Dad. This morning, so vividly I dreamed about him at our 5058 family house.
I could hear his voice, see the cadence in his walk.
There he was, bed head, in his boxer shorts and his v-neck t-shirt shuffling thru the house from bedroom, to kitchen to living room. Sitting at the kitchen table. I could hear his voice. For once he did not whistle, but he did say a few of his favorite things. Of course, I can’t remember. Maybe it was “oasty toast”. Or perhaps he sang one of his favorites, “Matches, matches” He spoke to all of us. Whatever he was doing or saying, he was in what we called “Lou time”.
My dad was funny and sometimes inappropriate. He subscribed to shock humor, but sometimes he could just raise an eyebrow, roll his eyes and you’d laugh. He sang out loud for no particular reason. He re-racked almost every day and stayed in his boxers or sweats until he was ready to shower and leave the house. And sometimes he didn’t leave, especially on game days. He got up, sat at the "helm" (in his case, the kitchen table), drew lines on paper, made a few calls, and got to work on the point spreads. He loved his ownership of the kitchen table and doing his work right in the middle of the “hub”. He had a schedule in his head which he did not always share with anyone else. But in his mind, it was all going to work out.
What do I remember about this particular dream? It was still so strong when I got up that I wanted to cry like a child, I missed my parents so much, but from the time I got up, fed the dog, had some coffee, got to the computer the details were quickly fading.
We were all there at the house on Western Hills Ave., Gina was small, Vince was getting a baseball lecture from Dad, mom was spinning like a little tornado, managing everything, my friend Monica was there, it was raining and I had to dig thru the hall closet to find us umbrellas, Abe Vigoda (ok, it WAS a dream!) lived next door somehow. There was a restaurant in the cul de sac on our street that Monica and I were going to go to to meet my mom. Mom appeared outside in the car and the car would not start, it was raining, she was aggravated and Abe said he could jump it. Dad thought that was funny and he and I watched from the porch as it poured rain. Abe got the car started, but also got a shock. Turns out he was standing in water. Dad laughed his silent heaving laugh. I said it’s really NOT funny, but it was because of how he saw it.
I am 56 years old and I’d say sometimes I am so much more like my dad than my mom. Especially when it comes to flow of my day and my work, and where I find my humor in life. I wear sweats, not boxers and have been accused of being firmly planted in “LuAnn time”. I am not a bookie, but I do live my life based on possibility, luck and trust with a huge dose of talent, thank God.
And if there is one thing I can see clearly now that I am “orphaned” it is that we are all one, connected at birth. We are them, our wacky parents, like it or not, to some degree.
So this year, if you are lucky enough to still have both parents, be grateful and give them some extra time…its all they really want, because having them both, well, there is nothing like it and it does not last forever.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Thursday, July 1, 2010
My New Normal
It’s been almost 2 months now since my mom passed away. And people are constantly asking me how I am doing. I find that I am adjusting to having my two new companions, grief and sorrow, with me all the time. Up until now, I had no idea how deep the sadness could be. People say that it’s most profound when you are alone. “Ahh”, I said to myself, “therein lies the problem. I am alone most of the time”.
Don’t feel sorry for me, I have always preferred it. It’s a choice I made when I decided to work on my own. But now it’s a bit much. And I know what “deafening silence” is like.
Honestly, I don’t think there is any skirting around the mourning process even if you are surrounded by people at all times. Grief is ever present, just right under the surface, just one incident away.
For example today I was in line at the little Post Office across the street from my house. This was just one of a handful of errands on my list. I was feeling good, moving thru my day. Then I noticed they were playing an old jitterbug song on their sound system. And bam! Just like that, I am flooded with the memory of my mom teaching me to jitterbug, of her taking my hands into hers and showing me, saying, “step, step, step, step, back step”, and of me, sort of being happy and irritated at the same time (I was a teenager), because she could do it and I couldn’t. It was an old memory, she was maybe 35, in the prime of her life and she was joyful because she loved to dance, so I guess that’s a good thing. However, I still sobbed over it, still missed her like crazy.
I find nights to be hardest; I just lay in bed and recap those last few days until I just come around to the conclusion that it was her time, she would be the first one to say this, and we could not fix it.
I have discovered that people respond all different ways to loss and grief. My closest friends, and I thank God for them everyday, absolutely hate to see my sadness, yet they know it’s a process. They are all very in tune, a few of them having just gone thru this with their parents. My mom was such a big part of my life. She was here with me for weeks at a time, so she got to know each of them incredibly well. And in that way, she was in their lives also.
Some people say nothing at all, but they look at you with pity. I have always been of the mindset to openly acknowledge someone’s loss. Maybe I remember this from when my brother died at age 32. That loss was a “constant companion” for a long time and I remember learning the difference between those who knew that pain and those who had never lost anyone. At the time, I attributed it to age; most of the people in my life were under 30. But now I just realize some folks are just not wired that way; they would rather avoid the subject completely and act like nothing has changed.
But everything has changed, that’s a given. And after nearly 2 months, I put one foot in front of the other and go on. I cry hard and often, and I think its normal. I try to manage my anxiety to the best of my ability and channel my energy into something positive, I try to have patience with the process and I try to laugh as much as I cry. How about that for balance?
Don’t feel sorry for me, I have always preferred it. It’s a choice I made when I decided to work on my own. But now it’s a bit much. And I know what “deafening silence” is like.
Honestly, I don’t think there is any skirting around the mourning process even if you are surrounded by people at all times. Grief is ever present, just right under the surface, just one incident away.
For example today I was in line at the little Post Office across the street from my house. This was just one of a handful of errands on my list. I was feeling good, moving thru my day. Then I noticed they were playing an old jitterbug song on their sound system. And bam! Just like that, I am flooded with the memory of my mom teaching me to jitterbug, of her taking my hands into hers and showing me, saying, “step, step, step, step, back step”, and of me, sort of being happy and irritated at the same time (I was a teenager), because she could do it and I couldn’t. It was an old memory, she was maybe 35, in the prime of her life and she was joyful because she loved to dance, so I guess that’s a good thing. However, I still sobbed over it, still missed her like crazy.
I find nights to be hardest; I just lay in bed and recap those last few days until I just come around to the conclusion that it was her time, she would be the first one to say this, and we could not fix it.
I have discovered that people respond all different ways to loss and grief. My closest friends, and I thank God for them everyday, absolutely hate to see my sadness, yet they know it’s a process. They are all very in tune, a few of them having just gone thru this with their parents. My mom was such a big part of my life. She was here with me for weeks at a time, so she got to know each of them incredibly well. And in that way, she was in their lives also.
Some people say nothing at all, but they look at you with pity. I have always been of the mindset to openly acknowledge someone’s loss. Maybe I remember this from when my brother died at age 32. That loss was a “constant companion” for a long time and I remember learning the difference between those who knew that pain and those who had never lost anyone. At the time, I attributed it to age; most of the people in my life were under 30. But now I just realize some folks are just not wired that way; they would rather avoid the subject completely and act like nothing has changed.
