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.

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.

Dear Kellie - Friday, December 23, 2011 - Copyright 2007 Ourtribune.com

Dear Kellie - Friday, December 23, 2011 - Copyright 2007 Ourtribune.com

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.

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).

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.