Knit one, purl one.

I couldn't believe how busy my mind became when I recently picked up a pair of knitting needles and a skein of yarn. I felt the need to fill an artistic "void" I began to feel after being away from my scrap booking and card-making while down in Florida. we didn't have much room for all I wanted to take, so, I took nothing, which turned out to be a big mistake.

So, memories of my grandmother surfaced and of the days of when I used to hold the large skeins of yarn between my wrists while she rolled it all into a ball.  For anyone who has ever knitted "back in the day," that was, and continues to be, the first requirement to prevent those dastardly annoying tangles and knots.  In order for me to perform my duties, I needed to stand a few feet away from her and watch while she sat and rolled and rolled a tiny strand of yarn into a large ball. As she wound, I would twist each hand inward in order to allow the yarn to pass. Difficult to explain, but hard to forget.

The exact ones Mama used to knit.

My mind continued down Memory Lane as I envisioned all the knitted hats, scarves and slippers my grandmother created. My sons loved the hats and slippers and wore them all the time. Each Christmas, everyone would get a new pair to replace the worn out or outgrown pair from the previous Christmas.

This year, I was able to complete my first knitted cap that that I had intended to bestow upon my son. A sizing error preventing it from fitting my son's head, but thankfully, my grandson's head was just the right size. He seemed to love it - or was that just my wishful thinking?

The knit hats my grandmother made.

My second project, a pair of soft pink slippers, has been completed with lots of attention to detail and love. The whole time, I remembered Mama's slippers and wished she were here to show me how to make them. I went from memory and apparently, my memory wasn't perfect, but the slippers are practical - if not perfect.

While my brain was racing a vision of my mother sitting in a chair, knitting, came into focus - then quickly blurred from tears. It's been over 50 years since I saw her knit, so naturally, the vision was fuzzy and faint.

Another vision flew in and out as quickly as the previous memory, and that was the memory of watching Rose Fusco, my childhood landlady, knit at breakneck speed. She was a seamstress by day, but knit up a storm at night. I have never witnessed another person knit at that speed before or since. She probably could have held a Guinness World Record.

The '60's version that was my doll.

Rose sewed and knit outfits for her daughter's Barbie Doll. Back in the 1960's (Barbie debuted in 1959), you only owned one Barbie doll and outfits were purchased to fill your wardrobe. Roseanne's Barbie doll clothing collection was magnificent and she let me play with her and sometimes shared her doll clothes. I don't remember Roseanne liking the hand-made outfits, but she never did share those with me. I would have given my eye teeth for what she had. If she remembers those clothes today, I'm sure she would treasure each and every item.

Slippers are done and Memory Lane had come to an end. I can't wait to get back on the "knitting" road again to re-visit those who filtered in and out of my early life and sprinkled so many memories in my mind. 

Had I known our time together wouldn't last forever, I would have savored each memory even more. 

How innocent we were as children....

Love/Hate Relationship

I have been told that at 9:30 pm, on a very warm summer day in 1955, a woman gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She was quite happy to have successfully carried this child to term, following two devastating miscarriages. Her family was now "well rounded" with her handsome husband and three-year old son. The daughter, was almost totally perfect. She was born with a finger-print sized and shaped birthmark on her left shin and she was as bald as a cue ball. This long-anticipated baby girl had no hair for a ribbon or bow, and failed to attain that fete until age two, when fine, straight dark spikes first appeared. She was named, "Victoria." A little baby, but a large victory for her mom.

Victoria spent most of her life hating that birthmark, because she felt it was ugly, obvious and big. She was often asked what it was, and even had a nun scold her in front of her entire class for having a "dirty grease mark" on her leg. Looking back, she wished she had summoned the courage to witness the nun's reaction when she was informed it was a only a birthmark, but the child's head only lowered in shame. She damned that ugly mole.

The passing of time worked wonders for gaining acceptance of this glaring imperfection and she almost forgot it even existed until recently, when a dermatologist insisted on performing a biopsy of the tissue. Victoria argued that it hadn't changed in 60 years, and was confident that if it was "bad," then it would have done her in by now, but the doctor was relentless. 

Fortunately, the results of the biopsy came back negative, which, deep down in her heart, she knew would be so, but something odd happened. Victoria's whole attitude changed about the way she felt about her "special mark." No one else in the world had the exact same mole, of the same size or shape, in the exact same place as she. It had set her apart from everyone else. It was special, thus, she felt it made her special.

Today, that perfect, fingerprint shaped birthmark has a round indentation in its center. It's no longer perfect, thus, she almost felt shame once more, until she realized that no one in the world had the very same mole, of the same shape and size, in the exact same place, with a hole in its center, as she. It remained special, and thus, she felt that she remained special.