But everything has changed, that’s a given. And after nearly 2 months, I put one foot in front of the other and go on. I cry hard and often, and I think its normal. I try to manage my anxiety to the best of my ability and channel my energy into something positive, I try to have patience with the process and I try to laugh as much as I cry. How about that for balance?
Monday, May 10, 2010
My Eulogy for Fern
It’s hard to know where to begin. As I write I am thinking about how she told me in high school to take typing. I did not. I took needlecraft and art. Who knew typing would become the key to life? Fern knew, so mom you were right. I am typing with 3 fingers looking at all the keys.
There is never a day that goes by that I don’t say these words in almost every conversation: “My mom told me….” Or “My mom thinks…, or “I was talking to my mom and she said…,
And in this case because I always listen to my mom, she told me, LuAnn you are a writer, you need to write, so today, I wrote.
Fern came into this world, in a hurry, a ball of fire. We called her “Fern the Burn” because she loved to go, to play, to always be completely engaged and involved in her life and all of our lives.
As a wife, she was totally dedicated to my dad for almost 50 years. I used to think that everyone had a “Lou” story, but I am also sure everyone has a “Fern” story as well. I am sure he was so happy to see her arrive.
My mom was a great networker. She did not need FaceBook, although she did always ask me what was going on there so she would not miss anything. I’m sure she is here right now because this is a big event and one she would not want to miss this.
My Mom had her own social network. We called it the “daily broadcast” and I know lots of you in here today were on it every single day: Aunt Mary Ann, Carol, Threase, Rosie, Dukie, Sharon1, Mary, Fern Webster. And those were just the early morning calls. I know I got my call, right before my mom would “go to lunch”. Which, by the way, was “code” for something else, particularly if she were with some of you and you know who you are! No need to name names!
She loved all of her friends, some of whom she had for all of her 79 years.
As Aunt Fern, she was truly a right of passage. Who doesn’t recall finally being as tall as Aunt Fern? That’s 4’11 and one half.
She loved all of her nieces and nephews. My mom was all about those noisy, food filled gatherings at holidays and summer parties. Because family was everything to her.
She loved music and dancing. I think in another life she was a performer, perhaps a dancer and maybe a singer.
She could not get over that we had someone in our family who could sing. I know she is beaming with pride at this Mass we just heard.
And just for a moment we have to mention Dancing with the Stars. She could not get enough of this show! She could call every score. She could have been a judge. She made us call Fern Webster from her hospital bed Tuesday night so she could weigh in. And as Fern Webster told me last week, she would always say, I can do that dance, Fern. This was true, she could really dance! Just 2 years ago, although she could barely walk, she had a little divine intervention at a wedding reception and she and Uncle Roy hit the floor for a jitterbug. They drew quite a crowd! I think it was a moment of great joy! When I asked her how she was able to do that, she had no answer.
We read in one of my mom’s journals last night that she wondered what kind of person that we thought she was. She knows that her kids loved her, but if asked what kind of person was your mom, what would we say?
Are you kidding me?
Fern was our mom, our hero and the leader of our tribe. She was our “go to “person for everything. She championed all of our causes! She was tough, but also compassionate. She was intuitive and insightful. She was both really fun and funny. She was both restless and patient, but only because life demanded it from her. She was loyal and generous with her time. If she liked them, she made our friends, her friends. She was both a good listener and a great life coach, for her family and her friends. She loved this life and tried to live it to the fullest everyday.
Fern was generous with her heart; she was a “fixer” and a really great listener. She could sort of keep a secret, but you had to tell her to keep it in the vault, otherwise it went out on “the broadcast”. She always called it as she saw it and lived life on her terms.
We were all very different and the only thing she truly wanted was for us to be happy:
Tony, the most colorful child. He needed her the most. I’m sure she is with him now, laughing, but he did give her a run for her money when he was here.
Tina, her loving, carefree, reliable daughter. For many years she was the only daughter in town, an honor I am sure she will always treasure. She loved you beyond words, Tina.
Greg, her son-in-law who has been a part of our family for 20 plus years and was always there for whatever my mom needed.
Vince, her only son here. There was not one thing he could do wrong. If I were on the phone with her and Vince came down the steps, she had to go because St. Vince was in the house.
Sharon, my sister in law and what we consider to be our other sister. You had the greatest of all compliments: she loved you like a mom and thought you were a good wife for her son.
Gina, her baby and what we called her “only child”.
Mom would tell me that Gina was the most like her. I think it was because Gina was the only one who would challenge what my mom would say.
Mom was so happy when you moved back here. Gina, you made her life, even the very challenging parts, full of laughter and fun.
And me. I can’t even write these words. She thought I was spectacularly talented, smart and just a good person. She told me, just now as I type this, that I am one of her finest works, and that I will carry the best part of her with me always.
Vincent, Melissa, Carly, Rhianna, Leah, Tony and Lily.
She loved her grandchildren and her great grandchildren but was not a typical grandma. She taught them about the importance of family, to play cards, to crochet a scarf, and to make a meatball. And God knows, she could crochet like a maniac. This year she made at least 300 scarves. She said it was relaxing. And although she claimed not to be an animal lover, she did love my “curb stone”, Frank.
Mom loved her brothers and sisters-in-laws.
Uncle Roy, “my brother Roy” she would say. She thought you could make or build anything, anywhere, anytime.
She loved your stories and your sense of humor.
Her heart was broken for you and your kids when Aunt Barb passed away. She said her life would not be the same and it wasn’t. I am sure Aunt Barb was waiting for her and so very excited to see her.
Uncle Pat, “my brother Pat”, she would always say.
She was simply awestruck by your talent. She was one of your biggest fans and she would tell everyone what a fabulous painter you are. She loved you so much
Aunt Mary Ann, you were her rock and her soul sister. I think the two of you have been together in many lives before. You could finish her sentences, and in my opinion, you will live on always as her extension. I am sure she is already missing you like crazy.
How I like to envision the other side for my mom is this: She enters a room with a huge long table. She has perfect vision and can walk with no pain. To the left is my dad and to the right is Tony and next to him are Aunt Barb and then Grandma and Grandpa and all the aunts and uncles. They are all well and so excited to see her! The table is filled with a feast of favorite foods and wine and flowers. And she has the seat at the head of the table.
And just to the right, there is a door that says “casino”.
In there everyone plays and wins, over and over again.
That would be my mom’s heaven.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Showing this blog as example of how easy this! is!
A blog can be set up for free. I suggest eblogger, part of Google or the new hot one, WordPress at WordPress.com. Both are easy to place into Linked In, Facebook and your website. Both have really great templates that are easy to customize. Again, hire a pro if this is too much for you to do.
