29 years and counting

Last Sunday was my 29th wedding anniversary. This Saturday my middle child will graduate from high school. Yes, this middle child was the child of my middle years. He was the start of my 'new family' with the same old husband (for those who asked). Many of my girlfriends now have empty nests, and can no longer relate to the daily routines of homework, curfews, sports practices and alarm clocks for kids that won't get up. But my life is very full.

And at this point, I couldn't imagine it any other way.

This past September was the first noticeable milestone. My three youngest babies, were driving themselves to school. So it took me a full week of quiet mornings to figure out that no one was going to complain about the radio being set to NPR and the volume was turned down low. No one was going to run down the street after my car, waving the regulation uniform shirt and tie that they should've had on their body, trying to hitch a ride to school - and be on time. And the silence - it was deafening. It had actually been a full 25 years since I had driven to work without a child in my car. It felt like a guilty pleasure - almost better than chocolate.

My life with this husband has been filled with many exciting adventures. The children are certainly a major part of those adventures. But not all the days or nights have been centered around them. Now that the youngest children are becoming more independent, husband and I are building a new social life. We are starting with each other. The big social network has waned over the years. Sometimes is was because five kids were too many to invite. Later, it was just too hard to be friends with all the parents of all of my children's friends. The 11 year span between the first and last was too wide. So, we start from scratch. Now, we sneak off together, and relax into adult conversations that don't revolve around the topics of children. This is re-discovery time.

My husband is not the chatty type. His attention for conversational detail is extremely limited. Once, he told me he "used up all 5 hours of conversation I have in me: on our first date."

Another time, his mother had told me that her sister-in-law (my husband's aunt) had died. When I relayed the news to my husband, he responded with "I don't listen to second hand news. It is usually not true." So, since the dead woman couldn't speak for herself, and the news was coming from my Mother-in-law to me, to my husband, I guess third hand news was gossip in his mind.

There have been many phone calls over the years that could be described as ....concise. "Hello, My flight is leaving in three minutes. How are you, the kids, life?" "Got to go." "Love you." And once again, St. George would be off to slay another dragon to keep the kingdom safe.

And I, Princess Storyteller, will wait for next Friday night, when St. George and I can escape to our own little kingdom. There, I expect we will share a few new, and a few old stories (and maybe a drink or two). It will be our contribution to keeping the kingdom happy for another 29 years.

I hope.

Leprechauns and Shamrocks

St. Patrick's Day

is my favorite holiday. I love the music,

the stories, the wearin' of the green,

and hearing Irish brogues. I grew up

hearing the music of that language

from my mother who emigrated to

the states from Ireland at the age of 16.

I was taught Irish ballads, Irish step

dancing, the "Stack O' Barley" (a dance),

how to make Irish Soda Bread, and inherited a little

Blarney in the area of language and storytelling.

I grew up doodling little green shamrocks. I was taught

that St. Patrick converted the (pagan) Celts from their

sorcery by using this little wildflower that covers the

landscape with many shades of green. I, myself, came

to minimally understand that the Blessed Trinity was

three persons in one God, by looking at a shamrock.

And if St. Patrick could chase all the snakes out of

Ireland, what other super hero could a person need

in their life? Of course, there were leprechauns and

banshees, but these mythical creatures lived in the

land of faeries. And we could always search for them

at the end of the rainbow where they could find a

pot of gold. Wouldn't that be nice for all of us in

today's economy?

One story I do tell is about my own family.

I speak about how I was lucky enough to travel to

Ireland with my mother and sister, the summer I

turned 9 years old. This was my Mother's first

home visit, since her emigration to the USA,

14 years earlier. The five weeks I spent on

my grandmother's farm were simple days filled

with new sights, sounds, and smells. There were

barn animals,with all of their delights. There

was a peat stove that cooked the family meals,

and warmed the afternoon "tea". There was

even a 'wishing' well like in the story of

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I have

so many memories from that one experience.

But the one I share at this time of year, has

to do with Faith and Family. During the five weeks

I was there, my sister, Irene and I, didn't have any

toys to play with. So, my Grandmother gave us

each a tablespoon to explore with. And explore

we did! And when it was almost time to leave,

Irene and I hid our spoons and a few small

treasures in the stone wall that separated

the chicken courtyard from the path to the

outer property where the larger animals grazed.

