Now We Are…Sixty?!?

Gosh.  How on earth did that happen?!?!

At any rate, Happy Happy Birthday to me and to Bruce (Springsteen, of course) whose b-day precedes mine by a few years but follows mine by a few days.  How is that for a riddle?  Extremely lame?  Yes, I agree, but what can I tell you, I AM lame.  ha ha ha ha   I know, I know I am hopelessly corny.  Happy birthday Bruce and thanks for being a remarkable entertainer and human being.  I know some people consider him controversial, but there cannot be any argument about the abundant good works he does, many of which go unknown.

A retrospective on The Boss:

http://www.app.com/story/entertainment/music/2014/09/12/bruce-springsteen-still-matters/15528989/

As for me, it has been quite a sextet of decades, that is for sure.    I have had amazing experiences, 

ups and downs.  While the hard stuff has been extraordinarily challenging, the good has been so spectacular that it far outweighs the bad. Most of the good has revolved around my children.  I was blessed to be mother to four cherished human beings.  In ways they will never know, they have provided me with moments of such pure, sparkling joy that I am literally left without words.  Those times, some simply seconds of an exquisite baby smile or a spontaneous, merry hug, shine up through the years.  I hug these memories to myself. They are my treasure.

Even though every day brings struggles, I have so much to be grateful for.  It is hard, especially when I’m dealing with a lot of pain.  But during the hard times, I pray and then I list for myself the things I am so lucky to have.  My darling grandchildren and my wonderful, generous friends.  I still have a roof over my head, although I am not sure for how much longer.  Then there are the little things.  A perfect cup of tea.  A good book.  The tactile satisfaction of embroidery, like painting with thread.  The soft murmur of rain.  My little dog who wants nothing more than to be adored and my even littler cat who is a constant source of irritation but she is unfailingly attentive and as a result it is hard to dislike her.

I miss my mother particularly on my birthday.   We had a fractious relationship for much of my life, but we were so different we were bound to clash.  I was not what my mom had wanted or expected in a daughter, I had wildly divergent values and goals from hers.  I simply bewildered her at times.  As I got much older I made an effort to understand her and not deliberately provoke her by challenging her ideals and taste, as I had for such a long time.  My sister and I had many a good cackle in private, but I was truly sorry I had disappointed her and then rubbed her nose in it.  I talk to her all the time now, telling her how much I regret our lost time.  I believe she is watching over us from her place in Heaven, where she is healed and happy.  Believing she is happy and at peace at last gives me great satisfaction.  But more than anything I wish she was still here. 

One thing I have been especially grateful for has been the opportunity to express myself through this blog.  Writing has been one of the most rewarding things in my life.  The sheer pleasure of stringing words together in a way that appeals to people has been a delight.  Sadly, someone I love deeply and whose opinion matters to me, recently told me that they considered my blog something hateful and destructive to our family. I have never deliberately done anything to offend anyone I love, so I was stunned to hear this.  The idea that something I was having such fun with unknowingly caused hard feelings just sucked the spirit right out of me  The accusation has tainted what had previously been such source of pleasure and I have had a hard time finding my way back to writing.  But I am trying and also trying to be attentive to anything someone might find objectionable.

Moving on….

What could be nicer than a window seat and a book on a rainy day?   
  

I have amended A. A. Milne’s sweet poem.  My bit, with abject apologies to Mr. Milne, is added in bold.

Now We Are Six 
 

When I was One,

I had just begun.

When I was Two,

I was nearly new.

When I was Three

I was hardly me.

When I was Four,

I was not much more.

When I was Five,

I was just alive.

But now I am Six,

I'm as clever as clever,

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
 

Then came some more

Although never a bore.

Decades happily full

Eventful, without any lull.

Ten then twenty then thirty

School, wed, babies, much glee.

Forty cheerfully came

With much of the same.

Fifty arrived with unwelcome news

An illness, alas, would give me the blues.

Now we are sixty, struggling and stressing.

But the Lord, dear friends and loved ones surround me with blessing.    

