A cup of family history, a bushel and a peck of love, and a pinch of crazy

I love you, a bushel and a peck!
A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck!
A hug around the neck, and a barrel and a heap

The ingredients of a life fill in the dash between birth and death. My mother used them lavishly, colorfully and with abandon.

My mother, undaunted by her own strict and occasionally domineering mother, was unfazed at times when she sought independence. As a teenager living in New York, my mother dreamed of cozy cottages and country climes. She had seen a wooden rocking chair and wanted to purchase it for her room. My grandmother felt it was unnecessary and impractical in their modest-sized apartment. My mother was told that she could not get it. Those are fighting words for my mother. She purchased that chair and brought it home, remarkably, on the New York subway system. Through many incarnations, and paint colors, that rocking chair has traveled through several moves across the country and today sits in her home office.

My mother did things on her own timetable and didn’t let the seemingly impossible stop her. Where I am punctual, my mother found the concept of time to be more fluid. If we were supposed to be somewhere in five minutes, that was enough time for her to put on nail polish before we headed into the car.

When I was a teenager, my family moved to New Orleans for a number of years. Mom and Dad had to acclimate to the weather, so hot and humid compared to our New England winters, and become accustomed to a brand new way of life. Both of my parents worked and had to figure out how to maneuver in their new environment while trying to find their way around the city. In the days before Mapquest, and the difficulty in driving in the city while holding a large paper map, it was necessary to remember the minimum number of routes to arrive at your destination. On one shopping excursion, my mother had missed her turn and did not know another way to get back to the Mall. As I was a teenager, fresh from driving lessons and my license still warm, I told my mother that the sign said “No Left Turns.” My mother’s steely reply: “Wanna Bet?”

How could I turn out any other way than strong, determined, caring, and possessing a wit and absurd sense of humor? Even in the horrors of losing my mother to ALS, our quirky brand of love and humor prevailed. My mother told me that the doctor said to her that it is very important for people with ALS to breathe. I looked at her, and said, “Mom, tell the doctor it is important for all patients to breathe.” It took a moment and then, through our shared fear and heartbreak, my mother threw her head back and laughed. I miss that so much.

My mother gifted me bits, pieces and pinches of love, chutzpah, humor, deep intention, perfectionism, creativity, strength, determination, independence and the directive to think about others first. I am held together with the glue of family. We are responsible for each other and are made up of basic truths and a profound sense of belonging. We love all of the members of our family tree because they are “ours.” Mom loved us a bushel and a peck. She sang that song to each of her 15 grandchildren and 5 great grandchildren. When in doubt, buy balloons or flowers. Even a cup of coffee tastes better when someone else makes it and gives it to you. Two cookies – one in each hand is a balanced meal. The most important lesson in life is to be a mensch. Recipes handed down always have notes in the margins.

Stirred up as I am about injustice, I can be whipped into a froth of self-righteousness and a fight for the underdog. I can stew for a long time, but would prefer to be light hearted. Blending all these parts together and layers of empathy and kindness makes a dessert so precious that it only comes once a lifetime. For now, my mother is an Angel Cake but she gave me the sweetest parts of my nature and the nuttiest parts of my brain. It all begins and ends with great laughter and one slice of life is never enough. The recipe is handed down from generation to generation and now it is my turn to create the sweetness and keep the crust from getting too hard. Have you been served?

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Weekly word challenge – a pinch of me to share with you
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Thank you for stopping by! It means more than you know.
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What a Thrill! I am Freshly Pressed

Just adding a Thank You to all those reading the posts on WordPress as moderators and participants. I am very late to the game, but the DpChallenge was a fun way to participate in the WordPress community. Thanks for stopping by and sharing your positive comments ~ It means more than you know!

Letters Are Lovely for Poetry and Verse, but Email Will Prevail for Better or Worse

There are no love letters or birthday cards wrapped in ribbon since the advent of email. My days of pining over a pale blue aerogramme envelope, from a foreign county, and the passion of teenage lust and longing are a concept most cannot remember, let alone have ever experienced.

There was also an art to sending mail and adding stickers, confetti and doodles on the edges. You knew that if you applied the stamp upside down, it meant “I love you.” Yup, we tried to sneak a few tricks past the US Postal system.