The moral of the story is: You can hate something - grow accustomed to it - like it - love it - lose it -  mourn its loss - accept it once more and move on. It's a journey over time, but the best time was when you loved it, so don't waste too much of your precious life on all those negative emotions - get right to acceptance, and love will follow before you realize it was never loved at all.

The "Dash"

They say, “Life is Short.”  It has been said that you should be more concerned with the “dash” between the year of your birth and the year of your death, because that little line is how your life will be defined.  I heard a story about a high school English teacher’s class assignment, where the students were instructed to write their own obituary.  At first, I thought that macabre and out of the realm of teaching, but the basis of her assignment was to show that the “dash” between the years of your life can be as happy, prosperous and productive as you dream them to be. 

I am sure no student wrote that he or she wanted to be a drug addict, or a high school dropout.  No one wanted to be homeless, unemployed or working in an unrewarding job.  Through this assignment, she was able to give her kids a glimpse of how they could hope to be remembered and perhaps the ambition to prove themselves right. 

This caused me to think of how I would like my own obituary to read, and how I would like people to remember me after I am gone.   I know it would be as one who was generous of her time, concern, efforts and love. 

 I need to get busy making my "dash."

 

Ahhh, sushi....

I am still astonished at the fact that I absolutely, positively, entirely, completely LOVE sushi.  I'm not talking about California Rolls, or Cucumber Rolls.  I'm talking about eel, tuna, salmon, spicy yellow tail, ebi, tobiko, and nato.....Okay, not nato.  I exaggerated. 

The man who was my "Man of Honor," Chuck, AKA Charlie, AKA Charlie-San, AKA Joe, is my standing sushi companion.  No matter what name I call him, the one name that never wavers is, "friend." Even despite getting married (and not to him), he and I have our "sushi dates" whenever we can. 

Tonight, I am awaiting his arrival to feast at our favorite sushi restaurant,  Hastings Sakura Garden. We trek about 40 minutes to get to this restaurant because several years ago they moved from their original location that was a mere 15 minutes away.  Let me tell you, the trek is worth it.  These people have become more than just our friends - we consider them extended family, and whenever we walk into their "home-away-from-home,"  we are made to feel that way too.  Long hours are spent perfecting the presentations and ambiance.  Great pride from all, is exuded from the moment we are greeted until we bid our farewell.  How wonderful to enjoy a meal prepared just for you and presented as if it were a one-of-a-kind "gift." 

Tonight, I think I shall have a "Summer Love Roll."  It is described as follows: Salmon, mango and crunch inside, topped with black-pepper tuna, eel, shrimp and avocado.  My mouth is watering.  The sushi chef will, as usual, offer us a specially-prepared appetizer.  Sometimes they are new creations and other times they are one of the tried-and-trues off the menu.  Either way, they are delectable and much appreciated.

I think I hear my friend's car approaching.....Time to chat away 40 minutes and then enjoy the bliss of edible art. Good food, good friends, good wine.  What more could a girl ask for?

Hummm.  I'm hungry.

Coming to America

The Dante Aleghrie

My grandfather, John B. Mauro, was born in Susquehanna, PA on October 31, 1904.  He lived there for about seven years and then sailed to Italy with his parents.  On July 2, 1923, at age 19, my grandfather decided to return to his birth country for a better life.  He sailed as a steerage passenger on the Dante Aleghrie from Naples to Ellis Island, NY.

Ellis Island

Listening to him tell the story made you aware of what a huge event it was in his life.  By the time he was 92 years old, you could watch him look off into the distance as he went back in time and re-told his story for the 1,000th time, verbatim.  After hearing the story for the 742nd time, I began to dread the opening words, "You know, when I came to the United States back in '23, I saw the most beautiful sight.  I saw 'The Lady.'  I stood by the railing of the ship and cried."  That is how the story started, even though it was actually the end of his ocean journey.

The "Lady" he lovingly referred to was the Statue of Liberty.  Tears would fill his eyes as he recalled the sight.  Tears fill my eyes as I remember his words.  The story continues with his search for a good boarding home.  A good home, with good people. People from his vicinity in Italy, Naples.  Then, he would find a job.

Since he wanted to save the best part of the story for last, the tale would then return to the ocean journey.   He reminisced how while traveling via steerage, he was the youngest in his quarters.  It seemed like there were many men sharing the same sleeping area and  after each meal, they bullied him into washing the dishes and utensils that had been provided to each for the trip.  Galley-type meals were included with the cost of the ticket, but since he wasn't too thrilled at being the dishwasher, he decided to purchase his meals in the commoner's dining room.  Unfortunately, by the time he arrived at Ellis Island he had spent the little money he had, and was unable to pay his entry fee into the United States.  He was, therefore, treated as an immigrant and had to follow the procedures as if one.  That is how he actually got to see the main building on Ellis Island.  He waited there until his U.S. entry tax could be paid.  His older brother somehow learned about his status and paid his debt, thus, making  my grandfather indebted to his older brother.

