Nov30

Remembering Mom With a Smile In My Heart

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On the day before Thanksgiving, I was preparing my dining room table and my kitchen for the next day’s feast, and consulting my mom’s notes every step of the way. Thanksgiving 1998 was my mother’s last Thanksgiving before she succumbed to pancreatic cancer on the following Easter Sunday, at the age of 56. Young. Not fair. I miss her every single day. The holidays are especially bittersweet, but I am 1,000% sure that my mother would not want me to be sad. I know this because I am a mom, and I would never want my own kids to spend their holidays in a glum and heartsick state of mind when I’m not around anymore. I want them to be happy, to celebrate, to carry on our family traditions, and to think of me and my quirks with a smile in their hearts.DSCN1222

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Some of Mom’s notes to me

And so, on the day before Thanksgiving, I opened up the menus and recipes and notes from my mom and embraced the memories with a contented heart. I lit some autumn-scented candles and tuned my satellite radio to “70s on 7” which never fails to take me back in time to a really happy place: My childhood and teen years. I was then transported back to our eat-in kitchen with the dark oak cabinets, Harvest Gold appliances, and tidy linoleum floors, all the rage at the time. My siblings and I grew up with our mom, aunt, and/or grandmother always in a kitchen – their kitchens, the neighbor’s, other friend’s or family’s kitchens. If there was a kitchen around, you would find Mom, Auntie, and/or Nana in it. As all of us who have Italian moms, aunties, and grandmothers know, this is a really good and happy combination with delicious end results.

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Auntie and Mom having a grand time frying smelts, Christmas Eve in the ’80s

Our family traditions have not changed over the decades. They’ve been tweaked, but the foundation is the same. The week of my mom’s last Thanksgiving in 1998 found us in her kitchen. With my five-month-old son napping in the bedroom, Mom and I began the turkey, stuffing, and side dish preparations. After happily chatting and working our way through the morning, chemo was getting the best of her and Mom finally had to sit on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, exhausted, and just direct me. I didn’t really need direction; this preparation has been the same my entire life and I know it by heart. It’s all I know, in fact. But on this particular day, with my mother’s body failing and her future health uncertain, I could sense that it meant everything to her to especially have this Thanksgiving prep day together. So I did as she gently directed from her kitchen chair perch, wrote things down for posterity, absorbed every tip, asked questions, enjoyed every minute of that entire day, laughed with her and held it together when I really just wanted to cry. That was 16 Thanksgivings ago, our last together, and it feels like yesterday.

So now the holidays are upon us again, and again my mom is not here. But I can feel her presence. I know that she was in the kitchen with me and my ’70s music and my autumn-scented candles on Wednesday. She would have had the Three Tenors playing and candles lit, too. I sang out loud to the soundtrack of my childhood while I made my way through the preparations, thought of her and times past when she was teaching me recipes, smiled at the memories. I looked at the recipes and menus and notes, some in my mom’s own beautiful penmanship, not necessarily out of need but rather for comforting reassurance and memories. It was a good day. I felt lighthearted and peaceful. I felt my mother near me.

I know my mom would have loved my table this Thanksgiving –  shopping for and setting the table for Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter was one of our favorite things to do.

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Mom would surely have liked my table this year.

I know my mom would be proud of how my sister, brother and I have carried on the family holiday traditions (except for the lima beans – sorry, Mom), and how we’re teaching my sons by example. I know she’d be proud of my son, who has learned to make perfect pizzelles, just like her. She’d be so pleased with the care that we take when unpacking and hanging her beloved and very fragile teapot Christmas tree ornament, which has now survived every single one of its 55 years without the slightest mishap. She’d love how my sister and I still make a beautiful antipasta on her old but still shiny square silver tray, how my brother still brings good wine and good cheer, how we all traveled across the pond in order to be together and celebrate Christmas and New Year’s the year that my brother transferred with his job. She’d love how, after Christmas Eve dinner, we bring out the big silver cookie tray of our childhood, overflowing with biscotti, pizzelles, church windows, silver tops, and more – dotted with the red and green Andes candies and silver-wrapped Hershey Kisses for festive color like she taught me, and always baked with love from our decades-old family recipes.

