Something to remember me by.
Posted: April 28, 2012 Filed under: family, lessons, love, memories 5 Comments »
Several years ago (and I have blocked out how many years ago it was), my dad was sick. He had cancer. Hodgkins.
We lived 1200 miles away and it was hard. Very hard. I hated knowing I wasn’t there to support him through chemo. I talked to my mom most days. And I knew he was getting through with a great attitude. But it wasn’t like being there. Not at all.
When I came east to see him, I was truly surprised by how rough it was on him. He is the toughest guy I know. Not kidding. But even he was getting beaten down.
Not that he’d let on.
So on one of the visits, he gave me some cash. He asked that I buy something to remember him by. In case.
In case.
Deep breath.
He said he’d have preferred to have gotten me something but he didn’t have the energy.
So when I saw these three delicate bands – complete with engraving and lovely details – I bought them. With the cash. And I wore them on my right hand as a reminder.
My dad recovered fully. I know! How lucky were we? But since then, he’s had another run-in with cancer and triple bypass surgery. But he’s doing great and is living life with a great attitude.
As always.
I don’t wear these rings every day anymore. But I do wear them. And when I do, I take a deep breath and feel great appreciation for having my father around.
We’ve lived close by since 1999. August. And I’m thankful for the time I get to spend with my parents. And my in-laws. And the rest of my family. Because you know what? Nothing matters more.
Nothing.
So today, when I put on the set of rings, I realized how grateful I am. Because you know what? It’s so easy to forget. So easy to get caught up in the daily grind. So easy to get busy. So easy to lose track.
But nothing matters more to me than my family.
I couldn’t be more thrilled that I didn’t need those rings to remember my father by for all these years because I get to see him all the time. And he’s healthy. But they’ll always be a reminder of how fragile life is.
Scratch ‘N Sniff
Posted: April 14, 2012 Filed under: memories Leave a comment »
Some smells just bring back the memories. Like cheap motel soap. Can you smell it in your head right now? I can. Well, I can also smell it because it’s right here on my desk. Hehe.
But seriously, can you imagine the smell of this soap? It’s the same as the soap from the Holiday Inn we used to go to in Ocean City and the soap from the roadside motels on every roadtrip I can remember.
And it’s the smell of the soap at the Shadowbrook Resort in Tunkhannock, Pennsylvania. If you go to that link, I’m guessing you’ll think it looks like a nice resort. And I must say, I’m super impressed with how nicely they translated the reality for the website.
Now, remember, I haven’t been to this place since the mid-1970′s. But I remember it like it was yesterday.
There was a bowling alley and an ice cream parlor on the grounds. Right near our room. And my brother, sister, and I went to those places WITHOUT PARENTS. I’m not kidding.
I remember what that felt like. The sheer independence of it all. My brother (the oldest) carried the money. I was nervous, but would never have admitted it. It was crazy. Just us kids. On our own. It was so bold. So courageous. Daring.
I know now that the both the ice cream shop and the bowling alley could be seen from our room. My parents watched us go. I know now that the place was really small and secure. That it wasn’t the huge worldly outing that I thought it was. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. It was awesome.
My parents made everything so fun for us. They turned an inexpensive vacation into a lifelong memory. They made the most average meals seem like The French Laundry.
I can only hope that Andrew and I are giving our kids experiences to remember. And that one day, when they open a plain motel bar of soap, they too will travel back in time.
What a difference 366 days make.
Posted: March 28, 2012 Filed under: family, friends, lessons, love, memories 8 Comments »
Exactly one year ago today, I had an anterior cervical discectomy and fusion. I had two discs removed and replaced with cadaver discs (I’ve always liked vintage) and then they were fused to an existing disc with titanium. Now, can you say that you have titanium in your neck? I didn’t think so.
Did you know titanium has the atomic number 22? And it’s low density and strong, lustrous and corrosion-resistant? You have no idea how glad I am that the metal in my neck is corrosion-resistant. I mean, really. Just thinking about internal corrosion is disturbing.
So it’s been a year.