One look from older brother to newly arrived younger sibling, prompted an immediate trip to a store where a new suit was purchased.  Apparently, my grandfather's mother had lovingly sewn him a suit.  It must have been so hard of a labor of love to sew a suit for a son who would be leaving you, possibly forever.  Her tears may have caused the suit to end up as badly as it was described.  Story has it that it was an ill-fitting, green, serge material hanging off my very fit grandfather's frame.  Here he stood....19 years old, basically on his own and looking like he "just got off the boat."  Now, to his mission...to find that "good family" and a job.

My grandfather happened upon a boarding house that was run by "paisans."  Paisan's are people who were from the same town as yours in Italy, but now lived in the U.S.  Italians believe that if you are a "paisan," you are family.  When he knocked on the door to inquire about an available room, he was greeted by a 16 year-old girl who was the daughter of the woman who ran the house.  It was located in Mt. Vernon, NY.  She was the youngest of three, with two older brothers. 

This is where his story takes on a different tone.  It becomes softer and gentler.  He reminisces about courting this girl and winning her heart.  I remember there was an incident of a box of chocolate and a slammed door in his face, a story about shoveling coal in the winter, getting ice cream in the summer and what a great boarding house he had found.  Many other details are getting lost in the fabric in my mind. 

To fast-forward to the best part of his story. It concluded with how they became engaged, got married, had three children and lived happily ever after.  My existence in this specific space and time, is due to the fact that a man was born in Susquehanna, PA and went back to Italy, only to return and meet my grandmother.   

On August 5, 2013, 90 years after my grandfather sailed into the Upper Bay of The Hudson River passing Liberty Island and arriving at Ellis Island, I sailed out of Pier 90 in Manhattan, on the Carnival, Glory.  As I passed Ellis Island and "The Lady," I thought back to my wonderful grandfather, his journey, his story, and his life.  I wish I could hear him tell it just one more time.

On board with me were two of his three children, two of his nine grandchildren, one of seven great-grandchildren and three of seven great-great grandchildren.  He would have been so proud. 

Yet another....

Yet another has arrived to enter my heart.  My newest granddaughter,  Emma, arrived on August 7, 2013.  At the time of her birth, I was on a cruise ship, sailing up the east coast from New York to Canada.  The occasion was my marriage to a most wonderful man. 

I flew out to see her right after the cruise and can't explain how you can so easily fall in love with a wisp of a thing, but boy, immediately, my heart swelled with love and adoration for this little person who doesn't even know me yet.

Trips out to Colorado are not as frequent as I would like them to be.  I will try harder to get out there again real soon.  They grow up so quickly, as I can attest to with my other five grandchildren.

Thank goodness for Face Time.  I am able to keep close to Emma and hers sisters via that format.  I love our talks and time spent over the Internet.  It is wonderful.  Today I Face Timed with her and her daddy.  When he held the camera for her to see me, I watched as her eyes, wide open,  seemed to focus on the image.  I called her name and asked her if she remembered my voice.  She did seem to be listening, or maybe it was my hope that she could.

I will Face Time and watch Emma grow until I get another chance to hold her in my arms again, kiss her face and smell her scent.

Wait for me Emma.....

A little red lobster

I love planning visits to see my six grandchildren, all of whom live a distance from me.  Yet, the whole time I am visiting, I am dreading the thought of when we will eventually have to say, "Goodbye."

The toughest ones to visit, out of the six, are the three in Colorado. I don't get out there as often as I do to visit the three in North Carolina as those can be a road trip for a long weekend,to catch a recital, holiday or birthday. Colorado takes planning, money and time.

My sweet six-year-old, Nina, is the eldest of the three Colorado girls and when I do get to visit there, she too is very aware that my visit will eventually come to an end. She is always drawing me a picture to take home with me "so I won't forget her." Yeah, like I ever could. On my last visit, she created a crayon drawing that was markedly improved from my last visit. She is staying in the lines so much better now. At home I have a huge folder filled with drawings from all of my grandkids. I can't wait for the day when I either give them back, or at least let them view my collection.

On this visit, I had just returned from a cruise to Nova Scotia, and while there I brought her back a stuffed lobster that was holding onto a smaller lobster.  When I gave it to her, I told her I liked to think that I was the big lobster and she was the little one. She loved it and slept with it each night of my visit. She called it, "Meema," her name for me. 

The thing that warmed my heart, yet broke it in two, was when she handed me the stuffed toy and asked me to separate the two lobsters. She explained that I should take the baby lobster home with me to remind me of her and, in turn, she would keep the big one(aka Meema)so we could be with each other all the time. As hard as I tried, I couldn't hold back the tears. I grabbed  her and the lobsters and held on as tightly as I dared. Part of me wanted to keep the two lobsters together, as they were meant to be - like the way I wanted to be with her, however, she insisted, so we got the scissors and I snipped just two little threads to separate them. We each took "the other," and made believe that they were talking to each other - puppet-like.  We laughed on the outside, but I knew we were each a little sad on the inside. 