I do miss my mom every single day of my life, and following the traditions that were so dear to her and that were the fabric of our childhood is a way to celebrate and honor her. It’s a way of remembering her endearing quirks, visualizing her smile, hearing her voice, and remembering – and still taking – her knowing advice. I can then hear her laughter, I can see her smiling blue eyes. And when her quirks, her smile, her voice and laughter, and her advice are alive and vividly running through my mind like that, I smile and I know that she’s all around me, like my own special angel. Surely she must be cringing sometimes (like when my brother amusingly discovered that I roasted the turkey with the giblet bag still inside – oops), but I know that she’s watching over me with an immense smile, pleased that her daughter has turned out okay in the 16 years without her – and is very much her mother’s daughter.

What was lovely about today: With the end of Thanksgiving weekend here, I especially enjoyed the bit of Christmas shopping that I did today, and I enjoyed anticipating Christmas in all of its decorative glory as I put away the Thanksgiving and Fall decorations and putzed around the house. It was a productive but peaceful and quiet day and I can still feel my mom here with me. She’d be putzing around on this final day of this long weekend, too, probably still in her nightgown – and content as ever. It was that kind of lovely day.

 

 

Nov23

Six Life Lessons I’ve Learned From Two Little Girls

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When I first laid eyes on Teneka and Khloe, it was love at first sight. Khloe was a tiny swaddle of a sleeping newborn, and Teneka was an adorable, smiley five-year-old with enough energy for all of us. Teneka and Khloe were accompanying their mom, Nicola, who had come by to take a look at a cute little house that we were in the process of cleaning, painting, and sprucing up for rent.  Nicola loved the house, we loved her and her girls, and it was a match made in heaven.

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Happy, pretty girls

That was five years ago and its still a match made in heaven, but even better than that. Lucky me. I’ve watched Khloe grow up into a spirited, happy five-year-old, and I’ve watched Teneka mature into a smart and curious pre-teen, little girls who still come running when I pull into their driveway. I now have two special girls in my life who, if they had it their way, would have us hanging out together every weekend. They think I’m the coolest thing ever. (ha ha If they only knew.) I don’t see them as often as I would like to or as often as I should, but when I do, I quickly remember how lucky I am to have them and make a promise to myself to hang out with them more often.

They are actually the coolest things ever!  By watching these girls just naturally being their beautiful little selves, I’ve realized that they have taught me so much – and they don’t even know it!

Life, according to Teneka and Khloe:

Smile. Just smile all the time. Teneka and Khloe are always smiling. Always. They have smiling eyes and smiling faces. They must be really happy on the inside to always be smiling on the outside. I would like to have an always-smiling face like Teneka’s and Khloe’s.

Accept disappointment and move on. Fast. A few years ago, during the holidays, we were in a plaza and there was the man in all of his glory – SANTA! All little believers make a beeline to Santa, and Teneka and Khloe were no exception. However, the line was at least an hour long and we didn’t have the time to stand in it. I could see the disappointment written all over their little faces. I was disappointed, too. I held my breath, expecting tears and a little bargaining. Instead, they quickly recovered when they understood that we couldn’t wait in line, and we moved on. No crying, no anger, no pleading.  Just an accepting, “Okay”. That was easy. (Whew!) If lightning-speed acceptance of disappointments is a virtue, I’d like to have that one!

If you don’t know how to do it, just pretend! We came across a hula-hoop competition for kids once. Teneka jumped right in and went to town. She was good! And she looked good doing it, too! Hula hoops and happy girls seem to go hand-in-hand. It was fun to watch. Then Khloe tried to hula hoop. Tried. Being a tiny three-year-old, Khloe didn’t have enough to her to make her cute little twirling self actually come into contact with the plastic ring of the hula hoop, and the hula hoop would just fall to the ground. So big sister Teneka quickly came to her rescue by holding the hula hoop still at Khloe’s waist height. Khloe then laughed and laughed while she faked her hula hooping skills and had her own little dance party inside of a much-too-large, stationary hula hoop, held in place by her intuitive sister. I learned from a three-year-old and an eight-year-old that improvisation and adaptation can fix just about anything.

