Mom's last day...taking the long way home....



Mom on her 50th birthday, 1991



Mom's graduation picture

April Showers bring May flowers. 

Except in our family, when April seems to bring funeral flowers....in 2000, it was my own mother.  Last year, it was my beloved Aunt Dot, Dad's older sister, with whom I spent every summer and holiday. Only last week, it was my mom's best friend, "Aunt" Chris. 

People always remember others' birthdays, but unless you've lost someone close you rarely remember the exact date of someone's death.

For me, with the passing of my own mother, April 19, 2000, I acknowledge TWO traumatic dates: the night she actually suffered her cardiac arrest right before my eyes on April 16 and the date we turned off life support three very looong days later. For the longest time following Mom's death, I wasn't sure which date she actually died.  A friend of mine at the fire station later told me Mom was written up in the report as DOA when paramedics arrived, but I was too shaken for the EMTs to tell me this at the time because I was alone, and since we had no DNR (she was only 58) they did their best to revive her as I stood in horror. 

I DO know the date of our final day together, which was April 15, the Saturday before Palm Sunday 2000, so instead of dwelling on the sadness I feel every April on my mother's "anniversary," I choose to remember that final day we shared, because as I grow older, it becomes more vivid to me, instead of more faint, something I find curious. Somehow I feel it was Mom's way of "being there" for me years down the road. Somehow she must've known she would be leaving soon.

My younger brother, Mark, had just returned from his honeymoon in Bermuda.  He married his wife Susie only two weeks earlier. Mom was dog-tired from the frantic pace of wedding planning because she had a lifelong battle with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and all the later health complications that came with that disease, so I thought little of her swelling joints. These flareups happened routinely with her.  She overdid it, that's all, I told myself.  

She'd had two episodes where she couldn't breathe twice that previous week. First time that had ever happened.  Maybe I should call 911, I asked?  ...No, she said, it'll pass. And that time, it did pass, as did the second.  Damn, I gotta get Mom to quit smoking, I told myself. 

Mom's last day on this earth was an unseasonably warm one and I finally got her to her doctor.  For ONCE in her life, she was actually ON TIME. I mention this because chronic tardiness was Mom's hallmark and guess who she handed THAT baton to??  (hanging head in shame....)

Her doc was equally concerned about the breathing attacks and set up a series of heart tests for the following week.  Who knew she'd be gone by then? But here's the part I like to remember... 

Usually, Mom, who by then rarely left the house and needed a wheelchair, never wanted to drive around and enjoy the sunny weather after an appointment. Let's take a drive, Mom, I told her, expecting her to say no, she was tired, not up to it, yadda yadda.  Then came the unexpected "Ya know what, yes, let's take the long way home today..." 

Pleasantly surprised, I asked where to and the first place she wanted to go was the "old neighborhood." She wanted to drive by her childhood home.  Gramps & Gramm were gone by then and Mom was feeling nostalgic.  As we drove the old route through southwest Detroit, years melted away as I got that excited feeling you get when you drive to Gramma & Grampa's place.  We stopped.  We stared. We reminisced, even though the little house on Sarena Street was, by now, quite run down. We were saddened by the state of Mom's old neighborhood as we pulled away.

From there, Mom said she wanted to visit her parents' graves.  So off we went to St. Hedwig's. It was there Mom said some prophetic things. 

"It's so peaceful here, isn't it," she asked?  I said it was kinda creepy.  "But really, look how pretty it looks in the spring, that's why they call it a resting place."  She wished she could get out and read those headstones.  So...dutiful daughter that I was, I got out & began walking among the graves, reading them one by one to Mom as she pointed out ones that interested her. I kept checking my cell phone.  The man I was dating was supposed to call.  I became irritated and Mom, in her usual manner, began to shell out her unsolicited wisdom. The "mom" speak that irritates the hell out of everyone.  "A watched pot never boils."  "Just ignore the phone, then he'll call," or her best line... "He's not good enough for you anyway."  

Still situated among the dead, we pondered on the sad short lives and marveled at the huge family plots.  We even ran into an old family friend visiting her parents' grave...talk about a small (creepy) world.   After a short visit with the friend, I told mom we should go.  That family friend would be at mom's viewing just a few days later.  But for some reason, Mom was hesitant...in hindsight, she seemed to be surveying the area. "I'd like to be buried near my parents. That is, if you can't afford a mausoleum." Laughing, I told her not to worry, I would be able to afford that by then, since she had years to think about that... and after all, I reasoned, she would die late, since she was late for everything else.

"I hope it rains when I die," she said out of the blue.  When asked why, Mom said "the thought of everyone out there having fun in the sun while I'm dead bothers me."  In true form, Mom was honest to a fault. But guess what?  It rained the next few days as we planned her funeral.  Mom died during Holy Week, so good luck trying to plan a Catholic burial at Eastertime, the holiest time of the Liturgical year. We had to wait till after Easter for her funeral and lived in Limbo for four more days. AND IT RAINED....for all those days, it seemed.

But I digress: back to that last day...Despite my usual multi-tasking nature, it was as if some calming influence urged me to enjoy this ride.  Inside my ever-racing mind, I had calls to return, work I brought home from the office that still wasn't finished and a visit with an old friend planned for later, so many things to DO!  Still, despite my enormous "to-do" list, I felt strangely unhurried that day.  On the way home from the cemetery, we stopped for, what else, a carton of cigarettes for Mom, and I picked up a bottle of her favorite wine.  Then I picked up dinner from Mom's favorite restaurant, Angelo's.

During the drive home, I even remember making Mom gasp as I abruptly crossed three lanes without using my turn signal to get to a gas station I noticed up ahead, selling gasoline for .99 cents per gallon. that's right, I repeat: .99 CENTS!!! (This was, after all, 11 years ago.)  I got quite the lecture from Mom about my risky driving.  "This isn't a racetrack, you know!"  Rolling my eyes, I did not realize this would be mom's last lecture to me. 