The next evening, I left on a red-eye flight to NY. I crept into each of the kid's rooms to kiss their foreheads and take in my last deep breath of them (until my next visit). 

When I entered Nina's room, there she was, with "me" by her side, sleeping like an angel. My kiss lingered a second longer.

Packed in my carry-on bag was "her."  

I sat on the plane and made a fool out of myself, sobbing deeply with a little red lobster pressed to my face. I didn't care who saw me or what they thought. I could only think of what I was leaving behind.

So, a little red lobster sits on my desk.  A constant reminder that my Nina is with me every day, not only in my heart, but right in front of me. A constant, tangible reminder.

Some day, I will tell her that she never had to give me anything to remind me of her. I could never forget her; she is burned in my mind, my heart and my soul.

That little red lobster is so darn cute, just like my Nina.

Thank you, Nina, for being "you.”

"REVISED” 11/5/2024

Last year, the two lobsters were sewn back together. Nina, then 16, was ready to put Meema lobster away for safe keeping. She knew I’d always visit and never forget her. 

Some photos from our visits:

Animal Magnatism

I can remember every pet that ever loved me. I didn't pay a dime for any of my special friends, nor was I ever looking for a pet, they just somehow showed up at different times of my life. Each one has left a special mark in my heart and earned a spot in my mind forever. My first pet came into my life around 1958.....Lucky, the stray Heinz 57 mutt. As I wrote in a previous blog, he wandered into my life as an injured, lost soul and warmed up some really cold nights for me. Great dog.  

Buffy was next. He actually was my grandfather's dog and I got to name him and pretended that he was mine. He was a yellow lab mix and a stray as well. He was a super-smart dog and had eyes that led straight to his sweet soul. At night, he was supposed to sleep in the basement, buy my grandfather and I would sneak him upstairs to sleep in the living room.  My grandmother pretended not to notice.

My next pet was quite a story. I read about him on the front page of the local paper in Mt. Vernon, NY. The Daily Argus, way back in 1973.  It was the day after Christmas and he was found during a snowstorm, wavering from side to side of a double yellow line on Lincoln Avenue in Pelham, NY. Not a location that would ensure a long, healthy life for a puppy. A woman picked him up and brought him to her home. She was unable to keep him and had hoped the story in the paper would find his rightful owner.  I guess the "rightful" owner ended up being me, since no one claimed the poor boy. Ta-da!!! Sammy entered my life.  He was my buddy through the first 13 years of marriage and the birth of my two sons.  Sammy was the best dog ever.  He was protective, loving, and had a deep sense of understanding.  He had this uncanny sense of knowing whenever I was sad.  There were too many times when he would curl up next to me and lick away tears as they fell from my eyes.  He would lay a paw on my shoulder, as if to say, "I'm here."  He had "those eyes" too.  Those soul-searching eyes. 

The pal who followed Sammy was named Auggie, named after Auggie Doggie, the cartoon.  He was a full-bred beagle that was given away because he had a physical defect - a bend in his tail.  No good for a breeder, or to use as a show dog, but let me tell you, he was quite the entertainer.  He kept the family laughing at his antics, which included getting loose, stealing food and leaving the evidence on my front lawn.  He showed up  with various items, but the most memorable were the peach can stuck on his snout, a half-defrosted roast beef, a raw turkey neck, and various dishes that, at one time, held cat food. He ate anything and everything.  He got "skunked" a couple of times and actually let someone enter our home one night without so much as a raised eye lid.  I think he may have snored through it all.

The adventure that followed Auggie was the well-renowned, chick-magnet, collegiate and well-traveled "Tank."  So named by my son.  I called him "Mommy's baby," or "Tankie."  Tank lived in more places than my kids had at the time.  He spent a semester at Cobbleskill Community College, he hung out at Fulgum's Bar, sat in the front seat of a Jeep Wrangler while cruising around town and flashed "those eyes" at all the girls.  He also loved to sleep under the covers in my bed.  A wonderful foot warmer and friend. Everyone in our little town knew him. Tank lived to the ripe old age of 14!  He was well cared for and well loved by many right up to his last day.  He lived a most charmed life.

Bogey, although not technically mine, earned a spot on my list.  He helped me find the man I am about to marry.  It's too long a story to go into, but suffice it to say, that I agreed to a first date based on the fact that he had a Golden Retriever.  I figured that anyone who has a Golden, can't be that bad  Fast forward to today, as I count down the days to our wedding.  Bogey, although named for the golf term, was a true tennis fan.  He LOVED tennis balls and had to have TWO thrown out to him in the yard.  Not one.....it had to be two.  