Both platforms are user friendly. Once you decide you are going to blog, HAVE A PLAN. What will you cover? Will you be the only blogger? Is one time a week working for you?
And, the best thing about a blog is that it is searchable. Which means to will bring more potential customers to your site. Which will, of course, be listed in your blog info.
Six Key Tasks before you begin:
1. Do a strength test! How strong is your brand?
2. Define your target and create a strategic plan!
3. Keep your key info and key messages consistent. Hire a pro.
4. Maximize and consolidate all Social Media
5. Be authentic. and interesting!
6. Be searchable
Both platforms are user friendly. Once you decide you are going to blog, HAVE A PLAN. What will you cover? Will you be the only blogger? Is one time a week working for you?
And, the best thing about a blog is that it is searchable. Which means to will bring more potential customers to your site. Which will, of course, be listed in your blog info.
Six Key Tasks before you begin:
1. Do a strength test! How strong is your brand?
2. Define your target and create a strategic plan!
3. Keep your key info and key messages consistent. Hire a pro.
4. Maximize and consolidate all Social Media
5. Be authentic. and interesting!
6. Be searchable
Sunday, July 5, 2009
My Sister Tina's Vidalia Onion Casserole
By popular demand! The very yummy onion recipe!
4 to 5 Vidalia onions
Salt & Pepper
6 tablespoons butter
½ cup Ritz crackers
1 ½ cups baby Swiss butter, grated
Slice onions and sauté in 3 tablespoons butter until transparent; add salt
and pepper. Layer half the onions in a 1 ½ quart casserole.
Sprinkle with half the cheese. Place remaining onions over cheese and
sprinkle with remaining cheese. Cover top with crushed Ritz crackers and
dot with remaining 3 tablespoons butter. Bake 30 minutes at 325 degrees
serves 10 to 12.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Who Gave Fritz a Bath?
A few weeks ago I mentioned to my mom that I had taken Frank (my wiener dog) to get his teeth cleaned. I take him to a place called SmileTech where they do anethesia free cleaning. The woman who owns it (and also does the work) is, in my opinion, just as awesome as Cesar Milan. She lays the dogs on their back in her lap and cleans their teeth with some sort of a laser tool. None of them protest. She is a true alpha dog!
Anyway, Fern’s response was that we all spend too much time on our pet’s hygiene. “Years ago, she said, no one got the dog’s teeth cleaned.” So, I asked, who gave Fritz a bath? Fritz was our wiener dog from my childhood. I think I was in the sixth grade when we got him. I asked her if she remembered ever giving him a bath. We had the dog for about 12 years. In that time, I personally have no recollection of doing anything but occasionally feeding him some Alpo. But come on, he had to have a bath in 12 years, right?
Fern could not remember ever giving him a bath! She feed him, let him in and out and even took care of him when she accidentally ran over him in the drive way. I asked Tina and no, she had no memory, nor did Gina and Vince had a vague memory…something about the stationary tubs in the basement. Hmmm, such a mystery.
We were all stumped. That’s when I found this amazing photo. Seems that a least one time Dad gave Fritz a bath. In the stationery tubs. While Vince watched! I’m pretty sure their was a photo taken because this was a highly unusual event. Dad never did anything except work. He hardly changed the channels on the TV (pre remote control) if someone else was available to do it for him. And I never remember him going to the basement for anything.
He was not the sort of Dad that watered the lawn or cleaned the gutters. He was a dad who always “knew a guy” who could do whatever we needed. I guess on that day he was without resources. I’m guessing he was home, the dog was dirty and Mom said, Lou, give Fritz a bath and on that day, he said ok. A true Kodak moment!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
JOY
I was having dinner on my deck tonight when the song “Dancing Queen” began playing from the unit next door. Nicole, a single mother and her 5 year old daughter Megan live there. They almost always keep to themselves. Megan seems unusually shy and quiet. And Nicole is a bit of a germaphobe, so Megan is never out in the courtyard playing with the other kids.
After listening to the song more intently, I figured out that they were doing a workout tape. And as they got into the next song (Knock Three Times, by Tony Orlando and Dawn), they started to sing and laugh. And by the time they got to “Some Kinda Wonderful”, they were in a full-on joyful mother daughter moment that was so exquisite, I could actually feel it.
Motherlove…there is nothing like it!
After listening to the song more intently, I figured out that they were doing a workout tape. And as they got into the next song (Knock Three Times, by Tony Orlando and Dawn), they started to sing and laugh. And by the time they got to “Some Kinda Wonderful”, they were in a full-on joyful mother daughter moment that was so exquisite, I could actually feel it.
Motherlove…there is nothing like it!
Monday, May 26, 2008
DNA and staying engaged
DNA
This weekend I have had a lot of time to myself. Now I don’t mind it much of the time, but this weekend I started to feel a twinge of loneliness. Maybe because 2 of my closest friends are going thru health issues. Maybe I am just feeling vulnerable today.
Although I have friends here, I’m not so sure if something happened to me that I would have a “person”. I’m sure this is why humans partner up. You need a witness to your life. You need one other person, at least that cares if you had a good day or a bad day. Damn, I messed that up. No “other” and no children. So sometimes I just get a little spooked about what will happen if I become ill. ( I don’t want to go there!)
When I think about my family, what influenced me growing up, in a way, I think we just recycle based on what we saw or heard. Or perhaps it’s just instinct in some tribes.
I was reading something my Aunt Helen wrote about her sisters. About Aunt Jennie, the youngest: “She was a friend to me. We were always together and I miss her very much. She wrote me the nicest notes, which I will keep forever. She must of thought I was God when she wrote those notes. And every thing wrong became right when I read her notes. But what I miss most is that at 6AM, every single morning until she died, she would look out the window and say hi and wave and go make her coffee and I could see her drinking her coffee and saying her prayers. This was like clock work. And every night, she knew I went to bed at 8:45, she would look up and say goodnight and then pull her curtain, turn off the big light and leave the curtain open a little so I could see her or see if there was something wrong because her husband worked at night and that way she did not feel alone or afraid.”
And about Aunt Annie, who never married and lived her whole life downstairs from Aunt Helen she writes, “ Annie, the banker, story teller and friend to everybody. Family first, she always wanted family first.” And what she writes about Carly, my grandma, who I am now realizing I am sort of like, “ Carly was a fighter, nurse, and a “go along” person. When people in the neighborhood had to go to a doctor she was the one who went along because most people only spoke Italian, so she would translate for them.
But memories are subjective. Yes, Carly and Annie were close. I happen to also know that she and Aunt Annie fought like crazy, and then forgave each other. I remember as a child hearing my grandma on the phone with Aunt Annie, yelling, then just slamming the heavy iron phone into the cradle with such anger. Then half hour later, they were friends again. That’s a bit unbalanced. This craziness went on every day. So its not really all so rosy….
