A Refreshing Interview!!

I walked into this particular interview not knowing what to expect.  The open position was a foot in the door, a very promising, lovely door into a company that I have heard only terrific things about.  I trusted the words of those who led me to this company, but thought they were too glowing to be real.  They weren’t.

With my resume, application, and references in hand, I walked to the receptionist, told her my name and who I was there to see.  The busy woman was answering questions and directing people on the telephone, a phone that rang constantly.  She was putting this one on hold, talking to that one, agreeing that it was a lovely day to a passing co-worker and handing me the necessary “Visitor” badge and sign in sheet.  I’ve never seen anyone do so many things so well in such a short time!

While I waited for the Human Relations Manager, Kathy, to greet me (I was way too early) I was very busy checking out my surroundings.  In front of me a poster on the wall described the many reasons why working for this company was such a positive experience.  There were many reasons listed that all showed the care and consideration they provide their employees.  I was impressed.  Next to the poster was a company photo, everyone full of broad, happy smiles.  Under the photo was an outline of the same with everyone’s name listed.  This listing clearly showed that everyone had a place of value and significance; it was as if it was a large, happy family.  So far, so good!!

Five minutes before my scheduled meeting time, Kathy came to usher me into her office.  A lovely, classy woman, Kathy’s broad smile and kind eyes welcomed me immediately.  By the time we reached her office, I felt at home.  I know that sounds crazy and maybe it is, but it is true.  We spoke for about a half hour.  I may have told her more than she expected, but I felt at ease and comfortable being myself.  I explained my career desires, my concerns and hopes, and honestly expressed what I am looking for in a work situation.  She listened, truly listened, and offered constructive, valid advice and insight.  Obviously an intelligent woman, my impressions of this company were ever increasing.

As I waited for my next interview to begin, the Vice President of Human Relations came out and spoke with me.  We had been corresponding through email off and on for a couple of months and it was great to put the face with the name.  Another impressive, clearly professional woman!  When she returned to her office, I sat for another minute or two in the comfortable seats outside the HR area.  I listened to the calming quiet that enveloped the area, the welcome balloon that was slightly deflated, but still cheerful, was swaying to the breeze from the air vent. An open door gave me a clear view of the office across the way, a woman was busy working, concentrating. 

It felt wonderful.

Vicky appeared right on schedule and we shook hands and walked to her office just a short way away.  I still cannot believe that I didn’t know her before.  One word passed between us and I felt an instant connection to her.  As we talked, I felt as though I knew her for years.  Her warm smile, friendly approach, and willingness to REALLY see me rendered me almost speechless.  She holds a truly impressive talent for people.  As co-workers poked their heads in to ask her various questions it was obvious that this was a collaborative, hard-working but very supportive team.  Vicky is an impressive woman.  She knows her stuff.  Her competence is apparent, but beyond that, her caring came through loud and clear!  I would be so proud to work with her one day.

Honestly, I have a feeling that the position I went in to discuss will be offered to someone else, and I understand.  However, I am hopeful that one day another position that more closely fits my experience and talents will come up.  After all the interviews I have been on in this stage of my life, this one was special.  These women were special.  This company’s mission is special.

To Kathy and Vicky, thank you.  It was truly my pleasure and honor to meet you and I sincerely hope that you don’t mind if I do stay in touch.  It would be more than a thrill to one day be able to call you both co-workers.  Thank you for your time.

I may not have obtained a new position today, but I regained a hope for the future.  With Vicky’s help and guidance I feel more positive than I have in a long time.  To my brother who introduced me to and told me about this special company, I love you.

There are superb corporations out there, filled with warm, compassionate, friendly, wise people.  Hooray!!

Two Sides

Just as there are two sides to every story (at least 2 sides) there are at least two sides to every person, the mother’s side and the father’s side.

Most of the memories I write about are of my mother’s family.  My grandparents, my mother’s parents, lived well into their 90’s so I had the chance to know them all through my childhood and far into my married life.  They were a major part of my growing up, my early adult life and also a large part of my children’s youth.  This is obvious through my many blogs, which I hope you have enjoyed.

However, there is another side to me, my Father’s side.  I have fragmented, but happy memories of times spent with various members of my Dad’s side of the family.  There were Sunday afternoons when my Uncle Al, my Dad’s brother, who drove a bus, would bring his bus to our home after delivering church members for their services.  He would spend the time while they were in church at our house for Sunday morning bagels and lox.  If the Sunday happened to be a particularly lucky time for me, he would bring his grandson, Jeffry, along for the ride.  I enjoyed those mornings especially because Jeffry was a real good person, fun to spend time with. I always hoped we would spend more time together as we grew older; as of now, we haven’t done so. 

Other memories include cousin clubs where there was always endless food and warm, hearty laughter.  I don’t remember how often the cousins met, but when they did, it was special.  We would always leave with my Dad telling his cousins that they should really get together more often.  But, that never actually materialized and as the older generation passed away, their children, including myself, never continued the precedent. 