He was a lover and a super spoiled sweetheart. It ended up that Bogey and Tank were the same age.  They were both gently sent to the gate within months of each other.  It was a tough time and I well up with tears to remember.  I choose to  remember them running, jumping, wagging their tails and chasing tennis balls.  

I will end this blog entry with my last pet........a black and white tuxedo cat, named Lucy.  To be continued...

Getting married again....

I remember a time when all I wanted was to get married, have two kids and live "happily ever after."  Well I did get married, at 18 years old, no less, and had my two kids.  Two great kids. Actually, they are men with families of their own now. The "happily ever after" didn't pan out, and the 38 year journey is one I wouldn't care to repeat, but the result of the union brought me more joy than words could ever express.  I don't want to come off sounding like the whole time being married was bad, because it wasn't. There were wonderful, happy moments of being new parents, watching them walk, talk and graduate high schools and colleges. Being young didn't factor into the divorce at all.  We were both very mature for our tender ages, but we started with nothing, grew into adults together, and then each  had different ideas of the definition of "happiness" was for that "ever after."

The time period during the divorce seemed endless, stressful, hateful, and utterly bitter-tasting.  I never thought I would make that same commitment again - ever.  Or as Taylor Swift said, "Never, ever, ever, ever."  However, a special individual dropped in my lap when I wasn't looking.  I was not especially thrilled at the timing, but I knew in my heart, that I would "never, ever, ever, ever" find a guy who would treat me like he did and make me feel how I waited a lifetime to feel - as though I was his #1.

This August, we are getting married.  After being together for 10 years, we have now decided to "make it legal."  Last week, we got our marriage license, yesterday, we picked out wedding bands.  We are getting closer and closer to the big day.  When the jeweler asked what we would like to have engraved on the rings, I knew immediately what I wanted mine to say -"#1."  With his wry sense of humor, my guy said, "I guess I'll  just have to be #2,: but of course, he ended up the same as me, since we both are each other's #1. 

For whoever reads this entry, I wish you the same feeling I was so fortunate to finally achieve - to find the person who makes you feel as if you are the most important thing in the universe to them.  It's a great feeling.  

Mama's Red Purse

This post begins with a small, red leather coin purse.  I found it the beginning of December 2001, quite unexpectedly.  It was a time in my life when I felt so scared, insecure and alone.  It was the major crossroad in my life when I chose to leave my husband of 28 years and attempt to survive on my own.  I had never lived alone before.  Well, there were many years, that in spite of being surrounded by people, I felt quite alone, yet I was never truly totally "responsible" for myself.

So, one evening, I sat on the floor of my tiny studio apartment, wondering how I was going to pay the next month's rent, never mind buy food or Christmas gifts, when I opened up my grandmother's old jewelry box.  I was crying and feeling very sorry for myself, but very grateful I remembered to take this box with me.  After my grandmother passed away, my grandfather kept this box, untouched on top of her dresser.  After he left his apartment, I took the box and held onto it for safe-keeping.  I opened it up and found a treasure-trove of religious articles, photos of all her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, rosary beads, a little statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and a small, red leather coin purse.  All my life I called my grandmother, "Mama," but pronounced it "Mumma."

I fingered the smooth leather and thought it was of a very nice quality, especially for my grandmother to have, since, according to her, she had "nothing of worth except her family."  I opened it up and as I peered inside, the contents it held blurred as my tears fell.  This little purse held three twenty dollar bills and a photo of my grandfather.  Here I had been, wondering how I was going to survive and feeling so alone when I realized my grandparents were beside me all along.  I truly believe my grandmother's spirit urged me on to make that momentous decision to start a new life, and here she was with a bit of salvation in the form of $60.

Eleven years have passed since I found that little red purse and I have borrowed from it many times.  I always paid her back.  Each time I open the purse, I see the photo of my grandfather and it reminds me that I am never alone.  My grandparents cared for me when I was young - I cared for them when they grew old - and now they are angels - watching over me.

Midge's Garden

Feverfew

A month ago, July 4, 2011, George and I spent most of the day preparing a garden bed for various plants, shrubs and flowers. The combination of the varieties I chose were inspired by my friend, Midge. Midge's garden is a well-established perennial haven full of color, birds, squirrels, chipmunks and a cat named Puffin. Planted in my garden today were the dark pink Spirea, lavender-flowering hostas, pink-spiked Astilbe, Coral Bells and Feverfew.

   Astilbe 
  Coral Bells

The Feverfew will be my favorite because it was given to me by Midge. When I visit Midge, I always admire the way her garden seems to naturally thrive as if everything just sprouted up on it's own accord. It doesn't looked like it was planned as much as it was just meant to "be." In Midge's garden, she has rose bushes that she named after the people who gave them to her. One is named after a handyman and one is named after her daughter, Suzie.

