Tag Archives: Gratitude

When Dad Speaks

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My father has been gone for more than half my life. Every so often my mind wonders what it would have been like to have had him remain longer in our lives. My thoughts don’t allow me to have him age although in reality he would have hit the 100 year old mark by now. In my imagination he would still be able to perform those handy man tasks that were common place. More importantly, I could ask him questions about our family or his youth, things I wasn’t prepared to ask earlier in my life. Once again, I could hear the soft southern accent that he never lost.

Years ago, when traveling to New Orleans, my father came to me in a dream. I recall he was wearing his dress blue Naval uniform and we were at the mobile home where we had spent a summer. We were there only temporarily as he was recruiting in a town far removed from where we called home. At some point in my dream, I became aware that death had robbed me of his presence and I clung to him. With tears in my eyes, I begged him not to go. I soon woke up and realized I was sitting upright in bed with my arms outstretched, tears still flowing. I could feel his arms around me. Although I was more than grateful for the visit, I realized he didn’t speak. Comforted by his presence, I wanted more. I wanted to hear his voice.

I hadn’t given it much thought growing up, but I never heard my parents argue. My mother commented, after his death, he never raised his voice to her the entire time they were married. I am not so naïve to think that they didn’t argue but it wasn’t something that we heard. In reality there could be a deafening silence until things were settled. My mother was the main disciplinarian and you knew when she was angry with us. My father would remain even keeled when he was making a point, advising me when I had done something wrong. He would tell me what he thought and then finish his comment by saying, “you know”. His simple comment would have a devasting affect on me. I felt so very small. I did know, I knew not to repeat the transgression.

Very often, as I share my thoughts in these missives, I don’t hesitate to reveal what lesson I might have learned along the way. With the advent of technology, we now have the capability to record the unusual and exciting to the mundane. I wish I had the opportunity to record some of the ordinary things that my father would say to me. Would I have had the foresight to record him when he would ask me to put my pinky in his glass of ice tea, just to sweeten it a bit? Would I have known that I would miss his rendition of the Shake and Bake commercial when the little girl would say, with a very pronounced southern accent, “And I helped!” I continue to feel the love and the longing for my father and I wish I could have preserved his voice. I would love to hear Dad speak one more time. You know?

A Thought on Mother’s Day

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Mom,

You have been gone for several years now, but that hasn’t lessened the love I continue to feel for you. I can hear your voice in my head, recalling the many lessons you have imparted during my life. You always made me feel that I exceeded the dreams you held for me. I also am cognizant of the worry I caused you. Your concern over the sacrifices that came with being a Navy wife, walking through burnt out buildings with the Red Cross and living solo as a divorced woman. All these life experiences were possible because you taught me to have faith, both in a higher power and also myself.

Although many celebrate today with flowers and other tokens of love, I have no reason to fall victim to the commercial trappings of the day. I can celebrate with my heart and head. I know you are there to receive the thoughts and love I send your way. I will embrace the tangible reminders of you by looking in the mirror and seeing your face, cooking without the benefit a recipe or humming a familiar tune. For nine months you carried me and then continued with support and comfort, always with love. I will continue to carry you with me, in my heart, until the end of my life.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Love, Cindy

Apprehension

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Decades ago, our country was told we had nothing to fear but fear itself. Fear can be an overwhelming emotion. It can make your heart feel like it is in your throat.  Fear can make you lightheaded and weak in the knees. Fear can also stop you in your tracks and prevent you from safely moving forward, figuratively and literally. Have I known fear? Obviously, I have or I wouldn’t be able to put words to the emotion. As my mother neared the end of her life, we had many heartfelt conversations. On several occasions she told me that she thought I wasn’t afraid of anything. I don’t know if she found comfort and pride in that observation or concern over me daringly charging ahead.