I am so happy to be here still.  Happy Birthday, me!

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Christmas Reverie

In this season of promise and expectation, my thoughts go to the myriad of Everyday Angels that surround me, my powerful circle of love and hope. You all, who have given me so much, will be in my heart forever.  I know you will be richly rewarded for your gentle kindnesses and loving generosity.  Especially those of you who know my many flaws but love me anyway, thank you for being role models of compassion.  Your humanity inspires me.  I pray that you all will be showered with blessings.

No matter what, I am so grateful for my children and the many treasured Christmas memories that revolve around them.  Throughout the years, you four, individually and collectively, have given me more joyful moments than you will ever know.   There is nothing you could ever do or say that could change my love for you.  That love is for eternity.

December is such a busy month, and not just because of Christmas.  In our family, we have significant dates on both ends of the spectrum of life.  I have two precious grandchildren born in December.  And, sadly, my husband Dennis died in December, five days before Christmas, twenty years ago this month. Our kids were 6, 8, 15 and 16.  I was 39 and he was only 40.

His death was a hideous shock.  He was an active guy, slim and athletic.  But he apparently had congenital heart disease that was never picked up.  The worst thing I have ever had to do in my life was witness the suffering my children endured at his loss and not be able to fix it or make it go away.  Every subsequent family milestone that I went through alone at first was excruciatingly painful, then gradually faded to a dull poignancy.

We have four grandchildren now, will have five in February.  He would have been a marvelous grandfather, because he was a big kid at heart.   He was always up for playing a game, reading a story, going for a walk or making up silly sayings. 

A tugboat pilot, he was very good at his job.  But it was a career he had been caught in, not a career he had chosen.  At 17, a neighbor gave him a job at Circle Line, the Manhattan sightseeing boats, as a line catcher, the lowest job on the pier.  (This neighbor just happened to be a VP at Circle Line).  Dennis was a reliable, hard worker and popular with the other guys, so he easily worked his way up to deckhand.  Because he was ambitious, he studied for and obtained his pilot’s license, a notoriously hard accomplishment.  He became a captain at Circle Line and then a pilot on the tugs.   

But what he really wanted to be, more than anything, was a high school gym teacher.   He would have been fantastic.  He loved kids and he loved sports, he was a natural.  When I “helped” our kids with their homework, I was shrieking maniac within 15 seconds.  He was endlessly patient.  But he never had the luxury of quitting his job to go back to school, he had a family to support.  So he settled for being an autodidact and was quite learned in many subjects, especially the Civil War and geography.  We used to challenge each other to Jeopardy.  Getting comfortable on the sofa, our younger son would sit between us and keep score.  We’d turn the show on and most of the time it would be neck and neck.  But if I won, it was usually just because I had a faster mouth.  He was always a good loser, whereas if I lost, I would pout.  It was years before I could watch Jeopardy again.  It just made me too sad.

He was a die-hard New Yorker, something that had bonded him with my grandfather.  These two complicated men had a genuine respect and fondness for each other.  And like my grandfather, not-so-deep-down, Dennis was a quiet romantic.  His favorite movies were West Side Story, It’s a Wonderful Life, The Quiet Man and Dog Day Afternoon, all films about flawed men with huge capacities to love.   He had a soft spot for animals, with their helplessness and unconditional affection.  He was especially fond of an obscure TV movie from 1969, J.T.   It has only been broadcast once or twice since (although it is available here on YouTube, in 4 parts).  J.T. is set in Harlem, a touching but raw story about a lonely boy who secretly nurses an injured alley cat while trying to cope with the challenges of inner city life.  Dennis saw himself in that little boy and talked about comparisons often.  Although he had his melancholy streak, he was incredibly funny and had a sharp wit, but plain old slapstick, like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, could leave him crying with laughter.  

Golf was such a passion that he would have pitched a tent out on the green if he could have.   He was a great athlete and probably could have played professional baseball if he had had the encouragement and support he needed as a kid.

