Reflections on Summer 2013

A little late to post here on my blog, but with the doldrums of winter starting already, I thought I'd post my reflections on Summer 2013 (written in September)...

“Dinner is served!”, Mom proclaimed as she placed a meal of chicken casserole, sweet potatoes and her version of salad on the table.  We all gathered around and I started the conversation off.  “Well, before we get into how everyone’s day was, I have some things I’d like to ask,” I began.  “I need to write my annual piece on how my summer was but instead of MY memories, I want YOUR memories.”  

“Dad,” I continued, “Why don’t you start?  What is one word that you would use to describe your summer?”  My dad pondered for a second, at first a little blankly and then with finger pointing to the air he said, “MAAHH-velous”.  Jake rolled his eyes and said, “Mine was Supercallifragilistic!”.  I surveyed the rest, my Mom said, “Short!” to which Ron exclaimed, “I was going to say LONG – I had the kids all day every day!” and Emma finished us with, “Funtasticalious!”

“Ok everyone, what about your favorite memories from Summer 2013?” I asked a new question.  The answers began pouring in.  “Going to Florida with Ron.  We could golf every day,” Dad said.  Ron answered, “How many times did we actually golf, though?”  Dad laughingly replied, “I said we COULD golf everyday”.  My Dad was really thinking about this and kept going, “We had such a nice time on that trip, good food, good project work, it was cool every day.”  I said, “I notice you didn’t say good company.” To which we all laughed.  

My Mom said her favorite memory was the Cedar Point trip she and my Dad took with the Grandkids and my sister.  Emma said her favorite memory was watching her brother play baseball, and of course riding her bike.  Ron said our Pool Party with all our friends was his best memory and Jake summed it all up with “getting fro-yo at Yo Bubbs!”.

 

By this point, the group was ready for a new question and much to my surprise, ready to participate.  So I asked, “What are you going to miss the most about summer?”  My Mom promptly replied, “Seeing my Grandkids and my Kids, including my kids in law, Ron.”  Emma said she’d miss the long days and sunshine, to which my Dad replied, “Yes that and the heat!”  Ron said he was going to miss shirking his responsibilities and Jake said he would miss swimming the most.

I didn’t share my thoughts and feelings as the interviewer but I will in my final report.  I started the summer with one goal, to enjoy every moment.  I feel like the summer of 2013 brought me the most simple joy that I’ve had in a summer in quite some time.  I slowed down, worked less, paid more attention.  I listened to my kids more and tried to reach out to friends as much as I could.  I went for day trips to visit people we’d been promising to come see for years and made each day count.  The weather was beautiful and each day I was reminded that these are my good old days.

All in all, I think the summer of 2013 was about spending time with family and friends and when we all summed it up over a meal, it felt right, if not a little bittersweet to say goodbye to it for a few cold months.  Now, to make the most of autumn…

The Incidental Writer

     I have proved this year that I am not a very faithful blogger.  I clearly have long gaps between my posts, but it is not because of a lack of desire to be a good and steady blogger.  I think about writing and what I might write all the time, possibly too much.  But the act of writing is often a luxury I don't afford myself.  If only I could have my thoughts recorded instantly like a cartoon bubble that forms above my head.  But alas, that kind of inter-brain technology is likely a few years away.  
     Recently, to prepare for my writer's group, I needed to rely on the pen to paper method and produce an essay.  After all, it is a writer's group and not an "I think about writing" group.  Below is my offering and, in all truth, an example of why I am the Incidental Writer these days.