At one week, I thought I’d never make it. It truly sucked. My friends and family were great. Did you see all those flowers? I had yummy meals, pedicures, trashy magazines, Godiva chocolates, and lots of visitors. But that first week was long. Maybe the longest week ever.
At a month after surgery, I cried. Not a little, either. While probably not realistic, I thought I’d be well on the way to my normal, happy self at a month. THIRTY DAYS. That’s a lot, right? My mobility was greatly improved but I was not okay. I was moody and uncomfortable and frustrated.
Did I mention that I cried? True story.
At my three month check, the doc said that nine months was a big turning point. What? Six more months to the big turning point? With new resolve, I refocused my workout and recovery strategy and started making real progress and getting stronger. (Thanks, Cyrus. Not that you read blogs.)
I am pretty sure you don’t want to read about every setback and every step forward. And I’m not even sure I remember them all.
But I can tell you that I can do all sorts of regular things that I couldn’t do before the surgery. Like pass a plate at the dinner table. Fold the sheets. Dry my hair. Put the groceries in the trunk.
And now, at one-year post surgery, I can do bicep curls, tricep push-backs, and skull crushers. I can do 10 push-ups and even though I could do 100 at a time a few years back, 10 seems like a great accomplishment to me now. I’ll get to 100 again. Mark my words.
I could say how grateful I am for the people who helped me through this but I’d probably cry. You know who you are. (sniff, sniff)
A year. I can’t believe it’s been a year.
Next week, maybe I can do 15 push ups.
The Bunny Trail.
Posted: March 23, 2012 Filed under: candy, Food, lessons, memories 7 Comments »The nice folks at Hershey were at BlissDom. Candy. My biggest weakness. Well, that and wine. But I’m off track here.
And they sent my family this great Easter Basket! I’d selected my favorite candies and color of basket, and grass. (Do you call that stuff grass?)
Our first (and only?) Easter Basket c/o Hershey #BlissDom
Anyway, as you can see, it’s filled with yummies. Is it obvious I’m a Reese’s fan?
My very favorite Easter candies c/o Hershey #BlissDom
There is no doubt that this will be for the entire family. And for those of you who think I’m actually hiding it in my office, it’s not true. (Not anymore.)
So Hershey asked if I’d share my Easter memories and traditions or tips. Being an honest soul, I told them that I’m Jewish and do not celebrate Easter. Never have. They didn’t care. Not a bit.
So here I am. With the first Easter basket I’ve ever had. Ever.
And since I clearly cannot share an Easter memory, I’d like to take a few minutes and share a Passover memory. Hey, it’s the same time of year, so why not?
So here goes:
When we were little, my great-grandfather (we called him Zayde) led the Seder. It was a long, long table with all my cousins and aunts and uncles. There was a plastic covering over the table cloth at the kids’ end of the table. (They didn’t trust us??)
The service was long. We read
every
single
page
of
the
haggadah.
Not like we do now. Now, we do an abbreviated version. We’re big fans of the 30-minute Seder.
So my Zayde used to hide the matzo – the afikomen, as it’s called. And we kids – all 9 of us – would scramble to find it. And it was always in one of two places….
1) in the piano bench, or
2) under the table cloth where Zayde sat.
But even though it was never a challenge, it was always fun. I loved having all those people together. Doing the same darn thing, every single year.
My Bubby (great grandmother) and Zayde have been gone for a long, long time. But there isn’t a holiday that goes by that I don’t think of them. I credit my mother for making my childhood holidays so full of family and love. Thanks, Mom.
I just hope that I am giving that joy to my children, too.
Whatever you celebrate this Spring, I hope you find joy in your family and friends.
Sign here. Press hard.
Posted: March 6, 2012 Filed under: friends, girlfriends, lessons, memories Leave a comment »
Do girls still do the autograph book thing? It seems so…1970′s to me. But I loved this autograph book. And in it are some wonderful things.
Like what my mother wrote in her beautiful handwriting on 5/27/73:
You have to live with yourself, and so,
You want to be fit for yourself to know
You want to be able as the days go by
Always to look yourself straight in the eye.
You don’t want to stand with the setting sun,
And hate yourself for the things you have done.