I can look back over my life and remember times when I felt concern about what tomorrow might bring. Some of those concerns appear so silly now. One that lingers, for unknown reasons, is the change in uniforms at school. I attended parochial school from kindergarten through my senior year. The elementary school went through eighth grade. When making the passage into junior high, or seventh grade, we were allowed to remove the top part of our uniform jumpers and transition to skirts. The nuns must have felt that we, as preteens, had earned the right to show our status by the change. I can still remember the apprehension I felt on the first day of school that year. What if my mother had it wrong and removed the top of my jumper in error? It was with great relief that I saw all my female classmates in their skirts, topped with a white blouse and finished off with a navy-blue tie that would cross at the neck. I don’t know why that experience has remained with me. Did I actually fear the adjustment of my uniform or did the thought of change make me apprehensive? Other than embarrassment, what harm would have come to me?

There have been other life experiences that have given me pause. I remember, during the last week or two of my pregnancy, looking down at my abdomen and feeling apprehensive.  Thought was given to not only the pain of delivery but the overwhelming responsibility I felt for raising this new life. Again, I wasted my energy by letting my mind go there. My delivery was easy and I consider my son my greatest accomplishment. Trials often appeared but there was never any choice other than to move forward. There are legions of others that have joined me in conquered those same hurdles. I have experienced divorce, the elimination of professional positions, purchasing a house on my own and the loss of loved ones. There was no time for fear and the only choice was to find a way to achieve what was necessary.

I am not vain or a braggart. I have done what I needed to do in order to get to the other side of a challenge. I look at my contemporaries and marvel at the courage and back bone they possess to have met things that have come their way. I revisit the naïve school girl I once was and how foolish it seems to have been concerned about wearing an incorrect uniform. Currently I don’t feel as if I am confronted with encounters that induce fear. A life time of experience has provided me with the skills not to concentrate on the inconsequential. There might be cause for apprehension while waiting for results of medical tests that were never anticipated but the loss of sleep doesn’t change the outcome. Our physical bodies are miraculous but time does wear on them. I might be a bit slower in my step but I will continue to put one foot in front of the other. Every day that I meet, breathing and upright, I consider a win. If apprehension creeps into my psyche, I feel a nudge that lets me know I still have work to do and I will confront it with confidence. It is nothing to fear.

Pennies From Heaven

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My grandfather died two years after suffering a stroke. The image of him standing in the kitchen, smiling, the night before it happened has always remained with me. It was not unusual to find a smile on his face. He was charming and had a delightful sense of humor. That stroke robbed him of so much and ultimately the onset of another one would take his life.

A few days after his death I had a vivid dream of him. I held a note in my hand that read: I didn’t leave you much as you have what you need. To this day, I can clearly see it in my mind’s eye. The message was clearly written in his handwriting. Startled by the dream I woke up. My attention was drawn to the corner of the room. It was there that I saw him. He was dressed in the blue suit in which he was buried. It was all so clear, even down to his Marcasite tie tack. He was smiling, the smile that I had known my entire life. Then as quickly as I saw him, he faded. Although it has been over forty years, I can recall it as if it was yesterday.

Stay with me as I make what looks like a leap into another subject matter. How often have you noticed spare change in a parking lot? So often it is only a penny but without embarrassment I will stop and pick it up. I have an understanding that it is a gift from my grandfather, pennies from heaven. Better yet, it is a gift, from his pocket to mine. Recently that came to mind as I thought I spotted a coin in the parking lot. It was only a circular piece of gum, discarded and now ground into the macadem. Kiddingly, I invoked my grandfather. I asked him why he had been so stingy lately and not left any change for me. I continued to run my errands and as I departed the next store I spotted change in the parking lot. He must have heard me and wanted to ensure I didn’t think him stingy. This time I was gifted a dime! Maybe it is time for a new song referencing dimes from heaven rather than pennies.

My grandfather has given me a bounty of memories. I was young when he came to live with us. I would sit on his lap and we would rock in the swivel rocker in the living room. He would entertain me with a rhyme that perfectly accompanied the rhythm of our rocking. It began with the line: See saw, knock at the door. It would continue and eventually end with a silly verse. There were other aspects of his life that have all but been forgotten. He drove a white Cadillac, the model with fins. He confessed to my friend that he was addicted to duck pin bowling. Laughing, he told her he couldn’t pass by an alley without going in for a game. Sunday would find him playing pinochle with his friends, ironically all from the same town in Italy.

