction time is slower than usual. Here is the most interesting thing, I find everything to be hilarious when I am this tired. I laugh really easily, at the most unexpected things, howling until the tears roll down my cheeks. I admit that I am normally a comedic snob, not able to laugh at everything silly when I am well rested, but now being slappy, my version of slap happy, I find the funny in most things.
This morning my oldest children, Christine and Dan were both up with me. We were sitting outside enjoying the cool nighttime air, just talking about life stuff, when Christmas was brought up. At first I was silent listening to them as talked about when we would try and get together as a family to celebrate, then I listened as they talked about giving a small donation to The Salvation Army and skipping presents since most of us are struggling college or post grad students. I sat looking into the faces of my children as they showed such compassion for those who have less, and such reason since our family is trying to make our ends meet. I watched them as they spoke the words I have spent my lifetime teaching them. I saw all of the lessons about generosity, charity and the true meaning of Christmas come from deep inside them. They have actively declined presents. They spoke meaningful words about not needing anything but time together. I sat just quietly listening to my adult children who have now become the very thing I had always hoped for them, kind and generous adults.
The other day, Tom had gone to the store with a ten spot for deodorant and shaving cream. He came back with only his bag of necessities and said, "Mom, you only had a little more than a dollar in change so I put in the red bucket." Nodding, I understood that he had learned from the time he was little that this what we do with our change during the holidays. "Thank you, Tom," was my only reply. Ingrained in my children is the importance of putting whatever money we have into the bucket to try and reach those who have so little.
Each of my children has displayed charity this holiday season. Each one has told me of their idea or their action of doing for others. Hearing my children speak with such eloquence, with such compassion is the gift they given me this Christmas season.
All I have ever hoped for my kids is that they see people, that they are able to show others compassion, even when maybe no one shows them any. I have seen my kids at times struggle when they needed to be seen and others avoided their eyes. Maybe that is why they are so willing to give without condition, they know heartbreak, they know loss, they know what it is like to feel invisible.
My kids are my angels here on earth. They are my reason, my legacy, my heart. They are out in the world showing peace, love and kindness. I will force them to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for the millionth time since they were born. I will ask them to do it for me, because I love it so and it still holds so many wonderful lessons. Do you hear that in the distance, it's the sound of church bells. It seems as though my angels, my adult kiddliwinks, finally got their wings.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Today is World AIDS Day


Today is World AIDS day. It's not a day to celebrate as much as it is a day to be aware, to remember where we came from, and how far we have to go. There is no happy salutation, no decorations, no special cake to make or food to use to show what this day means. I am somber on this day, remembering how many people I love that I lost due to a disease with no cure.
In the 1990's I sat in vigils waiting with other friends as our beloveds suffered in hospital beds mere feet from where we were. We would gather, all of us, after being notified by land line telephones that one more person we held so dear received what was tantamount to a death sentence. We sat, we spoke in hushed tones, we laughed quietly at stories of each other and our friendships. We sat and waited as our friends languished, in utter pain and sometimes despair at the height of their youth and their beauty. We got coffee, brought in food, fluffed pillows and smoothed blankets. We patted hands, kissed cheeks, and waited. In truth looking back we waited nearby fearful if we left we would miss the last word our friend would say, or the last time they would look us in the eye. We didn't want to miss anything back then, because we knew it was indeed the last of life as we knew it. I sat in more vigils than I care to think about. I lost some friends without knowing they had gone, only hearing later that they, too, had been taken far too soon.
My friends back then were all gay. I had heard ignorant hateful people refer to AIDS as the gay plague. I remember feeling revolted by the accusation that God had decided to punish my loved ones by giving them a hateful disease that held no understanding back then. My darlings, the dearest of souls that I loved so very much suffered a fate I cannot even begin to describe to you. We didn't know how it was spread, so many would not touch an AIDS patient. We didn't know how to stop it's rampant flow through the body, so my friends suffered every symptom, including open sores, hideous rashes, susceptibility to every germ or normally innocuous flu to come down the pike. My friends, many of them were human guinea pigs, being tortured with whatever new experiment was being tested out. My friends suffered. It was torturous to watch, so I can't even begin to imagine what it felt like to endure it. Back then being gay was something my friends could not do openly. They held jobs that prohibited any inkling of sexuality. "Socially acceptable" meant it was wrong to be gay. Wrong to be exactly who they were, which I must tell you, were the finest human beings I have ever known. There were no openly gay people on TV, or in the movies, where any normalcy could be seen. Only cartoon-like caricatures of gay people were displayed, as if they were an anomaly. My friends were anything but abnormal. They were funny, kind, generous to a fault, accepting of all others whoever they were or where they came from. They were the least judgmental, believing instead that we all have our crap and we need each other to get through this thing we call life. Being gay meant they had to do the emotional heavy lifting early in life in order to survive. My gay friends were required to be self reflective, insightful due to a society who repeatedly rejected them based on nothing. My friends had parents who refused to look at them, let alone love them for who they were. They had been faced with the choice of either acceptance by those who insisted they be anything but who they were or accept themselves knowing they would lose everyone who had a direct link to their past. Most of my friends walked away from the lives they had always known in order to be who they were internally, who they were born to be. For me, this is when I gained their love, this was when they entered my life just as they were forced to exit the family life that rejected them. I became their family, we all became each others family. When AIDS began taking my friends, my family, I began to suffer at its hand.
I was losing a friend a year, until one year it was two. I said I couldn't go the last time my friends sat and waited. I had had enough, I could not bear to lose one more friend. My heart could not take it, especially with no end in sight. I had buried so many, with so many more getting sick. The CDC was doing more research, drugs to suppress the monster were becoming more available and more of my friends were given some hope.
AIDS numbers are rising again, this time in China. They are the newest population to see increased infection. AIDS is still running rampant through Africa, as militias spread the disease to women and children through rape. Here, in 2011, in the United States of America 20% of those infected by the HIV virus do not know they have it.
Today is World AIDS day. After all these years we are still battling this incurable disease. Please take a moment, think of your friends and family. Remember all those who have perished, the ones still suffering due to lack of medication, or health care or the ability to even be tested. Today is World AIDS day and people are still dying. Take a moment and think of a single thing you can do to make a difference. Today is World AIDS Day. It effects all of us, it can infect all of us. We belong to each other. Today, take a moment and find something you can do to help those who are still looking, all these years later, for a cure.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

