Trapped

I know that elevators are expeditious, but I am wary of them, nevertheless. When I was 11, I was stuck on an elevator with my mom for about 20 minutes. She was claustrophobic anyway - I'm not- so she was having cold sweats, and kept asking me if I was ok, which I was, but she certainly was not ok. When we were "rescued" - her word- She cried tears of relief.She had been overwhelmed with fear but was trying hard not to freak out because I was with her. I didn't think about that experience until years later in 1980 when I was on my honeymoon with Alfredo in Montreal.We saw the Brian DePalma movie, " Dressed to Kill " with Michael Caine playing a pyschopath who viciously murdered a hapless individual in an elevator. Well, later that night, I needed to go down to the hotel lobby to get some aspirin, because Al's ankle was swollen.I froze as I prepared to press the down button for the elevator. Our room was on the 23rd floor, so I needed to get on the darned thing and started to have an irrational panic attack. By the time I reached the lobby I was a sniveling wreck. I got the aspirin - and a tranquilizer for myself- and asked the security guard to ride with me back up to my floor. Silly me. I got over it, but I still don't like being on an elevator by myself; I feel too vulnerable and contained, and I have never watched that movie again.Fast forward to New Year 2000. We went to New Orleans to enjoy the millennium events, and were having a wonderful time with family and friends. We stayed in the French Quarter at a charming, historic hotel called the Dauphine Orleans,really lovely, and we splurged and had a suite on the top floor so our kids and we could have our own bedrooms.It was the "cat's meow." One morning during our stay there I told Al that I was going downstairs to look around. I got on the elevator and it got stuck between floors. The phone and alarm on the elevator weren't working, of course, - this was before cell phones- and I had to wait and wait and wait until somebody " rescued " me. My mom's word came to mind. Two and half hours later, the door was forced open and a workman helped me get pulled out. People who had tried to use the elevator found that it wasn't working and the management had put a sign on the doors saying "out of order", and they called the workman to come fix it. No one knew that I was trapped until that workman pryed the doors open. Let me tell you, I had cold sweats and heart palpitations, and I finally could empathize with what my mom had felt, so many years before. Additionally, I was livid. I heard myself screaming; I could not be consoled. Al was called,and he had been clueless, because it wasn't unusual when I would be "looking around" that I'd be out shopping or such.I guess I was in the manager's office about an hour, and after calming down, I asked/ told/ demanded that our stay be comped , and it was. They were kind with me(lawsuit concerns, perhaps),and why shouldn't they be? You know, I would stay at that lovely hotel again, but I would never get on their elevator again. Consequently, I understandably have a love/ hate relationship with elevators, although I'm not so wigged out that I won't use them, so I guess these mixed feelings haven't risen to the status of a phobia - yet.

Desserts

I love to have a dessert that is challenging to make. After many attempts, I can now make the following pretty well: Grand Marnier soufflé, Cherries and Crepes Royale, Baklava, pecan Pie, Bouchon corks with raspberry chocolate sauce, stuffed French Toast, and Banana pudding with meringue.If you ever visit Casa Orfale, I will make one of these for you. I hope to entice you. Then again, you may not like this sort of thing at all, in which case, I can always cut up some fresh fruit for you.