My Dad’s sister, my Aunt Elsie, was always an integral part of my life.  She was funny and direct, like my Dad, never really caring about being politically correct.  But, unlike my Dad, she always had and took the time to keep in touch with almost all members of her family, including those who lived far, far away.  She had two sons, my cousins, Bobby and Kenny.  Kenny was the same age as my oldest brother, and so he was about 10 years older than me.  Bobby was the older of the two boys, which, kept us from really knowing each other in the 'early days'.

Being that I was so much younger than my cousins, I didn’t interact with them very much at all while growing up.  My brothers’ reality is probably different in that regard, but then they would need to write a blog to discuss their impressions of those days.

Kenny was the cousin who told me to take a mental picture of those most important in my life while at my wedding.  I will always be so thankful to him for those mental images, as they are truly all I have of the day aside from the pictures the photographer took.  Without those images, I would have no recollection of the occasion from my own perspective.  Kenny was also a caring, competent dentist.  I always had a dental phobia, but when I was first married I had a tooth ache and Kenny told me to come into the office that day, a Sunday, and he would take care of it.  With my new husband as the dental assistant, since the office was closed, Kenny painlessly and without complaint, fixed my tooth.

A few years after that, Kenny married a lovely woman.  Their wedding was, to this day, one of the absolute loveliest I have ever attended.  It was held outside on his property, a large expanse of beautiful grounds.  The sun shone perfectly, it was warm, not hot, and the colors and scents that filled the air enhanced the beauty of the handsome, young couple.  I felt as though I was in the midst of a fairy tale.

Unfortunately, Kenny was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and passed away far too young.  Although, he lived too short a time in years, he lived the years he had fully, enjoyed them completely.  From walking with him to taste the sweet fresh raspberries on his grounds, to talking to him before my wedding, there was something in Kenny that enabled him to enjoy life 100%.  That is a true gift.

This brings me to my cousin, Bobby.  My earliest memories of Bobby were of him when we lived a few houses away from each other.  Our parents had purchased homes on the same block.  Bobby was handsome beyond belief.  I remember one day seeing him on the front porch, sleeping on a lounge chair in the summer sun.  My Aunt’s rose bushes were all around him.  I remember thinking that since I was related to him, how bad could I possibly look??

Bobby left his parents home and lived many interesting places for many years.  I don’t know much about this time in his life, but I know his adventures took him to various places in Canada and also to the sunshine and beauty of Hawaii.  I missed knowing him in those times, and that is definitely my loss, but while I was growing up in suburbia, he was learning and growing and becoming one of the most beautiful men, inside and out, that I will probably ever know.

A few years ago, for some reason, which I honestly don’t remember, I had the chance to sit down and reconnect with my cousin.  What a gift!  We can chat for hours on end and I would want to talk more.  He has experienced so much and has a great ability to see through facades to what is important, love.

I am certainly a lucky lady when it comes to my cousins, on both sides.  They enrich my life with an acceptance and understanding that is unique.  My cousin, Ellen, on my Mom’s side and my cousin, Bobby, on my Dad’s; both of them are not only cousins, but friends, true, deep, caring, loving friends.

There are at least two sides to every story, and at least two sides to every family.  I am so thankful for the two sides of my story that support me and enable me to stand taller than I otherwise could.  From this height, hopefully one day I will see what I need to do.  I will grow up and stand up for the person I am now and the person I am still striving to be.

Tomorrow Is My Husband's Birthday

Tomorrow is my husband’s birthday and it also happens to be the first day of spring.  The two are definitely linked as he always warms my heart and brightens my day.

The very first time I saw my husband was in the halls of our high school, to this day he has no memory of me there.  He was two years ahead of me and in the “cool” group (from my perspective); it was 1974 and his hair was long and his bell-bottoms were wide and striped.  I remember passing him in the hall as he joked with his friends.  He was very cute.

Three years later I worked in a woman’s clothing store, part-time, with two other friends from high school.  We were all working while in our first years of college together and on this particular day I was driving one of my friends to work.  I had no idea that the cute guy from high school, who was now a junior in college, lived across the street from my co-worker.  As I waited in my friend’s driveway, I noticed a guy in my rearview mirror; he came out of his house wearing just a pair of shorts, no shirt.  He put something in his trunk.  It was summer and his hair was light and shone brilliantly in the sunshine.  I watched as his muscles tightened in his arms when he lifted the trunk.  They tightened even more as he lifted what looked like a huge bag of laundry placing it “just so” in the trunk then gently closed the lid again.  He walked around to the driver’s side of the car and reached in for something then he disappeared back into the house.