     I decided today's writing would be fictional. Mind you, not a loosely based fiction about a wearied working mom, either.  Today's writing will not be about my every day life.  I am more than the day to day.  I have stories to tell!  I have ideas to jot!
     "Hey Mom, can I play the computer?," my son chirps loudly.  "Yes, now go, I am writing a story," I answer.  He smiles broadly like he just won a battle and as he's skipping toward the computer I remember why.  "HEY!  WAIT!  Go do your homework first," I remind him. 
     He frowns.  "But Mooooommm, I did my homework," he's protesting this barrier to video gaming loudly.  "Let me see it, " I say as I push my notebook aside.  I check his homework, which is actually done.  He asks for food while I finish looking at the homework so I send him in to wash his hands before getting a snack.  As he does that, he sings everything he says, "I'm washin' my hands...and Mom is wriiitinggg...I.am.gonna.play.Miiiiinnneeecraftttt and then we.will.eat.".  Mind you, this is all at the top of his lungs.  My husband, who has been quietly reading, notices my son's loud singing and tries to offer an intervention by saying louder than my son is singing, "HEY!  MOM IS WRITING!  GIVE HER A BREAK, BUDDY!"
    Enter my daughter, "Mom, I forgot to ask you, can you take me to deliver the orders for my band fundraiser really quickly?  I told them I could come right away." I run my fingers through my hair like Reverend Jim from 'Taxi' or Kramer from 'Seinfeld'.  My husband asks, "How's it going?" and I begin to laugh.  The joke is on me, I guess.  My commitment to write something other than my usual commentary on my little sliver of this world ain't gonna fly today.  I wasn't feeling sorry for myself, I actually think I am really lucky.
     Right before my eyes I have such great characters.  I could write volumes about my daughter, Emma, and her stubborn, silly, smart ways or about my hilarious son, Jake, who although his first year of his life he hardly made a noise, is quite possibly the loudest person I now know.  Or I could write about my husband, Ron, whose one-liners keep me laughing when I might otherwise cry and whose devotion makes me feel secure and loved without measure.  
     I try so hard to think of entertaining fictional stories that don't involve the every day but today, I will breathe in and settle back while the story unfolds with some of the most interesting characters I know.

The Long Way

As I said goodbye in the early morning hours, I had my trip roughly planned out.  I was leaving Boothbay Harbor, Maine at about 3:45 am in early August 1998.  The road was dark and windy.  Driving along coastal Maine is a series of hairpin turns and two way traffic, although considered a highway.  As I left coastal Maine and made my way to the interstate, I had just a few more of these twists and turns before the straight shot toward Boston.  Just as I began to relax and settle in to the drivers’ seat, I turned right and my headlights caught a large, brown object in the road in front of me.  I slammed on my brakes and the giant moose crossed the road.  I was thankful he (or she) didn’t stop and was now fully awake for my drive. 

I was making great time that morning; cruising down through Maine and into Massachusetts.  I decided as I had a fast breakfast at a Highway Oasis that I would take a slight detour in New York.  It was August, after all, and my brother-in-law Mark’s birthday was coming up.  Mark and I have a special relationship.  He and I are good friends; I consider him the brother I never had.  We have always had a good relationship – he is funny and kind, quirky in the very best ways, and we always laugh together thoroughly.  There was a time, early in his marriage to my sister, that I lived with them in Grand Rapids and on more than one occasion, Mark and I ganged up on Lisa in some creative little inside joke.  She’s very good natured about being called “the General” because she would order us both around for cleaning and things like that. 

Because of my love of my brother-in-law, I decided that even though it was a 17 or 18 hour drive, I would take the long way home to Michigan via Cooperstown, NY.  Mark loves baseball, so I decided for his birthday, I would get him a gift from the Baseball Hall of Fame.  I was pretty cocky, too, arriving around at the Cooperstown exit off the expressway at around 11am.  I had no idea that I was a full hour from Cooperstown at that point – this was waaay before GPS had been made mainstream.  I just followed the signs and enjoyed the drive.  And the drive was memorable, that part of New York is just beautiful – rolling hills, farms and green everywhere you look.  The main road into Cooperstown is just as lovely; the downtown looks like something right out of a Norman Rockwell picture.  I arrived at the Hall of Fame feeling really great – although surprised at how far out Cooperstown was from the highway.  I looked around and tried to find something that spoke to me for Mark’s gift. 