Gary

I've talked about everyone in my immediate family except my older brother Gary.I have very conflicted feelings about him and the tremendous toll he took on my parents and siblings.I didn't like him much, but I was at his funeral a few years ago, and that ended up being ok.Gary was extremely bright. He was a Bridge master and an excellent violinist.He could have had a successful career in music, but he chose instead to con people almost all of his adult life as his preferred way to make money. He " borrowed" lots of money from all of us, but never paid it back. He was a consummate liar, and he bilked money from many women. He had been in the Navy, when he was younger, and got an honorable medical discharge, so he utilized the Veteran hospitals when he was older, because he didn't have insurance. I liked his first wife Barbara and his last wife Virginia.He had other wives and girlfriends I didn't meet.they all loved him; they were duped.He had two sons from his marriage to Barb but never saw them again after he divorced their mom. That, to me, was his worst crime. My brother had a wickedly brilliant sense of humor, and he could make people laugh.My own children adored their Uncle Gary, and a few months before he died at the age of 58, my family and Gary and his wife Virginia spent some time together in a rented house in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Amish country and Gettysburg fascinated him,and we got along for the most part, except he and I had one terrible argument over nothing really. It was just former baggage getting in our way.Stubbornness was a shared trait of ours. Anyway,we resolved that brouhaha and enjoyed ourselves. Al always got along well with my brothers and my Dad, and he stayed out of the fray, whenever a tempest would arise. After my brother Jim died in 1978, Gary dropped out of sight for over ten years. My parents lost two sons at once. Gary didn't resurface until a while after my mom died in 1989, so he wasn't at her funeral of course.When we did reconnect, he was already married to Virginia, and had pretty much used up her life savings.Oh, he was an addicted gambler too. That was his m.o., and she didn't seem to mind it.I am not proud of my brother's behavior, and his life really didn't have to be so inglorious. He burned a lot of bridges, and didn't show remorse. My sister was magnanimous and paid his funeral expenses. I admire her and her husband Jerry for that Act of Grace they showed to Virginia at the end. We kids, as I remember it ,had a pretty good childhood, and our annual family trips from 1959- 1967, are some of the fondest of my memories, but Gary 's immoral core and shameful actions were so diametrically opposite of the rest of the family.I am always befuddled by that, and my anger and shame towards him has yet to be fully resolved. May he rest in peace, and I pray for his soul, because I'm uncertain where or how he is spending Eternity.

Movies, part one

I just watched"Moonrise Kingdom" for the third time. I smile every time. Memorable cinema for me means I want to watch a particular film more than once. I've been told that I like men flicks.Well, yes,I suppose so, since I like every movie genre to a point. I have watched the "Godfather" saga numerous times, and I love to see favorite movies on AMC when they have the directors' notes, such as "Braveheart" and the "Gladiator" - real testosterone movies. Some hyped films, however, have been very disappointing, when my expectation and anticipation didn't match the reality.So it was with the not-so "Great Gatsby" and the lame "Cowboys and Aliens" - which could have been a really interesting blurring of sci - fi and Western. Some movies just are too long, truly -editing flaws. I felt that way about " life of Pi" , stunning visuals , but I thought I was going to expire right along with the tiger. Film studies, an impractical but wonderful minor of mine in college, introduced me to marvelous silent pictures, acting greats like Chaplin, and a rich tapestry of the golden age of the cinema of the 30's and 40's. I can enjoy film noir,mystery, horror, war,love, satire, humor and sometimes just fluff. One of my all time favorite movies is "Love in the Afternoon" , a 1957 Billy Wilder romp , deliciously entertaining with no deep thinking , just pure charm and enjoyment. Gary Cooper, Audrey Hepburn, Maurice Chevalier, Paris, cellos, ankle bracelets and the song, "fascination " I was enamored the first time I viewed it and the dozens ( yes, dozens) of times since then.I'm like that, too, when it comes to Woody Allen's 2011 "Midnight in Paris". Since first seeing it in Napa with my favorite "moviephile" gal pal, I've seen it, going on double digits.Corey Stoli as Hemingway, Adrien Brody as Dali - I could go on and on. These two movies may not appeal to everyone the way that they do to me, but I am , dare I say, hopelessly fascinated with both films. That's what a really fetching movie does to me - pulls me in and I fall in love ;I am totally immersed and everything becomes riveting - cast, plot, setting, director, costumes,music, etc. I think I am becoming that fixated on "Moonrise Kingdom." I will need to upload it on my IPad, if "tree of life " hasn't taken up too much space, because I always make room for Mr. Pitt.