Oh, but she gave me some wonderful things to remember that afternoon, as well.  Once home, she lit up a cigarette and we sat at the kitchen table, poured a glass of wine and chatted, but not before I once again checked my phone and was increasingly angered by the nerve of some men! Turns out he had good reason but at the time, I was beyond angry at his seemingly thoughtless manners.

"He's not the one for you, anyway, so why do you even care?" she asked.  (He wasn't). "I'll know the right  man when I meet him." (Turns out she didn't have time to meet him.)  Then, almost chillingly, she turned her dark eyes to me, took a long puff off her cigarette and suddenly became serious.

 "Look, I know your brother marrying before you has you upset (I was already 36)  but I'm not worried about you. You will meet and marry the right man, and you'll do it very quickly." Before I could interject, she added,  "I never believed those long relationships of yours were THE ones, even though you did..."  (Once again, Mom was right.  I did meet my husband a year later and we were engaged within three months, so yes, while my "long romances" were lovely, they simply were NOT "the ones" for me). 

When I showed her a few wedding pictures I'd picked up from the local Photomat, (remember those?) Mom said she was glad I hadn't brought only the bright red lipstick for her to wear to Mark's wedding because she preferred nude lipsticks, even as I argued she should wear a more festive red for special occasions.  SIDEBAR: my dark-haired mom never liked bold colored lipstick and even after I'd given the undertaker that bright red lipstick as her final makeup, I peered into the coffin and gasped in horror during family hour to see that she was right...that bright red lipstick WAS too bright! I had to scramble to ask the undertaker to change her lipstick to a nude shade before open visitation, so typically, Mom won that battle, too. 


And finally, as we sat and pondered about how soon before my brother gave her a grandchild, Mom said 
"I don't care what it costs, promise me you'll put my granddaughter in dance someday. I was always sorry I didn't get you into dance earlier."  (Yep...you guessed it, my daughter started ballet at age 3 1/2...)

But wait.  What??  On that day, how could Mom even assume I'd even HAVE a daughter when I wasn't even sure I'd ever settle down and marry? 

That night, after visiting my friend, I checked back in on Mom and became annoyed because she hadn't touched an ounce of the dinner we'd picked up earlier.  I was angry and said she was wasting away to nothing.  She weighed less than 90 lbs at the time of her death. She chuckled.  "You will be a good mom, you're already acting like MY mother right now," she said as I carried away her plate in anger. 

Those were my mom's last "normal" words to me .... but today, mom's "prophesies" comfort me beyond all comfort.  I don't have the luxury of picking up the phone to ask my mom about anything. I can't ask her if I'm doing the right things or what she might do in certain situations.  But that's OK.  Mom said all she had to say that last day, whether we knew it or not, back then. 

She knew deep down that I'd get married, assuaging my fear of dying alone. Deep inside myself, I thought I was so pickky I'd wind up a bag lady with 6 cats.  Mom believed I'd someday be a good mom...I seriously thought I'd HATE being a mother to anyone but 4-legged creatures who don't talk back.

And her final gift to me was in that last day: learning to enjoy the little things.  I learned that the moments you don't think are so profound become PROFOUND, like taking the long way home and not worrying about rushing back to work on your "to-do" lists.  Like how being spontaneous and stopping here or there, just for the heck of it can be FUN.  I discovered more times than I care to mention that, in talking about everyday things with the people in our lives, we don't think those will be our last conversations with them, but sadly, sometimes, they are. If I've learned anything from an unexpected death, it is this:  as cliche as it sounds, tomorrow is NEVER promised...

My last day with my mother was a warm, sunny and yes, carefree day in April, and aside from the birth of my daughter and notwithstanding the pain of losing Mom in such an untimely manner, it turns out it was the  happiest, easiest day of my life.  For one last day, I was still her little girl. Thanks for the memories,my beloved best friend.  Rest in peace dear mom, till we meet again. 
 


Mommy & me, my first birthday party



April Fools are running the homeowner's aslylum!

My daughter, then age 3, and nephew, age 2 1/2, sure look annoying, don't they??

   A former news reporter and colleague, Mike Holfeld, with whom I worked in Detroit, first reported this story last week from Orlando, where he nows works. I know I'm not alone in my outrage over this story. The first part you read is copied directly to this blog from one of the numerous websites reporting this...the second part will be MY response. Thanks for informing me of this Mike!  To read Mike's blog, please click here: http://www.clickorlando.com/mikeholfeld/index.html

Homeowners Association Wants To Ban Kids From Playing Outside

VOLUSIA COUNTY, Fla. -- A neighborhood homeowners association (HOA) in Volusia County is causing some controversy after it proposed banning kids from playing outside in their own yards. Officials at the Persimmon Place subdivision in Edgewater are pushing a measure to ban kids from outdoor playing in the community, unless they have an adult with them at all times. The proposal would also ban children from skateboarding, playing games like tag, or using loud toys. Parents in the community say they plan to fight against the plan.

 Rule number four of this proposal states that children will be under the direct control of adults at all times. "Children will not be allowed to run, play tag, or act boisterously on the association property." It also states there is no playing in "common areas" which includes parking lots, driveways and in front of the rear of units.

If the proposal passes, homeowners caught breaking the rules will have to pay a $100 fine.

"I think it's absurd, I mean how can you tell kids you can't play?", said resident Magee Pareja.

When I read this story it made me sad for the children living there but also so very happy I am a baby-boomer.  OK, so technically I am barely in that group, having literally been the last wave of babies born under President Kennedy, during the boom years between 1945 and 1964, but still...we had it made as kids, didn't we? 

We played outside.  We ran, we shrieked, we rode our scooters and jumped ropes, we rode bikes and bigwheels, we threw sticks & stones, we fell down and scraped our knees, we cried, we laughed, we blew off bottle rockets (OK that was my little brother, not me....) and yes....we were NOISY!!    

