I have never been big on New Year's Resolutions. Mostly because the amount of willpower I have would fit into a thimble. I am not a person who likes to exercise. I know, you're saying 'who does?' I actually know people who enjoy it. I have never been one of them. I've tried. I bought myself a gym membership one year, and went once. The following year I bought myself a gazelle glider, put it up, and used it for maybe a week. Now it mostly acts as a hanger for my towels after my shower. I mean to use it more, and sometimes I do get on it and use it. My goal is to use it a few minutes a day and work myself up to maybe 20 minutes a day. Maybe it would help with my Fibro. But when it comes down to it, I'm just to beat at the end of the day to use it.
My lack of willpower was confirmed today when I went to Michael's for the yarn sale. My plan was to buy the yarn Erich wanted for his afghan. I told myself as I went into the store that I would only get that yarn, and maybe some photo albums. I was not going to go crazy in the yarn department. 25 skeins of yarn later, I reluctantly left the yarn section. There was so much more I wanted to buy, but I limited myself to just three projects (and none of them were Erich's- he didn't find what he wanted).
So I do not make resolutions. It just sets me up for failure, and I don't need that. Of course, there are things I'd like to get done in the coming year. I'd like to get to Myrtle Beach to visit my dear friend Patricia. I'd like to get my credit card paid off. I would like to plan out my knitting projects better so I'm not down to the wire come next December. There are always projects around the house to do, and I have a lot of organizing projects I need to tackle. Then of course, I will need to make at least one trip home to NY.
New Year's Eve always seems so full of promise. It seems like the next year is a clean slate, even though your routine will continue just as it did this year. Yet I don't really feel the hope this year. This past week at work we learned the company had been sold. I actually don't work for that company, I work for a non-profit in the same building. The non-profit leases me from the company that has been sold. So I don't know what it means for me. None of us really do. The new owners are coming next week. No doubt there will be big changes. All I can do is do my job to the best of my ability. I always give 120% anyway, and if that isn't enough, then there's nothing I can do about that. I am anxious about it, but I'm not letting it keep me up at night.
December has brought enough drama for a year, and I am truly hoping 2011 is better. Odd, because I normally don't like odd numbered years. I will be 35 next year. I'm trying not to think about that, it sounds so old. So here's to 2011, may it bring more good than bad!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Beauty Sleep
I am a diva when it comes to my sleep. I certainly didn't start out as a diva, it has kind of evolved over time. I have always been a relatively light sleeper. Thunderstorms, fire sirens, hoot owls all could wake me up as a child. I'd get up in the morning and ask my Dad where the fire was the previous night, and neither he nor mom had heard the fire siren. I would hear it, and also hear the fire trucks leaving town and could tell if they headed north towards Petersburgh or south towards Cherry Plain. I remember one time as a teenager we had a very bad thunderstorm in the middle of the night. I got scared (yes, thunderstorms scare me), and picked up my blankets and pillows and went into my sister's room. I curled up on her floor and slept, and the next morning, everyone wondered why I was in her room. They hadn't even heard the thunderstorm.
Looking back, I have no idea how I survived four years of college- or more specifically, four years of trying to sleep in a dorm. I know I took naps a lot. I remember being tired even back in high school. I would come home from school, take a nap, and then go to my part time job. In college, I napped a lot. I still nap. Each day I come home for lunch, and after I've eaten my lunch, I take a 10-20 minute power nap. It recharges my battery enough that I can get through the afternoon. When I don't get my nap, I struggle to get through the rest of the day.
People with Fibro do not sleep well. Many of us do not get the restful deep sleep that we need. Most nights, I could sleep for 12 hours and wake up feeling exhausted, like I hadn't slept at all. The restful sleep is the 'repair' time for our bodies. My body doesn't go through that repair stage. Even when I am so tired I can barely move, I suffer from insomnia. Once I get in my bed, I lie awake for at least a couple of hours. Some nights I have fallen asleep on the couch, and yet the insomnia still kicks in. Then there are the trips to the restroom. My mind thinks of that day at work, or the next day at work. I think of projects I am working on, things I need to do. I make lists in my head. I think of blog entries. My brain has no 'off' switch. I try to be upstairs in my bed by 11pm, and most mornings for work I get up at 7:20am. In that 8 hour time frame, I sleep in fits and shifts. On a good night, I will get 5 or 6 hours of sleep. Not continuous- I roll over and wake up several times a night. On a really bad night, I may only get 30 minutes of sleep over the course of the 8 hours.
As I learned more about Fibro, and how to live with it, I put more thought into my sleep environment. I bought room darkening curtains for the three windows in my bedroom. I already had a great pillowtop mattress. Erich says it's too soft and my mom says it's too high. But it's just right for me! I sleep in the middle of my queen sized bed-this gives me plenty of room to roll over without falling out of bed. I keep my room cold. My room is above the garage, so it is always colder in the winter. Then I have a rotating fan I turn on to make it colder. For the summer, we bought a portable air conditioner for my room, and I sleep with that running.
Careful thought went into the linens for my bed. I do not like the feel of regular sheets, so I have the t-shirt sheets. It feels like sleeping on an old worn t-shirt. Very soft. I have two blankets. In the summer, the bottom blanket is a waffle weave cotton blanket, and in the winter it is a soft fleece. The top blanket is a Biederlack blanket I've had for about 13 years. I love Biederlack blankets, they are soft and warm and snuggly. I was so sad to learn the company went out of business in the past couple of years. My Biederlack blanket has teddy bears on it. It keeps me warmer in winter and oddly enough, this same blanket keeps me cool in summer. I love the softness against my face. The blankets are topped by a comforter, but that is more for decorative purposes. The comforter is nothing special, it has a woodland cottage scene on it (which includes bears and moose). The material isn't all that appealing to touch, but on the coldest of nights, I appreciate the bulk.
Then of course, there are pillows. After I started getting allergy injections, I felt like I couldn't breathe if I slept flat on my back. So I propped myself up with several pillows. I currently have three pillows of varying firmness to prop up my upper body. The pillow I actually sleep on is a contoured memory foam pillow which cradles my head. That makes a total of four pillows. Sometimes, I feel like a princess surrounded by her cloud of pillows.
To top off all of this, I also have a body pillow with a soft fleece cover. There are days the Fibro pain is so bad, I cannot stand the feeling of my fingers touching each other, or the bones in my legs hurt when I lie on my side, with one leg on top of the other. On those days, I need something to cushion the bones. The body pillow is wonderful for that. It also gives me something to hold on the nights that pain is ravaging my body. It is comforting.
Everything about my bed is comforting. Or it is meant to be comforting. I assure you, there is nothing comforting on the nights that I cannot sleep, the nights when I reset the sleep timer on the TV for another hour, and then another, and then there's nothing left on TV to watch, and I'm still awake. And then I realize I have to be to work in 2 hours. Yeah, those nights my bed seems more like a prison.
Some people have told me to turn off the TV. I have to have the noise. Otherwise, I am alone with my thoughts, and that is even worse. At least with the TV, my mind has something to focus on.
The Fibro pain is made worse by poor sleep, but I don't get the deep sleep my body needs to heal the pain. Like many things with Fibro, it is a catch-22. I consider it a good night if the next morning, I know I fell asleep before the TV went off, but I don't remember hearing the TV turn off. What is a great night of sleep? Falling asleep and feeling like I've been asleep for days, then waking up and seeing that the clock says 2 or 3 or 4 am, and I realize I have several hours left to sleep. Then I pull the blankets up over my chin, snuggle into my nest of pillows and blankets, and fall back into a peaceful sleep until my alarm startles me awake. Those nights are a luxury. I always feel like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind- the morning after Rhett carries her up the stairs. She wakes up stretching, surrounded by the best linens, at peace with the world. Of course, I didn't have Rhett Butler in bed, but for me, a good nights' sleep is just as satisfying.
Looking back, I have no idea how I survived four years of college- or more specifically, four years of trying to sleep in a dorm. I know I took naps a lot. I remember being tired even back in high school. I would come home from school, take a nap, and then go to my part time job. In college, I napped a lot. I still nap. Each day I come home for lunch, and after I've eaten my lunch, I take a 10-20 minute power nap. It recharges my battery enough that I can get through the afternoon. When I don't get my nap, I struggle to get through the rest of the day.
People with Fibro do not sleep well. Many of us do not get the restful deep sleep that we need. Most nights, I could sleep for 12 hours and wake up feeling exhausted, like I hadn't slept at all. The restful sleep is the 'repair' time for our bodies. My body doesn't go through that repair stage. Even when I am so tired I can barely move, I suffer from insomnia. Once I get in my bed, I lie awake for at least a couple of hours. Some nights I have fallen asleep on the couch, and yet the insomnia still kicks in. Then there are the trips to the restroom. My mind thinks of that day at work, or the next day at work. I think of projects I am working on, things I need to do. I make lists in my head. I think of blog entries. My brain has no 'off' switch. I try to be upstairs in my bed by 11pm, and most mornings for work I get up at 7:20am. In that 8 hour time frame, I sleep in fits and shifts. On a good night, I will get 5 or 6 hours of sleep. Not continuous- I roll over and wake up several times a night. On a really bad night, I may only get 30 minutes of sleep over the course of the 8 hours.
As I learned more about Fibro, and how to live with it, I put more thought into my sleep environment. I bought room darkening curtains for the three windows in my bedroom. I already had a great pillowtop mattress. Erich says it's too soft and my mom says it's too high. But it's just right for me! I sleep in the middle of my queen sized bed-this gives me plenty of room to roll over without falling out of bed. I keep my room cold. My room is above the garage, so it is always colder in the winter. Then I have a rotating fan I turn on to make it colder. For the summer, we bought a portable air conditioner for my room, and I sleep with that running.
Careful thought went into the linens for my bed. I do not like the feel of regular sheets, so I have the t-shirt sheets. It feels like sleeping on an old worn t-shirt. Very soft. I have two blankets. In the summer, the bottom blanket is a waffle weave cotton blanket, and in the winter it is a soft fleece. The top blanket is a Biederlack blanket I've had for about 13 years. I love Biederlack blankets, they are soft and warm and snuggly. I was so sad to learn the company went out of business in the past couple of years. My Biederlack blanket has teddy bears on it. It keeps me warmer in winter and oddly enough, this same blanket keeps me cool in summer. I love the softness against my face. The blankets are topped by a comforter, but that is more for decorative purposes. The comforter is nothing special, it has a woodland cottage scene on it (which includes bears and moose). The material isn't all that appealing to touch, but on the coldest of nights, I appreciate the bulk.
Then of course, there are pillows. After I started getting allergy injections, I felt like I couldn't breathe if I slept flat on my back. So I propped myself up with several pillows. I currently have three pillows of varying firmness to prop up my upper body. The pillow I actually sleep on is a contoured memory foam pillow which cradles my head. That makes a total of four pillows. Sometimes, I feel like a princess surrounded by her cloud of pillows.
To top off all of this, I also have a body pillow with a soft fleece cover. There are days the Fibro pain is so bad, I cannot stand the feeling of my fingers touching each other, or the bones in my legs hurt when I lie on my side, with one leg on top of the other. On those days, I need something to cushion the bones. The body pillow is wonderful for that. It also gives me something to hold on the nights that pain is ravaging my body. It is comforting.
Everything about my bed is comforting. Or it is meant to be comforting. I assure you, there is nothing comforting on the nights that I cannot sleep, the nights when I reset the sleep timer on the TV for another hour, and then another, and then there's nothing left on TV to watch, and I'm still awake. And then I realize I have to be to work in 2 hours. Yeah, those nights my bed seems more like a prison.
Some people have told me to turn off the TV. I have to have the noise. Otherwise, I am alone with my thoughts, and that is even worse. At least with the TV, my mind has something to focus on.
The Fibro pain is made worse by poor sleep, but I don't get the deep sleep my body needs to heal the pain. Like many things with Fibro, it is a catch-22. I consider it a good night if the next morning, I know I fell asleep before the TV went off, but I don't remember hearing the TV turn off. What is a great night of sleep? Falling asleep and feeling like I've been asleep for days, then waking up and seeing that the clock says 2 or 3 or 4 am, and I realize I have several hours left to sleep. Then I pull the blankets up over my chin, snuggle into my nest of pillows and blankets, and fall back into a peaceful sleep until my alarm startles me awake. Those nights are a luxury. I always feel like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With The Wind- the morning after Rhett carries her up the stairs. She wakes up stretching, surrounded by the best linens, at peace with the world. Of course, I didn't have Rhett Butler in bed, but for me, a good nights' sleep is just as satisfying.
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Year Without Christmas
Followers of either of my blogs know I love Christmas. It is my favorite time of year. It is full of traditions and wonderful memories for me. I usually start preparing for Christmas in early November. If you could be defined by a holiday, Christmas would define me. Maybe I should have been named 'Noelle', which might have been a bit odd since my birthday is in June. I live for Christmas, and I love Christmas.
And I have to say, this year, I feel that I've been jipped. It's no one's fault, other than Mother Nature's. By now, I'm sure anyone living in the US has heard all about the blizzard that settled in over the Northeast yesterday, wreaking havoc on travel in many states. I had a premonition about this, for several weeks I had a bad feeling about my parents' visit. I couldn't tell what it was, and tried my best to ignore it, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I started worrying about the storm on Saturday as the words 'developing nor'easter' were uttered on the Weather Channel. If you've spent any amount of time in the Northeastern part of the US, you know those two words never bring good news. I talked to my family Saturday afternoon, and Dad said their local forecast wasn't predicting any snow totals yet, but that areas east of Albany could get 7" of snow. My parents live about an hour east of Albany. Dad was optimistic, and said 'we'll get there'.
Yesterday, I started watching the Weather Channel. I also checked the website of Albany's NBC affiliate, which Dad prefers to watch for the weather. The snow predictions were not positive- a foot for Philadelphia, where Mom & Dad had to change planes. Albany was blanketed in a dark purple color on the Weather Channel. A color which would make a lovely sweater or top. But on a weather graphic, it is a very angry color. The Albany affiliate was forecasting at least 8", and some places could get 20"+. I took a deep breath, and the phone rang just then. It was Mom. She had talked to the airline, and their flight was still on. The airline rep said since Mom & Dad had a 7am flight, they had a good chance of getting out of Albany. Early morning flights are best, the later in the day you go, the greater the risk of delays or cancellations. The rep also thought that Mom & Dad should be ok changing in Philly, and told mom not to change her plans and fly out Sunday afternoon, as they would not get out.