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Sweet sisters

Just break out into song when you feel like it. We were at the movies, a rated G, animated film, Hotel Transylvania. I secretly thought I’d have to suffer through it, but it was actually quite enjoyable and had a great message about acceptance. The soundtrack is what I didn’t understand, though. It contained very current songs that are not on my “70s on 7” or classic rock playlists. However, Teneka and Khloe knew every single song. Every. Single. One. I was impressed! They would squeak with delight when one of their favorites came on and immediately break out into song, singing very much out loud (which is okay when you’re in theater full of not-so-quiet small children, I suppose). Their very loud singing was accompanied by very spunky dancing in their movie theater seats. It was hilarious! I enjoyed watching them sing and dance even more than I enjoyed watching the movie. The best part is: They are REALLY good singers and dancers! Teneka has the moves and the voice, for sure. Khloe loves “Annie” with all her heart and has demonstrated her “Annie” singing and dance moves to me in her driveway more than once.  It wouldn’t surprise me if these sisters grew up to be very talented Broadway stars. What I learned that day in the movie theater from these two little girls is to not be so inhibited. Sing and dance like nobody’s looking, and just be joyful!

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Lip-glossed super model, Khloe

Have confidence. We were at the park. After swinging in the swings, climbing around in the obstacle course, sliding down the slide, and Khloe “driving” me to the pretend candy shop in the fake car, Khloe sat next to me on a bench and asked me if she could see my “looking mirror”. Hmmm. So I learned very quickly that a “looking mirror” is my cell phone camera turned to selfie mode. Looking mirror. Brilliant. Khloe then took my phone into her little hands and started posing into her looking mirror like a super model. After clicking about 10 pictures of herself, she asked me if she could wear my lip gloss. Of course. With peachy pink lip gloss in place, she then took about another 40 pictures of herself, each with a different pose. She was so happy in her own little world, doing her own thing. It takes confidence to do that, especially out in public. Go, Khloe! May we all someday come into the confidence that you wear so easily.

It’s the little things that count. Teneka insisted that it would be okay with her mom if I let her get fake nails, and Khloe chimed in her agreement. They said they’re allowed to put on fake nails as long as they do it in the backyard, and the Dollar Store up the street has their favorite ones. So off we went. They each picked out their favorite nail designs, and then, girls being girls, we had to browse. Notebooks, pencils, coloring books, crayons, a Frozen Olaf bracelet, a pink plastic tiara, and of course, the beloved press-on nails brought oodles and oodles of happiness to these two sisters. And to me. Yes, shopping is fun when you’re a girl, but sharing in

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Girly girls are always pretty in pink

picking out the perfect coloring book (Disney princess or Hello Kitty?) and seeing the delight in their faces when leaving the store with their new nails and other new treasures trumps everything. That day, I learned from Teneka and Khloe to slow down and take pleasure in the little things, to live in the moment.

I hope the day never comes that these two special little girls decide (or find out) that I’m not cool enough to hang out with anymore.

What was lovely about today: I ran over to Nicola’s house after dinner today to show her this story and ask permission from her and Terence, the girls’ dad, to publish it on my blog. The reaction from her and Terence and the two girls was priceless. Their smiles were pure sunshine as they read the story. When we were hugging, Nicola whispered that she’s so lucky to have me. No, Nicola, I’m the lucky one. Nicola and her family are extra special. Their smiles are what was lovely about today.

Nov19

I’m Not Smarter Than My 9th-Grader: Things I Learn on the Drive Home From School

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I was idling in the car line on a Friday afternoon at my then 6th-grader’s middle school when my little bundle of joy bounced into the car and excitedly announced, “Guess what, Mom! I’m a Sexpert!”