We did not mention this to my Grandmother,

at the time. I was nine, and Irene was seven

years old when we left Ireland.

When I was eighteen, my Grandparents came

to this country for a month long visit, and I was

able to visit with them, for a day. My Granny

said nothing about the spoons. So I asked if

she had ever found them. "No" she said.

Then, when I was in my early thirties, they came

again to visit. This time, Granny called me aside,

and asked me if I remembered where in the wall the

spoons were hidden. I said, "Yes!" and she told me

that she and Dody (my Grandfather) were repairing

the wall, and came across the spoons Irene and I

hid so many years before. They made the decision

to leave that part of the wall as it was, so Irene

and I could return one day to find our treasures.

I was married then, and had two small children.

I had always intended to go back.

But.......

As Granny and I were saying our goodbye's, I

remembered that she was now 86 years old. I

knew I would probably not see her anytime soon.

But she asked me to return for the spoons and

to sharea cup of tea. And I promised I would.

At the door, when we went to hug goodbye,

I noticed she was wearing a Miraculous Medal

of our Blessed Mother, with blue enamel.

Understand, this was a woman I loved,

but had only seen for a total of about forty

days in my entire lifetime! As we hugged I said,

"Oh! You love her too!"

(referencing a devotion to Mary, the Mother of God,

and the medal's promises). Granny said,

"Yes, and the next time we meet,

it will be in heaven with her,

and we will have that cup of tea!"

Within the next two years, I had another

baby, and Granny died, in Ireland, in the home

I had visited. My sister, and my Mother returned

to Ireland for the funeral. Irene went back to

find the spoons...they were there....as Granny

had promised. So, Irene left them there for me.

I am much older now, and have still not found my

way back to Ireland, but two teacher friends' were

making a vacation trip there a few years ago. I gave

them directions to "Granny's house" and the cemetery

where Granny and Dody are buried, in Connemara

Clifden, Galway. To my surprise, they actually found

their way to the house. They found the neighboring

house, where my Aunt Chrissy welcomed them, and

fed them lunch ~ and a cup of tea. Angela and Elsje

found their way to the cemetery and they visited the

graves of my beloved relatives. And while there, there

remembered the words I had been teaching Religion

Classes in an Irish song called "Danny Boy". (listen below)

With Faith, these words say it all.

Without Faith....What is there?

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side

The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying

'Tis you, 'tis yo must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow

'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying

And I am dead, as dead I well may be

You'll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me

And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be

If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

Everything Will Turn Out Fine

So, we went to Disney World! It was the birthday of the twins. Imagine, being almost 40 and you have this dream...there is a booming, deep voice in your dream that says, "You are going to have twins." And in my dream I screamed "AHHHHHH!!!HHHAHHHHH!"

Then the deep voice in the dream said "But everything will turn out fine."Now, 16 years later, everything has been fine, in one way or another. My babies are now 16. I remember 16 - I remember that birthday, and how I celebrated it. Will they? The twins: a girl and a boy.

She wanted to go to the place where dreams are made. The place of princesses and fairy tale

endings. There were castles, and roller coasters, bright colors, and lots of laughter. All this for the little girl, who always had a serious side, when it came to work. She was the only one of my brood, that I found in bed at age 5, with self made flash cards, to practice "reading words" for kindergarten. Such drive, such determination! The same little girl wore Easter bonnets, bows in her hair, mini purses and matching shoes. She played with twin baby dolls, decided in first grade, where she wanted to go to college - and started saving her birthday money for it. This little girl, is closest to my heart in disposition and appearance. She is smart, strong willed, and determined. She doesn't want anyone to see her cry, and she will go to great lengths to hide her sad or worried feelings. She would give you anything she thought you needed, including directions for your life. She follows her dreams and works hard to make sure she is followingthe right ones, not just what the crowd is doing.Tucked inside her heart, is a strong leader just waiting for the right cause.

She is my Joan of Arc. I have complete faith and confidence in her. But most of all, she loves deeply. She is honest and faith filled. Her smile brightens up my day. I live for her hugs. This is the child who will stand her ground, no matter what the consequence, through every emotion a disciplining parent could feel. That is until, you hug her and tell her she's safe, and you love her.

Then she melts.

One of my favorite pictures is of her at age 3. She was wearing an apron, with a chocolate batter-covered wooden spoon in hand. Then, she was 'helping' me make cupcakes. Now, she rules the kitchen with Epicurean delights.