I tried not to obsessively watch the Weather Channel yesterday, or to check the Albany station's website. I knew it wasn't good news. Plus, I had plenty of things to do. I needed to finish cleaning the house and preparing for my company. I have been sick with a bad cold since Thursday night. I started with a cold around December 15, and thought I had gotten over it, but after my quick trip to NY, I started feeling worse when I got back. No real surprise I guess. I was on airplanes (which are truly petri dishes-my theory is the only place worse than an airplane is a college dorm), I was in a nursing home, and I was at a party with 56 other people. It's that time of year, and my resistance is low due to the stress. So it is not a surprise that this cold blossomed. Wednesday and Thursday I had a horrible sore throat all day, and by Thursday night I was sneezing, coughing, and miserable. I rested most of the day Friday. Saturday and yesterday I cleaned. It took me several hours to do a room, because I would do a little and have to lie down to rest. I had so little energy, it took almost all my strength to grab a kleenex and blow my nose. Saturday when I talked to my Dad, he said I sounded like crap. Thank you, Dad. I felt like crap too, and highly doubt I was going so great in the looks department. I finished dusting the living room around 7:30 last night.
At 8:45pm, Mom called. Their flights were canceled. Both the flight out of Albany and the flight out of Philly. She was going to try to rebook, and would call back. She called back, about half an hour or so later. They couldn't get rebooked. The best they could do was get on a standby flight out of Albany on Wednesday, and then the airline rep told mom there was no telling when they'd get out of Philly; IF they'd get out of Philly. If it were just the two of them travelling, this wouldn't have been ideal. But adding in that they were traveling with a four year old, it was a no go. Mom was able to get a full refund on the tickets. She asked Dad if they could drive out, and Dad said they could, but they would lose a day each way driving. I told Mom it didn't make sense to drive, they either have to come around Lake Erie (not a good idea in winter with the lake effect snows which can spring up at anytime), or come down through PA, and they were telling people in PA, NJ, NY to stay off the roads. I cried. Mom cried. We cried harder when we thought of how disappointed Sydney was going to be. We talked about them coming out on her break in February, or more likely, Spring Break (so that we wouldn't have snow to deal with).
When I hung up with Mom, the first thing I saw was my Christmas tree, shining all bright and happy, with presents underneath waiting to be opened. Erich and I had not had our own Christmas, because we didn't really have much to give each other this year. We had decided to wait until my family arrived, and have one big Christmas. Saturday felt like just another day to us. I did cook a ham. Well, I reheated a ham. We had a ham that was pre-cooked, so I created a glaze and put it over the ham and reheated it. I fixed a box of scalloped potatoes, which I ended up undercooking, and we ate in front of the tv, as we always do. I was so sick, I barely ate anything. I stayed in my pjs all day; I was even too sick to get a shower. You know I'm sick when I don't take a shower! It was nothing special.
Suddenly, last night, the wonderful Christmas I was looking forward to was gone, because of the wrath of Mother Nature. I couldn't take it. I went to the garage and found a couple of boxes, and first I boxed up the gifts to send to Sydney, then I boxed up the gifts to send to my parents. I also sent Mom & Dad's clothes back to them. They were not planning to check bags, so they had shipped some clothes to me in advance. They're going to need them in NY, and if they don't come here til April, they won't need winter clothes then! I separated the few small gifts my parents had sent for us, and the two gifts I had for Erich (an ornament, and an IOU for an afghan). Our main present from my parents were new dining room chairs. But Mom always gives us something small, so we have something to open on Christmas.
Then I attacked the tree. With tears streaming down my face, I took all the ornaments off the tree and put them back in the storage container. I took the ribbons off and wrapped them around the ribbon spool for next year. I opened my small presents from Mom & Dad, and got the dogs gifts down from upstairs and opened those. All the while, I was crying and sobbing. I cried so hard I had to gasp for air, and then had dry heaves. At first I thought it was the worst Christmas I had since 1999, the year I was newly divorced. I spent that Christmas alone in my apartment. I stayed in my pjs all day, kept the curtains drawn, and watched videos. I had opened one present a day leading up to Christmas, and made myself a special meal of ravioli (prior to that, I did not know you could buy ravioli frozen and ready to cook). But at least I had a plan in 1999. It may have been my most depressing Christmas, but I still had one.
This year, I didn't have a Christmas. The whole Christmas season was altered. I started off really well, putting up my tree two weeks early. I was busy not only with the usual Christmas stuff, but with preparing the house for Sydney's visit. Then we were hit with my Grandmother's illness, and that slowed my preparation a bit. Then Drew was so sick. That would have been enough to stop me in other years, but I kept plodding along, putting up the nativity, decorating the house for Christmas. I kept thinking that at the end of all this, Sydney would be here, my parents would be here, and we'd have a few great days together. It kept me going. When I had to give up a weekend of making cookies to fly to NY, I thought it was ok, because I'd make cookies with Sydney this week. All weekend, when I was so sick I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, I kept pushing a little further, kept going for my family. And then, just like that, it was gone. It was December 26 and my Christmas was gone. The Christmas season was gone. I was left with my usual post-Christmas blues, coupled with a disappointment so huge I can't even put it into words. It's always sad to me when Christmas is over, it's such a letdown. That's why I take my tree down quickly, and get my house back to it's non-Christmas form. I don't like the reminders. It's all so sad to me.
And this year it is even worse. It has been about 18 hours since I found out my parents and Sydney aren't coming, and I have almost hid all traces of Christmas in the house. The tree is down and stored for another year. The couches have been moved back to their usual spaces. The outdoor decorations are all down thanks to Erich, and stored in the garage. All I have left to do is take down my nativity set and the Christmas Village (which I just got up Friday night). That will be done tonight. Then I will need to take the Christmas bears down, but right now I can't stand to go into the guest room.
I have cried so much, my eyes are raw. Just when I think I can't cry anymore, the tears start fresh. I know I can't tell people about it. If I start talking about it, I cry. When people at work ask me 'how was your Christmas', I think I will spare them and my eyes and just tell them 'I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about it'. After all, when people ask how your Christmas was, it's kind of a rhetorical question. They want to hear that it was wonderful, you had a great day with your family, you received lots of great presents. They do not want to hear 'it was lousy'. Or worse, 'we didn't have one'.
And it's not about the presents. As I said, our big present were dining room chairs, which arrived before Thanksgiving. Erich bought us a camcorder, which was a present for both of us. For me, Christmas is the feeling- the warmth, the love, the joy. It's the togetherness. Family. This year, I feel very alone, very sad, and very disappointed. The only words I can find to describe the way I feel is devastated and heartbroken.
Sydney was very upset too, but Laura said when she saw all the snow outside, she kind of understood. Laura told her maybe she could come visit me near Easter. In the innocence of a four year old, she immediately worried how the Easter Bunny would find her in Ohio. My sister told her the same way Santa did, and then Sydney wondered what happens to the presents Santa left in Ohio. Laura assured her I was shipping them.
I understand. Sometimes Mother Nature has other plans. It doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't mean to sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It isn't the end of the world, I know that. Other people had their plans ruined too. I know. They are all over the news. I just feel jipped, and it's been a hellacious month. I know there are always people who have it worse. Right now, I feel like we've had enough. When someone has a rough year, as it gets towards the new year, Mom says she hopes the next year will be better for them.
I am truly hoping 2011 will be better. Or that it at least starts better than 2010 is ending. I am desperately trying to stay positive, to keep from slipping into a depression. 99% of the time, I am able to keep the depression that comes with the Fibro at bay. I think I do a pretty good job of staying positive. Yet, now, I don't have any energy left to fight it. I don't know that I will be successful this time. I truly am so down. I know that I will snap out of it in a few days, but right now, I just want to wallow in pity. I've made a list of projects I can work on to keep me busy. I have apologized in advance to those closest to me if I'm a bit unpleasant the next couple of days. We all have our moments, and I think this one is mine.
I don't wish anything bad on others, but I hope the Universe will find someone else to beat up on. I'm pretty bruised and weak from the beating the Universe has given me over the past few weeks, and could use a break.
And I have to say, this year, I feel that I've been jipped. It's no one's fault, other than Mother Nature's. By now, I'm sure anyone living in the US has heard all about the blizzard that settled in over the Northeast yesterday, wreaking havoc on travel in many states. I had a premonition about this, for several weeks I had a bad feeling about my parents' visit. I couldn't tell what it was, and tried my best to ignore it, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I started worrying about the storm on Saturday as the words 'developing nor'easter' were uttered on the Weather Channel. If you've spent any amount of time in the Northeastern part of the US, you know those two words never bring good news. I talked to my family Saturday afternoon, and Dad said their local forecast wasn't predicting any snow totals yet, but that areas east of Albany could get 7" of snow. My parents live about an hour east of Albany. Dad was optimistic, and said 'we'll get there'.
Yesterday, I started watching the Weather Channel. I also checked the website of Albany's NBC affiliate, which Dad prefers to watch for the weather. The snow predictions were not positive- a foot for Philadelphia, where Mom & Dad had to change planes. Albany was blanketed in a dark purple color on the Weather Channel. A color which would make a lovely sweater or top. But on a weather graphic, it is a very angry color. The Albany affiliate was forecasting at least 8", and some places could get 20"+. I took a deep breath, and the phone rang just then. It was Mom. She had talked to the airline, and their flight was still on. The airline rep said since Mom & Dad had a 7am flight, they had a good chance of getting out of Albany. Early morning flights are best, the later in the day you go, the greater the risk of delays or cancellations. The rep also thought that Mom & Dad should be ok changing in Philly, and told mom not to change her plans and fly out Sunday afternoon, as they would not get out.
I tried not to obsessively watch the Weather Channel yesterday, or to check the Albany station's website. I knew it wasn't good news. Plus, I had plenty of things to do. I needed to finish cleaning the house and preparing for my company. I have been sick with a bad cold since Thursday night. I started with a cold around December 15, and thought I had gotten over it, but after my quick trip to NY, I started feeling worse when I got back. No real surprise I guess. I was on airplanes (which are truly petri dishes-my theory is the only place worse than an airplane is a college dorm), I was in a nursing home, and I was at a party with 56 other people. It's that time of year, and my resistance is low due to the stress. So it is not a surprise that this cold blossomed. Wednesday and Thursday I had a horrible sore throat all day, and by Thursday night I was sneezing, coughing, and miserable. I rested most of the day Friday. Saturday and yesterday I cleaned. It took me several hours to do a room, because I would do a little and have to lie down to rest. I had so little energy, it took almost all my strength to grab a kleenex and blow my nose. Saturday when I talked to my Dad, he said I sounded like crap. Thank you, Dad. I felt like crap too, and highly doubt I was going so great in the looks department. I finished dusting the living room around 7:30 last night.
At 8:45pm, Mom called. Their flights were canceled. Both the flight out of Albany and the flight out of Philly. She was going to try to rebook, and would call back. She called back, about half an hour or so later. They couldn't get rebooked. The best they could do was get on a standby flight out of Albany on Wednesday, and then the airline rep told mom there was no telling when they'd get out of Philly; IF they'd get out of Philly. If it were just the two of them travelling, this wouldn't have been ideal. But adding in that they were traveling with a four year old, it was a no go. Mom was able to get a full refund on the tickets. She asked Dad if they could drive out, and Dad said they could, but they would lose a day each way driving. I told Mom it didn't make sense to drive, they either have to come around Lake Erie (not a good idea in winter with the lake effect snows which can spring up at anytime), or come down through PA, and they were telling people in PA, NJ, NY to stay off the roads. I cried. Mom cried. We cried harder when we thought of how disappointed Sydney was going to be. We talked about them coming out on her break in February, or more likely, Spring Break (so that we wouldn't have snow to deal with).
When I hung up with Mom, the first thing I saw was my Christmas tree, shining all bright and happy, with presents underneath waiting to be opened. Erich and I had not had our own Christmas, because we didn't really have much to give each other this year. We had decided to wait until my family arrived, and have one big Christmas. Saturday felt like just another day to us. I did cook a ham. Well, I reheated a ham. We had a ham that was pre-cooked, so I created a glaze and put it over the ham and reheated it. I fixed a box of scalloped potatoes, which I ended up undercooking, and we ate in front of the tv, as we always do. I was so sick, I barely ate anything. I stayed in my pjs all day; I was even too sick to get a shower. You know I'm sick when I don't take a shower! It was nothing special.
Suddenly, last night, the wonderful Christmas I was looking forward to was gone, because of the wrath of Mother Nature. I couldn't take it. I went to the garage and found a couple of boxes, and first I boxed up the gifts to send to Sydney, then I boxed up the gifts to send to my parents. I also sent Mom & Dad's clothes back to them. They were not planning to check bags, so they had shipped some clothes to me in advance. They're going to need them in NY, and if they don't come here til April, they won't need winter clothes then! I separated the few small gifts my parents had sent for us, and the two gifts I had for Erich (an ornament, and an IOU for an afghan). Our main present from my parents were new dining room chairs. But Mom always gives us something small, so we have something to open on Christmas.
Then I attacked the tree. With tears streaming down my face, I took all the ornaments off the tree and put them back in the storage container. I took the ribbons off and wrapped them around the ribbon spool for next year. I opened my small presents from Mom & Dad, and got the dogs gifts down from upstairs and opened those. All the while, I was crying and sobbing. I cried so hard I had to gasp for air, and then had dry heaves. At first I thought it was the worst Christmas I had since 1999, the year I was newly divorced. I spent that Christmas alone in my apartment. I stayed in my pjs all day, kept the curtains drawn, and watched videos. I had opened one present a day leading up to Christmas, and made myself a special meal of ravioli (prior to that, I did not know you could buy ravioli frozen and ready to cook). But at least I had a plan in 1999. It may have been my most depressing Christmas, but I still had one.
This year, I didn't have a Christmas. The whole Christmas season was altered. I started off really well, putting up my tree two weeks early. I was busy not only with the usual Christmas stuff, but with preparing the house for Sydney's visit. Then we were hit with my Grandmother's illness, and that slowed my preparation a bit. Then Drew was so sick. That would have been enough to stop me in other years, but I kept plodding along, putting up the nativity, decorating the house for Christmas. I kept thinking that at the end of all this, Sydney would be here, my parents would be here, and we'd have a few great days together. It kept me going. When I had to give up a weekend of making cookies to fly to NY, I thought it was ok, because I'd make cookies with Sydney this week. All weekend, when I was so sick I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, I kept pushing a little further, kept going for my family. And then, just like that, it was gone. It was December 26 and my Christmas was gone. The Christmas season was gone. I was left with my usual post-Christmas blues, coupled with a disappointment so huge I can't even put it into words. It's always sad to me when Christmas is over, it's such a letdown. That's why I take my tree down quickly, and get my house back to it's non-Christmas form. I don't like the reminders. It's all so sad to me.