As I perused the gift shop I saw this great section of vintage baseball hats.  In that section, I saw a hat that said, “Jersey City Giants”.  I picked it up, put it down and kept moving.  But that hat kept calling to me.  Mark is from New Jersey, and of course, New Jersey does not have a major league team of their own. So I asked the clerk about the hat.  I found out a whole story about the minor league team called the “Jersey City Giants” which was the farm team for the New York Giants in the 30’s to the 50’s.  The hat was so cool and I just knew that Mark would love it.  I had found my piece of Americana for his birthday.

I was feeling pretty great about my day so far; so I headed back out to the expressway thinking I’d still be home pretty early.  I had planned on being home by about 7pm that night.  The New York landscape was just as beautiful on the way back, I even stopped at a Louisville Slugger outlet before heading on to the highway.  I realized when I got back to the main route just how far out of my way I had gone.  I really started to feel it about 7:00 that night when I was still nearly three hours from home.  I had been awake since 3:00 in the morning, drove all by myself and was in the middle of Michigan on my way to Grand Rapids. 

When I finally reached home, I was, quite literally, exhausted.  But I had a great trip, including the side trip to Cooperstown.  That was fifteen years ago, and just the other day, Mark said to me that I have given him some of the most memorable and thoughtful gifts any one in his life has ever gotten him.  He mentioned that hat; and I had to laugh when I said, “Mark, you got the hat – but I got the adventure.”  And I truly meant it – what a great day, a great trip, one I’ll never forget; all in the hopes of finding a good gift.  And fifteen years later, we’re both pretty happy I took the long way.

To Life

Often in my blog, I write because I am moved by something.  This year I have been moved by the beauty of life, the struggle of raising children, the joy of births, the sadness and sometimes celebration of deaths after a life well-lived and day to day living.  I write because I observe something but usually it is because I am wrought with emotion about what I have observed.  This post exemplifies that process.

Today, I attended another funeral, or as they are generally known, a Celebration of Life.  But this funeral was not for an elderly relative who lived fully and saw generations come up behind him or her.  Rather, this was the funeral of a co-worker who succumbed to a brave and ferocious battle with cancer.  She was only 46 years old; just four years older than I am now.  And while I am moved by her life and the person that she was, I am completely and utterly angry about her death.  I know that there is a plan and universe has its reasons for plucking someone from us at such an early time but it is hard for me to celebrate a life cut short. 

She was an amazing person, loved by many, never an unkind word and while I appreciated knowing her the little that I did at work, I was even more amazed by her courageous battle she raged for the last three years.  And yet, I am left with a pit of sorrow because she should have won that battle.  She did everything she could, everything she should; she followed all the instructions.  She had a positive attitude and used humor as well as all the medical treatments.  She really gave her all.  And all is what the cancer took from her. 

Not fair!!!  Not fair that her teenage son is without her, not fair that her husband who loves her so much is now a widower, not fair that her parents outlived their child.  I’m not celebrating that.  I’m incited over it.  As I was listening to the pastor telling us to turn to God, I have to admit I took comfort in the reminder that we are small in the scheme of the universe.  But as I was leaving, my sadness over the loss turned towards anger.  I celebrate the woman, but I’m not happy about losing such a soul. 

Death is such a scary and dark place to think about; when will it all end, how will it end, will it hurt, is there a heaven?  And so in the face of death, I will turn to life.  I vowed in my sad anger that I will love more fully and be more present.  I will put my iPhone down more often and listen more to my kids and husband.  I will DVR less and dance in the living room a little more.  I will take more vacation days and give myself a break about the house not being clean.  So even though I am angry that Deb was taken too young, I learned some things from her death. 

1. Take pictures of yourself with your loved ones and friends; I am often trying to not be in front of the camera because of my battles with my weight but no more  - I want people to be able to see my laughter after I’m gone
2. Live in the moment; I think anyone who is taken from us after a battle with an illness knows that life is fleeting.  We need to be present and act today; not with reckless abandon – but definitely standard-issue abandon. 
3.  Love openly and feel deeply – don’t leave room for doubt or distance.  Don’t let your loved ones question how you felt – make it known. 
4.  Be brave; in the face of life, be brave, bold and dare to dream your best dream.