So, here is one of my babies with the face I love. We did something very unusual for us. We planned to spend the day at the Disney World park and took advantage of the Disney World discount of "free on your birthday" pass. We went to the Magic Kingdom and spent the day doing rides, food, and photos. In this photo, a salesperson had just decorated my husband and 'baby' with mouse ears. We skipped "it's a small world" but did Space Mountain, and other rides, using a special fast pass to avoid lines and crowds. It was a fun day.

What do I see in this photo? I see faces that I love. And one is of my baby. I still remember the day he was born.

He was so cute. I had no idea the joy he was about to bring into my life. He is patient, kind, loving and curious. He is my baby, and yet, I never really saw him as a baby in the sense of being dependant or clingy. He has always had his own mind, curious and thoughtful. His heart is pure and honest. He craves a just world. He has always been willing to share his "space" in life with his siblings. Yet, he reigns larger than life in my world. What a gift he is!

And the other face in my photo, I know that face so well. I know the eyes, the nose, the smile, the glance. I know almost everything about him. And yet, after 29 years, I know nothing. But on this day, he gave up his busy routine to salvage one more memory of our babies childhood. On this day, he too was a childlike in his joy - that is, except in the Tiki House - where he was Dad again, and fell asleep when the lights went low. But, even children need naps, don't they? So, deep voice: everything did turn out just fine!

Everyone Loves Maryellen

  Let me describe Maryellen. She was the first smiling face to welcome me on the school playground when I moved here ten years ago. She is obviously, observant. She is warm and friendly, and quickly invites even strangers into a conversation. She is easy to get to know and she lets you in on her world, at the moment. And you can relate. She is cheerful, and will bring out the smile in you, even if you didn't realize one was there. She speaks fast. Her words run together the way passengers crowd a New York City Subway train, fast and furious. She is petite, perky and even in her late 40's she makes bikini's look natural. And she has a radiant beauty that comes from within, and is reflected in her eyes, smile, and her singing voice.

   Some of our children are similar in age, so we have spent time together doing family outings, beach days, picnics, and even school events. At first we would go blueberry picking with young children. Now, we field teenage antics and spend time together on the high school bleachers cheering on our athletes. Our children have enough time together over the years, that they call each other family. Through thick and thin, I know they watch out for each other, even as they expand their own friendship circles. We have prayed together, done Bible Studies together, fostered scouting events, and attended funerals together. All time well spent. 

   Maryellen told me once that her mother was a very wise woman. She said that when she first moved here as a child, she would come home from school crying about kids who didn't welcome her.  She would complain about who was mean to her, and who said unkind things. Her wise Mom would always say, "Everyone loves Maryellen, maybe they just had a bad day." 

  Maryellen said this idea was fed into her pysche for the formative years of her youth. She learned to think outside her own little world, and to reason out the poor behavior of other kids as problems they had in their own lives. Their lack of joy, was not taken as a personal problem she caused. She said it helped her grow up confident and not afraid to step in where angels sometimes fear to tread. "Remember, everyone loves Maryellen."

    This was a refreshing concept to me. It really was something I had never really thought about. I never tried to guess about someone else's life. I would take people at their word, and face value. But Maryellen told me that growing up knowing 'everyone loves Maryellen" was such a positive way to see life, that she taught her own three children to think that same positive way. This enabled them to not doubt the intentions of others in most routine situations. Her children, are natural champions for the understated, and are well received because of it. 

    This thinking doesn't come natural for me. I find myself questioning what I did, or said, in random situations. I look for approval in someone's eyes or facial expression. The tiniest tweak of a wrinkled brow could cause me to mentally retrace my steps. You may not see my interior reservation, or hear my mental debate, but trust me, it can become quite noisy in there. 

So, I try to remember Maryellen. Just thinking of her makes me smile. But I try to think about how she dives into new situations with a confidence driven by love. And that I should do the same. Maryellen's effect is one of kind love to others. What a legacy! 

Recently, one of my daughters wrote a class article with this heading:

   'What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?'

  Her answer? Anything, and everything! I say, try all things with love, and see what happens. 

  Oh, and Maryellen, thank your mother for me, for being so wise. You turned out perfect! 

   

Love is blind- thank goodness!