By this time, my friend had come out of his house and plopped into my front seat.  I asked him who lived across the street and he told me his name and said he was a really nice guy and that I should remember him from high school.  Only then did I realize that the guy with the light hair and muscles was the same guy from the hallways at Upper Dublin High.  He had cut his hair but had only grown more handsome.  Now why couldn’t I meet nice guys like that?  With that thought spoken out loud,  (which, looking back, must have made my male friend feel great) I backed out of the driveway and off we headed for a day of work.

The following summer I was invited to another friend from high school’s special party – her engagement party.  My friend had just become engaged to her high school sweetheart.  (They, like us, are still married to this day.)  I was invited to her engagement party as we had known each other and been close for many, many years.  The “cute guy” from high school and the driveway was invited because he was great friends with my friend’s older brother.

At the party we were not seated together and didn’t even meet.  I was seated with people my age and he was seated with friends of her older brother.  Actually, I met another young man at the party that I began dating for a bit.   My girlfriend didn’t think he was right for me (she was correct) and because of that she was thrilled when my husband, who was looking at the pictures from her party, noticed me and asked who I was. 

I learned that the guy I was dating had asked someone else out behind my back, so, when my engaged friend told me that a particular guy had thought I was pretty (there's no accounting for taste) and wanted my number, I told her I would meet him.  I had no idea he was the guy I had thought was so cute for so long.

I remember our first telephone conversation and our first date.  He took me to a lovely restaurant and then we went disco dancing at a private club he belonged to in Philadelphia.  I thought he was very sophisticated and was really glad to learn he was also very gentlemanly, funny, nice, a great dancer and a smooth singer.  As he drove us home from dancing, a song, “Mind Blowing Decisions”, by Heatwave, came on the radio.  He sang it softly and lovely; I fell in love.

It is now almost 34 years from that first date…actually, this July will be 34 years.  The time has flown.  I remember those early days like it was yesterday.  I remember counting down the days to our wedding, the birth of our children, the days to various vacations.  Days that I hope I appreciated as much as the events themselves because it is those days that make a lifetime. 

That cute guy from the hallway at Upper Dublin High has always been there for me.  We have shared more years than we spent alone and I hope we share decades to come.  Tomorrow is his birthday.  I hope he knows that I am so thankful he came into my life.

Happy Birthday, Babe.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rodTpSVmSBQ

The Naked Truth

It’s odd how some things just pop into mind at certain times, out of the blue thoughts that meander to the forefront….

The other day I was talking to a good friend when a memory, as vivid as the day it happened, spilled from my lips.  My friend and I were reminiscing about long ago times, when we were the “young” people, like a young woman who had just left the store where we work.  There are quite a lot of young moms that visit our store every day, and they always remind me of times gone by.

So many of my memories from my days as a young Mom are centered on times with my children along with my Mother and Grandmother.  The memory that popped into my head the other day was one of those times.  My daughter was just 4 years old; my son wasn’t born yet.  It was a warm afternoon in early September and my daughter and I were visiting my parents’ apartment.  I remember the telephone ringing (in those days the phones were still attached to the walls).  My Mom answered and I could hear her say, “Okay Dad, we’ll be right there”.

As my Mom hung up the phone, she turned to me and said, “We have to go help Grandmom; she went in the tub to take a bath and can’t get out.  Grandpop needs our help.”

With that, we quickly rode the elevator down the four floors to the lobby.  We walked into the bright sunshine, across the parking lot and to the car.  I remember feeling anxious, wondering what was wrong with my Grandmother and why she couldn’t get out of the tub.  Thinking ahead, as I always do, to all the things that must be wrong in order to receive such an urgent request from my Grandfather, a man who never asked anyone for anything.

We arrived at my Grandparents’ apartment and didn’t take time to talk to any of the older people in the lobby as we pushed the button for the elevator.  The people in the lobby were always ready for conversation as most were lonely and congregated there for human contact.  I felt badly not interacting with them as we usually did, but this was obviously an emergency and we were in a rush.

My Grandfather opened the door before we even reached it.  He had been keeping his eye on the parking lot and knew we had arrived.  He calmly and softly let my Grandmother know, through the closed door, that we were there and that we would be coming into the bathroom to help her.  The door was closed, but luckily not locked.

My Mom and I went into the bathroom, leaving my daughter to play in the living room with my Grandfather.  She always loved visiting with him, as he was absolutely one of the kindest, gentlest, sweetest men to ever live, talk about your gentle giant, that was him!

As we walked into the bathroom, my Grandmother’s first words were, “Shut the door!”  I found that odd under the circumstances since the only people in the apartment, aside from my grandmother, were my Mom, my daughter, my Grandfather and myself.  Without thinking, I complied and shut the door.  I grabbed the bath towel that was on the counter and my Mom leaned over and actually quite easily helped my Grandmother out of the tub as I held up the towel to her.  Thankfully she was fine.