The aunts all lived within 2 houses. They could all see each other. Is this something that comes with our DNA? Because when I feel the most alone the most vulnerable, I want to be with my sisters. Sometimes I have a thought about moving back, closer to the fold, closer to Gina so I will have this security blanket. Then I think are you crazy? That comes with a lot of crap, not to mention bad weather.
Staying engaged
It seems I spend many hours trying to understand why my mom now, at age 77, only enjoys the casino. She really is only marginally interested when we talk on the phone. My life seems very beige to her. And honestly, to me as well!
I think I sort of get it. Historically our family (based on the aunts) needs to be engaged in life. We suffer from a need to know what’s happening now and what’s coming up next, not only for us but also for everyone around us. Hence, the “network”!
At a certain point in the aging process, with the exception of doctor’s appointments and a few family events, there are no big future plans, no upcoming trips, no weddings or anniversaries. Future plans are limited based on what you can and cannot do because you are on the exit ramp of life. In the casino, life is filled with possibilies, noise, and movement. It’s a little bit forbidden and it’s all in the present tense. It’s not like you can “plan “ to win or lose, it just happens. You are engaged. It’s an equal playing field, no one is old or young, and everyone is there to play.
Play. Something most of us don’t allow for ourselves. So I get it, although I still don’t know if it would be my choice.
This weekend I have had a lot of time to myself. Now I don’t mind it much of the time, but this weekend I started to feel a twinge of loneliness. Maybe because 2 of my closest friends are going thru health issues. Maybe I am just feeling vulnerable today.
Although I have friends here, I’m not so sure if something happened to me that I would have a “person”. I’m sure this is why humans partner up. You need a witness to your life. You need one other person, at least that cares if you had a good day or a bad day. Damn, I messed that up. No “other” and no children. So sometimes I just get a little spooked about what will happen if I become ill. ( I don’t want to go there!)
When I think about my family, what influenced me growing up, in a way, I think we just recycle based on what we saw or heard. Or perhaps it’s just instinct in some tribes.
I was reading something my Aunt Helen wrote about her sisters. About Aunt Jennie, the youngest: “She was a friend to me. We were always together and I miss her very much. She wrote me the nicest notes, which I will keep forever. She must of thought I was God when she wrote those notes. And every thing wrong became right when I read her notes. But what I miss most is that at 6AM, every single morning until she died, she would look out the window and say hi and wave and go make her coffee and I could see her drinking her coffee and saying her prayers. This was like clock work. And every night, she knew I went to bed at 8:45, she would look up and say goodnight and then pull her curtain, turn off the big light and leave the curtain open a little so I could see her or see if there was something wrong because her husband worked at night and that way she did not feel alone or afraid.”
And about Aunt Annie, who never married and lived her whole life downstairs from Aunt Helen she writes, “ Annie, the banker, story teller and friend to everybody. Family first, she always wanted family first.” And what she writes about Carly, my grandma, who I am now realizing I am sort of like, “ Carly was a fighter, nurse, and a “go along” person. When people in the neighborhood had to go to a doctor she was the one who went along because most people only spoke Italian, so she would translate for them.
But memories are subjective. Yes, Carly and Annie were close. I happen to also know that she and Aunt Annie fought like crazy, and then forgave each other. I remember as a child hearing my grandma on the phone with Aunt Annie, yelling, then just slamming the heavy iron phone into the cradle with such anger. Then half hour later, they were friends again. That’s a bit unbalanced. This craziness went on every day. So its not really all so rosy….
The aunts all lived within 2 houses. They could all see each other. Is this something that comes with our DNA? Because when I feel the most alone the most vulnerable, I want to be with my sisters. Sometimes I have a thought about moving back, closer to the fold, closer to Gina so I will have this security blanket. Then I think are you crazy? That comes with a lot of crap, not to mention bad weather.
Staying engaged
It seems I spend many hours trying to understand why my mom now, at age 77, only enjoys the casino. She really is only marginally interested when we talk on the phone. My life seems very beige to her. And honestly, to me as well!
I think I sort of get it. Historically our family (based on the aunts) needs to be engaged in life. We suffer from a need to know what’s happening now and what’s coming up next, not only for us but also for everyone around us. Hence, the “network”!
At a certain point in the aging process, with the exception of doctor’s appointments and a few family events, there are no big future plans, no upcoming trips, no weddings or anniversaries. Future plans are limited based on what you can and cannot do because you are on the exit ramp of life. In the casino, life is filled with possibilies, noise, and movement. It’s a little bit forbidden and it’s all in the present tense. It’s not like you can “plan “ to win or lose, it just happens. You are engaged. It’s an equal playing field, no one is old or young, and everyone is there to play.
Play. Something most of us don’t allow for ourselves. So I get it, although I still don’t know if it would be my choice.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Fern's Kitchen
For most of my life growing up, my mom's kitchen annoyed and amazed me at the same time.
My parents did not believe in the home upgrade so the same basic kitchen that was in the house they purchased in 1968 remained until that house sold in 2001. Mom was always ok with this.
The annoying parts:
No dishwasher, unorganized pots and pans, not enough counter space, old, old Formica tops, no great knives and the messiest silverware drawer ever. If you washed dishes and someone was in the shower, they ended up with third degree burns.
The amazing parts:
Always a great meal.
When mom sold her house and moved into a shared house with Vince and Sharon, they built her a small kitchen in her part of the house. For some crazy reason it's a smaller replica of the same bad kitchen she always had!
No counter space, no garbage disposal, no dishwasher, no good knives, limited power outlets, and a low sink that kills the back when you are washing dishes. I call this the camper. And if you leave the kitchen door open while you cook anything at all, the smoke alarm goes off in the entire house. Really loud. And annoying.
Again, my mom does not mind this. It drives me crazy.
Since I have been here we have had a few big family meals.
Between Dec.23 and Christmas Day she made 50 meatballs, tomato sauce with pork neck bones, baked 15 pork chops, roasted a pork loin, made pasta, ravioli and Italian wedding soup (with 50 smaller meatballs!). I made stuffing and salad, chopping with only one chopping surface. All in a space smaller than a master bathroom.
I personally did dishes at least 10 times. We had family meals, just the 12 of us, at least 4 times. My mom was exhausted, but happy to have us all there, even though we bicker and complain about the camper.
Lots of love goes into all that cooking. Which is shared through the food. And in the end, who cares if the kitchen is top notch?
My parents did not believe in the home upgrade so the same basic kitchen that was in the house they purchased in 1968 remained until that house sold in 2001. Mom was always ok with this.
The annoying parts:
No dishwasher, unorganized pots and pans, not enough counter space, old, old Formica tops, no great knives and the messiest silverware drawer ever. If you washed dishes and someone was in the shower, they ended up with third degree burns.
The amazing parts:
Always a great meal.