After leaving the funeral, I called my husband and asked him to bring the kids for a lunch with me.  I needed to see them.  My sadness and anger about the death of this young soul was lingering over me and I needed to turn to my life and start to make the changes I just mentioned.  What I got was so much better than I had hoped for – my children ran to me with genuine happiness to see me; my husband gave me a giant smooch and told me he missed me all day.  I mean, honestly, just when I am mad at the Universe – I get a dose of love big enough to fill any void.  How can one be mad after that?

So as you can see I have run the gamut of emotion today; I wept over the loss of a truly wonderful person, I got angry at the Universe and beings higher than myself for taking a mother from her son, a wife from her husband and a daughter from her parents; I felt happiness when I gazed onto my adoring and adored family as they met me for a much needed family lunch after the funeral.  But these emotions I have felt do not make me feel tired or empty but rather I feel full of life, however fleeting, I feel full of LIFE.  Now you, my dear reader, go LIVE….

Lest We Forget

This weekend in our little town of St. Joseph, Michigan, we have a really cool event happening.  The Lest We Forget (www.lestweforgetusa.org) organization is doing WWII re-enactments; including taking the beach along Lake Michigan.  My son, Jake, and I stopped by our regional airport to check out the campgrounds and we took a few pictures.  


I wasn't sure what to expect but honestly, it was like walking back in time in many ways.  I'm always trying to have a teaching moment with my kids and this was no exception.  I quizzed Jake on the name of the British Flag (the Union Jack) and we talked about the issues during WWII.  All the while, Jake was asking if the airport where the re-enactors, their tents, gear, guns, food, and vehicles including trucks, jeeps, planes and helicopters are parked, has Wi Fi access so he can play some games on his iPod touch.  I just shook my head and tried again; we saw the Allied Camp; US and Britain well represented there.  Across the way were the German and Japanese camps; Jake liked the story we heard about a little boy wandering in to the Japanese camp and having the soldiers there shoo him out for having gone into enemy territory.  


This event puts at the top of mind all the sacrifice and honor of our soldiers and veterans.  I am amazed at the camps that have been recreated with authentic WWII gear; I can't imagine living in such a small space for months or a year at a time; and yet thousands of soldiers have done this and sacrificed for centuries.  These men and women are truly incredible.  I have a grandfather (now deceased) who was a WWII Veteran.  He served at Iwo Jima; which they are re-enacting tomorrow.  Ron has two grandfathers (also now deceased) that were WWII Vets; we believe one was at the battle of Pearl Harbor.  My Dad was in the Marine Reserves during Vietnam and my father-in-law was in the Military Police at Leavenworth.   With that family history in mind, it makes seeing an event like this even more special.


I feel so blessed at being able to walk through such a great, living reminder of our soldiers.  I can't wait to see what we can do at tomorrow's events.  Thank you, Lest We Forget, for reminding us.

Allied Camp

Jake with one of the vintage motorcycles

WWII Jeep

US Camp

Jake was asking about WiFi at this point

One of the larger tents with cots.

Becoming a Step Mom

When I met and later married my husband, Ron, he came with a little extra gift.  That little gift's name is Rachel.  I met Rachel when she was just 2-1/2 years old.  She was just a little blond cutie, she smiled all the time and she was the apple of her Daddy's eye.  The very first time I met her, she was holding on to a kitty just as proud as she could be - the poor cat dangling from her chubby toddler hands.  She wanted to show her Dad what she was holding.  He nervously said, "Rachel, this is my friend Laura."  To which, she replied, "I caught this kitty," and then left the room.

Truth be told, I fell in love with Ron in part because I saw the kind of Dad he was to Rachel.  One of the early established 'rules' of our dating life was that I had to be willing to accept that he was a father and that Rachel came first.  I was fine with that - I appreciated that he so guarded his daughter.  As our relationship blossomed, I tried to interact with Rachel as a loving friend of her Dad's.  She was so young, there was no point in trying to explain our relationship to her - more important to just be a nurturing adult.  Rachel, from the start, was an openly loving little girl.  She hugged and cuddled and wanted to be around us all the time.