A Little Patience

I have always contended that I have little or no patience. I have said time and time again that it is a virtue I do not possess. Now, I am re-thinking those statements. I am starting to believe that I have tons of patience, I just have never given myself credit for it. I was thinking how many hours I have waited for other people, waited in line at banks, stores, and for Santa. The latter seemingly taking up to what must equal to about a third of my lifetime. For you who are parents who believe in Santa and have taken your children, do you remember how long it took to see the big guy? I am fairly certain one year, we stood in line for several days. O.K. maybe it was only for a couple hours, but in those hours I had breast fed one child, diapered another, and taught the oldest her ABC's. You see my point, it took a really long time. Time is relevant, especially if you are a parent. Babies in their most adorable state last that way the equivalent of thirty seconds. Teenagers in their most difficult periods, like when girls first have their periods, last that way for about forty years. During the warp speed seconds, and the Rip Van Winkle teen years, there I was waiting, being "the mom".
I wait for my husband...to make a decision, to get ready to go out, to pick me up when I need a ride because my mini van, the future museum piece isn't functional. I have waited for him to propose, to do dishes, to remember what I said in the kitchen that very morning. I wait. It's what I do.
I have waited for my kids, after games, concerts, to come home, to leave home, to show up, to grow up, I have waited for and on those kids for nearly 25 years. I have turned waiting into an art form. Maybe I am truly the museum piece. I could be displayed as a life size replica of time standing still, falling forward.
I have waited for a lifetime to do some things I had put on the back burner, until everyone got more settled. I waited until the time was right to write my book, start a new career and make some plans that put me first on the itinerary. I wait for the dogs to go, the cats to eat and the sugar glider to come out of hiding. I wait for Jim the rabbit to come to me so I can give him food, and a little love.
I wait for commercials to end, movies to start and traffic that seems endless no matter the time of day. I wait for walkers to cross, bikers to yield, and grocery carts to stop just short of banging into my already heavily dented car. I wait for stores to open, days to end, and the phone to ring.
I thought of all the waiting I have done in my life and let me tell you, it is sizable. Countless hours have gone into me learning patience. I have walked the walk and talked the talk, only to find myself put on hold to wait just a little longer.
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have patience. It's starts with P that rhymes with T that spends my time. I will not be saying I have no patience. Turns out I have it in excess. I have enough to start a patience library, loaning out free patience to those who lack enough of their own. It's a remarkable thing when I learn something new about myself. It doesn't happen every day. I have to wait until something bubbles to the top. Today I learned something that I find very valuable.
I have the patience of Job, and the scars to prove it.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