So...here's my own, not so nice response to those board members who believe kids should be kept indoors without adults, or at least to be QUIET while playing outdoors, namely, an uptight HOA that needs to remove the stick from within its own arse!

Dear members of the Volusia County Homeowners' Association:

So....suddenly you, within your tiny little sphere of power, have decided that kids who play outdoors and go a little crazy must be supervised and/or silenced. So it is voted upon, so it shall be.  Really? From which planet did you just fall?  Or better yet, who among you are able to say you had the pleasure of growing up in a world where KIDS could be ....just KIDS?? 

I'm guessing, without all the facts, which goes against all the journalistic ethics I learned in college, that at least a few of the myopic decision-makers behind this new proposed rule are either too old to remember the joy of kicking the can down the street as you walked to the corner store for penny candies. Or perhaps some of you younger members of this association were raised as a product of the "me" generation, meaning you can't be more than 27....so your mommy and daddy both worked like crazy to give you everything, which included anything to keep you busy AND silent.  (Think: Simon, Rubik's Cubes, NINTENDO...) and so... unless your nannies or other such caregivers played with you, your childhood memories probably include long and leisurely playdates with Mr. or Mrs. Pacman, Pong, Supermario Brothers or Frogger.  Am I right?

Even if I'm wrong, this is MY blog, and I can write whatever I wish...so you'll just have to let me rant...LOUDLY. (See Article I of the Bill of Rights...)  

And just to show I'm no "Old Fogey..."  I have a 6-year-old so no, just because I'm a late baby boomer does not mean I have forgotten what it's like to have loud kids running around me.  I am LIVING this right now. 

So let me give you a little picture (these days called a thumbnail) of what life as a kid was like for those in my age group...perhaps if more kids were encouraged to BE kids while they still ARE kids, many of our social issues regarding delinquent teens might well be lessened, although sadly, probably never completely eradicated. After all, if we can't play while we're kids, ya think we just "grow out" of such urges?  They become repressed until we are in grown-up bodies, yet we are still wanting our inner children to come out & play, only now, big kids play harder, and often, they play more dangerously.

We played, and boy, did we!  Before the breakfast dishes were cleared, we all heard the following phrases:

"What do you mean you're bored?  It's summertime! Go find something to do or I'll find something for you to do. Or, the infamous: "Get out there and play...and other than dinner, (when you hear the ice cream bells) you can stay out with your friends till the street lights come on."

So play, we did!  We actually used chalk and drew on sidewalks to play hopscotch. Bet that would make your HOA angry these days!  I'm sure concrete companies would picket your subdivision due to the cruelty kids inflict onto the sidewalks.

We "skipped rope," and sang little ditties matching the beats of our feet as they hit the ground. How annoying to our parents and their neighbors THAT must have been! We chased each other through the yards -- ours and other people's yards, as we shrieked  "Tag! You're IT!"  (I'm sure this is now somehow politically incorrect to someone....)

And here's something you might not know....boys stood in the middle of the street...(I'm waiting for you to catch your breaths)  and actually tossed balls called baseballs right at each other's gloves!  It was called playing "catch."  Sometimes they missed the ball and it went overhead, directly into Mrs. Cook's kitchen window. There were many a shattered window in my old neighborhood. And here's something you might not realize, but these boys were sooooo smart!  They actually knew they must step aside for oncoming cars....kids back then had a healthy respect for safety...I guess they now are missing this in their DNA, according to every newscast you see today.

Apparently, kids today, according to the current wave of helicopter parents and yes, experts, the media, et al., are too ignorant to know they can actually be hit by a car if they don't step out of the way!  Yes, unfortunate accidents happen every day and I'm not deliberately undermining those tragedies.  I'm simply stating the obvious: You hear any evidence of an oncoming car, you move or risk being mowed over. End of story. 

Worse than this...we WALKED down the street, to friends' houses, sometimes (gasp) more than six houses down.  We walked without  parents walking us to our destinations. As we did this, we kicked gross, used, open cans down the street . The best cans were metal and LOUD.  Sometimes we found more than one!  AND boy, that sound must've been ANNOYING to hear. The NERVE of kids making noises OUTSIDE, in the bright sunshine they're being asked to deprive themselves  of, now. 

Let me stop here to make a point. Sadly, I know we do not live in that world anymore, and it seriously is NOT safe to let kids walk even short distances because of the sickos who lurk around nearly every street corner.  But here's where OTHER people, parents and non-parents, alike, helped make it a safer world for our kids.  They would actually see and hear the kids and look out for those scary bogeymen we were warned against...and they stepped up and came to our aid if the need be...without a lawyer on hand or a camcorder to record it all and put it up on UTube. 

We kids were raised to respect other grown-ups, as well....if Mrs. O'Dell didn't like my tone of voice, she had MY mother's permission to call me out on it, lecture me and tell my folks what transpired, thank you very much!  So it was kinda like one big family in my neighborhood because everyone watched everyone elses' kids.

And here's something that might astonish some today: we rode bikes.... without helmets!  And we lived to tell you we did!  Now I am not going to discount the importance of bike safety and helmets because A) I have taken more than my share of tumbles and I'm happy to be able to write about them at all...) and B) I've seen a few nasty accidents and know of even a few adults with closed head injuries due to dangerous falls to the cement... I've even grimaced through a few falls of my own daughter, who hasn't yet mastered how to stop while gliding downhill. 

But to be given a ticket for taking a little slow ride around the block at 3 MPH?  AND for parents to be forced to wear them to be good examples??  SERIOUSLY????  WE PARENTS need to do as the children do?  Back in my day there were double standards...kids were kids, grown-ups were grown ups!  WHY?  Because I'm the mommy, that's why...and that would suffice. 

Oh, and one REALLY gross thing you need to know about your predecessors:  we ate dirt.  No seriously.  We made mud pies and sometimes we "sampled" them...and some REALLY brave kids ate ....bugs!   (not that I'm advocating that...)  but the point is, we all lived!