Now, I close my eyes and envision my garden resembling Midge's, but I'd never have the talent or time to accomplish what she so flawlessly has. I've had the opportunity to meander through her pachysandra lined paths, under the huge locust trees. past the bird feeders and wren house. It is peaceful and serene. I wonder how she felt when she was able to walk with ease through her yard and enjoy God's, and her, handiwork. Unfortunately, I know how she feels now that she can't.  Everytime I visit Midge, I learn something new about nature, life or how to gracefully live out the end of one's extremely talented life. 

Whenever I look at my garden, I will remember Midge. She was my inspiration for the planning portion and my renewed fervor for the beauty of nature. I have decided to dedicate my garden to Midge. It shall be called "Midge's Garden."

Rude Awakening

I had always wished for a daughter due to the fact that I lost my mother as such a young age. I guess I had wanted to recreate my childhood through my daughter and be the mother to her that I wished I had. The loss of my mother was a tragedy that scarred me, created a “line of demarcation” in my life, and is an event that I have allowed myself to never get over. 

For years I have been selfishly wrapped up in my needs and that ridiculous "want" of a daughter.  However, today, I had a “rude awakening” which made me stop short and look at the woman/mother I have become.  I realized that even though I did not have a daughter, I am the mother to my sons that I wished I had. If my mother had lived, she would have loved me as much as I love my boys. She had always selflessly given unconditional love to her children and I followed in the few footsteps she left behind. I don’t remember much about my mom, but do remember feeling her love. As one of Rascal Flatts’ song lyrics go, “Some of God’s greatest gifts, are unanswered prayers.”  It was probably best that I didn't have any daughters to try to replace that lost "relationship."  What I ended up with my sons are relationships forged over time, taking their natural course - a progression over time with love filling and overflowing, endlessly.  After I am gone, I hope the thing my sons remember most about me is the fact that they couldn't have been loved more. 

Spending time with the family

Today, Good Friday, I began to prepare for the large family gathering that I will be hosting this year.  I will be surrounded by family, friends and traditions based upon faith and love.  I know memories will be made and recorded through photos that will be taken on Sunday for those of us today to remember, but most importantly, so those of tomorrow can have the proof of Traditions!  Famiglia!  Carrying on legacies is a responsibility and by repeating certain traditions, we keep those we have loved and lost close at hand, as I witnessed today.  For the very first time, I decided to pull out a recipe that had been my grandmother's, but my mother inherited it and made it every Easter.  It is called Sweet Pie.  It is made with ricotta cheese, eggs, chocolate and maraschino cherries and baked in a pie crust.  I fondly remembered helping my mom make this pie.  My chore was to dice the cherries.  I also got to watch the pink mix master bowl spin around and around as it blended the cheese and eggs.  She skillfully made her own crust for the pie and rolled out the dough with ease.  She would have flour in her hair and on her forehead.

Today, as I worked in my kitchen, I could feel her presence all around me.  I felt as if gentle hands were guiding mine to cut up, mix up and blend it all just so.  I felt the presence of my grandmother, as well, helping me lift the heavy pink bowl to pour the batter into the pie plates.  Yup, the very same one my mother had used.  Everything on Easter Sunday will be loving prepared for my family just as I had been taught.  Life goes on, things change, we grow up, we grow old, we nurture and continue to show our love.  Some things will never change or be forgotten.  What a great day I had with my mom and grandmother today.  Tonight, I continue to scrub my fingers that were stained by the cherries and smile as I remember doing that many years ago too.  Today, it finally dawned on me why my mom gave me the job of cutting up the cherries! 

Sunday, I will sit back and watch my family enjoy what I have enjoyed for so many years: edible love!  Happy Easter. 

Retired

According to The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company, updated in 2009, published by Houghton Mifflin Company, all rights reserved, the following is the definition of the word "Retirement:"

re·tire·ment



Emily Dickinson, recluse



n.

1. The act of retiring.

2. The state of being retired.

3. Withdrawal from one's occupation, business, or office.

4. Withdrawal into privacy or seclusion.

5. A place of privacy or seclusion; a retreat. See Synonyms at solitude.

Some other words and phrases that fit the description are: hang up the ax, swallow the anchor, call it a day and put out to pasture. 

In light of the aforementioned descriptors, I will choose number 5, "A place of privacy or seclusion; a retreat."   However, after I looked up the synonyms for solitude, I came across these mostly depressing words:  "confinement, desert, detachment, emptiness, isolation, loneliness, loneness, lonesomeness, peace and quiet, privacy, quarantine, reclusiveness, retirement, seclusion, separateness, silence, solitariness, waste, wasteland, wilderness, withdrawal."  Wow, whoever is writing these things about retirement is surely trying to scare anyone away from making that big decision to leave the active workforce.   Thankfully, I didn't look up the word before I chose to "remove myself from employment!" 



