I saw this quote on Facebook, only to find out that it was plagiarized from Queen of Your Own Life. I made it a point to find the original graphic.
Today is a reminder of the fact that out of nowhere life can change on a dime and you have only two choices – get through it or let it it do you in.
Action… reaction. That certainly ties up control in a neat little box.
Courage. Humor. Grace.
Indeed.
Filed under Uncategorized
Cleaning my office the first day back from the holidays, this picture fell out of a file folder onto my keyboard.
The Big 540… my childhood home.
The same house that we sold a few months ago. The process of selling was rather unpleasant, the details remaining unwritten. Use your imagination if you do not know the details. The process of dismantling it was long and arduous, as my parents had lived there for 60 years. But it was a labor of love. By the time we signed on the dotted line it was more of a relief than anything else.
Oddly, a few weeks after closing I had the most bizarre dream. I was showering in my parents’ bathroom and suddenly realized that we no longer owned the house (oops). Yep, wrapped in a towel in someone else’s bathroom and they walked in the back door. The classic version of the ‘I forgot to study for the test’ dream.
A few weeks later I had another dream that I was hanging out in the house and all of the new owners’ relatives started showing up with furniture and started yelling at me and threatening to call the cops. Again, I had forgotten that this was no longer ‘our house’ (yes, I am way crazier than I let on).
I don’t have to be a therapist to know that the loss of this house is obviously effecting me more than I realized. I have never lived without this home – quite something for someone of ‘my age’. This is where I grew up, where the family gathered, where my mom planted. And planted. And planted. Where my history lived in the walls. And although my current home has been in my life almost half as long as this one has, there is something unnerving about losing this place.
I know ‘home’ is not the building. And Lord knows I have brought enough of the stuff from that house here (anyone want to help me go through 14 crates of photos). It is hard to explain how I feel.
Maybe it is simply the knowledge that I can’t go home again.
Filed under aging parents, grief, homeowner, loss, real estate, Time to Cry Tuesdays
If ribbon curling were an Olympic sport, my mom would have surely taken home the gold. This woman lived to wrap packages. When the holidays came around she was in all her glory.
Today, being the first night of Hanukkah, I needed to do a little last minute wrapping and went in search of a scissor. There in my kitchen drawer I found one that I had rescued from her house when I was cleaning it out. I thought to myself, ‘just like Elaine to have a floral scissor.’ And then I remembered that I had bought it for her. Perhaps as part of a Hanukkah present one year. This actually looks like her!
At that moment I was so thrilled to have saved this item. There were so many things I had to let go of, but there are special little everyday items of hers that I have sprinkled around my house to remind me of her. Every room has a little bit of Elaine in it. My brother and dad notice when they are here. Hopefully it gives them the same comfort it gives me.
There is no real need to have her ‘things’ around, other than to make my home feel like hers did. She is everywhere I go, in everything I do. So much of her lives in me now. And I am proud to carry out her traditions, both big and small, to honor the type of mother she was. Again, I hope this gives my family comfort.
Let me tell you, that crazy ribbon curler would be damn proud of what her scissor and I turned out on that package tonight.
How lovely to share a little bit of Elaine on the first night of Hanukkah.
Happy and healthy to those of you who are of the tribe.
Filed under holidays, moms, Time to Cry Tuesdays
I always loved the phrase: When one door closes another one opens.
Last week I experienced an uber (no, not that Uber) example of those proverbial doors. I tried my very best to keep my emotions under the drama bar and go with the flow. This, by the way, does nothing more than exhaust you beyond description and is simply a control freak’s illusion, but I seem most comfortable in this state.
As with most of my life, the sequence of my doors were reversed. But this saying made for a nice thread for this post, so let’s go with it.
On Thursday, a door opened. Big time. The one to my daughter Jana’s new apartment. The apartment that she will be sharing with the love of her life – the young man who she has spent many long years waiting to live in the same city with, let alone under the same roof. In reality, the door to this apartment made it a challenge to get a queen-sized box spring through it and up the stairs to her bedroom, but this was the small stuff. (Rectified, btw, by sofasurgery.com. Quick plug for an amazing service that solved the problem in less than 2 hours from call to completion).
The opening of this door was one to the beginning of a wonderful life together and the joy I feel for them is beyond description. (And contrary to those who question this, his mother and I will not be living with them)
On Friday, a door closed. Big time. After many months of listings, contracts, deals, stops and starts, boiler and oil tank replacements, clean-outs, boxes, yards of bubble wrap, sorting, reminiscing, sales, dumpsters, tears, laughs, one broken toe and one tennis/schlepping elbow… we closed on the sale of my childhood home. With each stage of this process, no matter how much stuff we took out of this house, it still felt like the home of my childhood. My family is embedded in the walls of this place. Even that very last day, the one when the house was completely empty except for the bottle of Stoli in the freezer that we toasted one last time to my mom with, we could not help but feel that she would somehow come walking out of that kitchen.