What I fear we cannot live with, however, is the threat to our children today, who are being told that simply playing outside is a no-no!  What about fresh air?  What about obesity?  Aren't kids already bombarded with wireless technology to the point they no longer even walk down streets?  Don't they already exceed our paid mobile phone minutes by texting each other so much they need not even get together at all?  And if they do decide to actually meet up face-to-face, someone's mom or dad now drives them three homes away to what we now call "play dates." 

These days, if  we parents are in a meeting and the kids have to be with us, when they become antsy, God forbid we should give them an actual bound, hard copy BOOK to read!  Instead, why not give them your iPad so they can play with all the pretty colorful apps! That's progress!

If homeowners associations continue to think the way the YOU think, it isn't the whales, the baby seals or even the rain forests we need to protect.... it's our childrens' rights to be children!  Shame on you for taking the joy out of childhood!  Meanwhile, I'll be outdoors listening to my daughter sing as she spins around in the backyard. And just to drive home my point even further, I'll encourage her to sing even louder!

Happily ever after? Maybe this time...

Call me crazy, since I'm certainly no school girl, but this time of year makes me .... lovesick.  Suddenly I'm more...amorous, I feel more hopeful about life, in general.  I find myself dashing out for the latest "pink" shade of lipstick and a new spring shoe makes me giddy.  This year, as I'm purging clothes & items before moving into our new home here in the Chattanooga mountains, I'm especially giddy. 

Take, for instance, the upcoming royal wedding....I'm absolutely excited  and I'm not even on the guest list!  Not to mention I'm old enough to be the future King of England's ...um...aunt?  :)  I wasn't on the guest list for Charles & Dianna's nuptials, either, but that certainly didn't stop me from throwing a royal-watching party for a few of my closest friends.

It was the summer of 1981, we girls were all abuzz about heading off to college.I had a sleepover so we could all sit up, do all the girly things teens do and then watch the wedding LIVE (there was no DVR back then.)  But as close to the precipice of adulthood as we were, that day, we were all transformed back into 5-year-olds as we watched Lady Di glide up the aisle to meet her prince and live happily ever after. Or so we thought that great day.  History would dictate, otherwise.  But since we were not psychics, we just sat back & dreamed about how lucky Lady Di was.  She was marrying a prince!  And there was a lovely gold & glass carriage and trumpets blaring her procession. I remember how we all sighed in awe of her beauty, her gown, the pomp and pageantry that accompanied that grand day in jolly old England. It was all I could do not to burst!

I smile now when I think about my group of girlfriends and me, all just unmarried gals on the verge of college,watching that wedding, which was soon followed by our own careers, weddings, babies, etc., but that day we were innocent girls who swooned over the notion of love and happily ever after...you know, the way it was read to all of us at story time as we lay in our little beds. 

Flash forward to a hot sunny evening in August, 1997, when I first heard Princess Di was wounded in an automobile accident.  Her boyfriend was already dead and we were all waiting for updates on the princess, herself.  She'll never be the same, I thought.  Her boyfriend died, she was with him, how could she live with that, I remember thinking to myself.  Then came the chilling announcement that Princess Dianna was also gone.  Unthinkable, how such a bright shining star could be snuffed out at once. 

Although 16 years had slipped by between my "wedding-watching" sleepover, I came home the next day to an answering machine jammed with messages from gals I hadn't heard from in years, living all over the state, but all forever linked to me through our mutual admiration of the royals and Princess Di, in particular.

Today, although I am old enough to know that not all fairy-tales have happy endings, I don't know anyone who isn't rooting for William & Kate to make it, long term.  I know I was among those who were most unhappy with Camilla Parker Bowles' part in the whole Charles-Di-Camilla triangle scandal, but there is one thing some might not have stopped to think about...Charles loved Camillia long before he married Dianna.  He simply wasn't ready to marry her before she married her first husband, Anthony and by then, the clock, in royal terms, anyway, was a-ticking.  So he married his princess as was his duty, but his true love for Camilla never stopped, as much as even I  hate to admit this.  So although Dianna's death was a tragic ending, one I'm sure (or at least I hope) Charles never wished for, he did, in the end, get his "happily ever after," despite how many hearts were broken in the process.

So this April 29, as my 6-year-old daughter and I pretend to be proper Brits, sipping tea and eating crumpets (or Oreos) and  watching William and Kate take their vows and ride off into the sunset, I can only hope that because there was no pressure on this young and vibrant couple, who appear to have already sewn their royal oats, and because they waited until they were mature enough to handle the responsiblilites of royal duties (do they really have any, anymore?) maybe this time, there really will be a happily-ever-after storybook ending after all, one in which any little girl can really believe. 

Give me liberty or give me death, just keep my Facebook account!

Anyone from my era well remembers learning the most famous speeches of our founding fathers. Today marks the 236th anniversary of one of those speeches, famously uttered by  five-term governor of Virginia Patrick Henry who ended a speech opposing taxation without representation (Which began with The Stamp Act) by telling fellow colonists to "Give me liberty or give me death."  

Widely known as a symbol of American struggle for liberty, Henry protested British tyranny and served in the Continental Congress. He was the most vocal voice in opposition of The Stamp Act, passed by the British Parliament on March 22, 1765. Don't know about the Stamp Act? Google it and tomorrow, ask any history teacher. Although the actual cost of the Stamp Act was relatively small, Henry and his supporters were most outraged by the standard it appeared to set for future taxation without representation.
My main focus today is not about taxes, but rather, the very last line in Mr. Patrick's speech that has my mind percolating today.  Here was a man who publicy declared that he would rather die than have his liberties taken away. Far too many soldiers or war casualties including uninvolved civilians have already paid the ultimate sacrifice in the name of freedom in this and many other countries.  Ironically, today is also the anniversary of Adolph Hitler coming into power in Germany. How's that for irony?