I recently had the good fortune to obtain Grandpop’s secretary desk from my brother. It gives a sense of joy to now have it in my home. My thoughts go to his giving nature. I am moved when I think of the effort he made to come out one last time after his stroke. My son was being baptized and he didn’t want to miss the event. The last picture we have of him is on that day, one arm in a sling, the other holding my son as an infant. I have received wonderful gifts from my grandfather, a lifetime of love and memories. Now I gladly accept those pennies from heaven as a tangible reminder of him.

Karma

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What goes around comes around or as my mother would say, God will punish you for that. If your mouth was accidently injured it was the result of the time you talked back. If you hurt your hand, it was the result of the time you smacked your sibling. I am sure you get the picture. I don’t recall my mother ever using the word karma but I think, in her own way, she understood the concept.

I learned much from my mother but there are things she did that I am certain Doctor Spock never addressed. One favorite was the time she sent me to my room without dessert because I complained about her serving rice pudding. There was another time that she must have found my stuffy nose annoying. She repeatedly told me to blow my nose and I am sure my response was something spiteful. Her solution was to make me sniff black pepper. I believe her theory was by producing a hefty sneeze I would rid myself of the congestion. To this day, even the smallest whiff of pepper, will induce an immense amount of sneezing. Karma?

A recent trip to the cemetery brought back another incident involving karma. As a young bride I shared with my father the desire to adorn my house with beautiful flower beds. He disapproved by saying that you can’t eat flowers; a vegetable garden would be more practical. The thought of putting nasturtiums in a salad would have been lost on him. I do think it was rather hypocritical for him to always surprise our mother with freshly cut bouquets from our yard’s bounty as she couldn’t eat them. Out of all the flowering bushes we had decorating our landscape, he did have a very strong opinion about forsythia. It was the bane of his existence as he would often try to remove the plant yet it always seemed to return healthy and ready for growth. Visiting his grave at the cemetery would always make me chuckle. Behind his plot was a magnificent hedge of forsythia. I have even been known to place a few sprigs of forsythia in the silk arrangements I would leave to decorate the gravesite. His guidance in horticulture has provided me with years of humor. No good deed goes unpunished.

I have said often, more times than I can count, that what comes back to you is the result of how you live your life. While at the cemetery I felt like my father had been redeemed. The forsythia had been removed and replaced with evergreens. I, too, felt like I was the beneficiary of good fortune. It is rare that I find the office open when I am visiting on a weekend. I crossed paths with the cemetery administrator and was able to inquire about the family bench being restored. I was content, not only because of what was accomplished, but in conversation I learned this individual and I shared many of the same experiences in our lives. Preparing for my departure, a woman in the car next to me made a point of advising me that one of my tires was extremely low. It was on the passenger side of the car, unbeknownst to me. As simplistic as it seems, my observation is that karma centers on human relationships. Treat others as you would have them treat you. I advise you look for the common factor in others; do the figural walk a mile in their shoes. It isn’t necessary to focus on recompense, karma will handle it. Trust me on this one.

One and Only

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I have one child, a son. He is a grown man, one that makes me proud. No matter his age, he is still my child. I am fortunate to have him and even more fortunate to enjoy a close relationship with him. Medically, it wasn’t in the picture to have any other children. Granted, I was never one of those women who fell victim to baby fever but it was the reasonable next step. I thought that would be the direction I was headed; it was not to be. I refer to my son as my one and only and there is no one else who walks this earth that I love more.

Growing up with my three brothers I learned that guilt and blame could be shared. I am sure we didn’t fool our parents. As a child it seemed appropriate to blame someone else for a misdeed rather than accept the truth and punishment that would follow. This has made it painfully clear why I feel I let my son down by not providing a sibling. At one point in time, we had a ten gallon aquarium in our living room. It was prominently displayed on the Mission Oak desk by the front windows. I could hear a golf ball being bounced in the room when my son was about six years old. I don’t fully remember but I am sure I must have asked him not to bounce the ball in the house. Shortly afterward, there was a commotion in the room. I came out to see that the aquarium was quickly leaking from a shattered panel. The blame was placed on Dusty. Without a sibling, my son had no one to blame but the cat.