The closing of this door? Well it certainly carries with it a bag of mixed emotions. I walked out of that closing (both the real estate deal and the door) with an odd sense of calm coupled with an overwhelming exhaustion. I certainly have said my goodbyes to that house, that life, that anchor. I am happy to be rid of the process. But there is a lingering phantom pain surrounding never being able to ‘go home again’.
Ok, so maybe I crossed over the drama bar for a moment.
The net of all this (other than my overuse of cliché and devices)? I am a women who loves signs and juxtapositions. I thrive on the meant to be and the alignment of stars. To close on 10.10 at 10am at 1010 Northern Blvd. rang that bell big time. And it was my grandfather’s birthday to boot.
But nothing rang the bell more than the site of my girl in her beginning as I was tying up an ending.
One door opens and another one closes… maybe it is ok to reverse that saying, after all.
Filed under aging parents, childhood, cliches, doors, family, sentimentalites
Yeh, that’s me. At six.
Six was pretty perfect. Obviously from this picture I was sure I was all that. This is such an amazing shot. Hey, it got over 50 likes on Facebook in less than 24 hours! I told Gary today I think I might have peaked at six!
All kidding aside, I had the most amazing childhood. And this picture seems to embody it all. I know those are my eyes. I remember her. The way she lounged on that couch and maybe ate a little chocolate pudding out of one of those fabulous green square glass bowls. Or one of the white milk glass ones with the gold rim. My brother and I didn’t realize that this life was not the norm at the time, but as we grow older we appreciate how wonderful it was to grow up in our house.
And now that house has sort of outlived its happiness for our family. It’s not that it has lost its beautiful memories, it is just time. The master of its charm has left the building, and so now, must the contents of a lifetime. It’s an interesting task. One that uncovers the treasures of the past buried amongst the bowling balls, slide projectors and ice skates from the 1960s. I have just begun, and I am sure there will be many tears and equally as many laughs as we dismantle what was for me, the most wonderful place on earth.
Thanks Dad, for giving me this task. Don’t feel bad about it. Don’t worry about the time it will take. You know this is my process. And you have earned the rest.
What does worry me a little is that closet in the garage, though. Mom always told me if she had a third child after raising me she would lock it in the garage closet… she was kidding, right?
Filed under aging parents, childhood, homeowner, moms
This clock hangs in my office where I can see it all the time. It really has nothing to do with time, or time in the normal sense of the word. Like most things in my life, it is about the messaging. What can I say, I am at heart, a hopeless communicator.
This clock is even more special because it was birthday gift from my girls. The ones who know I am not a big fan of celebrating my birthday on a good year, but on a not so good one it was sort of out of the question.
Luckily I opened this when I was alone. And they were right. They are my guides. They know that when I said – or worse – believed that I was ok, it was not remotely true. But now, I am reminded by them everyday that…
Everything.
IS.
going.
to.
be.
ok.
Just a different kind of ok.
I am not a big fan of New Year’s resolutions, but this year I made one: to blog again. Because here is where I see the world in its most ‘ok’ form; where I share the absurdities and observations that we all see, but I make a point to acknowledge. For no other reason than to entertain, to ground, to lighten up… to be ok.
Because sometimes we need to laugh… to the point of tears.
Welcome back everyone. Wishing you all a very happy new year filled with good things and the strength to deal with the not so good ones.
Filed under blogging
This might be the first post ever to combine Dave Matthews and the Jewish Holidays; but that seems fitting since this is a post about firsts.
Here we are – playing holiday dominoes – with those of the tribe watching Labor Day cascade into Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year.
This particular holiday is a tough one for our family. We are still stumbling through the ‘firsts’… the things we are doing for the first time without my mom. Although three and half months have passed, it seems like both a moment and a lifetime. Just when I think I have found my footing, my new normal, my ability to feel sad but somewhat whole, it hits me. I have avoided sharing here but somehow this seems the right thing to do, so here goes.
Although no one can stop me from starting to circle the drain, there is always someone there to grab my hand and pull me out. I have my army of grief guides; my friends who have been there and let me know with their steely strength that I will, in fact, make it through. In spite of myself and because of them.
I am beyond fortunate.
Yesterday I had just finished the massive guerrilla food shop. I was cleaning chickens to make my soup and as I was doing it I thought of how when I was first married I could not bear to clean a chicken and my mom used to laugh with me on the phone as I did it to talk me through. And it hit me. Hard. The drain, she was a- calling me to circle to the left.
And then the phone rang. My Rabbi! Seriously, do they learn this in rabbinic school? Do they become hyper-trained to sense the drain circling? Or was it a coincidence? I think not. He also called on her birthday without knowing it. Both times to check on me; to make me try to find the sweet in all the bitter. To hold my hand so I would not succumb to that proverbial plumbing.
I am beyond fortunate.
And then I had a nice long phone visit with my mom’s best friend since childhood – Aunt Arlene (who is not my aunt), as we called her. Her laugh, her stories, her way… all a piece of my mom. As we talked about how much we missed her I felt another hand reach through the phone to keep me from slipping down those pesky pipes.