When mom sold her house and moved into a shared house with Vince and Sharon, they built her a small kitchen in her part of the house. For some crazy reason it's a smaller replica of the same bad kitchen she always had!
No counter space, no garbage disposal, no dishwasher, no good knives, limited power outlets, and a low sink that kills the back when you are washing dishes. I call this the camper. And if you leave the kitchen door open while you cook anything at all, the smoke alarm goes off in the entire house. Really loud. And annoying.
Again, my mom does not mind this. It drives me crazy.
Since I have been here we have had a few big family meals.
Between Dec.23 and Christmas Day she made 50 meatballs, tomato sauce with pork neck bones, baked 15 pork chops, roasted a pork loin, made pasta, ravioli and Italian wedding soup (with 50 smaller meatballs!). I made stuffing and salad, chopping with only one chopping surface. All in a space smaller than a master bathroom.
I personally did dishes at least 10 times. We had family meals, just the 12 of us, at least 4 times. My mom was exhausted, but happy to have us all there, even though we bicker and complain about the camper.
Lots of love goes into all that cooking. Which is shared through the food. And in the end, who cares if the kitchen is top notch?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tribe time
I arrived in Cincinnati last night to begin my 10-day holiday stay.
My flight was full of families, but it went quickly. Gina was, I think, happy to see me. She got to pick me up without anyone with her...a small miracle! We had a chance to talk on the way home, mostly about how Christmas is just not as fun as it once was...too many self-involved teenagers. I remember when Vincent was born (23 years go) and that first Christmas I came home. The family chemistry had changed. Everything revolved around "the baby".
I remember thinking, what happened here??? Adult conversation was limited. As soon as the baby made any sound, everyone's attention was diverted.
Many things have changed in the last 20 years but, I think in the last few years we have had yet another big shift. My nieces, 21, 20, 19 are all very much into can you top this. To the point of inappropriate. I am at a loss as to what to talk to them about. I have tried movies, music, tv, fashion. It's all a one-way street. I say, "Did you see the latest whatever show”. Response: I this, I that, my friend this, I do, I am. Never much of an exchange. You must be up for the blather of "I know you are, but what am I" mentality. It’s just sort of uninspired, yet annoying.
Mom Tina and Gina all spend too much time talking about them. This bothers me. I want to just ignore them and spend time with the grown ups. But no. We have the tribe mentality. Even though I think they are adults, they act like babies. They expect that we should plan meals, activities, rides. Again annoying.
So I am trying to find my place in this tangled web and maintain some sense of boundary.
I am trying my best to be in neutral with everyone. Stay tuned.
My flight was full of families, but it went quickly. Gina was, I think, happy to see me. She got to pick me up without anyone with her...a small miracle! We had a chance to talk on the way home, mostly about how Christmas is just not as fun as it once was...too many self-involved teenagers. I remember when Vincent was born (23 years go) and that first Christmas I came home. The family chemistry had changed. Everything revolved around "the baby".
I remember thinking, what happened here??? Adult conversation was limited. As soon as the baby made any sound, everyone's attention was diverted.
Many things have changed in the last 20 years but, I think in the last few years we have had yet another big shift. My nieces, 21, 20, 19 are all very much into can you top this. To the point of inappropriate. I am at a loss as to what to talk to them about. I have tried movies, music, tv, fashion. It's all a one-way street. I say, "Did you see the latest whatever show”. Response: I this, I that, my friend this, I do, I am. Never much of an exchange. You must be up for the blather of "I know you are, but what am I" mentality. It’s just sort of uninspired, yet annoying.
Mom Tina and Gina all spend too much time talking about them. This bothers me. I want to just ignore them and spend time with the grown ups. But no. We have the tribe mentality. Even though I think they are adults, they act like babies. They expect that we should plan meals, activities, rides. Again annoying.
So I am trying to find my place in this tangled web and maintain some sense of boundary.
I am trying my best to be in neutral with everyone. Stay tuned.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Bob Braun
Today I cleaned out my t-shirt drawer and at the bottom was an authentic vintage t-shirt that says The Bob Braun Show.
This is classic Cincinnati kitsch! Of course, it’s on the small side and it has a few stains, but all in all, its in good shape.
Who should have this treasure, who could squeeze into it? A few things came to mind. First off, it used to be owned by my brother Tony. No one could squeeze into a t-shirt like Tony. I wish I could find a photo of this! It brings to mind more than one instance of his fashion felonies! The thing I realize now at age 52 was that he was so young when he died and when you are young, you can pull off allot of bad fashion and still maintain some sense of cool. Not so much when you are older!
I thought of giving the shirt to one of his daughters, but they don't remember Bob. And both of them inherited our ample bosoms! Bob would be very distorted...not good!
Then my friend Monica came to mind. She qualifies because she is a friend of both Tony and myself!
And she was buying and wearing vintage clothes in 1972. She could put together fabulous, funky outfits from thrift stores across Ohio and Kentucky. This is part of her legacy, this cool vintage look. And of course, she is tiny, so the shirt will fit. I can't wait to see how she works it in!
So Monica, if you are reading this, I just packed the t-shirt in my suitcase and now we have a reason to get together next week! Details to come....
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Gratitude
I read a blog today about someone who lost 85% of thier hearing and how they were dealing with a new surgery to hopefully correct it. It reminded me that the reason I started to write was to document my gratitude. It seems I have slipped a little so here is my short list of things for which I am thankful::
* My health, that I remain cancer free, on my way to fitness and 30 pounds lighter
* For my crazy family and that right now, today, all is well, everyone is relatively happy and healthy
* For my friends
* For my ability to create something from nothing, every single day, without fail
* For my neverending ability to earn a living
* For my clients, vendors and business associates who have supported me this year
* For my dog, although I'm not sure who is the boss of who!
* For all my new stuff!
this computer, my fabulous bathroom, the deck and even the cheap, but cute tshirts from Old Navy!
* For my old stuff: my beautiful home, my sturdy Honda and somewhat functional kitchen
And, most importantly, for my ability to get up everyday and see the glass half full.
Thank you, universe for a fabulous life.
* My health, that I remain cancer free, on my way to fitness and 30 pounds lighter
* For my crazy family and that right now, today, all is well, everyone is relatively happy and healthy
* For my friends
* For my ability to create something from nothing, every single day, without fail
* For my neverending ability to earn a living
* For my clients, vendors and business associates who have supported me this year
* For my dog, although I'm not sure who is the boss of who!
* For all my new stuff!
this computer, my fabulous bathroom, the deck and even the cheap, but cute tshirts from Old Navy!
* For my old stuff: my beautiful home, my sturdy Honda and somewhat functional kitchen
And, most importantly, for my ability to get up everyday and see the glass half full.