By the time we married two years later, we were a happy family unit.  Rachel was four years old when we got married.  I remember laboring over every detail of her involvement in the wedding.  She was a flower girl for us, we made sure to have a family picture of the three of us, I wanted her to have a special Daddy-Daughter dance but we decided it was too much for one wedding to do everything.  So instead, she danced with both of us and played with her cousins in her white flower girl dress and her hot pink tennis shoes.

Time, as it does, marched on and we brought first a sister and then a brother for Rachel.  By the time she was eight years old, she had two siblings with our family and another two on her mother's side. She was surrounded by younger children!

As I think back on those busy first few moments of dating, marriage, new step-parenting, babies, etc., I am struck by how many years have gone by!  Rachel is now 16, she is driving and she is a fully-fledged teen.  Our once warm relationship is cooler, partially by her age, partially by the physical distance between us - we live some 90 miles from her now but still try to see her every other weekend if she'll have us (remember - she's a teenager) and of course on school vacations and holidays.  But there is a coolness, too, fueled because I am her step-mom.  I think back on all the moments we've had with her and I miss so much of her when I think about how her as a child instead of the teen in front of me.

I remember going to pick Rachel up on her first day of Kindergarten.  We were so proud of her.  I took her picture at the school and I cried because she was so big.  We took her for ice cream to celebrate her accomplishment!  She was such a great kid, always helping with whatever was going on - always wanting to be with us.  I remember those times and held on to them because as time goes on, those opportunities get smaller and smaller.

I have always tried to treat her like my own child and I believe in my heart I've done that.  But that doesn't always cut it for a step-parent.  Step-parents (at least this step-parent) don't have the built in luxury of unconditional love from the child.  Rachel has always been more stand-off-ish with me as she has gotten older.  She's afraid of disappointing me, or upsetting me in some way (afraid, mainly, of a potential lecture if I am disappointed, I suppose), but what she doesn't realize is that even though she may not feel unconditional love for me, after all - I am not her Mom - I do love her unconditionally.  I have always loved her, which makes the teen distance all the more painful for this StepMom.  We don't see eye to eye on much these past few years, and it is hard for me.  I feel I don't have a say, don't want to impose my opinion although I find it very often choking the very air out of me to not speak up.  Particularly as she looks ahead to college, a subject I am afraid to broach with her because I have upset her so many times already.

I want so very much for my step-daughter.  I want her to know what success feels like, how wonderful life can be.  She has had a rough go in life, what with not having her parents together and then watching new children emerge from other relationships.  Having to get to know and understand new step-parents; watching a step-father go and another take his place. This has not been easy for her.  When she was little, she would creep closer to me, hoping for a hug, never asking.  I would often get frustrated with her quiet need, wanting her instead to just give me the hug.  I wish now I could go back in time and give her 100 hugs for every one I ever gave her.  I think what she needed was even more reassurance that I love her.  I try now to let her know through other ways that I love her.  I clean her room while she is gone, I encourage her to drive me around while she is here.  I get upset if we don't see her on our appointed visitation because I know that too soon, that will be gone.

Becoming a Step-Mom has been the most difficult thing I've ever done.  It is by far the most thankless of my roles, at least so far.  I don't know if I'm doing it right or wrong most days because I get just marked indifference at this point from our teen.  I just hope that when a few more years have passed we can look back on these years as something that eventually brought us closer.  Otherwise, I'll be just another one of the Wicked StepMothers for the fairy tales.  Only time will tell.

Appreciating our furry family members!