I have never thought about him being spoiled but he did reap the advantages of being an only child. He never had to share a room, his schedule was never compromised by another brother or sister having competing activities and he did have the good fortune of having a car as a new driver. When I speak of him not being spoiled, I recall the other facets of our life. He wore hand-me-downs from his cousin and thrifted clothes. When his father was active duty Navy, there was no sibling to share the loneliness that deployments would create. The car he drove was far from new. I am also aware how my life has been shaped by having an only child. These days I am in receipt of greeting cards that have a beautiful and heartfelt sentiment additionally added, but no signature. My son responds, with a smile, and sees no point to include his signature. Who else would send me a card designated for mother?

Now that he is an adult and I am a senior, is there anything left for me to do as a parent? If there is a surplus of baked goods or casserole, I still have a knee jerk reaction to offer him some. He is accomplished in the kitchen and there is no need to worry that he is going hungry. I am painfully aware that since the divorce, he will now have two estates to deal with when his father and I make our transitions. My goal is to have a plan in place so he can operate on auto-pilot. Even with that consideration I am well aware what important role I must still maintain. Hopefully I have given him a strong foundation and the material items are not as important now but I know my job is not complete. My focus is to continue to pray for my son. As a mother it remains the most important thing I can offer my one and only.

Beyond the Veil

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Sometimes gifts come when you least expect them. I could say that was the case with an addition to our family. My brother had fallen completely head over heels with a pretty cashier at the local department store in which they both worked. He had dated plenty of pretty girls but this was different. I knew she could hold her own with my family the first time I met her. Our home life had always been full of teasing, laughter and banter. Our father was the one who tested the waters. My brother made introductions and my father made a comment, something on the order of her not being as ugly as my brother had stated. Much to her credit, she didn’t run in horror. Obviously, our father didn’t mean it but most would have rethought their situation. She hung in there and passed a test that I am sure she never expected.

She was to become the sister I never had. Our personalities differed yet it never stood in the way of our relationship. We became so close that I often dropped the “in law” portion of her title as my sister-in-law. She felt like blood and it made no difference that she was a girly girl while my roots were that of a tomboy. I was there for her as I knew she was for me. She was my safe confidant.

Realistically, we know that it is natural to lose our parents at some point in life. Hopefully it is later than sooner but we acknowledge that it is natural progression of life. Although I have dreaded the thought, I know that I am at the point in life where contemporaries are making their transition. I would like to bury my head in the sand and say it isn’t so, but it would be a lie. Life progresses and family, friends and their spouses are lost. It is even more heart wrenching when the loss is dealt to someone young.

Though there are many memories of my sister-in-law, one in particular was how every holiday, birthday and anniversary would be celebrated. It could be a card or it could be a gift, her thoughtfulness never failed. I assumed that would all be gone with her death. As I left the hospital upon her transition I noticed a new jet stream in the sky. Looking up I told her to fly high. She was no longer encumbered by illness and it seemed appropriate that she would be soaring heaven ward. I can never view a jet stream without thinking of her. The week of the first anniversary of her death I looked up at the sky as I was leaving the house one morning. I was overcome by the number of jet streams and a cloud that took the shape of an angel.  Even in death it was clear that she was still observing days that held special meaning. I received a gift when I least expected it.

My parents have been gone for some time now but I found love and support in abundance with my sister-in-law’s parents. They would join us at holiday meals and it would make the day complete. Within two years I would lose them as well as my sister-in-law. There are three empty seats now around the table when we gather for holidays. Memories are kept alive and I found that as the recent Christmas season approached, she was often in my thoughts. On Christmas day my brother brought out a bag that he had come across in a closet. It has been two years and he has been in the closet numerous times but this was the first time he noticed the bag. Inside was a gift for me, a necklace, earrings and bracelet. She continues to touch my life. Again, sometimes you receive a gift when you least expect it.