And this year it is even worse. It has been about 18 hours since I found out my parents and Sydney aren't coming, and I have almost hid all traces of Christmas in the house. The tree is down and stored for another year. The couches have been moved back to their usual spaces. The outdoor decorations are all down thanks to Erich, and stored in the garage. All I have left to do is take down my nativity set and the Christmas Village (which I just got up Friday night). That will be done tonight. Then I will need to take the Christmas bears down, but right now I can't stand to go into the guest room.
I have cried so much, my eyes are raw. Just when I think I can't cry anymore, the tears start fresh. I know I can't tell people about it. If I start talking about it, I cry. When people at work ask me 'how was your Christmas', I think I will spare them and my eyes and just tell them 'I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk about it'. After all, when people ask how your Christmas was, it's kind of a rhetorical question. They want to hear that it was wonderful, you had a great day with your family, you received lots of great presents. They do not want to hear 'it was lousy'. Or worse, 'we didn't have one'.
And it's not about the presents. As I said, our big present were dining room chairs, which arrived before Thanksgiving. Erich bought us a camcorder, which was a present for both of us. For me, Christmas is the feeling- the warmth, the love, the joy. It's the togetherness. Family. This year, I feel very alone, very sad, and very disappointed. The only words I can find to describe the way I feel is devastated and heartbroken.
Sydney was very upset too, but Laura said when she saw all the snow outside, she kind of understood. Laura told her maybe she could come visit me near Easter. In the innocence of a four year old, she immediately worried how the Easter Bunny would find her in Ohio. My sister told her the same way Santa did, and then Sydney wondered what happens to the presents Santa left in Ohio. Laura assured her I was shipping them.
I understand. Sometimes Mother Nature has other plans. It doesn't mean I have to like it. And I don't mean to sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It isn't the end of the world, I know that. Other people had their plans ruined too. I know. They are all over the news. I just feel jipped, and it's been a hellacious month. I know there are always people who have it worse. Right now, I feel like we've had enough. When someone has a rough year, as it gets towards the new year, Mom says she hopes the next year will be better for them.
I am truly hoping 2011 will be better. Or that it at least starts better than 2010 is ending. I am desperately trying to stay positive, to keep from slipping into a depression. 99% of the time, I am able to keep the depression that comes with the Fibro at bay. I think I do a pretty good job of staying positive. Yet, now, I don't have any energy left to fight it. I don't know that I will be successful this time. I truly am so down. I know that I will snap out of it in a few days, but right now, I just want to wallow in pity. I've made a list of projects I can work on to keep me busy. I have apologized in advance to those closest to me if I'm a bit unpleasant the next couple of days. We all have our moments, and I think this one is mine.
I don't wish anything bad on others, but I hope the Universe will find someone else to beat up on. I'm pretty bruised and weak from the beating the Universe has given me over the past few weeks, and could use a break.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The True Meaning of Christmas
My parents made sure my sister and I knew the true meaning of Christmas. We knew that the presents were nice, but it wasn't about Santa. Christmas is about Jesus. We went to church on Christmas Eve as a family. To me, that was always very magical. Our church had a beautiful nativity set, and the priest would cut branches off the white birch trees and place them around the nativity. It never occurred to me that there probably weren't white birch trees in Jerusalem. The Christmas Eve mass always seemed magical to me, and so warm. Each year, a child in the congregation was chosen to carry Baby Jesus to the manger during the Christmas Eve mass. The year it was my turn, I felt like I had the most important job in the universe. Each year, Mom made a birthday cake for Jesus and we celebrated his birthday on Christmas Day.
Mom and Dad taught us sometimes it is better to give than to receive. Christmas is my favorite time of year, but it is not because of the presents for me. I love to help others, to do things for others. I like to make people smile. That is one of the reasons I usually make cookies. Nothing brings a smile like a plate of cookies! I learned this from Mom, too. She would bake for a couple of weekends, then we would carefully wrap up plates full of cookies and deliver them. There were some seniors in our neighborhood and church, and Mom always remembered each of them. We would make up a fruit basket, and take the basket and the cookies to them. Some of the people were shut-ins, or had no family. Delivering the goods usually took a whole weekend, because they would invite us in and we would sit and talk. We did things for them year round, but Mom always felt good that we had been a bright spot in their Christmas.
There was one special 'family' I think of when I think of making cookies. This family consisted of a pair of identical twins, Pete and Paul, and Pete's wife, Betty. Everyone called her Aunt Betty. Pete and Paul were friends of my Grandfather's. They were older than Grandpa, but they had all grown up together. Aunt Betty used to work with my Grandma. Pete and Paul and Aunt Betty went to our church. Paul lived with Pete and Aunt Betty, and until the day Paul died, the 'boys' (as we all called them) dressed identically. They said they didn't plan it, they would each wake up and get dressed, and then leave their rooms to find the other was dressed just like them. Pete and Paul could also finish each other's sentences- you could be talking to Pete while Paul was in another room, and if Pete stepped out, Paul would step in and finish the conversation without missing a beat.
Pete and Paul were old men when I knew them. And yet, the only way I could tell them apart was that Pete always sat next to Aunt Betty, and he was the one who drove the others every where. If I ran into Pete and Paul on the street, I had no idea which one was Pete and which was Paul. They were very close family friends, they came to all our birthday parties and celebrations.
Each year, at the beginning of December, Pete and Paul would show up at our house with their cookie tray in hand. Mom always found pretty decorative plates or trays for the cookies, and the plates and trays were part of the gift. She never expected to get them back. Pete and Paul kept theirs, and they would bring it back after Thanksgiving, asking for their refill. That's when we knew it was time to start baking.
As fun as the baking was, my favorite Christmas tradition is the Secret Santa. Mom and Dad had always taught us to be charitable. We were so fortunate, we should help others who weren't. I don't remember how old I was when we started doing the Secret Santa. I think I was around 10 or 11. My mom was working at a bank, and one of her coworkers was a single mother of two girls who were a little older than Laura and I. As Christmas drew nearer, she had confided in her coworkers that there would be no Christmas at her house. She didn't have money for a tree or presents. Her girls didn't even have warm winter coats. There would be no special meal on Christmas. She was truly struggling. Mom and the other coworkers talked, and Mom talked to Dad. Dad said we had to help her. The others in the bank pooled some money, and Mom volunteered to go shopping. Mom also decided Laura and I were going to go with her. She and Dad felt it was an important lesson we needed to learn.
Christmas at our house was always wonderful. Santa and my parents brought everything we asked for, and then some. There was always an abundance of presents; some might have said we were spoiled. To me, this is what Christmas was. I couldn't imagine someone going without Christmas. And when I did imagine it, it made my heart break. I wanted everyone to have the joy and happiness that filled our house on Christmas.
We bought presents for the girls, and picked out winter coats and matching gloves and hats. We bought stockings and filled them. We even bought things for their mom. Groceries and decorations were bought. It was all very thrilling- knowing this family would have a Christmas and would have no idea who did it for them. I felt 'this is what Christmas is about'. It was a wonderful lesson for my sister and I, and became an annual tradition in our family.
Each year after that, we found a family who needed help. One year it was a family in church with four young children, another year it was a farmer and his family in town who was in danger of losing the family farm. We would ask those close to the family what sizes the children wore, or what their interests were, and then we shopped. The shopping always included groceries- not just for Christmas dinner, but to get them through for a while. I don't think any of the families ever knew who did this for them. We didn't do it for the recognition. We did it because it was the right thing to do- to help your neighbor. Mom learned this from her parents too. Grandpa always kept a freezer full of food, and anyone in town knew if they were hungry, or didn't have enough to get through the week, they could go to my Grandfather and he would help them. For a while, we would find anonymous donations taped to the dryer. The money would be in an envelope, with a note to use it for 'x' family (the donor always knew the name of the family we were helping). We felt that we had our own secret Santa. One year, I saw my Dad's best friend, Lionel, leaving the house. I was upstairs, and he didn't think anyone was home. When I went downstairs, I found the money in an envelope on the dryer. (Mom's dryer sits in her back room, which is basically a mud room on the outside of the house, it is not actually IN the house) All this time, Lionel had been the secret donor. After that, he gave the money directly to my dad, but didn't want anyone to know he was helping.
Every year I looked forward to playing Secret Santa. It was always my favorite part of Christmas. I think it made me enjoy the season more. I know it certainly made me appreciate what I had. It is a tradition I have continued to some extent as an adult. While I do not have the resources to adopt an entire family, I always try to help a child or two. The thought of children not having a toy for Christmas fills me with a deep sadness. I found myself donating to Toys for Tots each year. Sometimes I would buy the toys and drop them off, sometimes I would send a donation. One year I helped a coworker who was also a good friend, and bought presents for her daughter because they were going through a rough patch. In true Santa form, I bought presents for the parents too. After work, I loaded everything into her car. She was speechless. Nobody had ever done anything like that for her. She kept insisting that she would pay me back, and it took a while for me to explain to her that it wasn't necessary. I told her to just pay it forward.
One year, I became the ultimate secret Santa. A friend's school and city had been decimated by Hurricane Katrina. When I thought of all those elementary children that would have no Christmas, I cried for hours. So I adopted the school, and with the help of friends and family (more than I could mention), we raised funds and had a small gift for each of the 300 students in the school. Although, the story took a sour turn when I found a church in Dayton that was sending a truck to the area with supplies. They agreed to take our items on the truck. I investigated the church, and found it was originally founded by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The church came highly recommended, and I entrusted them to transport the materials. The leaders of the church actually stole the items, and decided to pass them out to needy children in Dayton instead. I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, because I didn't want my friends and family to think badly of me. The incident threw me into a deep depression. The police said it wasn't a criminal issue, and were of no help. I had to take comfort knowing what goes around comes around (and in the past year, it has. The former leader of the church is being investigated by the Federal Government for all kinds of theft, fraud, and criminal activity).
And yet, that horrible incident did not diminish my desire to help others. I continue to donate to Toys for Tots. This year, I've had to cut back on the donations due to our own 'fiscal issues' in the house. But I still feel the pull, and wish I could do more. Recently one of the television stations in Cincinnati held a fundraiser to buy toys for underprivileged children. The anchors read letters from children who were asking for something as simple as a football or a board game. My heart ached. When I visited Grandma in the nursing home, they have a wishing tree in the hall. The residents wrote what they would like. One resident asked for fresh tomatoes. I realized how very lucky I am. And I will continue to help others at Christmas. It takes so little, but means so much.
Mom and Dad taught us sometimes it is better to give than to receive. Christmas is my favorite time of year, but it is not because of the presents for me. I love to help others, to do things for others. I like to make people smile. That is one of the reasons I usually make cookies. Nothing brings a smile like a plate of cookies! I learned this from Mom, too. She would bake for a couple of weekends, then we would carefully wrap up plates full of cookies and deliver them. There were some seniors in our neighborhood and church, and Mom always remembered each of them. We would make up a fruit basket, and take the basket and the cookies to them. Some of the people were shut-ins, or had no family. Delivering the goods usually took a whole weekend, because they would invite us in and we would sit and talk. We did things for them year round, but Mom always felt good that we had been a bright spot in their Christmas.
There was one special 'family' I think of when I think of making cookies. This family consisted of a pair of identical twins, Pete and Paul, and Pete's wife, Betty. Everyone called her Aunt Betty. Pete and Paul were friends of my Grandfather's. They were older than Grandpa, but they had all grown up together. Aunt Betty used to work with my Grandma. Pete and Paul and Aunt Betty went to our church. Paul lived with Pete and Aunt Betty, and until the day Paul died, the 'boys' (as we all called them) dressed identically. They said they didn't plan it, they would each wake up and get dressed, and then leave their rooms to find the other was dressed just like them. Pete and Paul could also finish each other's sentences- you could be talking to Pete while Paul was in another room, and if Pete stepped out, Paul would step in and finish the conversation without missing a beat.
Pete and Paul were old men when I knew them. And yet, the only way I could tell them apart was that Pete always sat next to Aunt Betty, and he was the one who drove the others every where. If I ran into Pete and Paul on the street, I had no idea which one was Pete and which was Paul. They were very close family friends, they came to all our birthday parties and celebrations.Each year, at the beginning of December, Pete and Paul would show up at our house with their cookie tray in hand. Mom always found pretty decorative plates or trays for the cookies, and the plates and trays were part of the gift. She never expected to get them back. Pete and Paul kept theirs, and they would bring it back after Thanksgiving, asking for their refill. That's when we knew it was time to start baking.
As fun as the baking was, my favorite Christmas tradition is the Secret Santa. Mom and Dad had always taught us to be charitable. We were so fortunate, we should help others who weren't. I don't remember how old I was when we started doing the Secret Santa. I think I was around 10 or 11. My mom was working at a bank, and one of her coworkers was a single mother of two girls who were a little older than Laura and I. As Christmas drew nearer, she had confided in her coworkers that there would be no Christmas at her house. She didn't have money for a tree or presents. Her girls didn't even have warm winter coats. There would be no special meal on Christmas. She was truly struggling. Mom and the other coworkers talked, and Mom talked to Dad. Dad said we had to help her. The others in the bank pooled some money, and Mom volunteered to go shopping. Mom also decided Laura and I were going to go with her. She and Dad felt it was an important lesson we needed to learn.
Christmas at our house was always wonderful. Santa and my parents brought everything we asked for, and then some. There was always an abundance of presents; some might have said we were spoiled. To me, this is what Christmas was. I couldn't imagine someone going without Christmas. And when I did imagine it, it made my heart break. I wanted everyone to have the joy and happiness that filled our house on Christmas.
We bought presents for the girls, and picked out winter coats and matching gloves and hats. We bought stockings and filled them. We even bought things for their mom. Groceries and decorations were bought. It was all very thrilling- knowing this family would have a Christmas and would have no idea who did it for them. I felt 'this is what Christmas is about'. It was a wonderful lesson for my sister and I, and became an annual tradition in our family.