Thank you, universe for a fabulous life.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Saturday Shopping
When I was a young adult, every Saturday after my mom got her hair done, we went shopping. We had a window of time. We had to leave before my dad got up and before anyone decided to stop by and just hang out at the 5058 kitchen table. Usually it was with both my sisters. Sometimes there was an agenda, but most times it was pure retail therapy. Tina and I both worked and we always needed work clothes. Gina at 7 and 8 years old HATED to shop, but she had to go with us because she was a child and she was not going to stay home with Dad and Grandpa. Almost always, we were on the hunt for sale clothes, shoes, purses, bras..The category being "things you wear on your body".
My mom led the charge. She drove, she directed, she settled disagreements between us, she gave us her opinion whether we wanted it or not and shopping got done. Power shopping. With lunch and then more shopping. My mom would encourage us to buy things if it was a good deal and if we wavered, she bought it for us. She rarely bought things for herself. Looking back I'm not sure when she shopped for herself.
This tradition went on for many years past when I lived in Cincinnati. Eventually Gina loved to shop and the 3 of them would go every Saturday. Sometimes they would shop for house wares or antiques or they would have to stop at Home Depot or Target.
Now that my mom was a little older, lunch was first, then shopping. Now they had to bring Leah, who HATES shopping because she is not staying home with her Dad or by herself.
And when Gina moved here, we continued the tradition at least one day on the weekend, time permitting. We shopped for all kinds of stuff. We expanded! We would go to swap meets, outlet stores, Ikea, and the old favs like Sam's Club, Ross, TJ MAXX and Target. There was always something we needed, wanted, had to have.
We took it for granted, that time together.
This week my mom and Gina flew in for a Thanksgiving visit. Although I love seeing them, and being with them I mostly felt sad.
My mom cannot shop at all. She's lost her ability to walk, the most critical of all shopping attributes. She still has the desire and we try, but the real truth is that most stores are not set up for the disabled. Only a few have motorized carts. And in my mom's case, we have to be right near her because in addition to not being able to walk, she has a sight limitation; so driving the cart is iffy at best. And the acceptance of her owning a wheelchair or a motorized craft is something she has not yet been able to get her arms around. On more than one attempt to shop we have had to clear off a shelf so she could sit down because her legs have given out and she is in PAIN.
Perhaps for her, it feels like she is like giving in to it. Honestly, I don't know the answer. All I know for sure is that now it's so very stressful to shop at all if my mom is around. She does not want to stay home and miss out, but she knows that going with us is not going to work.
Of course, she still wants to go. Its that power shopper that still lives inside her.
And I know this for sure: now my sisters and I spend most of our time discussing what to do about mom, how to make it better, less humiliating, less boring, less lonely. That is how we spend our sister time. If we shop together, we are guilt ridden that we have been gone too long. The joy of our group "retail therapy" has temporarily been suspended for us.
Time and aging have stepped in and adjusted our tradition. I am trying to get to that "evolved" place in my head.
The one that allows me to want to subscribe to the idea that just spending time with my mom is enough. It seems all she has now is time, memories and Gina's list of things to buy.
Because old habits die-hard. And once you are a power shopper, it seems it stays with you, no matter what.
For all those years and years of tradition, I want to say thank you. And I am hoping we can start a new tradition, where we are happy with talking about shopping, and just having a little lunch.
My mom led the charge. She drove, she directed, she settled disagreements between us, she gave us her opinion whether we wanted it or not and shopping got done. Power shopping. With lunch and then more shopping. My mom would encourage us to buy things if it was a good deal and if we wavered, she bought it for us. She rarely bought things for herself. Looking back I'm not sure when she shopped for herself.
This tradition went on for many years past when I lived in Cincinnati. Eventually Gina loved to shop and the 3 of them would go every Saturday. Sometimes they would shop for house wares or antiques or they would have to stop at Home Depot or Target.
Now that my mom was a little older, lunch was first, then shopping. Now they had to bring Leah, who HATES shopping because she is not staying home with her Dad or by herself.
And when Gina moved here, we continued the tradition at least one day on the weekend, time permitting. We shopped for all kinds of stuff. We expanded! We would go to swap meets, outlet stores, Ikea, and the old favs like Sam's Club, Ross, TJ MAXX and Target. There was always something we needed, wanted, had to have.
We took it for granted, that time together.
This week my mom and Gina flew in for a Thanksgiving visit. Although I love seeing them, and being with them I mostly felt sad.
My mom cannot shop at all. She's lost her ability to walk, the most critical of all shopping attributes. She still has the desire and we try, but the real truth is that most stores are not set up for the disabled. Only a few have motorized carts. And in my mom's case, we have to be right near her because in addition to not being able to walk, she has a sight limitation; so driving the cart is iffy at best. And the acceptance of her owning a wheelchair or a motorized craft is something she has not yet been able to get her arms around. On more than one attempt to shop we have had to clear off a shelf so she could sit down because her legs have given out and she is in PAIN.
Perhaps for her, it feels like she is like giving in to it. Honestly, I don't know the answer. All I know for sure is that now it's so very stressful to shop at all if my mom is around. She does not want to stay home and miss out, but she knows that going with us is not going to work.
Of course, she still wants to go. Its that power shopper that still lives inside her.
And I know this for sure: now my sisters and I spend most of our time discussing what to do about mom, how to make it better, less humiliating, less boring, less lonely. That is how we spend our sister time. If we shop together, we are guilt ridden that we have been gone too long. The joy of our group "retail therapy" has temporarily been suspended for us.
Time and aging have stepped in and adjusted our tradition. I am trying to get to that "evolved" place in my head.
The one that allows me to want to subscribe to the idea that just spending time with my mom is enough. It seems all she has now is time, memories and Gina's list of things to buy.
Because old habits die-hard. And once you are a power shopper, it seems it stays with you, no matter what.
For all those years and years of tradition, I want to say thank you. And I am hoping we can start a new tradition, where we are happy with talking about shopping, and just having a little lunch.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Writing Craze
I think I must have a ton of stories in me because all I want to do is write. Maybe its because I spend so much time alone and all I do is observe, or maybe it's just time for my stories to be told. Perhaps I am only writing to the void of cyberspace. Heaven knows, I have no one to pass things on to. No one to really cherish my history. And in a way, that is very liberating. Because I can write from my heart, I don't have to worry about having hurt anyone's feelings or that I forgot to mention someone or something. I can pick any subject and write my angle. Sometimes it takes doing that to see that some things actually were pretty funny, even though at the time it was an annoying or painful event.
I've been talking about writing for a very long time. So now, at least I am taking action!
Write on!
I've been talking about writing for a very long time. So now, at least I am taking action!
Write on!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Salsa Sundays
Last week my friend Juli and I decided to try sunday salsa with the salsa lessons at at Harvelles in Redondo Beach at the pier.