To boil this down further, I'm thinking about the chains we ALL have, which enslave us to ourselves.  The word "liberty" need not always be associated with national democracy.  It is also a word about those things from which we need to be liberated.  Some are tangible things: fancy homes or cars, a closet full of clothing or a colorful pair of shoes for every outfit. How many of our kids have so many toys we moms can secretly "steal" a few and donate them without our wee ones ever noticing?  How many men have season tickets, X-boxes, gadgets for their Weber grills, the best lawnmowers on the block or golf clubs they polish with pride?

Other attachments are intangible and to me, these are the most dangerous enslavements with which we live.  How many of us have inner demons, such as addictions or anger?  What about our pride?  Our fears?  Our passionate love affairs with someone or with those who choose not to love us back, bringing out yet another fear...loneliness? Our greed or petty jealousies?  Aren't we all really crying out in the depths of our souls to liberate ourselves from SOMETHING?  And in denying ourselves this type of liberty, even if it's not physical death, aren't we spiritually killing our inner psyches?

Right now, as I'm packing for the 2nd move in 6 months, I am in desperate need of my own liberty:  I'm crying out to liberate myself from my sentimental attachment to all things representing my past.  My grandmother's little address book, in which nearly every name is no longer relevant, as these people are long gone.  My mom's old makeup bag, which still carries her scent. My dad's valentine's day card to me from 1973.  My daughter's first drawing.  MY first drawing ( long kept locked away in a hope chest.)

Many people to whom I've whined about how difficult it is for me to prepare for this move have a refreshing way to look at this:  It is a great time to PURGE.  And yet for me, it is hard to pack up and move into new surroundings without bringing my past life along with me. I am chained to my own nostalgic baggage.  Tossing Mom's old makeup bag is, to me, like reliving mom's death, and somehow, losing her all over again.  Purging unearths in me an inner fear that in letting go of these things, I am losing a part of who I used to be.  Perhaps it's a fear that someday I may not remember them at all.  Or maybe I'm fearful that, like some of my dearest friends' parents or grandparents suffering from memory loss or dementia, I may NEED these things to REMIND me of who I was all those years ago. 

For many, having a child later in life is a blessing (it is for me!)  It can also cause us to have a rational fear about how that child might see us in the future.  I have a six year old who someday might not know that her mommy used to do cool things in high school and college because I either won't remember I did them or I won't have anything to prove I actually did them.

I know people who carry grudges with friend or family members.  These grudges go back so far they can't even remember how they started.  Now these people fear it's too late to dredge it all up and  risk their pride to reach out to the people to whom they no longer speak.  So they're attached to fears and pride.  (And to angry grudges that no longer make sense.)

People ask me how I am able to remain friendly with former loves from my past.  Here is where I am blessed.  I do not carry grudges, I do not, nor does my husband, feel I am committing anything wrong by remaining in contact with them because I've evolved from who I was when I was with them, romantically. Here is where I LOVE Facebook.  I do not see it as some vast conspiracy from the government to "know" everything about me.  Newsflash: They already do.  (OK, I'll give my friends and family a moment to flush water on their faces and stand back up after fainting...because YOU KNOW how passionate I am about politics...) 

With Facebook, it not only allows me to stay in touch wth my family and friends on a daily basis from back home in Michigan but I am reconnecting with childhood friends, as well. I've caught up with former teachers I adored while growing up. With former co-workers, college friends and career colleagues. With relatives who aren't even on my Christmas card list because it's been too long to fathom since we've last seen each other.  And yes, I am friends with former boyfriends.  Why not?  I'm not carrying  torches for these men who are now husbands and fathers.  I hope that to them, I am a person who taught them as much about their relationships and interactions as they once taught me.  I have been given the gift from God to see each and every person from my past as someone who was there for a reason or a season (look it up....this is one of my favorite poems.)

Perhaps Facebook is the very vehicle through which I can make it easier to purge some tangible objects.  Just knowing I have "friends" from my past who remember "the me I used to be." I love looking on the pages of other friends who, like me, will copy and download old pictures, poems, drawings, things from their past. You see, I am not alone in my attempt to hang on to my past.  As long as, 25 years from now, I don't wind up looking like Delta Dawn wearing a faded rose from years gone by...it's worth a try.   :)

So today, I challenge you all to liberate yourselves from something...anything you feel is keeping you from being the YOU that you want to be, ultimately.  Take 20 minutes to call or look up someone with whom you've lost contact; donate that designer bag you paid way too much for that no longer goes with anything in your wardrobe -- perhaps another woman who cannot afford such a luxury might be thrilled to find it at a thrift shop.  Give the guy next door pushing a 20-year-old lawnmower some of your "tools" from the garage.  Ask someone for help with an addiction with which you struggle.

Just LIBERATE YOURSELF!  I certainly will be doing my darndest to liberate MY "stuff"  as box up "stuff" from our apartment before moving into our new home and I know for certain that Patrick Henry would be proud, knowing his words were not uttered in vain.

Marly Madness...Happy Birthday Marlena Jane

This month I wish a great big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to our darling daughter, Marly, who, after three (3!) days of labor came bouncing into my world on March 5, 2005.  (OK, add those three days to about 20+ years of holding out for the the right man to sweep me off my feet). Marlena Jane's arrival was dramatic, to be sure, with a health scare for me, being a mother of what the doctors thoughtlessly called "advanced maternal age."  But  once the scares were over and I was healthy enough to come home w/my pink bundle of joy, she completely changed this former career-oriented woman who used to complain about other people's kids into a complete mush ball
Even while I was expecting, I worried  that I would resent this little human inside my belly for changing my life from care-free to chained down, for ruining my figure and for intensifying my already impatient nature.  I never imagined I'd swap a great career where I wore designer suits and sat in at meetings for sweats and scrunchies, talk baby-talk & watch Baby Einstein as I chased a crawling toddler. I also used to roll my eyes, never believing those cliches you hear moms say about jumping in front of a train for their child.  Ask me today and I will tell you without hesitation....I WOULD JUMP in front of that train...now I get it!