Twenty years is an awfully long time. We had been married for 17, known each other for 20, had four wonderful children together.  He had a hard life and dealt with many challenges, some more successfully than others.  He was a very good man at heart, but I know he always wanted to be better.  He was always striving.  I am so sad for him that he has missed so much.   Sometimes it seems as though he will walk through the door any second.  It happens far less now, but I still find myself occasionally thinking, “oh, I have to tell Dennis” and then I remember.  I think he would have been very proud of my accomplishments.  It feels desperately unfair that his life was so short.   But I want to believe he is in a place of happiness and healing, far better off than I can comprehend.

Merry Christmas, Dennis.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Fragment of a painting, Shooting Star, by

Thank you Lord, for making Yourself one of us.  Please strengthen our faith in You.  Please make us worthy of Your love and of each other.









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Wouldn't It Be Loverly?

Boo hoo hoo.  Here comes a major whine.  I indulge myself partly because it can be a relief to express the hard stuff, just to get it out there.  But mostly I hope that anyone reading about what I am going through will know they are not alone if they are experiencing similar challenges.  Somehow knowing that can make a difference.

I am woefully behind in posting here.  I am not feeling well and I am just so tired of even thinking about being sick, never mind writing about it.

As the effects of the steroids I got in the hospital wore off, the lymphedema in my legs returned in spades.  The pain is unbelievable, which is a pretty strong statement from someone who had two babies at home.  If I stay completely immobile, it is tolerable, but it is impossible to not move at all!    To simply make a cup of tea is a struggle that most of the time is not even worth it.  It is so much effort to just get into the kitchen that as often as not I don’t even bother with fixing a meal.  You would think between the sheer exertion and the reduction in eating I would be thin as a rail.  But noooooooo.  Not me.  I am the only human being in history who can eat less and gain more.  Additional injustice. 

The shortness of breath is creeping back, so I started another course of steroids today, at home this time, thank goodness.  And hopefully because I am nipping it in the bud, it will resolve quickly.  Although heaven knows what we are going to do to about this as an ongoing issue.  Next week I go back once again to try the lymphedema treatment.  Hopefully this time will be a success.  As far as the paralyzed diaphragm and shortness of breath…the possibility that this will never get better is too scary to contemplate. 

I am feeling overwhelmed by everything.  I worked so hard to achieve what I did in my career.  However, my prior considerable income is now defunct and I have massive financial issues and responsibilities.  But so much is being neglected because I am so sick.  Having all these things hanging over my head just adds to the stress level.

Besides being absorbed by illness, I am also immersed in regrets and melancholy and beating myself up.  Since all I do, practically, is lie in bed, why have I not completed all my thank you notes to all the wonderful people in my life who have visited and been there for me?  I am so self-involved right now I had very little to do with planning my daughter’s wedding this past Saturday.  But she never complained, she managed everything herself and it was a lovely day.  My gorgeous, funny, smart children were all at the wedding.  But seeing them all together just reminded me of how infrequently I see them in everyday life.  I torture myself with self-doubt about my parenting.  I remember every flaw I have as a mother and every misstep I took as a parent.  I desperately wanted to be perfect for them and fell far short of the mark.

 

In a true coincidence, thirty seven years ago my late husband Dennis and I attended my college senior prom at the very place that Mary Kate’s wedding and reception was held. The Georgian Court College class of 1976 had it's senior prom at Christie's in Wanamassa, which had been there since at least the 1930's.  Now it is the English Manor.  We weren't engaged or even serious at that time.  Who knew that someday we would even have a daughter, never mind that our daughter would be getting married right where we were sitting!   Or that I would eventually buy my own cherished home just a few blocks away?  I was consumed with memories and a sense of incredible poignancy the whole evening.

A decade ago, as I became more and more independent and financially secure, I had envisioned myself at this point in my life maybe working overseas for a while.  My dream was to live in London for a year or two.  I never imagined I would not only not be traveling, but I would be losing everything I worked so hard for and would need another person to help me bathe and dress.

Sigh.