Gifts

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I am fortunate to have a group of friends who I meet with on a regular basis. We gather at least once a month for dinner. We have named our group of five, Sages. Collectively, with several years under our belts, we have learned life’s lessons and feel as if our moniker is justified. My brother kiddingly refers to our events as hen parties but I recognize the importance of our gatherings. In my mind, it feels like we have always been together as a group. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say we consider each other family. We are there for each other yet our gatherings are also a gift we give ourselves.

It has become routine for one of our group to open their home over the holidays and we enjoy an evening that begins with a delicious pot luck dinner followed by conversation and laughter. Prior to this year we had exchanged both birthday and Christmas gifts. Honestly, we are at the point in our lives that we are not in need of much and no longer exchange material gifts. Tangible items are not as important as the support we freely give one another; it is the best gift of all. It might be a busy time of the year but spending the precious commodity of time with one another makes for an excellent present.

I’m not sure if it is our culture or human nature but it does seem part of our holiday tradition to try to make this time of celebration special. We plan, we purchase, we take the time to find ways to show our love and care for those who mean much to us. There comes a time that those celebrations shift. It could be the result of death, illness or a move out of the area. I took notice of those who were suffering from serious illness, knowing their celebrations would not be like those of the past. Even though preparations weren’t complete at my home, it didn’t seem to matter. I made plans to visit those whose health was challenged. Unfortunately, one individual made her transition prior to Christmas and I didn’t get to see her. Another lesson learned: in giving the gift of time, don’t allow yourself to wait to act upon it.

There have also been sources of happiness that creates the reason for a visit. A friend recently had her fourth baby. The afghan I crocheted was going to be my main offering but I felt I wanted to bring something for the other children. Maybe Dunkin Donuts wasn’t the healthiest choice but it was well received. Planning another trip, closer to Christmas, I again wanted to bring something down for the children. I had the sensation that my company was appreciated as much as my small tangible gift. Not expecting anything in return, I left with a heartwarming token. It appears I might have moved into the role of surrogate grandmother and if that is the case I am filled with joy.

I can recall my mother often saying that our house might not be perfectly clean but she felt she was doing what was more important. She spent time with my three brothers and me. Upon reflection, I was given the gift of a wonderful mother and role model. I will give her the praise for allowing me to realize that the most important gift one can give another is themselves.

Veterans

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This blog is not late. Yes, as a nation, we celebrated Veterans’ Day on November 11 but our gratitude should be evident every day. That appreciation was personally instilled in me as a child. Later in life, as a Navy wife, I had the good fortune to serve the ship’s crew and their dependents as the Family Support Group President. The ship’s captain allowed me an open door policy and I felt that collectively we offered significant assistance to those who knew the hardship and sacrifice that came with the Navy lifestyle. Once we were enjoying life back in the civilian environment, I held the role of Emergency Service Director in the American Red Cross. For close to a decade I was charged with managing our service to the Armed Forces among other emergency programs. I might not have ever served as active duty but I felt in my own way that I did offer my time and talents in gratitude to those who served. I don’t hesitate to confess that I consider my efforts miniscule in comparison to those who wore the uniform.

I live in a small town, surrounded by other small towns. Locally, it is not uncommon to see the Hometown Hero banners adorn the utility poles. If you are not familiar with the program, it is a tangible way for a hometown community to acknowledge those who served. Banners are displayed honoring veterans along the main streets in their hometown. The banners typically printed in red, white and blue show the individual in uniform, their name and branch of service. The era or conflict in which they were involved is listed additionally. I have often noted while in my car, waiting for a light to change, that there are several that note the ultimate sacrifice was made. Those proud faces accompany you while you make your way through town. It is easy to detect those whose activity came decades earlier. Their pictures displayed, frozen in time, above the streets they might have walked in prior decades.

I often share the fact that my father was career Navy. It offered him opportunities that he would have never had if he had remained in southern Georgia, where he was born when economic struggles were the norm. He saw the world, achieved his GED and rose to the rank of Chief Petty Officer. He never spoke of the horrors of war that he witnessed yet it was clear that he valued the bonds he held with his shipmates and what together they endured. We would never be able to honor him with a Hometown Hero banner as the locale of his birth was so very rural. He remedied that himself by enrolling in the US Navy Memorial. He is listed on the Navy Log, proof that he devoted twenty years of his life in service to something much larger than himself. Over thirty years has passed since his death and he is forever linked to those who also sacrificed selflessly.