Juli is new to salsa and she did enjoy her class, but mine was not so great. I don't like classes and I particularly don't like some weird guy telling me I'm doing it wrong. I don't think there is "wrong" in recreational dancing! So we agreed that this week we would go again with my friend Luis, just for the dancing and skip the class. I have known Luis since I started dancing salsa in 1988. I know more than a few moves and grooves, but I would not classify my style as athlelic, "dancing with the stars" type of dancing. Luis has the same sensibility and so I figured with the 3 of us, it could be fun and good exercise!!
We used to dance at a place called Miami Spice in Venice. It has since been replaced with a Three Day Blinds or maybe a 99 cent store, but in its heyday, that place rocked! My friend Dianne and I, both from Ohio, used to love our cast of regulars.
We had the cha cha girls- these were the girls who dressed the part. They came in a trio, with high heel strappy sandals, short skirts, and usually a ruffled something or other. And big hair, lots of dramatic hair and makeup. We, on the other end of the spectrum were in jeans and cowboy boots.
All the men were heavy in the fragrance department. After a night of dancing, I HAD to shower before I went to bed.
Thier was one guy we called the Indian because he did look just like the Indian who was in One Flew Over the KooKoo's Nest- he barely moved his lips when he spoke and was a pretty smooth dancer. Then there was Tino the Latino--he had a mighty crush on Dianne and he counted when he danced and made a tisking noise with his mouth. After either of us danced with him, we could not look at each other for fear of laughing. And my personal favorite, Joe Mambo (yes, that's what he said his name was), right from Cuba. He was a little scary and he liked me a little more than I was comfortable with. One time he followed me outside and asked me if I wanted to have some pizza at the beach...but it came out like pitza at the bitch...it was with this accent that I can't explain..and such a wierd request!!
There was one guy named George. He was a little old bald man (I'm talking in his 60's in 1989) who came every week, stood on the sidelines and just clapped out the mambo beat with an amazing look of joy on his face. Every once in a while one of the women would dance with him. It seemed to be just enough for the old guy!
And I would be remiss if I did not mention the 2 guys who worked the door, Jose Luis and his brother Luis Jose. No kidding, I could not make that up. To know them was to get in. In fact, at one point Luis Jose became my car mechanic. And I always got moved to the front of the line!
There were many more but here is my point.
I have come to realize that the in Latin club culture, there is always a "Lucy and Ricky Ricardo" vibe, the characters are always there. Last night was great fun and I found a few new ones: hat guy who danced the enire night with his cap on and actually worked it into his moves, no matter who he danced with, drunk Columbian guy with the extra large gold cross...he was someone to stay away from and then us, my friend Juli, Luis and I, two white chicks from Redondo Beach and a guy from Panama who sort of looks like Lionel Ritchie. Because in case anyone else is keeping track, we too, are a part of the scene.
And for the record, George is now nearing 80, still going to the clubs, still joyfully clapping out that mambo beat.
Juli is new to salsa and she did enjoy her class, but mine was not so great. I don't like classes and I particularly don't like some weird guy telling me I'm doing it wrong. I don't think there is "wrong" in recreational dancing! So we agreed that this week we would go again with my friend Luis, just for the dancing and skip the class. I have known Luis since I started dancing salsa in 1988. I know more than a few moves and grooves, but I would not classify my style as athlelic, "dancing with the stars" type of dancing. Luis has the same sensibility and so I figured with the 3 of us, it could be fun and good exercise!!
We used to dance at a place called Miami Spice in Venice. It has since been replaced with a Three Day Blinds or maybe a 99 cent store, but in its heyday, that place rocked! My friend Dianne and I, both from Ohio, used to love our cast of regulars.
We had the cha cha girls- these were the girls who dressed the part. They came in a trio, with high heel strappy sandals, short skirts, and usually a ruffled something or other. And big hair, lots of dramatic hair and makeup. We, on the other end of the spectrum were in jeans and cowboy boots.
All the men were heavy in the fragrance department. After a night of dancing, I HAD to shower before I went to bed.
Thier was one guy we called the Indian because he did look just like the Indian who was in One Flew Over the KooKoo's Nest- he barely moved his lips when he spoke and was a pretty smooth dancer. Then there was Tino the Latino--he had a mighty crush on Dianne and he counted when he danced and made a tisking noise with his mouth. After either of us danced with him, we could not look at each other for fear of laughing. And my personal favorite, Joe Mambo (yes, that's what he said his name was), right from Cuba. He was a little scary and he liked me a little more than I was comfortable with. One time he followed me outside and asked me if I wanted to have some pizza at the beach...but it came out like pitza at the bitch...it was with this accent that I can't explain..and such a wierd request!!
There was one guy named George. He was a little old bald man (I'm talking in his 60's in 1989) who came every week, stood on the sidelines and just clapped out the mambo beat with an amazing look of joy on his face. Every once in a while one of the women would dance with him. It seemed to be just enough for the old guy!
And I would be remiss if I did not mention the 2 guys who worked the door, Jose Luis and his brother Luis Jose. No kidding, I could not make that up. To know them was to get in. In fact, at one point Luis Jose became my car mechanic. And I always got moved to the front of the line!
There were many more but here is my point.
I have come to realize that the in Latin club culture, there is always a "Lucy and Ricky Ricardo" vibe, the characters are always there. Last night was great fun and I found a few new ones: hat guy who danced the enire night with his cap on and actually worked it into his moves, no matter who he danced with, drunk Columbian guy with the extra large gold cross...he was someone to stay away from and then us, my friend Juli, Luis and I, two white chicks from Redondo Beach and a guy from Panama who sort of looks like Lionel Ritchie. Because in case anyone else is keeping track, we too, are a part of the scene.
And for the record, George is now nearing 80, still going to the clubs, still joyfully clapping out that mambo beat.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Dad
Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my Dad. I could write about how its hard to beleieve that 7 years have passed, but really, I don't feel that way. Many, many things have changed in our family during that time and it does feel like seven long years to me.
Dad images come to me at the wierdest times. Today I was cleaning out a drawer and an old wooden ruler, his old wooden ruler feel to the floor. And his entire ritual with that ruler came flooding into my mind like a little slide show. First he went into the kitchen and got himself a little snack. Now that could range between a stack of really cheap cookies and a cup of coffee or sometimes, if was later in the day, a diet pepsi and whatever was left on the stove, nothing too chewy--his teeth were at a minimum.
He then got himself situated at the table with the phone behind him (a wall phone with, yes, a cord!!) Then he got out a pad of paper and the wooden ruler and he made his columns (yes, like a human Excel spread sheet). He then listed all the games for that day and the point spreads and dollars and whatever else. It was all color coded.
Next the phone starts to ring. Call waiting was the best thing that ever happened to my dad. Each time another call came in he would reach behind him to the wall phone and hit the cradle to get the call on the other line. And he would write and spoke in short sentences, "yeah, yeah, ok, I gotta take this call, no , yeah, Hammy what's the point spread on Miami..." and it would go on for a few hours like that, the bang of the reciever to switch to the other line, the "yeah, yeah, ok, and so on".