Marlena was named for my late mother, Mary and my late grandmother, Lena, (Mary+Lena = Marlena.)  Because I have only my dad to ask about my early childhood, and let's face it, dads back then were just not hands-on... you can say I have been basically "winging it" for the past 6 years.  While he remembers the major stuff, there are many developmental things, quirks, etc., which I wish I could ask my mom about.  Did I do some of the things my own child does? How long did I "need" my Teddy Bear?  Was I super-sensitive about certain teachers or kids on the playground?  When did I become a night owl?  Most of my BFFS have kids in college so a lot of these questions I ask are simply forgotten.  I've lucked out & met some amazing moms with kids my daughter's age who are my age or at least close to my age. Actually, one of  those "girls" is one of my best friends from junior high who became a late life mom again as her older daughters were graduating high school, so I'm not completely alone, thankfully!

Quitting work to stay home full-time also taught me something else:  I used to hear women say they "need" work to keep their sanity...and it never made sense to me.  Why would you want to do all that work at the office only to come home and do MORE WORK??  But I can understand that statement, now.  This is THE toughest, most thankless job I've ever had, and anyone who knows me knows that I've had A LOT OF JOBS. The difference is, this one never ends!  If your boss calls you in the middle of the night, and you REALLY don't feel like taking that call, well whoopsie...I must've had to charge my phone, sorry!  If your child is up at night from a bad dream or worse, throwing up all over the bedsheets you JUST CHANGED....you cannot escape it and you certainly do not get a thank you, but rather a "Why didn't you come AS SOON AS I CALLED YOU MOMMY?"   Really, I'm lucky to plop on our leather couch at 10:30 JUST as my hubby is dozing off.... y'see....his job has been over for hours. 

However, I don't look at this as "just" a job.  Motherhood is an investment in not only MY future but society's future.  All children eventually grow up to contribute to society like everyone else...the difference is that in a high-tech world of multi-tasking mommies, the one area where I want to focus 100% is on my daughter.  Will I be bored and/or frustrated at times, stressed that I'll NEVER be able to get my manuscripts published because I'm dog-tired and not feeling creative? Yep. Will my husband drive me crazy when he sees the Visa bill or the checking account?  Will I resent his attitude about those bills, especially after I spent 25 years making my OWN money? Hell yes! But will our child grow up to realize she trumped every other aspect of my life to be number ONE?  Well, I can only pray she will...not so I can guilt her about it, but just because EVERY child deserves to know he or she was number one for at least his or her childhood. 

Life flies by and before we know it, our kids are "folded in" to statistics....I hate to break it to ya, but we all wind up being numbers.  So even if you are a working mommy, especially if you are a single working mommy, (and I give you a HUGE hats off) whether your child is teeny or t'weeny, let that child know he or she IS #1 in your life, and do it today! You won't regret it and I assure you he or she NEVER will, either!

Meanwhile, Happy Birthday to a 6-year-old who is wise beyond her years.  She is an old soul.  She soothes her hyper, hot-headed mommy with a sweet touch of her hand on my arm.  When I'm upset over something...over ANYTHING...she tells me what I really need right now is an afternoon "lovey hug" (I used to give her those after her naps...now she gives them to me.) 

I thank God every day to the child who is forever teaching me what's really most important in life...tea parties, dressing up and watching Ramona & Beezuz for the 17th time.
 

Oscar Fever Brings Back Lovely Memories, Sets Tone For Future

R.I.P. Elizabeth Taylor February 27, 1932 – March 23, 2011

Note: Silver Screen legend Elizabeth Taylor passed away today and since she is mentioned in this blog about Oscar Fever I just had to post this publicity shot of her at her lovliest.  Dame Elizabeth was one of the few uuber stars we can say today was always dressed to the nines, showing her most impeccable taste when we saw her. No matter what personal turmoil she may have been going through at the time, Ms. Taylor epitomized the glitz and glamour of her era. She will be greatly missed.  Be sure to tune into American Movie Classics or Turner Movie Classics in the coming weeks and months, to catch this captivating beauty onscreen.  My personal favorites: Giant; A Place in the Sun; Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; Raintree County; Butterfield Eight (for which she earned Best Actress in 1960) and of course, Father of the Bride. Don't forget she was also a child star, capturing America's heart at Velvet Brown in National Velvet, and she had small roles in Life with Father, Jane Eyre and Little Women. Her humanitarianism work in raising public awareness and money for HIV/AIDS will live on as will her onscreen work.  Thank you for decades of entertainment, may you Rest in Peace, Ms. Liz. 

From February 27:

So here we are, Oscar weekend, 2011 and I'm excited, once again!  Why would I, a regular Jane Q public, get so caught up in Oscar Fever?  After all, it's not like I'm an actress preparing to walk the fabulous Red Carpet, (don't I wish) although I was a member of the Thespian Society at Westland John Glenn High School (shout out, class of '81!). Back then, aside from the three Rs (reading, 'riting & 'rithmatic), my life was ruled by choir, dance, theater, musicals and dancing my heart out on the Pompon team.  So yes, I guess a little bit of showmanship was always inside of me. Who knows, had I been more serious, might I been accepted to Julliard, had I but studied the craft more intently? Probably not, but the actress inside of me wishes I had, not that I'd trade one ounce of my life today. But on Oscar night, all bets are off & I become possessed by the ghosts of Hollywood past.

These days I feel like Gloria Swanson, slowly descending the stairway in Sunset Boulevard, dreaming of old Hollywood.  I think of my days in summer stock, where I acted & sang in productions like Oliver, Carnival and in the Greenfield Players, Little Mary Sunshine, or my school productions of Princess & the Pea, You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Yankee Doodle, A day in the Life of Walter Mitty, etc. and I ask myself why did I ever stop stage productions just because I grew up?? AT least ONE of my fellow castmates from Wayne Theater summer stock now has a Tony Award on his mantle and I proudly claim him as a Facebook friend.(shout out, Greg Jbara!)