Oh. My. “What’s a Sexpert, Nick,” I asked, trying not to look too concerned.

“I got an A on my test today, so my teacher said that if you get an A, you’re a Sexpert,” he answered, quite pleased with his new designation. “I’m a Sexpert!”gender-symbol-300x299 copy

That Friday was the end of the week of sex education. For sixth graders. Boys and girls together in the same room. In the beginning of the week, the teacher had the kids repeat, out loud, “penis, penis, penis” and “vagina, vagina, vagina” till they got all the pre-teen giggles out.  I would have loved to have been a fly on that wall. By the end of the week, the kids had apparently learned all they will ever need to know about sex. I imagine that their attention spans were in high gear and their listening skills were super sharp for this particular subject matter, because all of them were deemed Sexperts on Friday.

Jump forward to today, three years later. Nick is now in high school but I still get the pleasure of sitting in the car line to pick him up from school a few times a week. His baby voice has gone deep and he’s taller than me now, but, always, he surprises and delights me with his insights, announcements, and humorous banter.

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We hadn’t even driven off campus yet when Steve Miller’s song,  “Fly Like an Eagle” came on the radio. Nick likes classic rock and knows his stuff, but I didn’t think that he knew about Steve Miller.  “That’s Steve Miller,” I said, picturing the album cover in my head as my memories took me back to my record player in our wood-paneled basement of days gone by.

“Yeah, Mom. I know that. That’s an example of a transcendental song.”

Oh. Hmmmm. What?? I don’t even really know what the word “transcendental” means or how it would relate to Steve Miller. My head was spinning as I grappled for some sort of intelligent reply. However, my lack of verbal response must have cued Nick that I was clueless, so he took it upon himself to explain the theory to me.

Transcendentalists don’t want to rush through life, and the “Time keeps on slipping, slipping” lyric is representative of that. The “I’m going to fly like an eagle” lyric represents nature, which transcendentalism believes is godly. Transcendentalists are individualistic and independent thinkers.

Oh this was getting deep. I was fascinated and amused at the same time.

Then, in the next breath, Nick goes, “Mom. A rectangle and a square are the same thing. Did you know that?”18567_104376559585608_3826273_n

“No, Nick. I did not know that. How so?”

The rest of the drive home left him time to explain to me that each are made of right angles…..

And so it goes. With each afternoon drive home from school, I seem to learn something new from my 15-year-old. When my 17-year-old is in the car, too – well, forget it. I listen, but I can’t even participate in their conversations that involve math, gaming, biology, annotating. I understand the conversations about dinner, movies, dogs, taking the garbage out. Simple mom stuff, not complicated high school stuff.

As parents, we’re usually the ones in the teaching role. How cool it is to watch my sons mature into young men with distinct personalities and goals, brothers who bounce things off of each other, debate, converse, teach, learn, and are making their way into adulthood together, one grade at a time. Suddenly, they’re out of diapers and we’re driving home from high school, and they’re teaching me things I never knew I needed to know: Lessons for academia, and lessons for the heart and soul.

What was lovely about today: Today was all about the steady drizzle of rain. Driving home from school in it, cooking dinner, fooling around on my computer, kids doing homework, dogs napping, all to the soft beat of the rain against the windows. What a quiet evening, peaceful, calm. The rain felt lovely today.

 

Nov14

Key West Fantasy Fest 2015: You’re Going THERE, Mom??

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Oct29

Horrendous Traffic and Rain: An Unlikely Gift

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This Wednesday found me navigating traffic on I-95.

In Miami.

In the rain.

I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve driven myself through Miami in the 30-plus years that I’ve lived in South Florida, so this day’s adventure was particularly white-knuckled. Besides just simply making my way north and south on I-95, driving the 80 or so miles needed to get from my home to my destination and back home again, I had to pilot myself through ever-changing, construction-zone territory and make timely, on-the-spot choices about entering the express lanes or not. It was a $4.25 gamble with no guarantee that “express” meant “express” as I was soon to find out.