I still remember shopping for cute stationary to write my letters with and today still prefer a handwritten thank you note. My favorite stationary in elementary school was strawberry scented (along with the roll-on lip gloss……..ahh what a simpler time).

I have collected cards for birthdays and anniversaries. It is still fun to get snail mail addressed to me and gift cards by post. Also, my mother taught me to throw metallic confetti into the birthday cards for a little extra fun. That is one memory and custom I would like to carry down to my own grandchildren someday.

Don’t get me wrong, emails and photos pass through my computer all day long. It is wonderful for so many things and extremely convenient. However, there are still some niceties that I would like to incorporate.

Brevity be damned; show me some personal attention and don’t delete my ideas or threaten me with a “Reply All.” Don’t respond with a smiley face simply because you want to end the conversation.

When I get a “hello” without my first name, I feel that I might be part of a batch email where someone cut and pasted the text, over and over again, but only changed the email address. It does not feel personal, warm, or necessarily for me, but I got lumped in with the other lucky recipients of the email.

I got an email offering me a free iPhone 4 signed by my husband. Immediately it was consigned to Spam. My husband offering to get me an iPhone? Inconceivable. Improbable. We have financial issues. Also, as a born and bred Canadian, he is not known for major spontaneous gift giving. Well, son of a gun, it really was from him. The phone company was offering it as an incentive. So, yeah, sure, I would love a new cell phone. Distrust and doubt have created filters (email humor) between those whom we love and share notes.

Casual emails, in place of a business letter, where words are abbreviated or spelled in shorthand for texting drive me crazy! This is a business communication so I believe that it should be written just as if I were sending a proper letter. “Luv” is supposed to be in pink on someone’s binder and fluffy pen; it is not part of a semi-serious work email.

The regulations of the grammar police are drilled into my head from years of proofreading and correcting papers. I got a perfect score on my SAT’s on the test of Standard Written English. I was proud of that distinction, but such skills are disappearing from the communication landscape. Today, thanks to email, I have seen handwriting from leaders and captains of industry that looks like they never made it past the sixth grade.

Email is meant as a convenience, but should not be at the expense of correct spelling and complete sentences. Emojis are not a replacement for condolences or congratulations. The nuances of Comic Sans versus Helvetica should not be an indication of your intentions.

Speak to me in full sentences. Use your words. Flattery by font will get you nowhere.

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Maybe one of these days I can get the words out, I want to be brave

I still stand aside, quietly looking at the celebration around me; the coy looks and the sly laughs. But I am still; my brain is moving through the moving images of a life past and gone from sight. I keep thinking over and over.

My silence is not an indication of my lack of value or understanding the importance of the tasks at hand. No, it is not negativity or being aloof. My responsibilities have always been a part of how I have lived my life and honored and respected my history and duties.

Grief and loss still wash over me like scattered showers throughout the day. Cloudy with a side of memories.

For the last two years, we watched the most important members of our family deteriorate and pass away. I have lost three family members in the last sixteen months; two of them in the last two months. I miss you more than I ever thought I could. It did not occur to me that there would not be enough words to describe the hurt.

I don’t know when I will feel better or if I will ever feel like myself again. My whole life has revolved around the strong and special women in my life. They were there for so many years, tears, anxieties, laughter, and love. Over and over again.

So party on. Celebrate and live life with gusto. Have an amazing weekend. Grab a wild and crazy evening. Revel. Dance. Smile.

But please remember, that my life has been changed irrevocably. I don’t know when I will feel that kind of freedom again, if ever. So I am quiet. Please don’t judge me. You have never walked in these shoes and obviously cannot imagine what it feels like to have the bottom of your heart drop out.

If you grieve a loss, then we speak the same language of emptiness and pain against a façade of simple life motions and activities. We are part of a club that we don’t want to belong to living on the other side of the abyss. I don’t know how long these dark days will last for us. We are only beginning to learn.

Maybe one of these days you can let the light in and let your words come out the way you want to. Share your grief, your loss, your light right here ~~

Show me how big your brave is …..

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Thank you for stopping by and I look forward to hearing what you have to say
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