Alfredo

My husband is a hard worker, always has been. Right now he is digging a drainage ditch in our back yard as I write. Besides being an educated man, who had to put himself through college, while he worked at a full time job at Chrysler, which he loathed ,Al likes working with his hands, and he's good at it. He may be a "slow" worker, but that's because he is methodical and thorough. I really admire and respect his work ethic. He and my dad had that in common, and they were very close, which is a rare commodity for Alfredo, because he doesn't have many close friends.His brothers were his closest friends, but all but one are now deceased. Alfredo moved to the US to go to school when he was 13 and lived with his older sister Margo until after I met him. He was born to Syrian parents who emigrated to Colombia, South America, where Alfredo was born. He grew up learning Spanish and Arabic and didn't know any English until he moved to Michigan. That's got to be hard on any teenager, but Americans can be really crass to people who don't speak English well, and that can do a number on someone's psyche.I think that this is,in part,a reason why he is so drawn to the underdog, the downtrodden and minorities. The irony of being mocked and teased is, of course, that he has prevailed in this gringo culture;he is multicultural, multilingual, classy and humble compared to MANY people I personally know. Besides this, I have always thought of my husband as extremely handsome - and he is aging well, I must say. Mr. Orfale has very positive character traits; he is honest, loyal, candid, compassionate, self- deprecating and familial. He has a silly, juvenile-like, sense of humor which I find both endearing and lame.He loves me, Adam and Gina unconditionally, and that, in itself, is wholly remarkable and, if he did nothing else in his life, he will have the legacy of being a tremendous father and role model for his son and daughter. Al grew up within two very traditional cultures where women are objectified and/or seen as subservient - a machismo viewpoint. But, incredulously, he never has been that way. That is astounding considering his upbringing. Al was also raised Catholic and went to a very strict Catholic school which did a number on him - mainly he developed a strong guilt and martyr mechanism.Also,the nuns were verbally and physically abusive, so Al developed a deep skepticism about organized religion.Al's family - mainly his mom, I think- didn't initially " approve" of me. In their eyes, I should have been 5-6 years younger than he, so I could take care of him in his older age. I should have been Syrian, and I should not have been a widow ( which meant I wasn't a virgin, of course). I knew nothing about Arabic cuisine, and I wasn't a " beauty". That he went against the grain with his family concerning me, I still find surprising and brave. Our life together has not been smooth sailing, but to continue the metaphor, we've weathered the storms, and we have never given up on each other. I think that, after 4o years of being together, that is saying a lot. I guess this is my way of saying that I love him - which can be an easily thrown around phrase.I'm fortunate to be his wife and the mother of his children. I don't tell him that enough.

1 year anniversary

I have now been officially retired one year. It has gone by fast for the most part, and I have not missed the 38 minute one way drive to work ,nor getting up at 6 am. I do miss my colleagues and students, but FB has kept me abreast. People say, "Aren't you bored?" The short answer is " no". I have retired from a long routine, many years of teaching the same subject, reconciling myself to the bad as well as the good aspects of my career. Have I been fulfilled? Yes. Was it time to let go? Yes. Do I miss grading essays? No. Do I want to substitute teach? Are you kidding? Our lives are filled with passages and turning points. This month, students graduated from high school and college, more veteran teachers retired, and now new phases will begin for all of them.I've been there, and I like my new phase.

Father

Dad- garage sales, golfing, marbles, cards, horseshoes,no coats in winter, walked to work every day, worked sometimes three jobs at a time, pipe and cigars ,chair conformed to his body, Detroit baseball and little league,painting, camping trips, arms around his neck, "father" , called me doll... Fishing with Adam,loved watches, loved flirting with waitresses, loved the US ,a vet, loved his family, a good ol' boy, fried fish, biscuits and gravy, banana pudding. These are random thoughts about the man I called "Father." Whenever I see garage sale signs, I think of my dad. He used to love looking for little treasures among other people's throwaways, and he was good at it! He would find some little gem for pennies on the dollar, but would always ask the seller, "Now, are you sure this is what you want for this?" Then, he'd be giddy if he was able to buy it. He and Mom gave me the most beautiful china pattern - six place settings- that they had found for 5 dollars. Another time, they found an antique doll for me that he paid 3 dollars to get. Yep, he was good at that, but, more importantly, he got enjoyment from chatting with strangers, getting out and about, being with mom, and finding hidden treasure. He even used to have a metal detector that he'd take to the beach. He would find jewelry, coins, etc., and the search was an amusing diversion for him. Dad was a simple guy with simple pleasures, not one ounce of pretentiousness and genuinely kind. I found out a couple years before he died, that he really liked me to call him "Father ", and he was disappointed when I stopped stopped calling him that,and started calling him "Dad" - because my friends thought the word Father was aloof and impersonal. Go figure... My dad thought it showed love and respect, and since I was the only child who kept calling him Father as an adult,he saw it as word associated with me.I didn't know that, apologized for listening to my friends' opinions and went back to calling him "Father". Gosh I miss him!