I entered the express lanes on this morning’s drive south, only to come to a complete stand-still not once, but three times. At one point, an hour into my drive that should have only been an hour’s drive, the digital sign I was approaching was blinking a message…my exit was just four miles away but travel time was more than 35 minutes to get there. Grrrrr.

Eventually I arrived at my destination, only 30 minutes late but, well, not much I could do about that.

Miami traffic on a good day, NOT on my day.

Miami traffic on a good day, NOT on my day.

After four hours in the office, I had let it all go. I had exhaled all of the driving drama that my morning was made of and, feeling refreshed and empowered by my new experience that ultimately ended successfully, I headed home.

I hadn’t made it far into my journey when I saw the north-bound digital sign blinking a message ahead….the express lanes were blocked at…at…..I couldn’t catch the blockage location but that was all I needed to know. The express lanes were blocked. There would be no last-minute choices regarding entering express lanes; I was NOT entering. So I traveled my way home with the congested masses, in the rain and very, very slowly.

As I was doing so, my cell phone alerted me with a chime indicating that I had a new email. Another, different chime alerted me to an incoming text message. Then another new email. Then another new email. Hmmm. Immediately, my mind started racing, wondering if the text/emails were important, if they needed immediate attention, it I was missing out on something I needed to address NOW. But, I was driving. I could not address the emails/texts at that moment.

I could feel the stressful anticipation setting in to my very core.

Then, suddenly, it occurred to me that as I was navigating horrendous traffic in the rain in somewhat unfamiliar territory, there was nothing I could do about my disconnection to the outside world, AND IT FELT GOOD! I felt free. I felt like I was just given permission to chill and let go for awhile because of my inability to even look at my cell phone and all of the connections it held while I was driving. “So sorry, will get to you later. Just absolutely can’t right now,” I thought.

Then, a light bulb went off in my head!

This sort of traffic - cruise ship congestion at the Port of Miami - is a sure-fire way to get unplugged. This is more my speed!

This sort of traffic – cruise ship congestion at the Port of Miami – is a sure-fire way to get unplugged. This is more my speed!

My husband has had this same commuting adventure from home to Miami and back (an hour each way, on a good day)… for almost 20 years! No wonder the guy is so relaxed and good-natured! This commute allows him time to unplug from the world and the work day, guilt-free! His thoughts are his own; no conversation has to be carried, no one has to be entertained, no demands are made on him. He can listen to his beloved Howard Stern Show in peace, he can pay attention to lyrics crooning from the radio, to the scenery if he wants to. His mind can wander to his happy place. He is completely free and unplugged for this one hour. One whole hour! Twice a day! Every! Single! Day!

As strange as it sounds, this one hour of navigating traffic, crazy drivers, and bad weather was actually a gift in disguise. If it weren’t for this time spent alone in the car with nothing but our thoughts or good music or satellite radio entertainment of our plentiful choice to listen to, none of us would likely ever find time in our busy days to make this unplugged and uncluttered balance happen for ourselves.

This was a eureka moment coming from someone who normally does not ever have to drive in stalled, rainy city traffic.

So, next time I have to make my way to Miami (very early tomorrow morning, sigh!), I will take this gift and run with it and enjoy my guilt-free, unplugged time to the max!

What was lovely about today: The loveliest part of today was being welcomed into a new work group. The reason for my commute to Miami was to pick up equipment and to get some training on a new work endeavor that allows me to toil from home doing what I love to do and what I’ve been doing for the past 12 years: Residential appraisal and appraisal review. The genuine smile and kind words of the man who hired me (and the help he gave in schlepping my new laptop, monitor, keyboard, etc. out to my car – which included two elevator rides and maneuvering through a seven-story parking garage), made my commute in the rain and tied-up traffic – and the enlightenment that it caused – worth every single mile.