In 1979, as I was preparing to get married, I read an article in a Psychology Today Magazine. The article stated that research had shown that when people fall in love, they form a mental image of the person, at that moment in time. When couples were questioned after 50 years of marriage, they still held in their mind's eye, the image of the person they fell in love with. Although the person may have aged, gained weight or lost their hair, the ravages of time did not effect the mental image of the loved one.

As a teacher, sometimes a student that has grown up, will approach me to say hello, and I don't recognize them. The youngster who sat in front of me for 180 days in a given year is not the person in front of me now. I know I haven't taught any students that had babies on their hip, or had a six foot frame that towered over me. But they remember me, even though I have aged, changed the size of my clothes, gone grey, and don't even look like I am smiling when my face is relaxed. But I hold onto the image of them, as a grade school child. 

I recently stumbled upon a gold mine. Due to a recent reconnection with a dear, dear friend from elementary school, and high school, I dug out the photo album that even my husband of 30 years, has never seen. My daughters and I poured over the pictures of me in 7th grade, 8th grade, and even high school. Although I remembered High School as a place I would never want to return to, I witnessed a face that laughed often, and surrounded herself with other laughing familiar faces. How could I have forgotten? 

My girlfriend and I were comparing notes about our adult lives. Amazingly parallel is the way I would describe it. And when I saw the picture of her, as she looks today, I realized, how much I had loved her all along. I have missed that smile, and sparkly eyes. There was always a "devil dancing in her" kind of mischief behind the look in the photo. I had so many firsts with her, learning to dance, learning to 'date', learning to be a friend, get through school, drive a car, fraternity parties, learn to spread our wings. We reminisced about how we even did Irish Step dancing together for a school assembly. We volunteered our time in tutoring, forming the seeds of the future teachers we would become. But most of all we laughed.  Many experiences need no explanation and were rights of passage into adulthood during a turbulent time in our nation's history. They were also turburlant times in our families' personal lives. But we made it through the passage, and came out the other side, whole - and smiling. We live in different parts of the country, now. But I think if I was to run into her today, unexpectedly, I would hug her, and cry in memory of our childhood. Not a lost childhood, but one that is filled with memories of her, and I, and others that graced our days with laughter and wonder. I would thank her for just being herself, as she impressed upon me the value of kindness to others, of a smile in the face of heart wrenching sadness, and the beauty and dignity of human spirit. 

 This photo captures such a moment. Here we were in one of those photo booths, down the shore where we would make funny faces and then run away into the future. Who would believe that this photo is more than 30 years old? I still feel like the person in the picture. When did I replace spontaneous laughter with a serious "teacher look" ? How can I get back to that simple spontaneous joy? I know! I need to return to my roots, and remember what it felt like, since it is what formed me, and my friendships with women today. Today, I may not run into photo booths to capture the moment, but I'll bet there is a picture around somewhere with my mouth gaping open, and my heart light as can be - for just a moment. And maybe if I photoshop out the signs of age, you would recognize me as the same frivolous girl in the photo. I wish you were here with me. But just seeing you again, even in a photo, has warmed my heart once again. My heart sees the youthful spirit in this photo, especially in your eyes and smile.  Thank you, friend,  and I love you. 

Friendship Rings

"Make new friends

and keep the old

one is Silver

   and the other Gold."

      I remember my first friendship ring. It was a silver band with "forget me not" flowers embossed all the around my finger. I must have been 11, or maybe 12.  It was my first permanent friendship. Oh, I had friends before. One was Beth Gordon, who was in my 3rd grade class and attended my 9th birthday party. 

 She and I laughed like hyena's until our sides split. I remember she had a wonderful sense of adventure, red/blonde hair, and freckles like me. But she moved away, before school started again, and no one replaced her for a long time.

   There was another girl, Susan DiNardo. She lived a few houses away from me. Susan and I would walk to public school together in first grade. We would stop at Jane and Jerry Lerner's house to pick them up, so we could all watch out for each other, on our treacherous, one mile journey without adults. Small town life, how lucky we were! In second grade, Susan and I transferred to Sacred Heart School. There was a school bus that came to our street corner. So there was no need to walk home, for at least a few more years. Friendship then was based on mutual need. 