Each year after that, we found a family who needed help. One year it was a family in church with four young children, another year it was a farmer and his family in town who was in danger of losing the family farm. We would ask those close to the family what sizes the children wore, or what their interests were, and then we shopped. The shopping always included groceries- not just for Christmas dinner, but to get them through for a while. I don't think any of the families ever knew who did this for them. We didn't do it for the recognition. We did it because it was the right thing to do- to help your neighbor. Mom learned this from her parents too. Grandpa always kept a freezer full of food, and anyone in town knew if they were hungry, or didn't have enough to get through the week, they could go to my Grandfather and he would help them. For a while, we would find anonymous donations taped to the dryer. The money would be in an envelope, with a note to use it for 'x' family (the donor always knew the name of the family we were helping). We felt that we had our own secret Santa. One year, I saw my Dad's best friend, Lionel, leaving the house. I was upstairs, and he didn't think anyone was home. When I went downstairs, I found the money in an envelope on the dryer. (Mom's dryer sits in her back room, which is basically a mud room on the outside of the house, it is not actually IN the house) All this time, Lionel had been the secret donor. After that, he gave the money directly to my dad, but didn't want anyone to know he was helping.
Every year I looked forward to playing Secret Santa. It was always my favorite part of Christmas. I think it made me enjoy the season more. I know it certainly made me appreciate what I had. It is a tradition I have continued to some extent as an adult. While I do not have the resources to adopt an entire family, I always try to help a child or two. The thought of children not having a toy for Christmas fills me with a deep sadness. I found myself donating to Toys for Tots each year. Sometimes I would buy the toys and drop them off, sometimes I would send a donation. One year I helped a coworker who was also a good friend, and bought presents for her daughter because they were going through a rough patch. In true Santa form, I bought presents for the parents too. After work, I loaded everything into her car. She was speechless. Nobody had ever done anything like that for her. She kept insisting that she would pay me back, and it took a while for me to explain to her that it wasn't necessary. I told her to just pay it forward.
One year, I became the ultimate secret Santa. A friend's school and city had been decimated by Hurricane Katrina. When I thought of all those elementary children that would have no Christmas, I cried for hours. So I adopted the school, and with the help of friends and family (more than I could mention), we raised funds and had a small gift for each of the 300 students in the school. Although, the story took a sour turn when I found a church in Dayton that was sending a truck to the area with supplies. They agreed to take our items on the truck. I investigated the church, and found it was originally founded by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The church came highly recommended, and I entrusted them to transport the materials. The leaders of the church actually stole the items, and decided to pass them out to needy children in Dayton instead. I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, because I didn't want my friends and family to think badly of me. The incident threw me into a deep depression. The police said it wasn't a criminal issue, and were of no help. I had to take comfort knowing what goes around comes around (and in the past year, it has. The former leader of the church is being investigated by the Federal Government for all kinds of theft, fraud, and criminal activity).
And yet, that horrible incident did not diminish my desire to help others. I continue to donate to Toys for Tots. This year, I've had to cut back on the donations due to our own 'fiscal issues' in the house. But I still feel the pull, and wish I could do more. Recently one of the television stations in Cincinnati held a fundraiser to buy toys for underprivileged children. The anchors read letters from children who were asking for something as simple as a football or a board game. My heart ached. When I visited Grandma in the nursing home, they have a wishing tree in the hall. The residents wrote what they would like. One resident asked for fresh tomatoes. I realized how very lucky I am. And I will continue to help others at Christmas. It takes so little, but means so much.
Feeling Short
I am 5'9". When I stand up completely straight that is. I have always been tall, and as a child, I hated being taller than the boys. It only added to my self-esteem issues. It wasn't until the boys caught up in high school that I became less concerned with my height, but by then, it was too late. As a result, I have horrible posture. So I look like I'm 5'7 1/2" or 5'8".
It takes a lot to make me feel short. Most of the people in my day to day life are my height or shorter. I am frequently the person people call to reach things on high shelves. After all this time, I have gotten used to being one of the taller people in the room.
At the family Christmas party last weekend, I truly felt short. My dad is 6'3", and two of his brothers are also 6' or 6'1". His youngest sister is at least my height. It's funny- half of Dad's siblings are tall and half are short. Maybe there was something in the water- the oldest four kids are shorter, and the last four are tall. So naturally, many of my 13 cousins are tall.
My sister is also 5'9", although because of my posture problems, she looks taller than I am. The youngest granddaughter is 5'9" and loves to wear high heels. She is 25, and when I hugged her, I came up to about her shoulder. I felt short! And I loved it!
Many of the grandsons are tall too. My dad is still the tallest in the family, but a couple of cousins are 6'-6'2". I stood between two of my younger male cousins,and it felt like they
towered over me. I looked at the cousins I used to babysit, all who are now grown men. Tall men. Then I felt short and old. I didn't mind feeling short, but I could have done without feeling so old.
Here's a picture of 13 of the 15 grandchildren with Grandma & Grandpa. You can see- there's a lot of height in the family. Even the three in front are tall. Kristy is 5'7" (I think), Ashley is 5'9", and Michael is one of the boys who is at least 6'. Of course, I look shorter in this picture thanks to my old friend, the slouch!
It takes a lot to make me feel short. Most of the people in my day to day life are my height or shorter. I am frequently the person people call to reach things on high shelves. After all this time, I have gotten used to being one of the taller people in the room.
At the family Christmas party last weekend, I truly felt short. My dad is 6'3", and two of his brothers are also 6' or 6'1". His youngest sister is at least my height. It's funny- half of Dad's siblings are tall and half are short. Maybe there was something in the water- the oldest four kids are shorter, and the last four are tall. So naturally, many of my 13 cousins are tall.
My sister is also 5'9", although because of my posture problems, she looks taller than I am. The youngest granddaughter is 5'9" and loves to wear high heels. She is 25, and when I hugged her, I came up to about her shoulder. I felt short! And I loved it!
Many of the grandsons are tall too. My dad is still the tallest in the family, but a couple of cousins are 6'-6'2". I stood between two of my younger male cousins,and it felt like they
towered over me. I looked at the cousins I used to babysit, all who are now grown men. Tall men. Then I felt short and old. I didn't mind feeling short, but I could have done without feeling so old.Here's a picture of 13 of the 15 grandchildren with Grandma & Grandpa. You can see- there's a lot of height in the family. Even the three in front are tall. Kristy is 5'7" (I think), Ashley is 5'9", and Michael is one of the boys who is at least 6'. Of course, I look shorter in this picture thanks to my old friend, the slouch!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
The Circle of Life
I took a quick trip home to NY this weekend. I left Friday afternoon and came back yesterday. Careful packing and outfit planning allowed me to take just two carry-ons for the weekend- no checked baggage fees. It was not a planned trip- well, not planned in advance. I bought my ticket just two weeks earlier. The family was all going to be in NY for the Christmas party for Grandma.
For the first time, I was really aware of the Circle of Life. The yin and yang. For all the sadness of the weekend, there was so much joy. Everything seemed to be in balance. I was filled with dread on the plane, knowing what was waiting for me in NY. Yet when I got to the airport, Sydney stood there looking like a china doll. She had on a dress, and over her dress was this long black dress coat. Each button was covered with a red rosette. She had a matching hat, and black gloves and shoes. Her blond curls spilled out from under her hat. It's always cute to see this little child standing next to my dad and holding his hand, but Friday she looked exceptionally cute. When she saw me, first she hid behind my dad for a couple of seconds. Then she ran to me and wrapped me in a bear hug. I scooped her up in my arms and buried my face in her hat, trying to keep the tears from flowing. I was afraid I would cry from stress or sadness when I saw Dad at the airport, yet here I was holding back tears of joy from this little girl.
Sydney attached herself to me for the weekend. She was very animated in the car, pointing out Christmas lights to me. At her house, I held little Drew. He's not so little now, he's up to 15 pounds. I held him and he smiled at me and laughed at me. My heart swelled with love for this little man, and with gratitude for all the friends who lifted him up in prayer just a week earlier.
Saturday we took Syd to her dance lesson. I watched her go through her routines, and then they put on a special mock show for the parents. To me, that seemed like a special gift- being able to watch her. Later on Saturday, we went to visit Grandma at the nursing home.I saw her two months ago, and yet, the change still affected me. She has gone downhill so much in that time. At that point, we did not think she would be coming to the party on Sunday. She asked me to tell everyone that she loved us, each of us. She wanted me to thank everyone for coming home. And as she tried to tell me this, she choked up. I promised her through my own tears that I would. When it came time to leave, she held my hand and wouldn't let go. Grandma Primeau has never done that. Grandma Wager used to, but never Grandma Primeau.
As we walked out of her room, Sydney slipped her little hand into the same hand my Grandmother had just held. The sadness seemed to ebb, and was slowly replaced by the youthful energy that is Sydney. We went for lunch and then to visit Aunt Arlene. Then we took Sydney back to her house, and we went home to Mom's. While Dad played cards that night, Mom and I had a heart to heart about Grandma. Saturday afternoon we found out that we would go to the nursing home at 4pm where we had use of one of the community rooms. So we were going to have the party at the club at 12:30, and then at 4 go to Grandma's, where we would wait for Santa and she could watch the kids open their presents. She has always enjoyed that so much. Mom and I discussed what happens next, and how to help Dad and my sister get through it.
Sunday morning we went to church with Laura & her family. Church has always been very important to Dad, and it was especially important to him that we go as a family this week. Before we left the house, Mom and I stuffed several small packets of Kleenex into our purses in anticipation of the afternoon's events. We were at church a few minutes before Laura's family, so we lit candles. In case you aren't familiar with Catholicism, in most churches there is an area with candles. Some of the candles may be lit and some not. You give a small donation, and then light a candle. You always light a candle from one that is already lit. Then you say a prayer. Our family always did this when we had special intentions. A sick relative, someone who needed a little help from upstairs. Sunday we each lit a small candle, and then we lit a bigger one as a family.
Shortly after that, Laura and her family came in. Sydney ran to me again, and gave me another terrific bear hug. The worst things in the world seem so much better when she does that. She sat between her parents, but looked at me with this mischievous glint in her eye. I asked her if she wanted to sit with me, and she said she did. She came over, climbed up on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and sat there, hugging me, for the entire Mass. When the congregation stood up, I lifted her up into my arms. When we sat back down, she tightened her grip. It's almost like she knew I needed extra hugs this weekend. The only time she let go was to walk with her Dad during Communion. I used that opportunity to take a sleeping Drew from my Dad's arms so that he could also receive Communion.
Sydney insisted I sit next to her at the party, and shortly after I got there, I ended up with Drew in my arms. I don't remember how he got there, I just know I sat there holding him for a long time. He would sleep, and then he'd wake up. I talked to him about his future. I told him he can be a hockey goalie and play for the Canadiens, or he can be a linebacker and go to Notre Dame. Either way, he needed to get his favorite Aunt season tickets. I was very content, holding Drewboo and sitting next to my Sydie Bear. Aunt Amy was in her element. Grandma's absence hung over the party like a two ton weight. And while we were sad, we all enjoyed watching the younger kids play. It was good to see cousins I haven't seen in years. It was good that we all were there, even if the circumstances were not desirable.
I didn't know what to expect when we took the party to Grandma. I guess I didn't expect to cry, because I left my purse, with the Kleenex supply, on the other side of the room. Sydney decided she would sit on my lap, and then Santa sat next to us. She was very excited about Santa- until he arrived. Then she snuggled into my chest, and would not go to him. She was not the only one. Maya, who is 2 1/2, was also very excited to see Santa, but when he called her name to give her a present, and her father tried to coax her forward, she screamed 'Nooooooo Daddy!' and took off in the opposite direction. The family enjoyed a great laugh at that. We delighted in the looks on the faces of children new to the family, to find there were presents for them as well. All the while, knowing this may be the last year we have the party, or the last year we have Grandma.
Then there was the moment I didn't know was coming. The one I should have had a Kleenex for. It was the last present to be opened, and it was for my Grandparents. Their children had once again bought their season tickets for the Valley Cats, a minor league baseball team in Troy. Grandma & Grandpa are huge baseball fans (runs in the family!). When they opened that present, the room took on a heavy silence. I don't know that there was a dry eye in the place. In a moment it passed, someone talked, and then the children were playing with their toys. While we thought of the gift that Grandma might not get to enjoy (for the curious- the tickets were bought before she got sick, or before we knew she was), we smiled as the children tore into their toys, demanding their fathers open boxes and cut off the various tabs or strings holding their toy in the box. They took over the room, filling it with the joy of Christmas morning.
We took pictures. A lot of pictures. We took pictures of each set of Grandchildren with Grandma and Grandpa. We took a picture of all the grandchildren (minus the two who had already left). That too was bittersweet. We probably would not have taken so many pictures if this had been a normal Christmas. Looking at the pictures, I see how much my Grandma has failed. But I also see a nice picture of my sister and I with my Grandparents. I see a nice picture of the cousins- the last time we had a picture like that was almost 20 years ago, when we were children trying to navigate the dangerous waters of adolescence.
All weekend, I kept thinking about the circle of life. The sadness I felt watching my Grandmother near the end of her journey here on earth was mellowed by the amazement at watching Sydney and Drew start their journey. Thinking of the things waiting for them- school, college, families of their own. I think for the first time, I truly understood the circle of life. As much as we are supposed to understand it. The road ahead will not be easy, but we will get through it. Even in the darkest moments, we will have the youngest generation to boost our spirits. The joy will be replaced by sadness, the sadness will be replaced by joy. The emotions will continue to ebb and flow, day after day, and life will continue on. It won't be the same, but it will continue.
For the first time, I was really aware of the Circle of Life. The yin and yang. For all the sadness of the weekend, there was so much joy. Everything seemed to be in balance. I was filled with dread on the plane, knowing what was waiting for me in NY. Yet when I got to the airport, Sydney stood there looking like a china doll. She had on a dress, and over her dress was this long black dress coat. Each button was covered with a red rosette. She had a matching hat, and black gloves and shoes. Her blond curls spilled out from under her hat. It's always cute to see this little child standing next to my dad and holding his hand, but Friday she looked exceptionally cute. When she saw me, first she hid behind my dad for a couple of seconds. Then she ran to me and wrapped me in a bear hug. I scooped her up in my arms and buried my face in her hat, trying to keep the tears from flowing. I was afraid I would cry from stress or sadness when I saw Dad at the airport, yet here I was holding back tears of joy from this little girl.
Sydney attached herself to me for the weekend. She was very animated in the car, pointing out Christmas lights to me. At her house, I held little Drew. He's not so little now, he's up to 15 pounds. I held him and he smiled at me and laughed at me. My heart swelled with love for this little man, and with gratitude for all the friends who lifted him up in prayer just a week earlier.