She instructed us to leave the bathroom and close the door.  We did.  We walked into my Grandparents bedroom in order to stay close in case she needed anything.  My grandmother was in no apparent rush as she dried off, put on her robe, combed her hair and eventually walked into the bedroom.    It wasn’t until I saw her walk into the bedroom that it hit me, there was nothing wrong, why couldn’t my Grandfather have helped her out of the tub?

Before I could censor myself, the question blurted out, “Grandmom, why didn’t you just let Grandpop help you out of the tub?”

A look of incredible shock was my Grandmother’s immediate reaction.  “Grandpop? Grandpop couldn’t help me out of the bathtub…he’s never seen me naked!!”

That’s when the look of incredible shock previously on my Grandmother’s face spread across my own.  “He’s never seen you naked?”  

“Grandmom”, I said, “you’re married for 64 years...you have two children!”

Her reply rings so clearly, so absolutely directly, in my mind…”It was dark.” She stated.

Wow, it was dark, that was her answer?!  So, after sharing a lifetime together, going through the depression, raising two daughters, enjoying grandchildren and great-grandchildren, comforting each other through loss and celebrating together during happy times, he never saw her without her clothes!

A generational difference I suppose.  Raised in a time when women didn’t work outside the home, didn’t drive, didn’t vote, they couldn’t bare their souls let alone their bodies even in the most intimate of relationships.  Amazing.

My grandmother was astounded that I found this incredible.  It was only years later that I realized my Grandfather had also, so naturally, gone along with this reality.  He never even thought, not for a second, that he could go in the bathroom and help her….

After all, he could have turned off the bathroom light…

Words sent from me to you ~ Hope you enjoy...is what I do!

When I sit and when I think

I think about a milkshake drink. 

I think about a million things

I think about a bird that sings~

I think about the moon so bright

I think I’m glad to feel all right

I think of happy, joyful times

I think about a stack of dimes

I think about the sun that shines

I think of happy nursery rhymes

I think of books that tell a tale

I think about a plastic whale

A plastic whale in a museum

That makes me happy just to see him!

I picture palm trees in my head

I picture them beside my bed

I see the moonlight gleaming through

The branches sway, it’s what they do!

I see the colors of the world

I see the boys I see the girls

I see those who live overseas

I see those who live beside me~

I see the blues, the reds the greens

I see the complete color scheme

That fills the universe with cheer

And makes me happy to be here!

I picture bugs, bees, and plants

I imagine their happy, joyful dance.

I watch the carefree way they play

And feel the good parts of the day.

When I feel sad, or down or blue

I always know just what to do

I think of the beauty of the day

The love that comes along my way

I cherish it all, I really do.

I cherish me; I cherish you.

I hope you know down deep inside

The love I feel, the hope and pride

To be a part of this amazing place

That puts a smile on my face.

I wish you love and joy, and fun

I wish these things for everyone

I wish you imagination, running wild

Always enjoy your inner child!

So think of this when you feel down

Think of a car, think of a clown

Grasp the day from the start

with an open, willing heart.

Life has its good times and its bad

But even when you’re feeling sad

Or maybe especially at those times

Just think about that stack of dimes

And continue thoughts that make you smile

Keep them in a heart shaped file

That always lives inside your mind

And always know you’re doing fine.

Not Just Another "Pleasant Valley Sunday"

I remember the day in September of 1966 when the first episode of the Monkees television show aired.  I was 8 years old, the Beatles were flying high, and I loved them, but in an instant, I fell for a different, cute, sweet British man with an accent that made my heart melt, Davy Jones.

I watched the Monkees every week and became one of the earliest members of their fan club.  I remember the autographed photo I received and the button…wish I knew where they were now!  That picture was proudly displayed in my bedroom and I blew Davy a kiss every morning!

My cousin, was infatuated with Micky Dolenz.  We would sing Monkee songs and pretend that Micky loved her and Davy loved me.  I know we were not alone in our fantasy world, but it was a fun, special time for us, that’s for sure.

As I grew older, the Monkees continued to be a part of my life.  I introduced my children to their music and the television show.  We purchased the series and would watch the episodes and laugh and sing.  They were happy times.  I remember one day, I was driving to the market with my daughter and son in the car and the song, “Valerie” came on the radio.  We sang our hearts out. Va a a a a lerie…….(I can still hear it in my head.)

The first time we learned that Davy, Micky and Peter were performing together again, we purchased tickets to see them in Atlantic City.   The concert was held in the Xanadu Theater at the Taj Mahal casino, the year was 2001.  We had great seats and sang every song along with them, loud and strong.  The theater was electric that night, I believe the entire audience was transformed and as we sang as one, our happy memories filled our hearts and souls with the magic that only music can bring.

After that concert, from which my daughter still has a stuffed monkey souvenir, a monkey wearing a Monkees t-shirt, we were lucky enough to attend another of their concerts, this next one in Holmdale, NJ.  This outdoor concert was also thrilling.  They sang out strong, their voices and talent rose through the night air, filling the sky with joyful music. 