What I want, is what I’ve not got. But what I need, is all around me.
Wishing all who celebrate a sweet new year. And all who are grieving the strength to stay away from the plumbing during the holidays.
Filed under aging parents, friendship, holidays, loss
Sometimes life feels this way. Things happen that throw us completely off kilter. Up is down indeed.
I am big on watching for signs; seeing what is around me and trying to take something away from everything I see.
On my daily early morning walk, soon after the most ‘up is down’ experience of my life, I came across this painted in the street. I had to smile. Perhaps the person responsible for this did not have me in mind, but it is no coincidence that it was smack in the middle of my path that day.
Each day afterwards I would pass this in the street, and with each day, it started to fade ever so slightly… not unlike the feeling that I had.
Today, after a weekend of almost normal – or as normal as it could be, or perhaps the new normal – I looked down, and there was my up is down message, faded almost to obscurity.
Had I not known it was there I would never have seen it.
This weekend someone told me a little story about loss. Someone had lost someone close to them and when asked how he was he said that although he was getting used to his life he was still holding on to that feeling of loss. That somehow there was something so very special about still having that feeling. And when the feeling has faded it will seem almost sadder.
I get that. And all I can add to that is that the signs will always be there, they may fade and be invisible to those who are not feeling them, but those of us who are, know they will always be there.
Filed under aging parents, loss
Balance has been restored. After months of walking sans canine, I am happy to report that the puppy had her last shots on Saturday, making her walk-worthy. I am not sure I can express this feeling of getting on with my life. For so many months my daily living was turned upside down. Floods, office renovations and the loss of my first dog took their toll on me in ways I did not fully realize until today –when the last piece of my routine was restored.
It was pretty emotional to walk with this new pup. It was hard to think about how many times I walked that route with Mel. How much a part of my life, and the neighborhood, she was. Today, as I walked down the street a man got out of his car to greet Iko. A friend emailed to say she had seen me walking a puppy. One of Gary’s tennis friends told him he saw us walking and how happy he was for us to have a dog again.
Funny, you go through your day and never realize the impact you have on others. There was a Mel-sized hole, not just in our home, but in the neighborhood. Those are some pretty big paws for Iko to fill, but I think she will do her best to rise to the occasion.
Yes, I know this photo should be titled ‘Giant woman walks minuscule dog’. There is something about the angle of this shot that looks something like a B horror movie, but I sort of like it. Especially because Iko is anything but minuscule. Weighing in at 31 lbs at 4 months we are anticipating that the trainer was our best investment. Nothing worse than an 80lb dog dive bombing you from across the room or dragging you down the block.
As the mail carrier said to me when she met Iko the other day, “What a wonderful testament to how great a dog Mel was that you were able to get another so soon.”
To my old girl Mel, there will never be another you and we will miss you forever. But I am pretty sure that you would rather look down on me walking with a puppy than being alone. You were just that kind of dog.
Filed under animals, Iko, mel, Time to Cry Tuesdays
Yes, this my 300th post. Hard to believe and usually a cause for celebration in the land of blog. But today I am here to write about loss.
And oddly what I have gained.
It is hard to explain to those who are not part of this world of blogging and Twitter what a true community has been formed through a medium that would seem to be highly impersonal.
I come from a generation where the openness and sharing of this world can be a bit overwhelming. For my age group privacy was cherished above all and there is a thread of paranoia about having one’s life out in the open. This makes the world of the mom blogosphere a bit foreign at times. But this week, once again, I have seen the power of the social web and what it can do for those in need.
I am fortunate to live in a community that takes care of it’s own in times of trouble. I have known this kind of support more than once and I am in awe when I see that sentiment replicated on the internet – amongst strangers!
Beyond comprehension, 2 young babies publicly lost their lives this week.
The first, Maddie Sphor was the 17-month-old daughter of a fellow Silicon Valley Mom Blogger. This darling of the internet whose mom, Heather, chronicled her difficult pregnancy, premie birth and fight to thrive has been followed by many through her blog and twitter. This baby’s infectious smile has haunted us all as we try to accept the tragedy of her sudden death. Within hours funds were set up to help the family with expenses, over $30,000 was raised for March of Dimes and walks in her name were organized.
One by one, twitter avatars turned purple in Maddie’s memory to show support for her family. These past few days those haunting purple avatars have shown me how much I have gained from the experience of the social web.
As if this were not awful enough, just days later Thalon Myers, the 4-month-old son of another momblogger lost his life.
The unthinkable.
And yet from all misery comes good. The legacy of these families will live on as evidence that humanity is not lost.
As proven during the tragic plane crash that almost cost the Nielson’s their lives, and the overwhelming outpouring to find a kidney for The Domestic Diva‘s daughter, the social web shows us once again that we are made up not of nameless faces banging the keyboard.
We are all people. Sometimes acting more human than you could believe possible.
Love, prayers and thoughts to the Spohrs and Myers families. May you find a shred of peace in knowing that the world grieves for your loss.
Filed under communities, current events, loss
i could cry but i don't have time 