Saturday we took Syd to her dance lesson. I watched her go through her routines, and then they put on a special mock show for the parents. To me, that seemed like a special gift- being able to watch her. Later on Saturday, we went to visit Grandma at the nursing home.I saw her two months ago, and yet, the change still affected me. She has gone downhill so much in that time. At that point, we did not think she would be coming to the party on Sunday. She asked me to tell everyone that she loved us, each of us. She wanted me to thank everyone for coming home. And as she tried to tell me this, she choked up. I promised her through my own tears that I would. When it came time to leave, she held my hand and wouldn't let go. Grandma Primeau has never done that. Grandma Wager used to, but never Grandma Primeau.
As we walked out of her room, Sydney slipped her little hand into the same hand my Grandmother had just held. The sadness seemed to ebb, and was slowly replaced by the youthful energy that is Sydney. We went for lunch and then to visit Aunt Arlene. Then we took Sydney back to her house, and we went home to Mom's. While Dad played cards that night, Mom and I had a heart to heart about Grandma. Saturday afternoon we found out that we would go to the nursing home at 4pm where we had use of one of the community rooms. So we were going to have the party at the club at 12:30, and then at 4 go to Grandma's, where we would wait for Santa and she could watch the kids open their presents. She has always enjoyed that so much. Mom and I discussed what happens next, and how to help Dad and my sister get through it.
Sunday morning we went to church with Laura & her family. Church has always been very important to Dad, and it was especially important to him that we go as a family this week. Before we left the house, Mom and I stuffed several small packets of Kleenex into our purses in anticipation of the afternoon's events. We were at church a few minutes before Laura's family, so we lit candles. In case you aren't familiar with Catholicism, in most churches there is an area with candles. Some of the candles may be lit and some not. You give a small donation, and then light a candle. You always light a candle from one that is already lit. Then you say a prayer. Our family always did this when we had special intentions. A sick relative, someone who needed a little help from upstairs. Sunday we each lit a small candle, and then we lit a bigger one as a family.
Shortly after that, Laura and her family came in. Sydney ran to me again, and gave me another terrific bear hug. The worst things in the world seem so much better when she does that. She sat between her parents, but looked at me with this mischievous glint in her eye. I asked her if she wanted to sit with me, and she said she did. She came over, climbed up on my lap, wrapped her arms around my neck, and sat there, hugging me, for the entire Mass. When the congregation stood up, I lifted her up into my arms. When we sat back down, she tightened her grip. It's almost like she knew I needed extra hugs this weekend. The only time she let go was to walk with her Dad during Communion. I used that opportunity to take a sleeping Drew from my Dad's arms so that he could also receive Communion.
Sydney insisted I sit next to her at the party, and shortly after I got there, I ended up with Drew in my arms. I don't remember how he got there, I just know I sat there holding him for a long time. He would sleep, and then he'd wake up. I talked to him about his future. I told him he can be a hockey goalie and play for the Canadiens, or he can be a linebacker and go to Notre Dame. Either way, he needed to get his favorite Aunt season tickets. I was very content, holding Drewboo and sitting next to my Sydie Bear. Aunt Amy was in her element. Grandma's absence hung over the party like a two ton weight. And while we were sad, we all enjoyed watching the younger kids play. It was good to see cousins I haven't seen in years. It was good that we all were there, even if the circumstances were not desirable.
I didn't know what to expect when we took the party to Grandma. I guess I didn't expect to cry, because I left my purse, with the Kleenex supply, on the other side of the room. Sydney decided she would sit on my lap, and then Santa sat next to us. She was very excited about Santa- until he arrived. Then she snuggled into my chest, and would not go to him. She was not the only one. Maya, who is 2 1/2, was also very excited to see Santa, but when he called her name to give her a present, and her father tried to coax her forward, she screamed 'Nooooooo Daddy!' and took off in the opposite direction. The family enjoyed a great laugh at that. We delighted in the looks on the faces of children new to the family, to find there were presents for them as well. All the while, knowing this may be the last year we have the party, or the last year we have Grandma.
Then there was the moment I didn't know was coming. The one I should have had a Kleenex for. It was the last present to be opened, and it was for my Grandparents. Their children had once again bought their season tickets for the Valley Cats, a minor league baseball team in Troy. Grandma & Grandpa are huge baseball fans (runs in the family!). When they opened that present, the room took on a heavy silence. I don't know that there was a dry eye in the place. In a moment it passed, someone talked, and then the children were playing with their toys. While we thought of the gift that Grandma might not get to enjoy (for the curious- the tickets were bought before she got sick, or before we knew she was), we smiled as the children tore into their toys, demanding their fathers open boxes and cut off the various tabs or strings holding their toy in the box. They took over the room, filling it with the joy of Christmas morning.
We took pictures. A lot of pictures. We took pictures of each set of Grandchildren with Grandma and Grandpa. We took a picture of all the grandchildren (minus the two who had already left). That too was bittersweet. We probably would not have taken so many pictures if this had been a normal Christmas. Looking at the pictures, I see how much my Grandma has failed. But I also see a nice picture of my sister and I with my Grandparents. I see a nice picture of the cousins- the last time we had a picture like that was almost 20 years ago, when we were children trying to navigate the dangerous waters of adolescence.
All weekend, I kept thinking about the circle of life. The sadness I felt watching my Grandmother near the end of her journey here on earth was mellowed by the amazement at watching Sydney and Drew start their journey. Thinking of the things waiting for them- school, college, families of their own. I think for the first time, I truly understood the circle of life. As much as we are supposed to understand it. The road ahead will not be easy, but we will get through it. Even in the darkest moments, we will have the youngest generation to boost our spirits. The joy will be replaced by sadness, the sadness will be replaced by joy. The emotions will continue to ebb and flow, day after day, and life will continue on. It won't be the same, but it will continue.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Weirdest Airport Experience. Ever.
Airports are interesting places. They are actually terrific places for people-watching, which is one of my favorite hobbies. I frequently do not get much read in my book because I'm too busy peering over the top of the book watching everyone go by.
I have been flying since I was about 4, and flying semi-frequently for the past 16 years. By semi-frequently, I mean making two or three trips to NY a year. I've seen all kinds of things. But today's experience was by far the weirdest thing ever.
I have a routine in airports. This routine includes hitting the restroom about 20 minutes before the boarding time. It was that time this morning in Albany, so I went to the ladies' restroom. There was a mother and her young daughter going in at the same time, and while the mother argued with her two year old (maybe the girl was 2 1/2- but she wasn't older than 2 1/2) about which stall they wished to occupy, I stepped around them and into an empty stall. And after a minute or so, the small girl crawls underneath the wall separating my stall from the one next to it, and here she is, in front of me.
This would not have been cute if it had been my mother or sister in the next stall, and it was Syd crawling through. It certainly wasn't cute or appreciated that it was some random child. Apparently, her stupid mother allowed her to go into a stall by herself, and the mother took one two doors down. I know I'm not a mother, but I have NEVER seen a mother allow her two year old to go into a stall by herself. And certainly not to then leave her there while mom goes to a different one. Now these stalls are not tiny. That is one great thing about Albany airport, there is room for a person and your baggage. So it wasn't a matter of there wasn't room for both of them. It was just a stupid mother.
I yelled for the mother that her child was in MY stall, the child crawls on through to the next stall, and then the mother scolds the child. At that point, I couldn't keep my tongue in my head, and I let the mother have it, shouting at her over the divider wall. I told her the child wasn't the one who should be scolded, it was the mother for being so stupid. I told her to hang on to her child and take care of her. I threw out the 'children being snatched away by strangers' thing. And I told her if she was going to think so little of her child, she didn't deserve to have any. Yes, I swore at her too. She deserved it. Stupid woman!
No, I probably didn't handle it very well. It was startling to have this little person just appear when you're in a vulnerable position. But then again, the woman is lucky I didn't report her to the police right then and there.
I have been flying since I was about 4, and flying semi-frequently for the past 16 years. By semi-frequently, I mean making two or three trips to NY a year. I've seen all kinds of things. But today's experience was by far the weirdest thing ever.
I have a routine in airports. This routine includes hitting the restroom about 20 minutes before the boarding time. It was that time this morning in Albany, so I went to the ladies' restroom. There was a mother and her young daughter going in at the same time, and while the mother argued with her two year old (maybe the girl was 2 1/2- but she wasn't older than 2 1/2) about which stall they wished to occupy, I stepped around them and into an empty stall. And after a minute or so, the small girl crawls underneath the wall separating my stall from the one next to it, and here she is, in front of me.
This would not have been cute if it had been my mother or sister in the next stall, and it was Syd crawling through. It certainly wasn't cute or appreciated that it was some random child. Apparently, her stupid mother allowed her to go into a stall by herself, and the mother took one two doors down. I know I'm not a mother, but I have NEVER seen a mother allow her two year old to go into a stall by herself. And certainly not to then leave her there while mom goes to a different one. Now these stalls are not tiny. That is one great thing about Albany airport, there is room for a person and your baggage. So it wasn't a matter of there wasn't room for both of them. It was just a stupid mother.
I yelled for the mother that her child was in MY stall, the child crawls on through to the next stall, and then the mother scolds the child. At that point, I couldn't keep my tongue in my head, and I let the mother have it, shouting at her over the divider wall. I told her the child wasn't the one who should be scolded, it was the mother for being so stupid. I told her to hang on to her child and take care of her. I threw out the 'children being snatched away by strangers' thing. And I told her if she was going to think so little of her child, she didn't deserve to have any. Yes, I swore at her too. She deserved it. Stupid woman!
No, I probably didn't handle it very well. It was startling to have this little person just appear when you're in a vulnerable position. But then again, the woman is lucky I didn't report her to the police right then and there.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Thank You
Many readers of this blog know that this past weekend was an extremely rough one for my family. My three and a half month old nephew stopped breathing briefly at Day Care on Friday. My brother in law was called, he was rushed to the Dr, then to the hospital, and admitted to the hospital. He finally came home today, after spending most of the weekend in an oxygen tank. Even though I am not a mother (to humans that is), I understand the terror my sister felt. And yet, I can't completely understand it, because I do not have human children. As frightened as I was, for my sister, this was her helpless infant son.
To add to this stress, my Grandmother is still in the hospital, recovering from surgery last Monday. The doctors discovered last week that Grandma's cancer is inoperable. Maybe I already blogged about that. I honestly can't remember- things are all starting to run together. The only good thing is that both Drew and my Grandma were in the same hospital- Drew on the 5th floor and Gram on the 6th. So my parents and sister were able to see both patients easily. My sister put it well: The matriarch and the baby of the family were both in the hospital.
These are times it is extremely difficult to be so far away. The times I have to remind myself this is my choice. It was my choice to move so far away. This is where I have built my life. It is the trying times a family goes through that are made more difficult by the distance. When my father suffered a life changing injury on the job in 2007, I felt so helpless. I know I would have felt helpless if I were in NY too- but my sister and mother and I could have felt helpless together. It was the same feeling this weekend- I could not be there to help my sister. At least if I were there, I could occupy my four year old niece, watch the dogs, something. Just be there to give her a hug. But I was not there. I was here, in Ohio, where my life is. All I could do was pray.
I have never been a person who shouts 'praise God' or testifies to others. To me, my faith is something very personal. But I do believe in the power of prayer. If someone asks me to remember a loved one in prayer, I do. Sometimes people will be going through a difficult time, and may not ask for a prayer, but I add them to mine. So Friday, when Drew was admitted to the hospital, I started praying. And I asked my friends to pray. By Sunday, people around the country, even in other parts of the world, were praying for this little bundle of joy. Several friends told me they added him to the prayer chains or prayer lists at their churches. People I have never met were lifting my nephew up in prayer. This was overwhelming for all of us: my parents, my sister and brother in law, and myself. I talked to my sister each day, and I could hear the stress, the exhaustion, the fear in her voice. And I also heard the gratitude that so many people were thinking of him.
I have found myself saying 'thank you' a lot in the past few days. And yet, it doesn't seem to be enough. How do you thank people who took a minute or two from their lives to think of this small boy they have never met, but who means so much to us? I believe the countless prayers of friends and strangers pulled all of us through this weekend, and helped Drew get better. My sister and I both commented that we could feel the love wrapping around us. My friends were wonderful- talking to me, offering encouragement, being there for me. Many of these friends are my bear friends, whom I have never met in person but who are my best friends.
I am so very blessed. My life is full of wonderful, caring people who are there when you need them. Even if being 'there' means being in cyberspace. We had a lot of support this weekend. So to the extended family members, old friends, new friends, and friends I haven't yet met- thank you. Drew has no idea how many people were pulling for him. I don't either- but I know when you rally the troops in prayer, beautiful things can happen. Whether you offered a prayer, chatted with me, offered words of encouragement, or just offered a smile or a hug; each gesture was greatly appreciated. My heart swelled this weekend with the love and care people were sending to us. Thank you seems so inadequate, even when it is so heartfelt. I wish I could see each of you and give you a big hug. Maybe make you cookies. Oh wait, I'm not making cookies this year. All I can say is I cherish each of you, and am so grateful God put you in my life.
To add to this stress, my Grandmother is still in the hospital, recovering from surgery last Monday. The doctors discovered last week that Grandma's cancer is inoperable. Maybe I already blogged about that. I honestly can't remember- things are all starting to run together. The only good thing is that both Drew and my Grandma were in the same hospital- Drew on the 5th floor and Gram on the 6th. So my parents and sister were able to see both patients easily. My sister put it well: The matriarch and the baby of the family were both in the hospital.
These are times it is extremely difficult to be so far away. The times I have to remind myself this is my choice. It was my choice to move so far away. This is where I have built my life. It is the trying times a family goes through that are made more difficult by the distance. When my father suffered a life changing injury on the job in 2007, I felt so helpless. I know I would have felt helpless if I were in NY too- but my sister and mother and I could have felt helpless together. It was the same feeling this weekend- I could not be there to help my sister. At least if I were there, I could occupy my four year old niece, watch the dogs, something. Just be there to give her a hug. But I was not there. I was here, in Ohio, where my life is. All I could do was pray.
I have never been a person who shouts 'praise God' or testifies to others. To me, my faith is something very personal. But I do believe in the power of prayer. If someone asks me to remember a loved one in prayer, I do. Sometimes people will be going through a difficult time, and may not ask for a prayer, but I add them to mine. So Friday, when Drew was admitted to the hospital, I started praying. And I asked my friends to pray. By Sunday, people around the country, even in other parts of the world, were praying for this little bundle of joy. Several friends told me they added him to the prayer chains or prayer lists at their churches. People I have never met were lifting my nephew up in prayer. This was overwhelming for all of us: my parents, my sister and brother in law, and myself. I talked to my sister each day, and I could hear the stress, the exhaustion, the fear in her voice. And I also heard the gratitude that so many people were thinking of him.