If You Blink, You Might Miss It


Every morning, like clockwork, there are a few certainties I can count on. At 5 AM there is a guy who rides his bike and his dog follows along happily behind him. Monday through Friday, Betty gets in our old van to go to the college with me. The coffee is always ready because Mike makes it the night before and sets the timer. Bobo lies snoring in his kennel. These are the things that are bankable items for me. As if pre-destined these things happen with a regularity just as the sun rises in the east.
With our lives shifting, the people that I love so very much, changing in such great sweeping ways, the things I count on seem more important than ever. Being able to count on banal certainties allows for my security in a world that holds so few.
Everyone in my house is in the midst of shape shifting. Our oldest is studying for her GRE to get into a graduate school in the northeast. The oldest boy, well, he just got a job across town he hopes will become full time so he can move out. The youngest boy has figured out what to study in college, so he too can move on. Our youngest, Betty, is applying for a mission trip in another country for next year. And of course, I am still having to bear witness to the changes in Michael's job situation, where he could either end up here or in another state. Me, well, I am not changing at all, staying constant as my world swirls around me. I am continuing to grow, but I am not moving forward in the literal sense, as is the rest of my family. I am the anchor during this particular storm.
I could not help but think of one of my favorite movies that became a family favorite when the kids were little. One particular line had my full attention and is a constant reminder of the ticking clock in my family. Hook was the movie, based on the book Peter Pan. The movie back in the day, got panned, so to speak, but like so many other things, we liked it anyway, regardless of the critics review. I will tell you seeing Robin Williams in tights was worth the price of admission. In the movie there a single line where his movie wife looks at him and says ,"Peter, you are missing it." She was referring to their children's lives and the everyday existence of their family. The moment I heard that line, that single sentence in all the production of bright colors and chaos, I sat riveted to my seat. I had used that line on the children's father, way back when, telling him time and again he was missing it. I pushed the point home hard, hoping he would stop for a moment and see his children, the loves of his life, and be with them. I feared they would grow up and he would look back shocked at how time had left him behind. In the end he did miss so very many things, but before he died he took the time with his children, the priceless time to go to baseball games, coaching soccer, going out for ice cream, a simple but meaningful thing that they continue to hang onto. I had to leave him in order for it to happen, but it did happen. Whatever he has missed since his departure in 1997, he got to absorb a lifetime of happiness and impact on his children before he went. I have no real idea if my nagging, my repeatedly, exhaustive pushing for him not to miss it, meant anything. What I do know is he was there when it counted.
With so much going on around our house, a small modest abode with little room and lots of people, this clown car we live in has become somewhat animated, a living expression of all the electrical currents coming from the individuals who reside in it. I have recently found myself overwhelmed at all that is shifting around me. It has been difficult to stand still even for a moment when I am feeling as though I am rooted in quick sand. So much for security.
The question then has to become for me, with all the indecision, all the chaotic hum of activity of separation, all the fast forward motion, am I missing it?
I know the answer. The children were my whole world when they were little. I would not stop at the store without thinking how it would effect them, not a single decision could be made without looking for possible impact when they were small. I was the reigning queen of "what if?" I had to monitor our surroundings every minute of the day, because by then I was their whole world, too. But this is different. They are off doing what young people do, Mike is taking care of business and I am here but not really present, so yes, indeed I am missing it. So caught up in the emotional trappings of our current electrical buzz, I am so unsure, I am missing some very important moments. I am not an over scheduled child, I have the time. I am not so busy that I fall into bed exhausted as I once did, but now I find myself getting caught in the web of details, of minute particulate of their futures and my own. Don't get me wrong, I believe at times the Devil is in the details, but what of the time wasted on small matters when there are so many other things, joyful things, happy things, ridiculously funny things, the broader scope of comedic doings that happen everyday that I am not seeing?
I will be the first to admit I hate it when a big life lesson doubles back and kicks me squarely in my behind. I had learned to be more careful with my expenditure of time and resources. It has been me who recites my lecture series on being in the "now". And now, I am the one who is missing in action. I am the one so devoured by infinitesimal second hands sweeping past, that I have found myself one of the lost boys. It's not too late, of coarse, as long as I draw breath there is still time. Did my Christmas spirit make a triumphant return? Well, not with any real production value, but I think I found what I was looking for the past few days. I think I had lost my marbles for moment, running blindly looking at what was scattered instead of what is still and right in front of my nose.
My constants, the man on the bike with the dog, Betty getting into the van, the fresh made coffee, well it could all very well change,and probably will. But I have them now. I have all of them now. I am here now. So if you will excuse me, I have some Christmas trees to put up. You see all of my family is home this year, and I do not want to miss it.