I will continue to notice the Hometown Hero banners as I make my way through every town that displays them. I will look at those youthful faces and wonder where they are today. I know they all have a story to tell and certainly that story holds integrity and bravery. I also am painfully aware that I can never thank them all personally for their service and sacrifice. Yes, Veteran’s Day falls on November 11 annually but I don’t feel as a country we are bound to only celebrate this dedicated group of people once a year. As I write this, I am not at a loss for words. Those thoughts, coming directly from my heart, say thank you to those who served and ask that those who are currently standing in harm’s way are protected and remain safe.

Kinfolk

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My brothers and I are transplants. Our mother’s side of the family came from the Philadelphia area, first emigrated from Italy. My father was from South Georgia. We were transplanted as a result of his Navy career. Growing up just south of the Mason Dixon line, it was easier to see family on our maternal side and we also had the added benefit of having our maternal grandfather live with us. That offered us a built in connection. My father’s side seemed so distant as it was more difficult to maintain that connection. I have shared before that at the age of ten I first read To Kill a Mockingbird. It portrayed the era that my father was raised and I thought reading it was imperative to understanding my southern roots. I will also admit that Gone with the Wind gave me a very inaccurate picture of the environment where my father was raised. He had shared that he grew up on the Colton plantation. What I had envisioned was far removed from the dark brown framed humble abode which was the reality.

With my retirement quickly approaching, I had planned a trip to Savannah, Georgia, as a gift to myself. There was no familial connection to the area yet it was front and center on my bucket list. In conversations with my Georgian cousin we came up with a plan to visit Savannah and then spend time together becoming reacquainted as family. I won’t go into details but that plan was abandoned and I spent my week with family enjoying a long overdue visit. My cousin and I hadn’t seen each other face to face since we were young but our connection has become strong in adulthood. I felt totally comfortable with accepting her offer which embodied perfect southern hospitality. I still have plans to visit Savannah but I thought it was more important to delve deeper into my family’s history.

What did I take away with me? I was already familiar with the red clay and the abundance of pines. Here in the north, we are fortunate not to fall victim to kudzu. This invasive vine can be seen everywhere, as it takes over hills, valleys and fields. The only plus I could grasp was the sea of green it created. Not every neighborhood has a wandering goat but my cousin’s does and I found it delightful. For the first time in my life, I tried boiled peanuts. That might be the last time they cross my palate as I think it takes a considerable amount of time to get use to the texture. I gave all the other southern fare a big thumbs up! Tender baby back ribs and the boiled shrimp was most enjoyable. I learned to appreciate many of the foods as a child since my father introduced it to us as part of our smorgasbord menu growing up. Good fried okra and pimento cheese is not considered a staple here, north of the Mason Dixon line, but I was grateful to find an abundance there. My cousin made a point to expand my sweet tooth and I found buttermilk and chess pies to be a wonderful dessert added as a delicious finish to a meal. It is amazing that we found so much time to talk, and catch up, when she spent so much time in the kitchen, cooking items to expand my horizons and waistline. We have talked about future trips and I hold out for the addition of peach cobbler and corn dogs the next time I am there.

Obviously I enjoyed my time visiting, eating and sightseeing. What I found more gratifying was the opportunity to meet my cousin’s grown children and her grandchildren, her husband and his siblings. It was important to me to understand what I had missed by not growing up there and fill in many blanks, as well as rehash family stories and histories. The last time I made a trip to Georgia I was able to visit with two of my aunts. They have since transitioned and I considered my brief time with them a gift. One expects the loss of their parents, and my aunts’ deaths, although mourned, didn’t come as a shock. What I do find unsettling is the loss of six of my Georgian cousins since my last visit. Little by little, I see time slipping away but I don’t want my southern roots going too. This visit has me reflect on the questions I wished I had asked earlier. In retrospect, I can’t make up for lost time, but I can change the future. Conversations and visits will continue and if they include fried okra and brewed tea, all the better.