Despite all these complaints, I really am not terribly greedy.  This song popped into my head the other day as an example of how simple my wants really are:

Listening to it again made me so nostalgic and triggered so many more memories!  My father is the one who introduced me to Broadway musicals, he had dozens of records that I listened to all the time and My Fair Lady was one of my favorites.   He had the original recording, with the Hirschfeld illustration of George Bernard Shaw in Heaven, manipulating Professor Higgins and Eliza like marionettes.  It makes me smile because of course I thought Shaw was actually God: an old man with a beard in Heaven = God.  I knew every word to every song and sang along with gusto.  I was such a little ham.

When I was in college I was in a production of Pygmalion and I played Colonel Pickering, Professor Higgins best friend.  (What can I say, it was an all girl’s school.)  My only line was “By Jove, Eliza, the streets will be full of men shooting themselves for you.”  Instead, during one rehearsal I said, “By Jove, Eliza, the streets will be full of men shooting at you!”  That was it, we could never get through that scene without dissolving into giggles. 

For years, when I was little, every Saturday my father drove from the Bronx to Yonkers for me to have my ballet lessons with my cousins. In the car both ways we would sing all sorts of old songs.  This memory is especially precious because it really was the only time I was ever alone with my father, the only time he appeared to even acknowledge my existence.  I don’t mean that as a criticism, just as a fact.  My poor parents were not suited to have children and didn’t know quite what to do with us.  I don’t think it ever occurred to them we could be fun.

I think, for me, the worst part about dealing with all the sickness and loss is going through it with no partner, no one to share the burden, no one to commiserate with.  Friends are a true gift, but still different from a single, loving individual.  How I long for someone’s head resting on my knee, warm and tender as he can be, who’ll take good care of me.   Really, when you consider it, something we all need and deserve.

Wouldn’t it be loverly?

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The Invincible Strength of True Love

In the Bible, 1 Corinthians 13, verses one to thirteen, is famous for the declaration that love is the most important thing in and beyond life. Every time I read it I am amazed by the simplicity and elegance of the message:  

1 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. 

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 

8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. 

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

With Elizabeth and Matt’s wedding on Saturday, I saw the lesson of Corinthians over and over in the presence of the loved ones who celebrated the day with us.

I saw it in Liddy and Matt themselves, how they rarely took their eyes from each other through the day and how they quietly exuded pure joy as they became husband and wife.

I made the liturgical stole Mother Susan is wearing last year as a gift for her.  She thoughtfully made a point of incorporating it in the ceremony.

It was so wonderful to proudly share the day with Matt’s family, his parents, his grandmother, his uncles and aunts, all of whom have welcomed Elizabeth into their arms unconditionally.

Three years ago, my parents, healthy and independent, were happy guests at Ryan’s wedding. My father, even though he is just over serious surgery for a broken hip and struggles to get around, told me he would do anything for Elizabeth and made a monumental effort to be there. He was palpably missing my mother.

Of course my sister, my cohort in laughter, irreverence and all around goofiness, was a huge part of making the day fun, along with her husband and oldest son.
 
Memories flooded me as I watched Mary Kate come down the aisle as Matron of Honor. I could see her the day Elizabeth was born, a two year old not quite sure what to make of her new baby sister.

Elizabeth and Mary Kate

James was so handsome as our usher. He had always been like his baby sister’s personal Court Jester. He was a constant, good natured source of entertainment for Elizabeth and would indulge her in playing any game she asked, singing and dancing along with goofy cartoons on TV or acting out scenarios she directed (usually involving dollies and/or Beverly Hills 90210 episodes).

Ryan gave Elizabeth away. As her other wonderful big brother, even though he was so much older, he also was always finding time to play with her, make silly faces, make her laugh.

My sister-in-law and I have been connected by marriage for over 35 years. She is one of the strongest, bravest, most indomitable women I have ever known. She is as gorgeous today as she was the day I met her. She was with us, along with one of her daughters, a beautiful young woman who, along with her five sisters, I am proud to call my niece.