I have found myself saying 'thank you' a lot in the past few days. And yet, it doesn't seem to be enough. How do you thank people who took a minute or two from their lives to think of this small boy they have never met, but who means so much to us? I believe the countless prayers of friends and strangers pulled all of us through this weekend, and helped Drew get better. My sister and I both commented that we could feel the love wrapping around us. My friends were wonderful- talking to me, offering encouragement, being there for me. Many of these friends are my bear friends, whom I have never met in person but who are my best friends.
I am so very blessed. My life is full of wonderful, caring people who are there when you need them. Even if being 'there' means being in cyberspace. We had a lot of support this weekend. So to the extended family members, old friends, new friends, and friends I haven't yet met- thank you. Drew has no idea how many people were pulling for him. I don't either- but I know when you rally the troops in prayer, beautiful things can happen. Whether you offered a prayer, chatted with me, offered words of encouragement, or just offered a smile or a hug; each gesture was greatly appreciated. My heart swelled this weekend with the love and care people were sending to us. Thank you seems so inadequate, even when it is so heartfelt. I wish I could see each of you and give you a big hug. Maybe make you cookies. Oh wait, I'm not making cookies this year. All I can say is I cherish each of you, and am so grateful God put you in my life.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
The Sinatra Connection
It's December 12. Today Grandpa Wager would have been 95. It is his 11th birthday in Heaven. I usually try to have some red carnations handy, because those were his favorite flower. Unfortunately, in all of the stress I've encountered in the past week, I have completely lost track of the date on the calendar. I was elated to find out it was not quite Mid-December, and that Christmas is two weeks away, not one. I was worried about shipping the box to NY to my sister, and didn't think it would get there in time. Until I realized I still had two weeks, and I have no doubt the big brown truck will deliver it in time. So by the time I remembered I wanted red carnations, it was yesterday. And for some reason- there were none to be found. No decent ones anyway. I found one puny bunch of 6 carnations for $8, and each flower was about half an inch wide. I decided it wasn't worth it.
Grandpa and I belonged to a special club. The Double Digit Birthday Club. Ok, it's a club I made up. Grandpa's birthday was 12/12, Grandpa Primeau's birthday is 1/1, my Dad's is 3/3, and mine is 6/6. I was the only girl in the club, and the only one who's special number actually extended all the way into the birth year (Dad missed it by one year). We didn't have meetings or anything, it was just something I thought was neat. Now we have a new member, my BIL Andy who shares my birthday (but not the year, as he will quickly tell you).
There was something else that was neat about Grandpa Wager's birthday. It was the same day as Frank Sinatra's. They were born on the very same day, 12/12/1915. My Grandfather once found out they were born hours apart too. Grandpa always liked Frank Sinatra, and for some reason, I have too. I have no idea when I first heard Sinatra. I know I've liked him since at least my teen years. On one of his last tours, my Grandma Primeau went to see him in concert. I was a teenager, and I remember being jealous that she was going to see Sinatra. I had tapes of his albums, and played them all the time in my car.
Sinatra sang a version of 'Once in Love with Amy'. I know he didn't do the original version, but he did sing it. I have Sinatra's version on my MP3 player. One of my Grandma & Grandpa Primeau's good friends, Al Thayer, used to sing this song to me every time he saw me. It could be at Grandpa's Labor Day Party, or a birthday or anniversary party for my Grandparents. When I was young, it embarrassed me slightly, because people would turn to look. But it quickly grew on me, and I cherished Al's serenades. At my wedding reception, we told the DJ if someone clinked the glasses to get us to kiss, they first had to sing a song about love. The thought was this would deter the clinking tradition, because the Primeau's are notoriously bad singers (truly- we were all in church for a special Mass with my Grandfather, and in the middle of Mass the Priest asked the Primeaus to stop singing). This did not deter the reception guests, it may have in actually fueled them. Al and his wife Helen were at the wedding, they were more like family than family friends. So when the glasses clinked and the DJ went over to Al, I burst into tears. Al stood up and did perhaps the most beautiful rendition of 'Once in Love With Amy' that he had ever done. He had a terrific voice. When he finished, the groom's side was left wondering why everyone in my family was in tears. Al passed away in 2000, shortly after Grandpa Wager. It is still my favorite memory of him.
There is one last connection to Ol' Blue Eyes. His death. I always thought he died on May 15, 1998- Grandma & Grandpa Wager's 60th wedding anniversary. Yet, I just found out he died on May 14; very late at night in California. Which would have been early on the morning of the 15th on the East Coast- so he kind of did die on Grandma & Grandpa's anniversary. I was finishing up my last semester of college, and when I called my Grandparents to wish them a Happy Anniversary, we talked about Sinatra's passing. It really felt like part of the family had died.
I close with lyrics from 'Once in Love With Amy'. I know it by heart.
"Once in love with Amy, always in love with Amy
Ever and ever fascinated by her, sets your heart on fire to stay.
Once you're kissed by Amy, tear up your list it's Amy
Ply her with bonbons, poetry, and flowers, moon a million hours away.
You might be quite the fickle-hearted rover so carefree and bold
Who loves a girl and later thinks it over and just quits cold.
But once in love with Amy, always in love with Amy
Ever and ever sweetly you'll romance her, trouble is the answer will be
That Amy'd rather stay in love with me"
Grandpa and I belonged to a special club. The Double Digit Birthday Club. Ok, it's a club I made up. Grandpa's birthday was 12/12, Grandpa Primeau's birthday is 1/1, my Dad's is 3/3, and mine is 6/6. I was the only girl in the club, and the only one who's special number actually extended all the way into the birth year (Dad missed it by one year). We didn't have meetings or anything, it was just something I thought was neat. Now we have a new member, my BIL Andy who shares my birthday (but not the year, as he will quickly tell you).
There was something else that was neat about Grandpa Wager's birthday. It was the same day as Frank Sinatra's. They were born on the very same day, 12/12/1915. My Grandfather once found out they were born hours apart too. Grandpa always liked Frank Sinatra, and for some reason, I have too. I have no idea when I first heard Sinatra. I know I've liked him since at least my teen years. On one of his last tours, my Grandma Primeau went to see him in concert. I was a teenager, and I remember being jealous that she was going to see Sinatra. I had tapes of his albums, and played them all the time in my car.
Sinatra sang a version of 'Once in Love with Amy'. I know he didn't do the original version, but he did sing it. I have Sinatra's version on my MP3 player. One of my Grandma & Grandpa Primeau's good friends, Al Thayer, used to sing this song to me every time he saw me. It could be at Grandpa's Labor Day Party, or a birthday or anniversary party for my Grandparents. When I was young, it embarrassed me slightly, because people would turn to look. But it quickly grew on me, and I cherished Al's serenades. At my wedding reception, we told the DJ if someone clinked the glasses to get us to kiss, they first had to sing a song about love. The thought was this would deter the clinking tradition, because the Primeau's are notoriously bad singers (truly- we were all in church for a special Mass with my Grandfather, and in the middle of Mass the Priest asked the Primeaus to stop singing). This did not deter the reception guests, it may have in actually fueled them. Al and his wife Helen were at the wedding, they were more like family than family friends. So when the glasses clinked and the DJ went over to Al, I burst into tears. Al stood up and did perhaps the most beautiful rendition of 'Once in Love With Amy' that he had ever done. He had a terrific voice. When he finished, the groom's side was left wondering why everyone in my family was in tears. Al passed away in 2000, shortly after Grandpa Wager. It is still my favorite memory of him.
There is one last connection to Ol' Blue Eyes. His death. I always thought he died on May 15, 1998- Grandma & Grandpa Wager's 60th wedding anniversary. Yet, I just found out he died on May 14; very late at night in California. Which would have been early on the morning of the 15th on the East Coast- so he kind of did die on Grandma & Grandpa's anniversary. I was finishing up my last semester of college, and when I called my Grandparents to wish them a Happy Anniversary, we talked about Sinatra's passing. It really felt like part of the family had died.
I close with lyrics from 'Once in Love With Amy'. I know it by heart.
"Once in love with Amy, always in love with Amy
Ever and ever fascinated by her, sets your heart on fire to stay.
Once you're kissed by Amy, tear up your list it's Amy
Ply her with bonbons, poetry, and flowers, moon a million hours away.
You might be quite the fickle-hearted rover so carefree and bold
Who loves a girl and later thinks it over and just quits cold.
But once in love with Amy, always in love with Amy
Ever and ever sweetly you'll romance her, trouble is the answer will be
That Amy'd rather stay in love with me"
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Hidden Gifts
My mother shops for Christmas all year long. I've already mentioned how big my Dad's side of the family is. The events in our family all seem to fall near the end of the year. August brings Mom's and Drew's birthdays. September is Sydney's birthday and my sister's anniversary. October is Cobalt's birthday and was my Grandma Wager's birthday. November is chock full: Onyx, Laura, Grandma Primeau and Aunt Vera have birthdays, and Grandma & Grandpa Primeau have their anniversary. In December we always had Grandpa Wager's birthday, followed closely by Mom & Dad's anniversary, and then of course Christmas. Grandpa Primeau's birthday is New Years' Day and Aunt Arlene's is near the end of January. Whew!
It's always been enough to drive a king into poverty. So it requires careful planning. I have learned from Mom's example, and plan things out in advance. When it may seem like I have too much money in April, I try to remember that in another six months I'm going to have a lot of events. If I see something in May that I know my sister will just love, I buy it and put it away. There are dangers to this. I don't recommend buying clothing for children so far in advance-they could completely outgrow it by the time their birthday or Christmas comes around. It's also a problem if you think the person might return the gift-as most stores have a tight return policy. But, those two drawbacks aside, it is very helpful to shop year round.
It was not uncommon for Mom to hit clearance sales in January and start buying for the following Christmas. Mom and Dad's house isn't very large, so Mom had to get creative with her hiding spots. She also had to plan to put gifts where two curious children would not look. Sometimes she solved that problem by wrapping the gifts after she bought them, even if it was months before the event. Once she had the gifts wrapped, she could put them on the stairs leading to the attic. Dad seemed to appreciate this every time he had to get into the attic to get window screens out, or switch the window screens with the storm windows, or to eventually get the tree and Christmas decorations down.
One of Mom's favorite hiding places was the 'Potty Chair'. The correct name of the chair is the 'Chamber Pot Chair'. But we always called it the potty chair. It is a large high back chair (it stands over 5' tall). The chair is covered in a gold velour type fabric. Not the harvest gold that was popular in the 1970s. No, this gold is more of a Victorian or early 20th century color. The fabric goes to the floor, covering the legs of the chair in this slightly pleated skirt. If you lift up the cushion of the chair, there is a circle cut in the middle of the seat, and inside, is an authentic chamber pot. I do not know who the chair originally belonged to, or how on earth we ended up with it. No doubt it was probably some old Aunt's, and it just got passed down. I don't know if it was used for it's original purpose, but you kind of have to think it was. This chair sat in Mom & Dad's room for a very long time (now it has been relocated to the 'guest' room which I occupy when I visit). It is an ideal hiding space- you can get a lot of things underneath the skirt (including larger items), and you can hide items in the chamber pot too- because the cushion goes back over the pot.
On Christmas morning, we woke up and opened our stockings. Then we had breakfast, and after breakfast we were allowed to open presents. Someone (usually my sister, because she was so eager), would pass out the presents. We each had our own spot in the living room (mine was on the floor in front of the TV). Mom's presents would get stacked next to her recliner, Dad's next to his, Laura's in front of the couch, and mine by the TV. Then it was time to open the gifts. Frequently, after all of the presents were unwrapped, Mom asked 'is that all?' or 'Are you sure there's not something else under the tree?' I know it wasn't every year, but it became so common it felt like every year. When we told Mom there was nothing else under the tree, she looked thoughtful. It really has become a bit of a family joke. Mom knew exactly what present was missing, and who it was for, the problem was she didn't know where it was.
That's when the treasure hunt began. She would say 'Now where did I put that?' and we'd tear the house apart looking for the well hidden gift. It became as much of a tradition as going to church on Christmas Eve. It may have been a small gift, or it could be the 'big' gift. Sometimes it was mine, sometimes Laura's, and sometimes Dad's. This is how we learned she liked to hide things in the potty chair, and it became one of the first places we looked in later years. But of course, since we were onto her hiding spots, she found new ones.
A couple of years, after the gifts were all open, we looked at Mom and asked 'is that all?' It wasn't a planned part of Christmas, but it was one of those special things that set our Christmas apart from the ones our neighbors or friends had.
The older I get, the more I turn into my mother. This used to bother me, but it doesn't any more. I can only hope to become as great a woman as she is. At least we don't have to worry about the hidden presents going away! I have been known to buy gifts, and hide them so well I don't find them until after Christmas- about four or five months after Christmas. While Mom knows what is missing, I don't realize I'm missing something. A couple years ago I bought this great book for my Dad about the Pettys. I bought it to give to him for Christmas. I forgot about it at Christmas, I forgot about it in March for his birthday, I forgot about it in June for Father's Day. When I found it, it was almost Christmas again, so I wrapped it up and gave it to him. He loved it. Just as I knew he would-the year before!
It's always been enough to drive a king into poverty. So it requires careful planning. I have learned from Mom's example, and plan things out in advance. When it may seem like I have too much money in April, I try to remember that in another six months I'm going to have a lot of events. If I see something in May that I know my sister will just love, I buy it and put it away. There are dangers to this. I don't recommend buying clothing for children so far in advance-they could completely outgrow it by the time their birthday or Christmas comes around. It's also a problem if you think the person might return the gift-as most stores have a tight return policy. But, those two drawbacks aside, it is very helpful to shop year round.
It was not uncommon for Mom to hit clearance sales in January and start buying for the following Christmas. Mom and Dad's house isn't very large, so Mom had to get creative with her hiding spots. She also had to plan to put gifts where two curious children would not look. Sometimes she solved that problem by wrapping the gifts after she bought them, even if it was months before the event. Once she had the gifts wrapped, she could put them on the stairs leading to the attic. Dad seemed to appreciate this every time he had to get into the attic to get window screens out, or switch the window screens with the storm windows, or to eventually get the tree and Christmas decorations down.