I memorized it and it still rolls off my tongue. (Though in hindsight, maybe a little serious for a 12 year old’s autograph book. But nice sentiment, Mom.)
And there’s my dad’s page:
I would rather be right than President!
On the other hand, I’d really rather be right and President.
If you know my father, I’m sure that you just laughed.
My brother signed his name and wrote his address. (As if I didn’t know where he lived.)
My sister wrote:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
That is that
But I love you
And you see it here – my first folded page. She was 8 years old.
I sat down the other day and unfolded and read every page of the book. And thought about each friend. Well, there are a couple that I have no clue who they are. But I thought about the rest.
I’m in touch with a lot of them. I know a little about some others.
I ‘talk’ to Risa all the time on Facebook – and see her at the occasional mitzvah.
Risa, do you still think this is funny? If it’s too small to read without reading glasses, it says
when you get older and fall over hedges, remember Risa who wrote on the edges.
And there this gem:
There are ditties from teachers (including the chorus teacher who asked me to please just mouth the songs), the principal, and various and sundry others.
But what motivated me to write this post in the first place is this next one. She was a good friend. Beautiful and kind. And this made my stomach drop.
I don’t know what she’s doing these days. I saw her at a high school reunion years ago. She was just as I remembered.
Higher education.
Posted: March 5, 2012 Filed under: family, kids, lessons, memories, parenting 3 Comments »{note: I deleted the post by mistake & sadly it took away all the lovely comments. I promise you I read them! Yikes. Sorry}
It’s really never been a question of whether our kids would go to college, but rather where they’d go. (I’ll add that Andrew and I would be open-minded about non-college options or a gap year.) But in general, college has always been on the table as the next step after high school.
It seemed so far away.
So unfathomable.
So impossible.
And yet, Davis has been working on his list of colleges to consider. We’ve visited a couple already and plan to visit more. He’s taken the ACTs and will take the SATs in a week or so.
Rewind to when he had rosy cheeks and freckles. (see above!)
He sat up on his bed – high up on the top bunk – and looked at me very seriously.
“Mom, when I go to college, I want to stay here and live with you. Maybe I’ll go to Johns Hopkins.”
And though it was unbearable to consider that he’d ever leave, I told him that while living home during college was a fine option, it was likely he’d change his mind when he was 16 or 17. And that for a lot of kids, going to college away from their parents is a big part of the college experience. Part of growing up.
Still, he insisted he’d never leave me. He loved me way too much.
The schools that he’ll be applying to are varied and wonderful. None is a commuter school for us. And honestly? I think that’s great for him – the right choice. I know he’ll be great on his own.
But there’s that little piece of me that wants to cry and remind him that he promised he’d never leave.
Before Facebook.
Posted: February 29, 2012 Filed under: family, memories Leave a comment »I read a lot about sharing and over-sharing these days. Yes, we need to be mindful of privacy. And yes, we need to be mindful of the long-term effects of having our information out there.
But, although the scope is clearly very different, this is not a new phenomenon. In fact, during some brief research regarding my grandmother, Betsy, I came across some tidbits about my grandfather, Arthur, who died on January 1, 1957.
My favorite “post” is this one from August 8, 1909 edition of The Baltimore Sun. My grandfather went on a straw ride through the park. His brother, Martin, was there too. You know they would’ve posted pix on Facebook. Right? Evidently neither brother was invited to the surprise birthday party for Ruth or Mary. (Can you say unfriend?) And just wondering, do you think Mr. Baum chose to recite poetry or was coerced? Wonder if he was happy it was in The Sun or not?
Then, there’s this one from … January 29, 1922. My single grandfather probably had a blast at this wedding. Don’t you think? Can’t imagine what they’d have posted. Drunk pix? Sounds like quite the party.
And later, now married to my grandmother, the duo attended the graduation of their nephew, Millard. Arthur’s mother and Sadie Ullman (maybe a great-aunt?) were there, too. Big news. June 8, 1930. Maybe even tweet-worthy. Ha! (I admit getting all excited that I am related to Ullmans until I realized that our friends spell their name with one L. Oh well. I’m sure the two-L folks are nice, too.)