     Recently, I have been reminded of how important our furry friends are in our lives.  Yesterday, our cat, Rascal, was missing-in-action.  He lives most of his life outside in the warm months.  He claws at our curtains to remind us that he prefers the outdoors, he attacks us instead of the mice and chipmunks he stalks outside when we refuse to let him out.  Because we are constantly reminded that he prefers the outside to the in, we normally don't worry when he is gone for hours on end.  Until yesterday, when he hadn't been home for a full 24 hours.  I started noticing his absence in the morning, when he is usually my steady companion.  He wouldn't come when I called him, another oddity. I assumed that he was too busy to be bothered with me, although it was a nagging concern throughout the morning for me.
     By about 1:00pm I had reported his obvious absence to my husband, who helped me call for him- to no avail.  We hadn't told the kids we were worried but they came to their own conclusions and around 4:00pm they started canvassing the neighborhood, asking our neighbors if they had seen our little Rascal.  When they returned from their long search empty handed, they wanted to make Lost Cat signs.  We told both kids that it would all work out, but inside, we were both feeling very nervous that maybe our predator, outdoor cat had finally met his match.  
     After all, we live near a ravine that houses foxes and coyotes; it was very possible that he had met up with a faster, larger predator.  We started driving through our neighborhood calling for him, we drove to a nearby park that shares our ravine.  We came back to the house without him.  
     When we arrived home, after calling to him along the way home, we started all saying how much we missed him.  Just as we sat down for dinner, my husband yelled, "Cat!" and pointed at the sliding glass door. There he was, looking no worse for the wear.  To his surprise, he was scooped up almost immediately by both kids and myself.  The sheer joy was apparent on both kids faces, and I know my own as well.  
      Rascal was plunked right down for a full can of cat food; a rare treat.  He was brushed, held, cooed at and in all fashions - spoiled.  I think we all realized when he showed up at the door how much we love him; even though he spends a lot of time away from us.  He graced us with a rare indoor night and morning, enjoying all the special attention he continued to receive.  Both my husband and I took turns holding and petting him - another rare treat for him as we are usually as aloof as he is.  Lucky for us, we got to enjoy him; we didn't have a tragic ending as we were all afraid to have.  
     So for each of you that has a pet, or anyone thinking of getting one; for all the work and sometimes worry than can produce, these furry family members really add so much joy to our lives.  Give them an extra hug tonight!

Rascal on his way to a vet appointment.
Since he doesn't like to be kept inside, this is one of my favorite, "Get me out of here" pictures.

Encounters with Venus

Today, June 5, 2012, Venus will orbit between the Earth and the Sun.  This event takes place once every 105 years; the last time it occurred was 1907, the next time will be in 2117.  These events, and many others, tend to make me think about history – both personal and world history.  I do tend to look backward as much as I do forward and wonder about how things were before my time, and what will occur in my lifetime and after. 

In 1912, my oldest grandfather would be born – today he would be about to turn 100 years old.  When the Venus event occurred in 1907, his father, Irwin Miller; was 22 years old.  He was living in Chicago, ready to make his mark on the world.  I doubt that Irwin knew the Venus event even occurred; maybe there was a small write up in the Chicago Tribune but he was more than likely working or just not paying attention to such things as astronomy.  My family comes from working-class stock so I’m sure being a practical, meticulous young man, the son of German immigrants; that he was busy, head down, trying to make it through each day as he aspired to achieving the American Dream.

This celestial event has given me pause to think about Irwin Miller, my Great-Grandfather whom I had the pleasure of knowing, appreciating and loving for my first eleven years of life. I, of course, knew him as a 95 year old man, but here I am pondering his life at age 22.  What must his life have been when Venus last made her appearance?  I assume that he didn’t know about the Venus orbit between the Earth and the Sun but did he note the turn of the century that he witnessed at 15 years of age?  

Being born in 1885, he was surely aware of that event; he witnessed the birth of the 20^th century.  When I was a child and I thought about my great-Grandfather being born in 1885 I was amazed that someone could watch the world pass from one century to another.  What he must have seen and felt as the Great War was breaking out and he had two small sons at home!  He moved his family to where our family came to be ‘from’ sometime in the 1920’s; by then adding a daughter.  Irwin saw many things:  Moving from Chicago to St. Joseph, Michigan; World War 1, the Great Depression, the New Deal, World War II, the birth of grandchildren, the death of a grand-daughter after a long battle with leukemia, the Korean War, the death of his wife, my great-Grandmother, and so on and on.  Happy times, sad times alike - he saw the passing of one century to another.