When I heard that Davy passed away yesterday, I was heartbroken.  I never had the privilege of meeting him in person, but I loved him anyway.  Hearing his voice can still, in an instant, make my heart smile.  His passing is a wake-up call; my “Six o’clock Alarm” that life is fragile and we never know what the next moment will bring, so enjoy this moment as it’s all we have.

I thank Davy and all the Monkees for the happiness and fun they brought to my life.  Davy will always remind me that “I’m a Believer” in the love that music brings and the impact that it holds all the time, even “Sometime in the Morning”. Davy singing, “I Wanna Be Free”, keeps running through my thoughts.  You’re free now Davy, free to let your spirit soar and brighten the heavens with your brilliant light.

I send deep sympathy to Davy’s family, as well as to Micky, Peter and Mike.  I am so thankful for the love and happiness the Monkees’ music provided and continues to provide; how great, what a true blessing it must be, to be part of something that holds such positive feelings for so many.

“Look Out – Here Comes Tomorrow”, so enjoy today ~ and thanks for all the love and music.

A Special Friendship

Twenty-three years ago I walked into a crowded elementary school cafeteria for a “Welcome 1^st Grade Students” lecture given by the Principal of my daughter’s school.  Carefully, I steered the stroller, with my son sleeping soundly inside, down the middle row and took an aisle seat in case I had to make a speedy getaway.  I was fully prepared for my son to wake up during the speech, with a bag filled with Cheerios, a ‘binky’, and a ‘sippy’ cup filled with apple juice in my arsenal.

Principal Walsh began his speech.  Everyone in attendance was listening closely.  It was then that I noticed a mom in front of me holding, cuddling, and trying to keep her young daughter happy.  I felt a true kinship with this woman that I didn’t know and gently tapped her on the shoulder.  She turned and I whispered to her that my son was sleeping, but if her daughter would like some Cheerios, she was welcome to them.  A beautiful, broad smile spread across her face. She was thrilled to offer her daughter the cereal. 

Luckily for me, my son slept through the entire speech and luckily for the woman in front of me, the Cheerios kept her beautiful daughter happy throughout.  After the Principal’s talk was over, we walked outside together and introduced ourselves.  This wonderful woman, Robin, told me she had a daughter in Miss Brosso’s first grade class.  My daughter was in the same class and our daughters had the same name!  We spoke for a few minutes before my son woke up.  He was ready for his lunch, so Robin and I exchanged phone numbers and each of us went to our respective homes.

That phone number has been a special lifeline for me these past 23 years.  When we first became friends we shared many afternoon coffee chats while our younger children played in the next room.  We supported each other through arguments with our husbands, difficulties with school projects, finding summer programs, issues with other friends, and truly anything and everything in between.  We made up our own club, W.O. A. H., (Women of Annoying Husbands) when we were in our mid thirties.  Our husbands knew of this club and weren’t too fond of it, but they understood, especially when we told them they could have their own club, M. O. A. H. (Men of Annoying Housewives)

When we first met, Robin and I lived in different neighborhoods, but that didn’t keep us from getting together.  After a few years, my family found a house that happened to be in their neighborhood.  As our children grew, Robin and I only grew closer and more supportive.  Being in the same neighborhood, we would call each other whenever the need for a W.O.A.H. meeting arose.  We would each walk to the halfway point between our houses, meet each other, and then continue walking until whichever one of us called the meeting had unloaded our issue.  After we spoke, we always felt better and could return home with a smile, crisis averted. 

We planned our daughters’ Bat Mitzvahs together. We schlepped to photographers, DJs, and finished our dress shopping as a team.  We joined the same swim club in the summer and would share a table, laughing, chatting and enjoying our children (who always got along beautifully) and the warm,summer sunshine!  We cheered each other when new puppies were brought into the fold, and we cried together when two of them passed away. Every birthday, she would make me coffee and key lime pie and we would sit, laughing and talking, for hours.   

Our daughters went to the junior and senior proms with their respective dates together.  We took pictures and cried tears of disbelief that our little girls looked so grown-up – where had the years gone?  We worried, celebrated, laughed and cried together more times than I could ever count.

Robin was a pillar of strength for me and wouldn’t take no for answer when my nephew passed away and I needed someone to stay in the house and wait for the Shiva tray to be delivered. She made coffee, cleaned up and wouldn’t let me lift a finger.  She did the exact same thing when my Dad passed away two years ago.  In between those sad events, she listened to me as I expressed my fears and anxieties and she was always willing to stop by with a hug.  I can only hope I was half as attentive and generous with her as she was with me as the years have flown by.

Robin and I always understood each other and we always seemed to be going through the exact same things at the exact same time.  Now we are both dealing with the issues that surround being “empty nesters” and the issues of parents dealing with problems of aging and the various associated health complications.