Moreover, why did I ever stop singing and dancing? My choir and dance performances were my happiest times in school, singing and getting the occasional solos were the main focus of my life back then. Feeling so comfortable harmonizing with my fellow "Gleeks" and finishing to hear the applause of our parents and teachers gave me a high that to this day can't compare to  any pacheck I've ever received.  ANY pay check.

But back to the Oscars. Movies have played a huge of part of my life ever since I used to sneak out of my bed at night to catch the "movie of the week" (anyone remember those?). Mom would be folding clothes or ironing shirts in front of the TV in our family room, so I'd sneak out and curl up in the living room, in a corner, to watch the movie.  I did the same at my Grampa's house, we'd sit in his big easy chair and watch the late, late show.  That's where it would really be fun! And yes, to this day I'm a night owl, so it was a good thing I used to work in TV news. 

Anyone who knows me knows my mother was not a healthy child. She spent much of her early childhood living as a patient in Children's Hospital in Detroit.  Her greatest joy back then was movies of the silver screen and meeting the occasional movie star who might stop in to visit sick kids in her ward.

Once she was older and in remission, she married Dad and had as "normal" life as was possible  It was then that she'd buy Look and Photoplay magazines.  (For anyone under the age of 45, these magazines preceded People, OK or Star magazines.)  

Early on, Mom fostered my love of all the glamorous movie starlets of HER day: Elizabeth Taylor, (who, by the way, celebrates her birthday today! We wish her well in the hospital where she once again battles serious health ailments...); Natalie Wood, Doris Day, Lana Turner, Ava Gardner, Susan Hayword. And the starlets who were just a decade before that were above revered in our home: Bette Davis, Joan Fontaine, Rita Hayworth, Vivien Leigh, Rita Hayworth, Irene Dunne, Jean Simmons, Merle Oberon, Joan Crawford...I could go on & on...

Actors were not forgotten, either.  You'd never hear a negative word about the three Jimmys: (Fonda, Stewart and Cagney); Tyrone Power, Spencer Tracey, Cary Grant, Marlon Brando, Sir Larry Olivier, Charleton Heston, Burt Lancaster, Robert Young, Ernest Borgnine, et. al.

And don't forget the "dancing" stars loooong before we had the Dancing With the Stars programs to re-introduce a new generation to ballroom dancing: Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Leslie Caron, Nelson Eddy, Rita Moreno, Syd "long legs" Charisse, and of course, the indomitable Gene Kelley. Now THOSE were your original "triple threats."

Growing up in Detroit, I loved watching Bill Kennedy's movies on Saturday afternoon, where he, a small bit part actor, would inject little anecdotes about the story behind the scenes.  Once I was able to read, I used to glean the TV Guide (remember those??) and if a good old movie was coming on the next day I just might develop a tummyache so I could watch Rita Bell's Prize Movie, which came on every weekday morning.

Looking back, I was probably a weird little kid.  I mean, even after I was a "big girl" old enough to stay out till the street lights came on, I would RUN home on Saturday evenings, even as a pre-teen, to watch the Lawrence Welk show. Why?  Because Mr. Welk's cast presented a weekly theme and it often revolved around a movie or musical from the big screen.  Maybe that's how I became Champion of Name that Tune in Ms. Wheaton's 8th Grade choir class!

Were those shows cheesy?  You bet! But that's the point...they were also "showy" and I am still captivated by the sheer showiness of the Academy Awards. Certainly, I know that today's movies are largely digitized and airbrushed but they still get me every time.

Still, some things are best kept classic.  I posted on Facebook last week my disappointment that Hollywood was remaking The Great Gatsby in 3D. Seriously?  WHY???  First of all, if a new generation wants to see great movies, and this is NOT an advertisement, just my opinion, watch Turner Classic Movies or American Movie Classics.  Or look up "Classics" in your Netflix Queue and add a few of the greats.

Animation and digitization is great, but those sophisticated technologies can never replace the sensuously cool lighting of Bette Davis' cigarette by Paul Henried in Now Voyager or recreate the seductive tension between Lana Turner and John Garfield in the original The Postman Always Rings Twice. Does airbrushing make Rita Hayworth any more beautiful in Gilda or Blood and Sand?  OK, I'll concede that there is ONE scene that would look awesome in 3D:  I'd love to see Cary Grant trying to escape that low-flying plane in North by Northwest on my flatscreen TV in 3D, now that would be cool.

For the first 36 years of my life I never missed Oscar night with my mom.  When she died in 2000, shortly after the Oscars that year, one of my first thoughts were "who will I watch with next year?"  I still feel a void but happily now, I can watch with a smile on my face knowing it was my mom who first turned me onto OLD Hollywood.  I often imagine how she'd react to those horribly unflattering shots of celebrities without makeup, or dressed shabbily as they schlep their kids to school or grab a Starbucks.  She was of the old- school mindset where the stars were under contract to never go out publicly without looking completely glamorous.

Now that it's MY turn to be the mommy, I've already begun to plant the seed of love of all things OLD Hollywood into my almost six-year-old.  In fact, on Marlena's first birthday in 2006, guess what was on TV that night?  The Oscars, so  I'm betting you can guess which house on my street had a red carpet in front of it for the big birthday bash?
Now I'm not going to diss on ICarly or Hannah Montana BEFORE the whole Salvia Bong incident, but I am teaching Marlena to recognize true talent in moviemaking, acting and singing.  I recently told her that Shirley Temple was THE "triple threat" child of her day and that even now, 80 years later, very few child actors have been able to come close to her talents, despite the contemporary box-office money and paychecks for actors.

The other day, as I was cleaning out my DVR (in preparation for the Oscars!) I noticed that TCM and AMC had eaten up much of my space.  I asked my daughter if she wanted to watch a cartoon in my bedroom while I watched one of my movies as I prepared dinner.  She opted for Bogey & Bacall. That's my girl.