I think about my great-Grandfather because it strikes me that not only do we have this once-every-105-years planetary event that makes me ponder what was happening in my roots 105 years ago but very nostalgically, I reminisce about the fact that I, too, have seen the turn of a century.  I saw a new century AND a new millennium dawn.  I laugh sometimes at the Y2K scare and I struggle sometimes to help my children understand the years that started in “19” instead of “20”.  I was married in the year of the new Millennium – Y2K itself.   

           My great-Grandfather lived through historic events; and so have I.  I was in 5^th grade when President Ronald Reagan was shot, I remember the fall of the Berlin Wall, I was watching live TV when the Space Shuttle Columbia exploded mid-air, I attended protests for Apartheid in college, wrote letters to the President about Desert Storm, watched as our soldiers went from peace to war in the early 1990’s, saw the dot-com bubble, I have a friend that was in the Twin Towers the day the planes crashed into them and I saw the turbulent years that followed.  We straddlers of these centuries, my great-grandfather and I , have much in common.

          All these thoughts – comparing what is happening today to what happened in the past – the parallels between the two are entertainment for my brain.  I put like against like as I think back in my family history and try to figure out what was going on 100 years ahead of my time.   

          I wonder what stories my children and their children will tell of their old grandmother that lived in the 20^th century and the 21^st century.  Surely they will be amazed of all the events that happen in my life, like I revel at what my great-grandfather must have seen.  It shows us, we small humans, how big our universe is when one minor event for Venus can envelope 105 years of our history at a time.  How much will happen before the next encounter with our friend Venus?

Celebrating a Life

                This week, I attended the Celebration of Life for my Great-Aunt Gerri.  As with all funerals, there is the normal sadness that the person is no longer with us, this was no exception.  We talked about how she loved to wear hats on special occasions and at church, in fact the ladies in her large family were wearing all 17 of her hats; three daughters, eight grand-daughters or grand-daughters in-law and six great-grand-daughters.  The minister talked about her great love of family and God, talked about her devotion to her community, her entrepreneurial spirit and her general love of life.  She was 90-years-old, so we truly celebrated a life well lived.  But the most touching, the most poignant, the most tear-jerking story was listening to the long descriptions of the love she and my Great-Uncle Walker shared.  They were married 70 years, until 13 months ago, when he passed away at the age of 90 as well.

                As my husband and I sat and listened to Aunt Gerri’s eulogies, we were both struck by the love story that was unveiled before us.  Through the words of Gerri and Walker’s daughters and grand-daughters, we heard about their love for each other.  Married at the ages of 17 and 19, surviving service in WW2, raising and loving three daughters, camping, fishing, helping the church, starting businesses, selling homes, retiring, helping with grandchildren and great grandchildren (including triplets!), travelling and finally, taking care of each other in their senior years, finally losing a battle with Alzheimer’s.  Then we watched the movie made out of old pictures; pictures of high school sweethearts, newlyweds, young family, all the way through their 80’s.  As we watched the pictures, we saw the love on their faces; we watched this beautiful life they had lived. 

                I’ve pondered their story ever since, I want to know their secret sauce, the recipe for making such a beautiful life.  I think the messages are in the story itself; in the description of how they struggled together, laughed together, worked side-by-side and really cherished each other as friends and as husband and wife.  Today, their story would be tragic.  A 17 year old marrying a 19 year old?  That sounds absurd!  But in 1941, not so tragic; and right away, they  persevered.  My uncle was drafted for WW2 and served three years in the war.  By 1943, they had their first child; no easy task to raise a baby while your husband is off at war.  The stories that were told about how they had little money and had to be creative to make ends meet remind me of how we each have to start out together, scratching our way through those first formative years of marriage.  No matter the challenge, you have to rise to meet it together.  My Aunt Gerri was a strong woman, she really ‘wore the pants’ in the family in some respects.  That reminds me a lot of the descriptions I hear about myself; so I really loved the touching parts about how, when my Uncle Walker was in thick of his Alzheimer’s, long after he had been able to reciprocate their deep love for each other on the outside, Aunt Gerri made sure that he had a good meal, maintained his dignity and woke up next to her in the morning. 