Two weeks ago, Robin broke her foot.  Robin, who never was good at asking for help, now needs some assistance, no matter what she says.  She is so unaccustomed to asking for help, it’s just not easy for her, she is the one who always does the helping!  This morning, I brought over what turned out to be some rather lousy breakfast sandwiches, (my intentions were good) but her coffee, now made in her Kerig coffee maker, was still as wonderful as ever.  We talked and, as always, we found that after 23 years we still have simply everything in common.  It’s truly astounding.  However, now, on top of having shared life experiences, we have the amazing gift of decades of shared friendship, a friendship we can count on and trust to always be there. 

When I think back to that early Principal’s Welcome talk, I can’t help but feel my heart burst with gratitude.  Attending that talk, one that I honestly don’t remember one word spoken by the Principal, afforded me one of the most meaningful friendships anyone could ever have the honor of enjoying.  I am blessed with having a handful of women in my life, women without whom my life would be lacking a special joy.  I will eventually write a blog about each of them, Jackie, Hope, Jill, Susan, Diane, Linda, Lisa and my cousin, Ellen, but today, sharing coffee with Robin filled my heart with the happiness that is unique to us.

Tomorrow she goes to the doctor to see what the next step is with her broken foot, no pun intended.  I hope she doesn’t need surgery, but no matter what, I hope she knows that I will be there for her, a friend to lean on, for always.

Yesterday Was My Birthday ~

Birthdays are odd things as you age.  I remember celebrating my birthday when I was young; every year was a badge of honor, a step toward being “grown-up”.  Every birthday included a big party with friends, balloons, cupcakes, and games.  It was truly a special event where the birthday girl or boy was the star for the day. 

Yesterday I turned 54 years old.  Fifty-four!!  My husband and I both took the day off from work and with my daughter and my mother we went for lunch at one of my favorite restaurants.  This Mexican restaurant has interesting, fun food, a festive colorful atmosphere, extremely nice, accommodating waiters, and it’s reasonably priced!  A winner!  

The rest of the day was fine, very nice in fact.  I received a heart-warming amount of birthday wishes on Facebook, my son called to wish me a Happy Birthday and told me he had enjoyed a successful day in his lab.  My daughter made it safely to see her boyfriend in New York after we shared the day together.  All in all it was a very nice day, but it got me thinking, and that’s always dangerous! 

When I think back to those early birthdays, I remember dreaming of what life would be like as a grown-up.  I remember thinking how great it would be to not have to go to school, to not have a bedtime, to wear high heels, to be sophisticated like the women in the movies.  Looking back, things were so simple.  There were only three real television channels to choose from, nothing could be taped, movies needed to be seen in a theater, telephones were attached to the wall and computers were science fiction stuff with blinking lights and tapes spinning round and round.  Cars had white-wall tires and landau roofs, the news was on for 15 minutes and it was just news, not commentary, and a baked potato took an hour to cook.  Popcorn didn’t come in microwavable bags, but jiffy pop was sure fun to watch cook as the bag expanded and the popcorn was ready to eat.

Those days are long gone, as are the days when my birthday garnered huge celebrations.  I suppose that’s good news.  The next time a birthday will be a big deal will be when old age (hopefully) sets in and everyone is amazed that a particular year has been hit!   But, having a birthday is still a milestone.  It still causes me to reflect on how life changes.  They say the one constant in life is change, and that certainly is true.

My husband and I are entering into the “empty-nester” time of our lives.  Being Mom was always the major, most important part of my life.  From the moment my children entered the world, they were and are the center of my universe.  They are still a most important, vital part of my life, but, as it should be, they are now their own people with their own lives and it is up to me to move to the side…still there, but now following their lead. 

It is kind of an odd time to be without a full time job.  I find that since the day I was laid off, I have so much more time to think and try to focus my time on building a new life, a life that focuses on my interests which I can now pursue whole-heartedly.  I write because I love to write, I work retail because I love being with people, need to get out of the house, and can’t find an office job.  All of these things contribute to my time of change.  


Our house now feels very big and empty, so we are thinking of downsizing.  But where should we go?  How will my Mom adjust?  What will we do with all our stuff?   Thirty-two years of marriage means a lot of accumulated odds and ends, some crap, some valuable, some just plain sentimental!  What do we clean out, give away, sell, and keep?  With every appliance in the house breaking the last few weeks, it’s as if the house is telling us it’s time to leave.  This house, which I have lived in longer than any other one place, is home.  This house is where my children grew up, where we have so many memories of summers in the pool, where our dog, Pumpkin, played and then, when she passed away, where we brought our little dog, Popcorn, home. 

This is the house where my children went from needing me all the time, to being self-sufficient.  It’s where my parents moved in when my Dad was facing open-heart surgery for the first time and thought he wouldn’t make it through and it’s where my Dad died two years ago.  We’ve celebrated graduations, birthdays, anniversaries, and enjoyed snowstorms when schools were closed and we baked all day.  It’s where we would burn candles when the lights went out and where we huddled together under throw blankets and watched movies.