I’m pretty darn sure that my grandfather didn’t think that someone in 2012 would be reading newspaper articles about his social life circa 1909-1930. But I am. And now, so are you.
Rubber stamps.
Posted: February 16, 2012 Filed under: memories, work Leave a comment »
I’m a bit of a perfectionist. And I’m not saying that’s a good thing. There are times when I’m sure that I should let it go, but I want my work product to be as good as I can possibly make it.
I think my clients appreciate it. And I know they trust that I’ll do my very best for them. And I do.
But I wasn’t always like this.
A perfectionist, I mean.
My first job. I was about 10. Maybe a little younger – I don’t know for sure. My dad ran a magnet factory. Yup, folks, you heard me right. A magnet factory.
How’s business? Picking up! (yuk yuk yuk)
What an attractive business!
Strongest in the magnetic field.
You know, opposites attract.
Yes, I’ve heard ‘em all.
But I digress.
So my dad hired me when I was probably still in elementary school.
My job? To stamp the manilla envelopes. Small ones. Coin envelope size. Inside each was a sheet of magnutties – a sheet of scored magnetic rubber that you could break apart into 50 (or was it 100?) little teeny rubber magnets.
All I had to do was ink the stamper and stamp the envelopes.
Really big piles of envelopes.
I’m not saying it was hard, but you know what it’s like. Sometimes the stamp isn’t even. Sometimes some words don’t show up right.
I’m guessing I had an 80% success rate.
And that would have been peachy keen…except that when I messed one up, I didn’t set it aside. Instead, I’d put it in the middle of the pile so no one would see it.
At 10, that seemed like a reasonable plan. Who would know?
Turns out, I hadn’t thought it through. Because when the grown-up employees put the magnutties into the envelopes, it seems they noticed the crappy stamping job.
Maybe it was the incredible humiliation of what I’d done that drove me to do better. Or rather, drove me to higher expectations of myself. Or maybe, I learned that getting caught doing a bad job was so darn unpleasant that I’d do anything to avoid that again.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter what the motivation was. But here I am. Driven to over-deliver, to please, to exceed expectations.
And when the ink coverage isn’t good and the envelope is not up to par, I fess up and take responsibility.
That’s just how I roll.
Volunteering runs in my family.
Posted: February 14, 2012 Filed under: memories 2 Comments »
My grandmother was a professional volunteer. By 1963, she had given more than 10,000 hours to Sinai Hospital. They gave her a gold star pin and a diamond to commemorate her. Later, I remember a silver bowl she was awarded. But I know – for sure – that my grandmother did not volunteer all those hours for recognition. She loved her “job” and took it very seriously.
My mother has volunteered ever since I can remember. She has served Mildred Mindell Cancer Foundation in virtually every capacity – including President. She’s always been active in something. And I’ve always admired it.
What stands out for me the most is that, when I was in first grade, my mother was chair of June Jubilee at our elementary school. And she ran the silhouettes booth (I think my Aunt Phyl helped at the booth?). I remember how hard she worked. But mostly, I remember being so proud. MY mother made the most fun day of the school year amazing. And she bought me a Lemon Peppermint Stick – one of my favorite and stickiest treats.
Well, I suppose I am genetically predisposed to volunteering. I do my part in several organizations. I’ve worked hard. Mostly, I’ve found it tremendously rewarding. No recognition necessary.
But even though I’m a little shy about what I do, I would love to help my organizations get recognition. Who wouldn’t, right?
Cabot Creamery Cooperative (disclosure: this fab 1200 farm family owned coop is a client of mine) is sponsoring a new iPhone app – RewardVolunteers, that does that. You can log your hours for your organization for the chance to win cash and prizes for you and the organization. And think of the publicity. And how cool it would be to show how engaged the volunteer base is?
You can take the Husker out of Nebraska, but…
Posted: February 8, 2012 Filed under: memories Leave a comment »
So remember I mentioned the collection of postcards I’ve saved?
This one makes me teary-eyed. October 2, 2002.