                When I held my husband’s hand as we walked out of the funeral, we both had the same thoughts that we shared with each other.  When our time is done, our hope is that the descriptions that were shared at my Aunt’s funeral, are similar to those that are shared about us.  How do you build a great love story?  One day at a time; loving, laughing, crying, enduring, appreciating, hugging and bonding; being constant, being all that you can be for each other.  What a mighty goal for each of us!  I believe we’re on our way.

The Beast Within

There is a girl I know who is simply amazing. My daughter, Emma, is an incredible person. All parents say that, I realize, and we are all correct. Emma is incredible in many ways; as an example, she is hilariously funny. At two years old, she used to not just wave “bye bye” but instead would blow a kiss and say “Ciao!”. She did it once and got some giggles and it stuck for nearly a year. At eight years old, she has perfected her comic timing so that very unexpectedly, she can bring us all to laughter. She also puts on shows for us, lip syncing every Taylor Swift song and acting out the lyrics in an interpretive dance. Another example is that Emma is a voracious reader; I actually didn’t believe her when she read her first chapter book in less than three days. I made her do a verbal book report to prove she had read it. And she had. That was two years ago.

But Emma is not all sugar and spice. She and I continually work on what we call “Taming the Beast” within her. Emma, in spite of her calm and sweet demeanor most of the time; loving and kind to all who know her, has a wicked temper. Particularly when it is time for school or if she wants a pajama day on a weekend, Emma can turn into a Tasmanian devil; hissing and biting at all who come into contact with her. During those times, her father and I feel like lion tamers with a whip in one hand and a chair in another. I have actually said to my son, her younger brother, “Stay away from her! She’s going to hurt you!” And then, when the temper passes, she crumples into tears and sobs of “I’m sorry” and “I love you”.
The beast within Emma, I have told her, is absolutely genetic. The same beast lives within me; dormant for many years now, only coming out on rare occasions and usually around housecleaning. I have told Emma, one of the things to remember is that she has to learn to tame her beast; to breathe deeply and calm herself before she lashes out. This is nearly impossible at her age, but she is trying to manage it. Often, in the moments after a temper flare she will say, “The monster just got out. I couldn’t keep it in” and it reminds me of scenes from the ‘Incredible Hulk’. This temper of ours, it truly is a beast within; and comes out for no real reason at all. This beast of Emma’s, it really just wants love and to have its’ own way. The fact that she feels so badly about it breaks my heart, a mother’s heart who cannot take that sting away for her daughter. And to know that she, like me, will have to learn to calm herself because the good part of Emma, the angel side, is so much larger and she should not allow herself to be defined by her temper.

Luckily, she really only shows the beast within to her immediate family; and I know that is because we are her most cherished and loved. At times, it is difficult to remember that during the temper tantrums of “I hate you. You are the worst mother ever. You are stupid.” But I know that when the storm passes, she will feel terrible and take back all the hateful words and we will be able to get to the root of what is bothering her. She, like me, has to guard against being overwhelmed by her emotions. She, like me, will cry when she sees other people’s pain. She is a tremendous friend, who will fight any injustice leveled at her crew, and she wants to be loved by all who know her. She feels all of it immensely and it is that feeling; that giant heart that Emma has that ultimately makes her so incredible.
Both the good and bad parts of having such emotions make her a joy to have as a child. Most of the time, Emma is nothing but pure love; she is freakishly strong when she hugs me as I come in from work. She asks me how my day was as I ask her the same. She makes up secret girlfriend handshakes and includes me in them with her friends. She picks up her brother, no small feat, and carries him around when her love for him becomes overpowering or she will kiss his cheek until he cries “no more death by kisses!!” And her love for her father spills over onto the floor; she has made up special sayings for them like, “Hers loves hims” and will cry when I sing “Bye Baby Bunting” to her because the song is about a daddy leaving to find a blanket for his baby.

I am comforted in this journey with Emma because I know she has the right stuff to tame the beast within her sweet soul; because she has an infinite palette of emotions. As she ages and matures, I am excited to see what she will paint with that palette in her mural of life. She is an incredible child, and I treasure every experience with her; including the beast within.