I have been retired almost one month now, but have been out of work due to surgery for almost three months.  I have worked since I was 14 years old and, for the last 25 years, as an "Administrative Assistant," (AKA secretary) for the local school district.  I have yet to become bored, confined, detatched, empty, isolated, lonely or silenced.  I haven't experienced waste, wilderness or withdrawals.  So far, I am quite enjoying this moment in time.  I cherish each morning I awaken to a new day full of things to do, but soon I realize that I can always do them tomorrow.  That's when I make that second cup of coffee and watch the birds and squirrels in the backyard, brush my cat, check my emails and perhaps soak in a long hot tub.  After the bath,  I need to check the calendar to figure out what day of the week it is, and then I decide upon what I will actually undertake for the day.  It might be to cook a meal for a friend, bring items to donate to Little Orphan Animals, run someone to a store, meet a friend for lunch or dinner, or cook a huge meal.  No one is asking me questions or looking for answers. 

I love, love, love taking care of the house, my number 1 best friend and love, and my cat, Lucy.



My #1 guy



Actually, I am enjoying the antonyms of solitude:  "companionship, friendship, togetherness."  As soon as I get bored, I'll blog about it.  But for now, Tuesday, March 22 (or is it the 23rd???), Life is Beautiful, just like Miss Lucy Lu. 

Miss Lucy Lu

Spring has Sprung

I heard my first robin a couple of days ago and thought it strange that it was still quite cold for the first "sign of spring" to be making such an early appearance. But, low and behold, I saw two of them today, wandering around the yard, looking to see where I've moved all their food and water sources. It is so interesting to see how the robins pair up and stick together throughout the mating, nesting, egg laying, hatching and feeding stages. Their teamwork is something most humans should emulate.

As much as I love robins, my favorite species of bird is the finch. Finch are around all year long. In summer, some are light greenish-yellow to bright yellow. In the cooler weather, they fade to a brownish green. Their sweet sound and diet preferences make them a welcome addition to my backyard. Fince mainly eat thistle, which most other birds, except for junkos and mourning doves, do  not eat. Since I don't offer wild bird seed, I limit the more aggressive birds, like jays and crows. Now don't get me wrong, I have a great respect for those tough, canabilisic types, but I really don't want them ravishing the robins' nests or bullying the beautiful finch. Not in my backyard!

The finch brighen up the back yard and their small and dainty appearance are a delight to watch. I love the way they fly up, up and away. I even read that aviators study their flight patterns, which, if you catch a glimpse, are quite facinating. Remember to stop and smell the roses and while you are at it, look up to watch the birds soar.

Christmas Toys for My Boys

Every year when Christmas time rolls around, I try to find gift ideas for my two grown sons. This year, I was able to come up with some fun ideas for my younger son, the chef. I gave him some spending money for his favorite toy store, "www.ChefCentral.com," a great Italian cookbook and some special cooking herbs from a flea market in Union Square, NYC.

My older son, the one who works the educational field, is the harder one to find unique, fun-filled gifts. However, this year, I put a smile on his face by sending him his long-ago, long-wished for, never-to-have-received (and thus scarred his sweet childhood memories), TRAPPER KEEPER.

While attending a family wedding, we had a conversation (after a couple of glasses of wine) regarding childhood disappointments and he mentioned that he never received a Trapper Keeper. I couldn't believe that was the first thing that rolled off his tongue. I didn't hear that he didn't get a brand new 10 speed, or a great video game. No, not my poor, deprived son. He didn't get a Trapper Keeper. Solution? Ebay. One "new in package" 1980's version of his childhood desire. I think I had more fun bidding on it, winning and then getting to give it than he did receiving it and explaining to his kids what it exactly was and why he had wanted one so badly. Santa struck again!

Facebook Freak Out

Oh well, I knew the day would come when I would finally freak out over Facebook. I HATE Facebook. I never wanted to join FB, I only tried it to search out my old friend, Roseanne Fusco. Instead, a bunch of people from the 70's, most of whom didn't want to be my friend way back then, started to send me friend requests. I truly believe they only wanted to see if I had gained as much weight as they had after all these years. After awhile of FB'ing, I decided that I actually have enough friends. I can hardly keep up with my "non FB" friends' birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, grandchildren, etc.....and even my own, so how can I have 176 friends who expect me to comment on their FB status, remark about photos of their kids, accept a martini, or help them get a cow for their farm? I can't do it.


I've received about five friend requests lately that I haven't responded to. One is from my 68 year old aunt! OMG. I hope she isn't into Farmville. I hope she doesn't get insulted that I won't "friend" her. I like her just the way she is....I don't need to know anymore about her than I already know. Same goes for my daughter-in-laws. I don't need to know that they "friended" my ex-husband. However, I think I was friends with them first.