    The girl with the ring, was vivacious. She was all the things I wasn't. She was cool, daring, brave, warm and friendly. She was accepting, and tolerant. She knew her way around the neighborhood. She wasn't afraid to talk to boys. She had Beatles' records and knew all the words. She knew how to dance. Together we learned about independence by taking the '20 bus' to Menlo Park Mall and buying nail polish at the Woolworth's 5 and dime store. I remember she always had confidence. To me she was the leader, and I was glad to follow her. I always thought she was pretty, with long flowing hair that would swing when she ran. She had a gracefulness that was like a doe, soft footed and quick. And her laughter ----who could forget that laughter? When you heard it, you couldn't help but join in. Later, after growing up together, and then growing apart, it was the laughter that brought us back together again. But what originally cemented the friendship was the ring. And at 12, a ring was pretty important.

    After watching my own daughters forge their way in the world of girls, I reminisced the  importance of that friendship and the ring. I can't pin point the first time she and I decided we were friends, or remember what the issue was that had us go separate ways. But the path was winding, and shaded with many life experiences. And like all rings, the circle had no real beginning or end. But the ring was a statement of  belonging. It closed us into our own little world of safety and security. Within that circle I have so many memories. I remember laughter, and adventures, tears and frustrations, and the feelings one would expect to have for a sister. 

   Today, I celebrate my circle of friends. And I am grateful for the chance to delve back into that particular circle once again. I am older now, hopefully wiser, and certainly a lot richer for having had these friendships. I am counting on more laughter, more adventures, and a sacred sharing of tears and frustrations in the days to come. I no longer have that friendship ring, as it has gotten lost with time. But what I do have, is a ring of friends that grows as I grow. And besides, now that I am not so small anymore, I need more room to fit in anyway. 

Do You Bunco?

BUNCO is a completely mindless
dice game that just happens to be 
loads of fun.  That's because it 
requires 12 women to play -- add 
some great appetizers and frozen 
cocktails, and you have yourself a 
party.

 Each month we gather. We take turns hosting the event. We gather in our homes, be they large or small, new or old, fancy or delicately simple, neat and not so neat . But it really doesn't matter.We do it for the fun of it. It is an addiction that feeds our fancy for feminine companionship and constant laughter. It recharges our hormone banks back to the days where laughter came easy, and everyone was your friend.  

   Tonight was a Valentine's Day theme. There were red paper hearts on each table, pink and red napkins, and even heart shaped chocolates at each table. The tables were colorful shades of red, pink or white and had the necessary items: pens, sheets of paper for keeping score, and three little dice on each table. The hostess provided an antipasto salad "snack" that was really dinner for most of us, having come from a long work day. There were sweet treats, candies, and munchies at each turn, and at each table. And the beverages flowed freely: soda, juice, wine, and the ultimate concoction of a frozen something or other. 

   I was the hostess in October and had a Fall Theme. The tablecloths, napkins, dishes, even the front door, were all decorated in rich browns, oranges and burgundy's. Even the prize gifts were decorative dishes, or rich tablecloths one could use for Thanksgiving holiday. 

    Each month these perfectly normal women, all who have normal children, normal families, normal homes, and normal jobs, get together and act crazy. And I love it! These are women who wouldn't dream of visiting a gambling casino, a black jack table, or even a slot machine. Yet they hoop and holler as if no one was watching when the roll of the dice becomes a challenge to someone else at a table. And the duck.....get the right combination on your roll, and grown women will play tug of war over who gets to hold the rubber duckie for the next 10 minutes. "DUCK"  "DUCK"  "It's my turn to have the duck!"

    I teach Special Education. 'Normal' in my routine is anything but normal. But Bunco is my outlet, my recreational salvation. It is the chance to develop female friendships, in brief snippet conversations that rotate when the bell rings, and players rotate tables. Like a thrilling cliff hanger, I learn the details of someone's life, in segments. "They got engaged?" (bell rings- tables change). (Next month) "What did he say when he proposed?" Or "Hi! I haven't sat at the same table as you in two months, how is your mother doing? We need to catch up!"

    And of course, every month there are "prizes". There are prizes for the biggest loser, biggest winner, and of course, whoever is holding that darn Duck! It is all in fun, and when I sometimes feel I am too tired to go, because of a hard day at work, my children remind me that I ALWAYS come home smiling. My estrogen batteries are somehow recharged. Sometimes I come home with half a story, a prize for being the biggest loser, and the acute awareness that I belong. And sometimes, every once in awhile, I even bring home the duck.