One of Mom's favorite hiding places was the 'Potty Chair'. The correct name of the chair is the 'Chamber Pot Chair'. But we always called it the potty chair. It is a large high back chair (it stands over 5' tall). The chair is covered in a gold velour type fabric. Not the harvest gold that was popular in the 1970s. No, this gold is more of a Victorian or early 20th century color. The fabric goes to the floor, covering the legs of the chair in this slightly pleated skirt. If you lift up the cushion of the chair, there is a circle cut in the middle of the seat, and inside, is an authentic chamber pot. I do not know who the chair originally belonged to, or how on earth we ended up with it. No doubt it was probably some old Aunt's, and it just got passed down. I don't know if it was used for it's original purpose, but you kind of have to think it was. This chair sat in Mom & Dad's room for a very long time (now it has been relocated to the 'guest' room which I occupy when I visit). It is an ideal hiding space- you can get a lot of things underneath the skirt (including larger items), and you can hide items in the chamber pot too- because the cushion goes back over the pot.
On Christmas morning, we woke up and opened our stockings. Then we had breakfast, and after breakfast we were allowed to open presents. Someone (usually my sister, because she was so eager), would pass out the presents. We each had our own spot in the living room (mine was on the floor in front of the TV). Mom's presents would get stacked next to her recliner, Dad's next to his, Laura's in front of the couch, and mine by the TV. Then it was time to open the gifts. Frequently, after all of the presents were unwrapped, Mom asked 'is that all?' or 'Are you sure there's not something else under the tree?' I know it wasn't every year, but it became so common it felt like every year. When we told Mom there was nothing else under the tree, she looked thoughtful. It really has become a bit of a family joke. Mom knew exactly what present was missing, and who it was for, the problem was she didn't know where it was.
That's when the treasure hunt began. She would say 'Now where did I put that?' and we'd tear the house apart looking for the well hidden gift. It became as much of a tradition as going to church on Christmas Eve. It may have been a small gift, or it could be the 'big' gift. Sometimes it was mine, sometimes Laura's, and sometimes Dad's. This is how we learned she liked to hide things in the potty chair, and it became one of the first places we looked in later years. But of course, since we were onto her hiding spots, she found new ones.
A couple of years, after the gifts were all open, we looked at Mom and asked 'is that all?' It wasn't a planned part of Christmas, but it was one of those special things that set our Christmas apart from the ones our neighbors or friends had.
The older I get, the more I turn into my mother. This used to bother me, but it doesn't any more. I can only hope to become as great a woman as she is. At least we don't have to worry about the hidden presents going away! I have been known to buy gifts, and hide them so well I don't find them until after Christmas- about four or five months after Christmas. While Mom knows what is missing, I don't realize I'm missing something. A couple years ago I bought this great book for my Dad about the Pettys. I bought it to give to him for Christmas. I forgot about it at Christmas, I forgot about it in March for his birthday, I forgot about it in June for Father's Day. When I found it, it was almost Christmas again, so I wrapped it up and gave it to him. He loved it. Just as I knew he would-the year before!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Great Gifts
It's Christmas time again. I know this because we keep seeing commercials for Chia Pets and The Clapper. I only see these commercials at Christmas time. I'm not sure who decided these make 'great gifts'. I'd also like to know how they came up with the name 'Chia Pet'. Maybe it is called a Pet because you have to water it. Admittedly, I was almost tempted to buy one of the new 'Presidential Collection' chia pets as a gift. Now, you can honor America and show your patriotism with your very own Chia Pet in the 'likeness' of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, President Obama, or the Statue of Liberty. Obviously, if your favorite President is FDR, you want to go with the Statue of Liberty. Who knows- maybe FDR will be in next year's editions.
My grandparents put a clapper on their Christmas tree one year. Grandpa thought it would be easier on him & Grandma to just clap their hands to turn the tree on or off, rather than having to maneuver behind the tree to unplug it. Our family is so big that we used to draw names for gift giving. At first each of Dad's siblings drew another sibling's name- and then you bought for that family. As the family continued to grow, we switched to each person drawing one name. So instead of buying gifts for say 30 people, you only bought one. We met at Grandma & Grandpa's one Sunday before Christmas to exchange gifts. We didn't open the gifts, just rearranged the packages so they went home with the appropriate people.
Grandpa showed everyone how he put the Christmas tree on a Clapper. He clapped his hands, and the tree went dark. Another clap, and the room glowed from the tree lights. I have 13 first cousins. There are 16 years between the oldest and the youngest. I am #7 in order, my sister is smack dab in the middle at #8. One of the younger cousins thought this was a neat trick of Grandpa's, and tried it himself. It wasn't long before toddler and preschool hands were frantically clapping to make the tree turn on and off. The tree was blinking like a strobe light. The faster the tree blinked on and off, the happier the younger children became, laughing loudly and clapping harder. You could almost see the adults' headaches growing by the second! Finally Grandpa stood up and unplugged the clapper, putting the extension cord from the tree directly into the wall socket.
If you are planning to buy a Chia Pet or a Clapper for someone as a great gift this Christmas, keep in mind these gifts might not be suitable for young children!
My grandparents put a clapper on their Christmas tree one year. Grandpa thought it would be easier on him & Grandma to just clap their hands to turn the tree on or off, rather than having to maneuver behind the tree to unplug it. Our family is so big that we used to draw names for gift giving. At first each of Dad's siblings drew another sibling's name- and then you bought for that family. As the family continued to grow, we switched to each person drawing one name. So instead of buying gifts for say 30 people, you only bought one. We met at Grandma & Grandpa's one Sunday before Christmas to exchange gifts. We didn't open the gifts, just rearranged the packages so they went home with the appropriate people.
Grandpa showed everyone how he put the Christmas tree on a Clapper. He clapped his hands, and the tree went dark. Another clap, and the room glowed from the tree lights. I have 13 first cousins. There are 16 years between the oldest and the youngest. I am #7 in order, my sister is smack dab in the middle at #8. One of the younger cousins thought this was a neat trick of Grandpa's, and tried it himself. It wasn't long before toddler and preschool hands were frantically clapping to make the tree turn on and off. The tree was blinking like a strobe light. The faster the tree blinked on and off, the happier the younger children became, laughing loudly and clapping harder. You could almost see the adults' headaches growing by the second! Finally Grandpa stood up and unplugged the clapper, putting the extension cord from the tree directly into the wall socket.
If you are planning to buy a Chia Pet or a Clapper for someone as a great gift this Christmas, keep in mind these gifts might not be suitable for young children!
The Tears will Flow
I am a cryer. I admit. I am a very emotional person. When I can't hold the emotions in, they spill out as tears. I'm sure some people might think I cry at the drop of a hat, and think of me as weak because of it.
The tears are not a sign of weakness. If I could stop them, I would. I don't enjoy wiping my eyes, going through a box of Kleenex in no time flat. I don't like the puffy eyes that follow. Although I have learned to place a warm damp cloth over my eyes at night and it will reduce the swelling and eliminate that 'cried all night' look. And I certainly don't like the way I sound when I've been crying. I really dislike my voice, the voice after crying isn't any better!
The tears are just my emotions freeing themselves. It doesn't matter the emotion. Happiness, sadness, anger, fear, hurt: the tears flow equally. I cry at Hallmark commercials. My new favorite has two women around my age, and a young girl. I think the two women are sisters. The mother to the girl tells her 'look who's here!' and the girl stands there, arms at her sides while the other woman hugs her. The 'aunt' gives the girl a card, and it has a special surprise online. This causes the girl to warm up. Can you see why I love this commercial? This is my life! I go through this ritual every time I see Sydney for the first time. She is stand-offish, and I usually have something in my bag for her. Once she warms up, there's no stopping her.
My favorite movies are ones that make me cry: Gone With The Wind, When Harry Met Sally, Fried Green Tomatoes, Steel Magnolias (when they go to the little boy after Shelby dies, I lose it every time), Notting Hill. Erich doesn't understand why I choose to watch movies that make me cry. I guess guys don't understand sometimes you need that release, you need a good cry.
Books have been known to make me cry. Nicholas Sparks and Mitch Albom are two authors that always leave me in tears. So when I saw Nights in Rodanthe with my mom, I knew what to expect and started handing her Kleenex before she needed them.
Every time I fly to NY, I cry when the wheels touch down in Albany. I cry when I hear stories of Sydney talking about how she 'loves Aunt Amy so much'. I frequently laugh until I cry. I cried after my recent car accident. When I'm so angry I can't think straight, there are always tears.
I come by this naturally. My Mom is a cryer too. We used to make fun of her when we went to the movies, because she would start fumbling in her purse for a Kleenex. Then I started doing it, and my sister sits between us and laughs at both of us. When Mom and I go to see a movie, we usually choose one that will make us cry. And when it's over, we hold each other up as we head to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face. We usually enjoy the movie, this is just our way of letting our emotions out.
So when you see me crying, don't pity me or look down on me. I'm not weak or pathetic. I'm just a sap!
The tears are not a sign of weakness. If I could stop them, I would. I don't enjoy wiping my eyes, going through a box of Kleenex in no time flat. I don't like the puffy eyes that follow. Although I have learned to place a warm damp cloth over my eyes at night and it will reduce the swelling and eliminate that 'cried all night' look. And I certainly don't like the way I sound when I've been crying. I really dislike my voice, the voice after crying isn't any better!
The tears are just my emotions freeing themselves. It doesn't matter the emotion. Happiness, sadness, anger, fear, hurt: the tears flow equally. I cry at Hallmark commercials. My new favorite has two women around my age, and a young girl. I think the two women are sisters. The mother to the girl tells her 'look who's here!' and the girl stands there, arms at her sides while the other woman hugs her. The 'aunt' gives the girl a card, and it has a special surprise online. This causes the girl to warm up. Can you see why I love this commercial? This is my life! I go through this ritual every time I see Sydney for the first time. She is stand-offish, and I usually have something in my bag for her. Once she warms up, there's no stopping her.
My favorite movies are ones that make me cry: Gone With The Wind, When Harry Met Sally, Fried Green Tomatoes, Steel Magnolias (when they go to the little boy after Shelby dies, I lose it every time), Notting Hill. Erich doesn't understand why I choose to watch movies that make me cry. I guess guys don't understand sometimes you need that release, you need a good cry.
Books have been known to make me cry. Nicholas Sparks and Mitch Albom are two authors that always leave me in tears. So when I saw Nights in Rodanthe with my mom, I knew what to expect and started handing her Kleenex before she needed them.
Every time I fly to NY, I cry when the wheels touch down in Albany. I cry when I hear stories of Sydney talking about how she 'loves Aunt Amy so much'. I frequently laugh until I cry. I cried after my recent car accident. When I'm so angry I can't think straight, there are always tears.
I come by this naturally. My Mom is a cryer too. We used to make fun of her when we went to the movies, because she would start fumbling in her purse for a Kleenex. Then I started doing it, and my sister sits between us and laughs at both of us. When Mom and I go to see a movie, we usually choose one that will make us cry. And when it's over, we hold each other up as we head to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face. We usually enjoy the movie, this is just our way of letting our emotions out.
So when you see me crying, don't pity me or look down on me. I'm not weak or pathetic. I'm just a sap!
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Solitude
I love snow. I am without a doubt, a winter person. I do not like hot, humid, muggy days. I do not like running around in shorts and tank tops. Although, I really like the freedom sandals bring. I prefer the crisp coldness of winter, when everything is tucked in under a blanket of snow. My ex-husband used to say I grew up in the 'frozen tundra'. Not quite. The Tundra is near the Arctic Circle. Upstate NY is a long ways from the Arctic Circle. Although, by mid-January, it is easy to confuse the two.
As kids, we would play outside in the snow for hours. Our fingers would be numb with cold, our cheeks rosy. We only came in when Mom dragged us inside. Then we warmed up with a mug of cocoa and begged to go back out.
My favorite time is right after it has stopped snowing. The world is so quiet. The snow seems to have muffled any sounds. I was a teenager when I first became aware of the peacefulness after a snowstorm. We used to create a house in the yard. We didn't do it with snow bricks. Rather, our house was one dimensional. We would walk off 'rooms' through the snow. Mom and Dad's yard has a natural terrace, their house is on a nice flat spot and then there is a slight incline into the backyard. This allowed for a split level play house. The hill became the 'stairs'. We did the same thing in the fall, raking the leaves so they became the walls of our house and the walls of the rooms. Dad would get a little annoyed when he came home to find leaves spread all over the yard. From the upstairs, you could see the blueprint of our leaf or snow house.
The snowbanks on the edge of the driveway became recliners. You didn't have to create a chair, you just flopped down into the snow bank. While my sister and I were playing one day, I flopped into my snow recliner, and all I heard was silence. I knew the snowplows were going by on the road, the sharp metal blade scraping along the pavement. I knew our neighbors were shoveling their driveways. Our friends shrieked as they played in their yards. There was always a dog or two barking in the distance. Yet somehow, all of that disappeared. All I heard was silence. It is a silence that almost makes your ears hurt. We've become so accustomed to being surrounded by noises, that the silence is strange, unfamiliar. Not spooky. Just calming.
My mother looked out the kitchen window and saw me lying in the snowbank. She came out and asked what I was doing. I told her I was listening. She listened and said she didn't hear anything. Exactly! I think she thought I was being a difficult teenager, because she shook her head and walked back into the house, telling me not to get cold.
I was reminded of this last night, when I let the dogs out in the evening. It had snowed all day, and everything had a pretty covering of soft white powder. We live in the suburbs, so there are always sounds. Birds singing, dogs barking, cars going by on the street. Frequently there are sirens. I stepped onto the patio, and was met with silence. Welcome silence. You could almost hear the snow falling. And even that was falling softly, so as not to disturb the magic. The usual light pollution was muted by the snow blanket, and everything had this very rosy glow. It was calming. I wanted to start a fire in the chimenea and sit there, enjoying the silence. I felt grounded. Things seemed to be a bit out of control this week, but the snowy silence helped me regroup. The world only belonged to me at that moment. I could block out everything else. It doesn't matter where I am or how old I am, as long as I live someplace we get snow, I will always be able to steal these little moments.
As kids, we would play outside in the snow for hours. Our fingers would be numb with cold, our cheeks rosy. We only came in when Mom dragged us inside. Then we warmed up with a mug of cocoa and begged to go back out.