His whole business was in that 3 foot span of our kitchen.
You had to pass under the phone wire to get to the steps or to the refrigerator. That was ok. But heaven forbid if anyone else got a call on that line. Eventually we had two lines, but there was always someone who didn't know the house rules...
Cell phones had just started to get popular when he passed, but I know he would of loved that technology. I can just see him with a diet pepsi, bluetooth attached! Now that makes me laugh!!
Dad images come to me at the wierdest times. Today I was cleaning out a drawer and an old wooden ruler, his old wooden ruler feel to the floor. And his entire ritual with that ruler came flooding into my mind like a little slide show. First he went into the kitchen and got himself a little snack. Now that could range between a stack of really cheap cookies and a cup of coffee or sometimes, if was later in the day, a diet pepsi and whatever was left on the stove, nothing too chewy--his teeth were at a minimum.
He then got himself situated at the table with the phone behind him (a wall phone with, yes, a cord!!) Then he got out a pad of paper and the wooden ruler and he made his columns (yes, like a human Excel spread sheet). He then listed all the games for that day and the point spreads and dollars and whatever else. It was all color coded.
Next the phone starts to ring. Call waiting was the best thing that ever happened to my dad. Each time another call came in he would reach behind him to the wall phone and hit the cradle to get the call on the other line. And he would write and spoke in short sentences, "yeah, yeah, ok, I gotta take this call, no , yeah, Hammy what's the point spread on Miami..." and it would go on for a few hours like that, the bang of the reciever to switch to the other line, the "yeah, yeah, ok, and so on".
His whole business was in that 3 foot span of our kitchen.
You had to pass under the phone wire to get to the steps or to the refrigerator. That was ok. But heaven forbid if anyone else got a call on that line. Eventually we had two lines, but there was always someone who didn't know the house rules...
Cell phones had just started to get popular when he passed, but I know he would of loved that technology. I can just see him with a diet pepsi, bluetooth attached! Now that makes me laugh!!
Saturday Symphony of Sounds
Its quiet here today..just the sound of my 1971 oven timer softly buzzing. I have no idea how to turn it off. Funny thing when you have really old appliances. They make little sounds almost all the time. My refrigerator (circa 1984) has a beat all its own. Its random and I refer to it as the bass section. My dryer squeaks. The downstairs toilet hums a high pitch. And although I can totally block it all out, when people are here, its common for me to hear a "whats that noise?"
What noise? I usually respond because I have to REALLY LISTEN to figure out what appliance is performing at that time.
I think its the same thing with that little voice inside you. Over the past few months I have been testing out various workouts trying to find the right fit for myself. Since the beginning of Oct I have been what I like to refer as a freshman pilates student.
Now I have a dance background (way, way in the background, when I was a teenager!) so my muscles remember some of the things you are supposed to do. There is a variety of moves and positions and equipment looks like either wierd sex or S and M could be done on it. The entire time you are in the class your stomache muscles, the ones you had no idea were there, have to be sucked in...all things from your core. Its just you, the instructor and your body, at attention trying to, yes, breathe properly at the same time. And the thing that really sealed the deal was the arm work. Honestly, its like torture.
Is this fun? No, not even a little. Does this have a beat? Can you dance to it with abandon? No.
I was having a love hate relationship with it so it's taken me awhile to figure it out. I will finish out my classes, I have 8 left and one private session.
But this experience did bring to mind why I did not continue with my ballet as a teenager. It became not fun. It was a chore. I liked to perform. I liked to dance -it makes me happy, but you couldn't just dance without the barr work.
I love to dance. Sometimes I have dance breaks during the day, sometimes I like to salsa. My little voice is telling me I DO like to shake my groove thing, I DO like music, no matter what form, the quiet torture of a pilates practice is a really loud NO.
Dance on!!
What noise? I usually respond because I have to REALLY LISTEN to figure out what appliance is performing at that time.
I think its the same thing with that little voice inside you. Over the past few months I have been testing out various workouts trying to find the right fit for myself. Since the beginning of Oct I have been what I like to refer as a freshman pilates student.
Now I have a dance background (way, way in the background, when I was a teenager!) so my muscles remember some of the things you are supposed to do. There is a variety of moves and positions and equipment looks like either wierd sex or S and M could be done on it. The entire time you are in the class your stomache muscles, the ones you had no idea were there, have to be sucked in...all things from your core. Its just you, the instructor and your body, at attention trying to, yes, breathe properly at the same time. And the thing that really sealed the deal was the arm work. Honestly, its like torture.
Is this fun? No, not even a little. Does this have a beat? Can you dance to it with abandon? No.
I was having a love hate relationship with it so it's taken me awhile to figure it out. I will finish out my classes, I have 8 left and one private session.
But this experience did bring to mind why I did not continue with my ballet as a teenager. It became not fun. It was a chore. I liked to perform. I liked to dance -it makes me happy, but you couldn't just dance without the barr work.
I love to dance. Sometimes I have dance breaks during the day, sometimes I like to salsa. My little voice is telling me I DO like to shake my groove thing, I DO like music, no matter what form, the quiet torture of a pilates practice is a really loud NO.
Dance on!!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
My first post...Nov 7, 2007
Wow! this was so easy to set up!
I have been thinking that since I am not so slammed with work that perhaps I should get a few thoughts out there.
Today I had lunch with my friend Syd. In the 80's, at the beginning of our careers, we were the dynamic duo, the guerilla graphics team, we invented the wheel (or so we thought), went thruough the invasion of MAC technology (starting with the Lisa...cmon, some of you recall), traveled, and made great moola. Unfortunately all for someone else...Ahh but live and learn.
Here we are 20 years later, she at 47 with 2 kids, a great career and an unexpected child on the way and myself, still forging ahead with graphics, still putting on foot in front of the other.
Still friends.
Its a nice thing. We don't often have the time to sit and have lunch, but the moment we sit down its like no time at all has passed. Somehow I know it will always be this way. So thanks syd, for a great day!
I have been thinking that since I am not so slammed with work that perhaps I should get a few thoughts out there.
Today I had lunch with my friend Syd. In the 80's, at the beginning of our careers, we were the dynamic duo, the guerilla graphics team, we invented the wheel (or so we thought), went thruough the invasion of MAC technology (starting with the Lisa...cmon, some of you recall), traveled, and made great moola. Unfortunately all for someone else...Ahh but live and learn.
Here we are 20 years later, she at 47 with 2 kids, a great career and an unexpected child on the way and myself, still forging ahead with graphics, still putting on foot in front of the other.
Still friends.
Its a nice thing. We don't often have the time to sit and have lunch, but the moment we sit down its like no time at all has passed. Somehow I know it will always be this way. So thanks syd, for a great day!
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