Friends who have watched Elizabeth grow up surrounded us. These are friends who are true soul mates, people who are so good and good to me they never cease to amaze me with their endless loving kindness. Louise and Henry looked after my father for us and brought him home when he was not well enough to stay any longer, even though it meant they had to leave the reception early. Michael and Bill looked after me all day, getting my massively heavy power wheelchair in and out of the SUV multiple times, a huge outlay of energy and effort. Christine videotaped the wedding as a gift. Juanita and Michael are two of my favorite people in the world, elegant, charming, and, more than anything, kindred spirits. To say I am lucky to have all these people in my life does not even begin to do them justice.
 
As our youngest, Elizabeth held a special place in her father’s heart. With the other kids in school, she and her dad often spent their days together with long walks and trips to the park, just the two of them. She remembered him by carrying his pocket watch with her bouquet.

Ryan walking Elizabeth down the aisle.  Dennis' pocket watch is attached to her bouquet in memory of her dad.

Matt and Liddy’s friends embraced them with laughter and affectionate teasing throughout the day. His best man Jonathan, his friend since nursery school, gave a funny, touching toast that defined what a loyal and true friend Matt is.

My happiness was rounded out by running into other friends after the wedding at the church, by friends of Matt’s parents at the reception and by dear ones who couldn’t make it but were with us in spirit.

These people are the definition of love. The family members who spitefully declined Elizabeth’s loving invitations were not missed. They do not meet the criteria. Love is patient, love is kind. It keeps no record of wrongs.

It always protects. Love never fails.

And now these things remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Some more pictures:

Here comes the bride, escorted by her brother Ryan.

Elizabeth and Matt

One of the centerpieces we brought home.

The banner I made for them.

Banner close up

 My sister Cathy and I

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New Project

I had to stop at Joann Fabrics this afternoon (isn't it hard to believe that there is basically only one fabric chain in our area?!?). They didn't have what I needed, but there was some fabric there that was just begging to become a baby quilt.



So I figured, better fabric than a kitten, and home it came.

The five fabrics are a soft, squishy white, three cottons with a good night, wish upon a star theme and a soft yellow striped flannel that I will use for the backing as well as patches. I will trim it with a white ruffle. I've blocked out a Trip Around the World Pattern on paper and the fabric is in the washer for it's first bath.

Can't wait to see how it turns out! I'll keep you updated as I put it together. Unless it looks like crap, then we will just pretend the whole subject never even came up. lol

One bad thing about being out of work: having very little money.

One good thing about being out of work: having time to do the things I love, like quilting.

Thank you, Aunt Joan, for teaching me how to quilt all those years ago. I still hear your voice every time I fit together a corner. :) I treasure those memories.

Kate McGarrigle

I know it's been a few weeks, but I am sitting here listening to the McGarrigle's and just feeling so sad at her loss. And feeling so bad for her family. Rufus posted beautiful things about his mother on his website. It made me cry.

I actually think her memorial service is today.

I have loved the McGarrigle Sisters since I first heard them in 1975, when I was 21. Kate's death makes me feel so old and mortal, instead of the way I felt at 21, invincible, with thousands of years ahead of me.



For e-mail readers:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fcBEGjK3cM

A Long Time...But Went So Fast

Thirty two years ago today, I became a mother. I have to say, it was the happiest day of my life.

My sweet baby boy is a grown man now. Married. A lawyer even. (You know I had to squeeze that in, what kind of mother would I be other wise?!?!)

Along with my other children, he has given me the most precious, golden seconds, minutes, hours of pure joy. Watching him grow, watching his personality develop has been a gift from God. He was always a little serious, but can be incredibly funny. His smile, his laugh still lifts my heart. Will always do so.

Thank you, Ryan, for being my son. I love you.

Holiday Memories

Despite the overwhelming frenzy and greed of the season, I really do love the holidays.

I love Christmas songs, the sparkly cold weather (and snow, if we’re lucky!), the scent of pine from the tree in the living room, candles, treasured ornaments and, more than anything, the idea of making memories for my children.