This house has held so many wonderful family events, so many celebrations with friends, so many Halloweens, Valentine’s Days, religious celebrations, and New Year’s parties.  How do I say goodbye to all these things? 

My birthday was yesterday.  It came and went like every other day, heading to the future.  I understand that all we have is the now and that’s why it’s called the present, and it is a great gift.  So, I guess the trick to birthdays when you’re older is to take the memories of the little girl, mix them with the memories of the young mom, add a bit of the working woman, then putting it all into the blender and seeing what ingredients are still to be added.

I hope the future holds enough spice to be interesting, enough sugar to be sweet and a proper balance of everything so each bite can be savored.

My personal recipe for a happy birthday is to be thankful for all the ingredients in my life, for when all is said and done, each ingredient on its own yearns for more, but when put together in the right measure, they make for one amazingly delicious, fulfilling, nourishing experience. 

I want to thank all those in my life who are so integral to my world.  You add life to each day and your love and support is the key, which unlocks my potential.  My life may be at least half over, but I am eager to see where the next half leads. I hope that when I look back after the luck of a few more birthdays I find that I have continued to grow into a stronger, more confident, helpful, giving addition to this world which has given me so much!

Every day is a birthday of sorts, so celebrate life with all its beauty and love and always cherish those you hold most dear!

Two Years Ago Today

Two years ago today my Dad left this world. 

My Dad taught me so much.  He was not only a proud, strong man but also a kind-hearted, generous, considerate man.  His warmth and good humor were always something to count on.  I always felt protected and supported when my Dad was here.  He gave with his whole heart all the time.

Last night I woke up at 2:30 AM.  I starred at the clock and realized it was almost exactly 2 years from that hour since he died.  I could have sworn I saw him out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked again there was nothing there out of the ordinary. Some shadows from a pile of books reflecting the light of the night light, that’s all. 

Whenever I need or want to, I can imagine the feel of my Dad putting his arms around me, telling me everything will be okay.  I remember his face when he taught me to dance – he had such great rhythm and a special ‘dancing’ smile.  I remember watching the movie, Brian’s Song, with him.  We both sat on the floor in the den, wiping our eyes with tissues, talking about life, its joys and sorrows. 

I remember when he went in for his first open-heart surgery.  We all ran to the hospital to be sure to see him so very early in the morning.  As we walked, following along with his gurney to the elevator, I remember telling him I loved him.  I remember him looking at me and saying, “I love you.  You’ll always be my little girl”.  I kept those words close to my heart during the operation and still carry them with me today. 

I remember my Dad sneaking into the birthing room on the day my daughter was born.  He told the doctor he had something important to tell me.  He was right.  He told me he loved me.

I remember my Dad helping me when my son was born.  He would come over as he had just closed his store, and he would babysit so I didn’t have to wake my son to go pick my daughter up at school.

My Dad was the one to run around to every drug store in the area on the night before my wedding searching for something that would help rid me of a fever blister that appeared on my lip.  My Dad was the one who made a model of North Dakota with me for a school project.  He molded it, drew the rivers on it, and even stuck a tiny plastic deer to it to make it look more ‘real’. 

My Dad would sing Frank Sinatra songs loud and strong on Sunday mornings while he got dressed.  On our way home from my son’s apartment on Sunday, I turned, by accident, to the Frank Sinatra XM channel and heard, “My Way”.  The tears trickled down my cheek.  I tried to sing along, but my voice left me. 

After his Sinatra melodies, my Dad would go downstairs and make eggs for our Sunday morning breakfast.  He made the best eggs, rarely broke a yoke when making them sunny side up.  The eggs were like my Dad ~ always keeping his sunny side up.

These memories are just a few of the thousands that are popping in my mind.  There are so many examples I could give of the wonderful man my Dad was every single day.  The thoughtful surprises, his generosity, his love.  Whether good times or sorrowful times, my Dad’s love and support were a constant in my life.  He may not be here physically, but I have to say I feel his love and support with me every second.

Two years ago today the world lost a wonderful man, my Mom lost a thoughtful, loving husband my children and nieces and nephews lost what every child should have as a Pop Pop and my brothers and I lost an amazing, brave, strong, loving Dad.  Two years ago today he ceased being an ill elderly man and returned to being a strong, vibrant, funny, loving man, a man I will miss every day for the rest of my life.

I love you Dad ~ always and forever.  

Out of the Blue

Last Friday night my husband and I went out for a quiet dinner, did a little food shopping then came home to pack up for the drive to visit our son for the weekend.  We were planning to leave very early the next morning.  It had been six weeks since we saw our son and his girlfriend and we were looking forward to making maximum use of our time together.  So, with bags packed, we turned off the light and just as we were about to close our eyes a huge BANG echoed through the house!