She's already seen Gone with the Wind and thankfully I am able to fast-forward any parts of bloody violence during the war scenes. She is just as charmed by this classic as am I.  Now that we're living down south, I told her we can make a pilgrimage to neighboring Georgia someday to see where these scenes were actually set. Y'see....I'm already excited!

So come Sunday night, as my daughter & I put on our finest PJs and cook up some popcorn, my hubby will do our taxes and roll his eyes at our excitement over the glamorous fashions and the entire show. He just doesn't get it, probably a "chick" thing, he'll say. But I do know this: My mom "gets it" and she'll be watching the show from up above, in the best seats in the house. Maybe even with a few of her closest Hollywood friends!  Hurray for Hollywood, and ENJOY THE OSCARS!

From northern deep freeze to southern-fried guilt

Ahhhhh, February.  L'année de L'amour. The month of love. And while I got engaged AND married in the month most famously known for its Valentine hearts, uuber-expensive flowers and chocolates, for native Northerners, February is STILL the dead of winter. From what I've seen on the weather channels and Facebook, my native Michiganders are still getting slammed with the usual sub-zero temps and blasts of snowstorms while I run

outdoors to carpool and do other errands with nary a thought to the temperature.  I slip on a light jackt and off I go.

Seriously? Is this really ME?  The me who used to put off even opening the front door for mail and instead would call my husband, begging him to pick up "just a few" items because I didn't want to go outdoors? The me who would wear hoodies and plush robes and crank up the heat?  These days, I'm out the door by 7:20 a.m to drop off my daughter and while I'm out I normally make at least two stops. And this is less than a year after moving south. Who am I? I don't even KNOW myself anymore!

The worst part is, although my driver's license now reads a Tennessee address, I'm STILL a Michigander -- or is it Michiganian, (did we ever really settle that debate?) Therefore, every time I see yet another blow from old man winter headed toward the Great Lake State, I cringe inside...partly because psychologically, I still think it's headed toward ME...and partly because I know my friends and family are in for another beat-down. It makes me feel bad picturing them out there laying salt on their driveways and porches, shovels and snow blowers in hand and wearing their four layers of clothes, especially by this time of year.  It's one thing to get cold & snow before Christmas or Hannukah....but by now, even my brother, who usually gets excited about ANY inclement weather announcement is usually beaten back and ready to fly south this time of the year.  And I can still relate.  Only now, down here, they tell me the worst really IS behind us. (Usually.)

I remember when I moved here last July.  I was warned how HOT it can get in the south during the summer.  I chuckled because I couldn't wait for longer spells of warm weather.  My first weekend here it was, as locals told me, "record high" temps. They weren't kidding. I'm talking 99+ and HUMID. AND WE WERE MOVING INTO A 2nd STORY APARTMENT.  UGH.

Let's just say my best hair days come summer are now behind me so long as I live in the south. The wise people of the south also foretold that January would be the coldest month and that by late February, I might even see buds on the trees.  Really??  Must be that moonshine, I thought....but guess what?  I DO! And that's where the guilt comes in.  It feels unfair for my Michigan brethren to still be bundling up their kids, dragging out the snowsuits and sallying forth, while I've already caught my first bit of spring fever.

I also remember locals telling me how panicked people down south get at the mere mention of the dreaded "S" word....that would be S-N-O-W.  I chuckled yet again.  It can't be, I told myself.  There is no way there will be long lines at the supermarkets over 2" of snow that might not even stick.  NO WAY they will cancel school. Think again.  There were lines...they DID cancel school.  Then again, this year, Tennessee got its first BIG snowstorm at Christmas in decades! I was in Michigan so I missed all the fun!  Not to worry...I returned from my northern holiday to welcome yet another big snowstorm, from here on to be referred to as the "Tennessee Snowpocalypse of 2011."  Eight to 10 inches of the white stuff brought my daughter a "bonus" week off from school. I could not believe the snow scene that awaited me as I raised my shade. I thought I was back in Michigan!  People my husband worked with were snowed into their subdivisions for days.  HUH?? We Northerners really are gritty, aren't we?

As we remained iside for a week, I thought to myself, if I wanted to be cool, I'd get into my little VW Golf and tool around town just to show these inexperiences southerners how we snow veteran Yankees roll.  Not so fast....there isn't much road salt here in the south, nor are there enough snowplows to carve out maizes to drive through. Hence the smooth highways and roads. You rarely see orange barrels around here come spring.

The other tricky part: the lovely mountainside hilly roads are not conducive to safe driving...heck, I could picture myself turning into a driveway, only to slide all the way down a hill and smashing through someone's garage door. Given my driving history, IT COULD HAPPEN.

One friend from down here laughed when I told her most of  us northerners drive with winter emergency kits in our cars, including the part that most cracked her up: kitty litter for traction.  But I'll bet she'll pick up some kitty litter the next time she hears a forecast for snow.

Last night, my husband and I put in our first bid on a new home...on a hill. I got winded just walking up the driveway.  Then again, the majority of homes are in hilly neighborhoods around here. Not to mention there are trees (and spiders) everywhere!  Did I mention my major bout with Arachnophobia??? Even a Daddy Longlegs will send me into hysterics.

And yet, oddly enough, the southern natives laugh it off, and I rarely see anyone's face look the least bit squeamish as I ask about the poisonous brown recluse spiders or the large snakes I've always heard about down south.  They're as accustomed to creepy snakes and spiders as I am to the snow. And I learned a few home-remedy style "tricks of the trade" from my new friends about how to keep them at bay. 

So I now have a new respect for those so-called "inexperienced" southerners I thought were simply afraid of a few little flakes of snow.  At least snow can't bite you, it doesn't come around here too often and (gulp) my fearful season of the creepy crawlies is right around the corner. 

 

I guess you can say we Yankees and Confederates each have much to teach each other.  So...as I feel guilt now, while running outdoors without socks, I urge my Michigan kin to hang in there...the groundhog predicted an early spring....for ONCE, and y'all better believe I'll be the one you can feel sorry for when it's melting season around here, once again.