I grew up in New York City. My earliest Christmas recollections are of being dressed and bundled and going downtown to my father’s office on Fifth Avenue. I always wore a dress and the skirt, with its full, scratchy crinoline, would be stuffed into my woolen leggings. Ugh, I always hated that! I would be topped off with a matching coat, a matching hat that tied under my chin and, usually, a furry white muff that hung around my neck. Then we would walk a few blocks south, past the statue of Atlas that always fascinated me, until the tree in Rockefeller Center popped out like magic.

One Christmas I got a record player. My father put a single of White Christmas on it so it was playing when we came out to our hoard under the tree. I never hear that song without remembering that moment. It is especially poignant for me to consider that if I was seven, my father was only 28 years old.

I adored my grandparent’s Christmas tree, covered as it was by bubble lights. I feel sad that, even though I know we were there every Christmas (my grandmothers lived across the same Manhattan street from each other) I cannot pull up a memory of my other grandma’s Christmas tree. I know she had one, as I have some of her ornaments. It is just not in my head. Bubble lights trump.

Of all my Christmas’, the memories that are the most precious to me are the ones that involve my children. Providing that longed for treasure, surprising them with something they hadn’t asked for, the pure and innocent joy they took in the preparation for Christmas day. What bliss!

New Year was not a big tradition in my family. We did not stay up until midnight when I was young, I wasn’t even aware of such a thing until I heard schoolmates talking about it. We certainly did NOT ever go to Times Square. My grandfather was a police lieutenant in that precinct and forbade us to even consider it. I never even watched the count down on TV.

I had only been married for a few months in 1976 when the New Year rolled around. Dennis and I were sitting in bed the night before, watching the news. He was reading the paper. The news was doing a report on the Times Square New Year’s ball. And I said idly, “Boy, it is a miracle no one has ever been hurt by the ball dropping.”

A few minutes went by and the newspaper was slowly lowered. Dennis looked at me. “What did you say?”

Ok, I am no rocket scientist, but even I knew this did not bode well. I knew immediately that what I had just said was…um…stupid.

So I cleverly replied “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.”

By now Dennis was really laughing. “No,” he said, “Please tell me you don’t think that the ball is just heaved off the roof and it just happens to take 60 seconds to hit the ground.”

Well, when he put it that way it did sound preposterous.

I feebly tried to defend myself. “Well, they always say ‘drop’ the ball, they ‘drop’ the ball so…” By this time Dennis was laughing so hard I thought he was going to fall out of bed. I decided the least said the better.

Hey, I had a severe New Year’s Eve knowledge deficit, what could I say?

He never got tired of telling that story, practically weeping with laughter every time. Hardy har har.

What are your favorite holiday memories? I would love to hear them.

Have the happiest of New Years!!

Precious Boy

We spent Thursday afternoon with my precious grandson, James Shepard.

He is sweet and funny and breathtakingly gorgeous.

Mary Kate spent about a half an hour pumping up the little pool we got him. After it was filled with water, he primarily played with the box, a broken hose nozzle, Bella (“Bluh Bluh”, with lots of accompanying spit) and his lunch.

His mom had sent a drink box of ice tea with him. After I gave it to him, he took a few sips. Then he took the straw out and put it back in. Out and in. Made goofy faces with the straw in his mouth. In and out. Out and in. Then proceeded to squeeze the box, creating geysers of ice tea. Then proceeded to turn the box upside down and squeeze, creating cascades of ice tea down his bare tummy.



I found these actions hilarious and made no attempt to stop him. The more I laughed, the more he clowned.

Mary Kate sternly told me I was a bad influence. Hey, what are Grandmas for?!?

I mostly sat and watched (and encouraged anti-social behavior) while Mary Kate was running around playing with him. I didn’t even think he was paying that much attention to me. At one point I got up to go in the house and get a drink. He stopped what he was doing and ran after me calling “Nana! Nana! Nana!”.

Be still my heart!!!

I am trying to take good care of myself for several reasons. But he is a big one. Twenty years from now, I want him to know me. I want to be sure he knows how much I love him.


I want him to still miss me when I walk away from him.