The second time I re-upped with FB, I had an issue with the amount of info I was throwing out there. I can't figure out the privacy settings, so I decided to be non-descript. I updated my profile and changed my relationship status and in doing so, started a chain-reaction that crossed from the Pacific to the Atlantic. My daughter-in-law called to ask me what was going on? Did I break up with my long-time boyfriend and not tell her? She had received 6 inquires about my "status change" and she had to get back to everyone. What didn't make any sense is why didn't anyone just write on my wall to ask me?


Another thing that bothers me about FB is that just because we might share the same last name, it doesn't mean we are related....I use my maiden name hypenated with my married name.....You can't be my relative if the married name is the same as yours. FB people, it doesn't work that way.


FB people, I am bored to hear of your travels and I don't care that you shopped all day and are tired (hey buddy, I work with you...didn't you call in sick today?) I don't need to know that you got dozens of Mardi Gras beads. I don't care if you are married 17 days, 1 month or 13 weeks. Same goes for your kids. If I am required to buy a gift, I only want to know when they are completing a full year.


So, I have quit FB. I've quit before, but had to go back because my brother's cat friended me and he was just so cute that I couldn't resist....After all, I guess we are actually, sort of related. But this time, I am quitting for sure. I mean it...No more!


Today I heard that 26 year-old Mark Zuckerberg was anointed Time's Man of the Year. Damn you Mark Zuckerberg for making me feel so old!

Another one to love....

Lola Maria arrived on Wednesday, June 16th! She is my fifth grandchild, my fourth granddaughter, and second child of MY second child, Michael.

She wove a strand around my heart just like the other four have and attached herself firmly within the mesh of love that resides there.

I believe she looks just like her daddy on the day he was born. She seems to follow his eating and sleeping patterns as well. She is beautiful beyond belief, perfect beyond our prayers, and loved beyond her imagination.

 

I cannot believe I am a grandmother of five. I don't feel that old and don't believe I look that old...but then, the face of today's grandmothers has changed. Just look around you. Today's grandmothers no longer have white hair and canes. Good thing for me, because it ain't easy keeping up with five grandchildren aged five and under!

School's Out For Summer!

Today marked the first day back at work since school let out for the summer. The kids finished up on Thursday, the teachers Friday, and today......Monday, June 28th, was a "clean up" day for me. I discarded schedules, lists and the left over programs from the ceremonies I had been planning since March. They were executed without a glitch. They should be flawless since I have been organizing them since 1991. If I havent' mastered it yet, then I should really hang it up.


Thursday, the 1st will mark another year down and counting towards my long desired retirement. I predict this will have been my last full year.

I will be on "vacation" until after the 4th of July. This vacation will consist of catching up on a host of chores I have been putting off for "when I get a chance." My list consists of visits to family and friends, a stop at my favorite craft store, cooking a few home-cooked meals, planning a "real" vacation and spending some quality time with my kitty, Lucy.

No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks. Humm. The saying applies to secretaries, as well as kids!

Where does the time go?

Wow, my first grandchild, Summer Victoria, will be starting school soon. I remember, just as I am sure her mom and dad do, the day that she was born. I remember the look on my son's face as he handed a "minutes old" baby into my arms and said, "I'd like to introduce you to your granddaughter, Summer Victoria." I was overwhelmed with joy, happiness, nostalgia, a touch of sadness, and a multitude of other feelings at that very precise moment. My heart welled up with love for a little pip-squeak that I didn't even know yet. The love came first......and that love will last. Summer just celebrated her fifth birthday. It all happened while I wasn't looking..but actually, I did look. I flew many miles to make sure that my granddaughter would know that I loved her. I was there (or they were here) for birthday parties, Christmases, Thanksgivings and next week, I will fly down to NC to watch her first dance recital. Fortunately for me, I get along great with my son and his wife. My DIL (Daughter-In-Law) and I have a great relationship and I pride myself in thinking that I have a lot to do with that fact. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I knew that I would never want to be a topic of their disagreements, butt in where it wasn't wanted, be a pain in the arse, or just be a Marie Barrone (Everybody Loves Raymond). Back to Summer. Summer was given my birth name as her middle name and I am so grateful for that special connection with my first grandaugther. Since her birth, they have gone on to increase their family with a son and another daughter. My connections have become more octopus-like now. I was able to spend the most time with Summer since they lived locally for her first year. Now, I am racking up the frequent flyer miles trying to include myself in as many special moments of their lives as possible. My son and his wife are great with keeping the bonds strong by calling or emailing often to fill me in on "the happenings." Pictures fly back and forth via the Internet and I often bless the inventor of the World Wide Web. It has helped me stay connected with my grandchildren and observe the passage of time. Summer is starting school......OMG. Wasn't she just born yesterday? Wasn't my son just born last year???? Days I'll always remember... like they were yesterday...Where does the time go?