My favorite time is right after it has stopped snowing. The world is so quiet. The snow seems to have muffled any sounds. I was a teenager when I first became aware of the peacefulness after a snowstorm. We used to create a house in the yard. We didn't do it with snow bricks. Rather, our house was one dimensional. We would walk off 'rooms' through the snow. Mom and Dad's yard has a natural terrace, their house is on a nice flat spot and then there is a slight incline into the backyard. This allowed for a split level play house. The hill became the 'stairs'. We did the same thing in the fall, raking the leaves so they became the walls of our house and the walls of the rooms. Dad would get a little annoyed when he came home to find leaves spread all over the yard. From the upstairs, you could see the blueprint of our leaf or snow house.
The snowbanks on the edge of the driveway became recliners. You didn't have to create a chair, you just flopped down into the snow bank. While my sister and I were playing one day, I flopped into my snow recliner, and all I heard was silence. I knew the snowplows were going by on the road, the sharp metal blade scraping along the pavement. I knew our neighbors were shoveling their driveways. Our friends shrieked as they played in their yards. There was always a dog or two barking in the distance. Yet somehow, all of that disappeared. All I heard was silence. It is a silence that almost makes your ears hurt. We've become so accustomed to being surrounded by noises, that the silence is strange, unfamiliar. Not spooky. Just calming.
My mother looked out the kitchen window and saw me lying in the snowbank. She came out and asked what I was doing. I told her I was listening. She listened and said she didn't hear anything. Exactly! I think she thought I was being a difficult teenager, because she shook her head and walked back into the house, telling me not to get cold.
I was reminded of this last night, when I let the dogs out in the evening. It had snowed all day, and everything had a pretty covering of soft white powder. We live in the suburbs, so there are always sounds. Birds singing, dogs barking, cars going by on the street. Frequently there are sirens. I stepped onto the patio, and was met with silence. Welcome silence. You could almost hear the snow falling. And even that was falling softly, so as not to disturb the magic. The usual light pollution was muted by the snow blanket, and everything had this very rosy glow. It was calming. I wanted to start a fire in the chimenea and sit there, enjoying the silence. I felt grounded. Things seemed to be a bit out of control this week, but the snowy silence helped me regroup. The world only belonged to me at that moment. I could block out everything else. It doesn't matter where I am or how old I am, as long as I live someplace we get snow, I will always be able to steal these little moments.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Stress
I haven't been blogging for a couple of weeks. I've meant to, but I've been so busy preparing for the holidays. We're all busy this time of year. The decorating, cooking, shopping, wrapping, and in my case shipping-- there never seems to be enough time. It's been even busier this year for me because my four year old niece is coming to visit between Christmas and New Year's. So I've had the added challenge of taking our fourth bedroom, which previously held my Boyd's Bear collection, and turning it into a guest room.
To keep myself organized, I created lists. I always have lists- grocery lists, lists of things to pickup at Target, things I want to get done on a weekend. Our family has always had a lot of extra events at the end of the year: birthdays and anniversaries. My mother always kept a list of who was getting what for Christmas. I expand on that and break it down by month. I write down all the birthdays and anniversaries in that month, and then keep track of what I have bought. This is very helpful because I shop all year long. When I find that perfect item, I buy it and tuck it away.
This year, with so much to get done, I made many lists. I have a small notebook that I've been using to keep track of everything. The lists included the regular gift list, items that needed to be done around the house before Christmas, items that needed to be bought to make the house child safe and friendly, and projects I wanted to get done.
In the summer, I had grand plans. I was going to make three afghans for Christmas gifts. A couple of months ago I realized I'd be lucky to get two done. About a month ago I realized the reality was that only one would be completed. I should have it finished tomorrow, with plenty of time to ship it to its' new home.
Things were going along pretty well until this week. The guest room is complete. The tree was up two weeks early. The yard is almost completely decorated (I'm just waiting for Erich to get the big moose out of the shed. I think he's hoping I will forget.). Every time I went shopping, I crossed a few things off the list. I was to the point that I planned to clean this weekend, bake the following two weekends, and then do the final cleaning Christmas weekend before my company arrived. I felt like things were mostly in control.
Last week, Dad mentioned that my Grandmother was having some tests. This week started with her in the ER on Sunday. She came home Sunday night, had more tests Monday, and Tuesday received the diagnosis: liver cancer and colon cancer. She is having exploratory surgery on Monday, and then probably chemo after she recovers from the surgery. All of the Holiday preparation came to a screeching halt.
My Grandparents host a Christmas party the Sunday before Christmas. I was at the first one in 2001, but haven't been able to make it home to another one. Even the years I've gone for Christmas, going for the party means taking off even more time from work, and it just hasn't worked out. I wasn't going to go this year, until we received the diagnosis. Mom and I talked about it, and agreed I should probably come home. I called Dad to ask him, and his answer was 'I can't tell you not to come'. So that was it. I booked a flight, and will be in NY the weekend before Christmas. It will be a short trip, I'll be home about 60 hours. But it is something I need to do.
Simultaneously with booking my flight, I canceled my cookie making. Even when I worked in retail, I found the time to make dozens and dozens of cookies. I generally bake every night for two or three weeks. I make a schedule (back to those lists!) of cookies. I decide what cookies I want to make, and when to make them. I start with the most hearty, the ones that can be frozen for a while without damaging the cookies. The most delicate ones or the ones that can't be frozen are done last. I group the cookies, so that the kinds that must have the dough refrigerated are done on different nights, and anything that requires my rolling pin and board are done at the same time. I love baking the cookies. In my best years, I've made about 100 dozen. I've scaled it back the past couple of years. This year, I just can't do it.
Stress and Fibro are not friends. One of the things I had to learn after being diagnosed with Fibro is moderation. Too much of anything sends the Fibro out of whack. So does too little, such as too little sleep. So I try to maintain balance. I set limits for myself when I am knitting. While I might like to knit for three hours straight, I know my hands can only do about an hour and a half at a time. When I travel I try to take a direct flight. When I can't take a direct flight, I schedule flights with long layovers. No, I don't particularly like hanging out in airports, but it is much better than trying to push my body to make tight connections. I have learned to listen to my body, and to sit back when I need to. Sometimes I still get carried away, but I'm getting better.
My grandmother's diagnosis really knocked me off my feet. I was really upset, and cried for a day. At first, I was surprised by my reaction. Then I remembered I went through it with Mom's parents too. Grandpa had cancer several times. Each time, the diagnosis brought the tears, the fear, the sadness. With Grandma too, when she had a stroke, we went through the same emotions. It has just been a while since I've had to grapple with this. Grandpa Wager first had cancer when I was a young girl, and it continued off and on through my teen years and young adulthood. So this is a familiar path, just a different grandparent.
Dad's side of the family is large. He is one of eight children (well, really 10 but two died as infants). There are 15 grandchildren, and 12 great-grandchildren. Add all the spouses, and well- we're a big crowd. As with any large group of people, you have very different and often conflicting personalities. It is no different in the family. There are a few people who like to 'stir the pot' if you know what I mean. So added to the stress of my Grandmother's diagnosis, we had to deal with some individuals stirring things. This week I've found one of the dangers of Facebook. Messages were flying back and forth, people were making trouble, and my blood pressure was going sky high. After two days of such crap, I finally said enough. The situation had me lying in bed awake for hours. The pain levels were rising, which also kept me up. I knew that if I didn't put a stop to this, I'd be in a flare. And if there is one thing I do not have time for right now, it's a fibro flare.
I considered pulling the plug on the computer. But I had projects I needed to work on for Christmas. Things to order. Sure, I could have turned off Facebook, but it is a bit of a stress reliever for me. I like to chat with my friends, and play games. Yes, I'm addicted to Facebook. But I think that's another topic. :) So I purged my life of the individuals causing problems. I also talked to my sister and a cousin who is one of my favorite family members, and we each agreed it was best to ignore the troublemakers. Once I had cut them out, I felt like a 5000 pound weight was instantly removed from my shoulders.
Knowing that I'm not superwoman, and I can't do everything is what caused me to cut the cookie making. I may do some baking to relieve stress, but it will be purely for our enjoyment. Or maybe for a couple of special people such as our Vet's office or my massage therapist. At most it will be one or two kinds of cookies. I'm not going to make myself sick or wear myself out. My family needs me to be in NY on the 17th. And then, one week after I return to Ohio, my parents & niece come to visit me for four days. So I must stay well.
I'm also going to try to blog. Writing has always been a release for me. The Christmas season is filled with so many great traditions and memories of my parents. I love Christmas. This year, it may be a little sadder, but it is still my favorite holiday. I have a lot of ideas for posts, and thankfully I've written the ideas down so I don't forget them.
I'm doing my best to keep the stress from getting to me. Taking time to breathe, to step outside and enjoy the silence after the new fallen snow. I'm playing with the Beagles, and reminding myself I will get through it.
To keep myself organized, I created lists. I always have lists- grocery lists, lists of things to pickup at Target, things I want to get done on a weekend. Our family has always had a lot of extra events at the end of the year: birthdays and anniversaries. My mother always kept a list of who was getting what for Christmas. I expand on that and break it down by month. I write down all the birthdays and anniversaries in that month, and then keep track of what I have bought. This is very helpful because I shop all year long. When I find that perfect item, I buy it and tuck it away.
This year, with so much to get done, I made many lists. I have a small notebook that I've been using to keep track of everything. The lists included the regular gift list, items that needed to be done around the house before Christmas, items that needed to be bought to make the house child safe and friendly, and projects I wanted to get done.
In the summer, I had grand plans. I was going to make three afghans for Christmas gifts. A couple of months ago I realized I'd be lucky to get two done. About a month ago I realized the reality was that only one would be completed. I should have it finished tomorrow, with plenty of time to ship it to its' new home.
Things were going along pretty well until this week. The guest room is complete. The tree was up two weeks early. The yard is almost completely decorated (I'm just waiting for Erich to get the big moose out of the shed. I think he's hoping I will forget.). Every time I went shopping, I crossed a few things off the list. I was to the point that I planned to clean this weekend, bake the following two weekends, and then do the final cleaning Christmas weekend before my company arrived. I felt like things were mostly in control.
Last week, Dad mentioned that my Grandmother was having some tests. This week started with her in the ER on Sunday. She came home Sunday night, had more tests Monday, and Tuesday received the diagnosis: liver cancer and colon cancer. She is having exploratory surgery on Monday, and then probably chemo after she recovers from the surgery. All of the Holiday preparation came to a screeching halt.
My Grandparents host a Christmas party the Sunday before Christmas. I was at the first one in 2001, but haven't been able to make it home to another one. Even the years I've gone for Christmas, going for the party means taking off even more time from work, and it just hasn't worked out. I wasn't going to go this year, until we received the diagnosis. Mom and I talked about it, and agreed I should probably come home. I called Dad to ask him, and his answer was 'I can't tell you not to come'. So that was it. I booked a flight, and will be in NY the weekend before Christmas. It will be a short trip, I'll be home about 60 hours. But it is something I need to do.
Simultaneously with booking my flight, I canceled my cookie making. Even when I worked in retail, I found the time to make dozens and dozens of cookies. I generally bake every night for two or three weeks. I make a schedule (back to those lists!) of cookies. I decide what cookies I want to make, and when to make them. I start with the most hearty, the ones that can be frozen for a while without damaging the cookies. The most delicate ones or the ones that can't be frozen are done last. I group the cookies, so that the kinds that must have the dough refrigerated are done on different nights, and anything that requires my rolling pin and board are done at the same time. I love baking the cookies. In my best years, I've made about 100 dozen. I've scaled it back the past couple of years. This year, I just can't do it.
Stress and Fibro are not friends. One of the things I had to learn after being diagnosed with Fibro is moderation. Too much of anything sends the Fibro out of whack. So does too little, such as too little sleep. So I try to maintain balance. I set limits for myself when I am knitting. While I might like to knit for three hours straight, I know my hands can only do about an hour and a half at a time. When I travel I try to take a direct flight. When I can't take a direct flight, I schedule flights with long layovers. No, I don't particularly like hanging out in airports, but it is much better than trying to push my body to make tight connections. I have learned to listen to my body, and to sit back when I need to. Sometimes I still get carried away, but I'm getting better.
My grandmother's diagnosis really knocked me off my feet. I was really upset, and cried for a day. At first, I was surprised by my reaction. Then I remembered I went through it with Mom's parents too. Grandpa had cancer several times. Each time, the diagnosis brought the tears, the fear, the sadness. With Grandma too, when she had a stroke, we went through the same emotions. It has just been a while since I've had to grapple with this. Grandpa Wager first had cancer when I was a young girl, and it continued off and on through my teen years and young adulthood. So this is a familiar path, just a different grandparent.
Dad's side of the family is large. He is one of eight children (well, really 10 but two died as infants). There are 15 grandchildren, and 12 great-grandchildren. Add all the spouses, and well- we're a big crowd. As with any large group of people, you have very different and often conflicting personalities. It is no different in the family. There are a few people who like to 'stir the pot' if you know what I mean. So added to the stress of my Grandmother's diagnosis, we had to deal with some individuals stirring things. This week I've found one of the dangers of Facebook. Messages were flying back and forth, people were making trouble, and my blood pressure was going sky high. After two days of such crap, I finally said enough. The situation had me lying in bed awake for hours. The pain levels were rising, which also kept me up. I knew that if I didn't put a stop to this, I'd be in a flare. And if there is one thing I do not have time for right now, it's a fibro flare.
I considered pulling the plug on the computer. But I had projects I needed to work on for Christmas. Things to order. Sure, I could have turned off Facebook, but it is a bit of a stress reliever for me. I like to chat with my friends, and play games. Yes, I'm addicted to Facebook. But I think that's another topic. :) So I purged my life of the individuals causing problems. I also talked to my sister and a cousin who is one of my favorite family members, and we each agreed it was best to ignore the troublemakers. Once I had cut them out, I felt like a 5000 pound weight was instantly removed from my shoulders.
Knowing that I'm not superwoman, and I can't do everything is what caused me to cut the cookie making. I may do some baking to relieve stress, but it will be purely for our enjoyment. Or maybe for a couple of special people such as our Vet's office or my massage therapist. At most it will be one or two kinds of cookies. I'm not going to make myself sick or wear myself out. My family needs me to be in NY on the 17th. And then, one week after I return to Ohio, my parents & niece come to visit me for four days. So I must stay well.
I'm also going to try to blog. Writing has always been a release for me. The Christmas season is filled with so many great traditions and memories of my parents. I love Christmas. This year, it may be a little sadder, but it is still my favorite holiday. I have a lot of ideas for posts, and thankfully I've written the ideas down so I don't forget them.
I'm doing my best to keep the stress from getting to me. Taking time to breathe, to step outside and enjoy the silence after the new fallen snow. I'm playing with the Beagles, and reminding myself I will get through it.
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