My husband and I both jumped out of bed and looked out the window.  It was so dark it was difficult to see. There are few street lights on our normally quiet suburban street except for the light at the end of our driveway and a weirdly blinking light that was apparently coming from a car we realized had just smashed into the rear of my Mother’s parked car.  Crap!!

My husband threw clothes on and ran outside while I called 911.  Luckily, my husband was relatively calm (on the outside) and walked up to the youngish man sitting in his smashed car.  He asked the man if he was all right.  The man said he was.  My husband then asked him if he realized he just hit a parked car.  The man got out of the car and began nervously pacing back and forth.  Anxiously, I kept looking down the street waiting to see a police car pull up, nothing.

We were afraid the man would either hit my husband and leave the scene or just leave the scene.  Thankfully, he did neither. With a slightly slurred, distracted voice, he told us this was “the worst day of his life”.  His girlfriend had broken up with him earlier and he had just left his parents’ house.  With that, he must have thought of his parents, so he took out his cell phone and we heard him trying to calm his mother down, saying, “stop over-reacting, Mom…it’s just a little fender bender”. 

The man could not find either his driver’s license or his insurance card.  My husband kept repeating that he should just be calm and that the police would be there soon to help.  After what seemed like an eternity, but it was actually only 7 to 10 minutes, a policeman drove up.

The young policeman was extremely polite and I thought very calming in the situation.  By this time it was only about 11 PM, not that late for a Friday night; I was surprised that not one neighbor turned a light on, looked outside, nothing. Anyway, back to the situation at hand.  The policeman asked the obviously distraught man to move aside so he could look in the car.  That was when the man told the officer that he had a gun in the front seat!  A GUN!!  Not only did he have a gun in the car, the gun was LOADED!  My husband and I looked at each other with the same thought silently screaming out.  We were completely freaked out.

So, here we were, outside our house with my Mom’s car hit, the guy’s Ford demolished, radiator fluid completely spilled out on the street, and a policeman emptying the bullets from a loaded GUN – a gun that he could very easily have used on us.  The guy was obviously on something, something that luckily made him more docile than angry.  This quiet Friday evening was now anything but.  We were thankful that my Mom had already gone to my brother’s for the weekend since we were going away and she didn’t wish to stay home alone.  She didn’t need to deal with this.

The police performed a sobriety test on the man who they told us had a prior DUI conviction.  He could sort of walk toe to heel, lost his balance a few times while mumbling that he had “knee problems”.  The gun was registered, but having it loaded in the car was against the law.  The guy never did produce his driver’s license or insurance and registration, but he did know his driver’s license number by heart.  (Who knows this?)

The police told us the man’s blood alcohol level was such that he was not drunk, even though it was clear he was “on something” besides the fact that he probably had consumed a beer or so.  The man’s parents then drove up.  They live in the neighborhood across the street; the man lived in a neighborhood about 25 minutes away.  OUR neighborhood was not on the man’s way home and the police asked him why he was even in our neighborhood to begin with…he said he was just “taking a drive to think”.

The policeman gave us his name, not the name of the man who hit the car, and a reference number to the police report.  That’s all the information we received.  The police told the man to start his car and see if it was drivable.  The car would not start.  The policeman got in the car to see what he could do and noticed the car was in reverse, so obviously the man WAS trying to leave the scene of the accident before we came out of the house.

Nothing happened to the man with the prior DUI, who was obviously high and carrying a loaded gun while driving and crashing into a parked car, then trying to get away.  Nothing.  He went home with his parents while a tow truck came to take his car away. 

I walked back in the house and I thought maybe it was, for the young man, lucky that he smacked into my Mom’s car, that maybe he was driving somewhere to kill himself…who knows?

The police never asked if there was a reason the gun was loaded.  The policeman told us we were being hyper sensitive about the gun because we weren’t “gun people”.  We are not gun people and maybe we were hyper sensitive, but maybe the guy would have shot us in order to leave the scene…would we still be hypersensitive, while dead?

It was only when we told the story to my son that he brought up an interesting point, no one had asked the guy where his now ex-girlfriend lived!  Maybe she lived in our neighborhood, a neighborhood the man had no compelling interest to be in.  Maybe he was on his way to her house to shoot her?!  That question will never be asked and she will probably never even know he was there.

I was a bit disappointed that the police did nothing to the man, no ticket, nothing.  I hate to say it, but I have to wonder if the police would have acted the same had the young man been African American or wearing Muslim garb.  I bet they would have hauled him into the police station and at least given him a ticket for reckless driving and perhaps a citation for carrying a loaded gun.  Who knows?  Obviously I can never be sure and maybe the police would have acted exactly the same way.  I doubt it.

I am so grateful no one was hurt and hope that I am never that close to a loaded gun again.

My husband and I finally feel asleep and thankfully enjoyed a beautiful weekend with my son and his girlfriend.  This whole experience showed me, once again, that life could change on a dime.  Be thankful and enjoy when things are normal.

Have a great day!