Panther

Periodically, I will have dreams in which I have a small black panther as a guide, protector, companion -though not as a pet, per se. We communicate telepathically, and this jaguar helps me with my decision making. When I appear to be in imminent danger or am having difficulty deciding on a course of action, this beautiful cat assists me.I used to think this was an unusual quirk, but apparently, most of us have reoccurring symbols in our dreams; if we would just be willing to journal about it, dream patterns would emerge.This exotic creature always has a calming affect on me , and he feels like a pseudo big brother.This dream relationship is platonic in nature ,always soothing and not conflictual -an idealized relationship and "safe harbor." I guess that's why I am always drawn to the large cats at the zoo,and why I prefer cats as pets. I would like to get a small black panther tattoo, and if I could drive any car, I'd like to drive a black Jaguar at least once in my life(another bucket list item).I'm not superstitious about black cats, quite the opposite.For me, they are good luck, not ” bad luck." Btw, I loved the movies "Cat People" (1942, 1982) with Simon Simone and Natasha .

Catastrophizing

I had parathyroid surgery on the 21st,and now that it is behind me, I can admit that I was very anxious. I know God is in control, but that doesn't mean that things are going to go the way I want. It could have been " my time", as they say. I'm not usually a worry wart, but the only major surgery I have ever had was my c- section, and I was sooo happy to have that, because I knew it would be a joyful result. This surgery - not so much.Nevertheless, I only had one gland removed instead of two, and the "tumor" on my thyroid that showed up on the scan wasn't there when they looked at it on the operating table. The skilled surgeon explained that the parathyroid was very enlarged and that is why there was a cloud on my thyroid. The gland that was removed is regularly the size of a grain of rice, but mine was about the size of a dime.So ironically, the day of my surgery ended up being a happy day for me- a day of relief.I was glad that I didn't have to tell Adam and Gina that I had thyroid cancer, which the doctors were concerned about, because the scan had been "troubling".Now, I don't know about you, but when a doctor uses a euphemism like troubling, my mind goes to a worst case scenario ( I am, after all, melodramatic at times). Anyway, all that anxiety was fortunately for naught.I agree about the power of prayer, good vibes, etc., but I've had many people I love die relatively young, and so I know that prayer isn't always answered the way we want it to be. When we ask God for something for ourselves or others,we must be prepared that His answer might be "no" or "not yet". I prayed that my mom would live, my first husband would live, the twins I carried would live, my brothers would live , my father would live, and many more, but they didn't.Of course, Heaven is a "better place" for all of them, but I didn't want to meet my maker quite yet. I want to see my son and daughter grow up and be around to see grandchildren(God willing of course).I know that people, every day, have much more serious operations than I did, but, for me , it was a monumental occasion, a colossal concern. Mark one more thing up to experience, and I move on....For all those who supported me, encouraged me, and yes, prayed for me, thank you so much! God must have His reasons, and I am blessed to have more time with all those I hold dear.

Taking a break

Due to upcoming surgery, I will probably not be blogging until after the 22nd. If you want to give me any feedback on any of my posts so far, I would appreciate it.

Abused

I once dated a despicable man named J.G.( initials are enough for now)who physically abused me. This was post- Clifford and pre-Alfredo, who are the Gentlemen bookends to this sordid episode in my life. I met J at a dance club and he was polite and mannerly, said the right thing, did the right thing, and I agreed to go out with him. A couple of meetings were fine, and then, when another guy asked me to dance one night - even though I declined- J became maniacal from jealousy, and as soon as we got into his car, he started hitting me and slapping me hard. I was stunned of course, and when we got to my place, he, literally, kicked me out of his vehicle and drove away. I was really in pain and just went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, my head was throbbing ;I had a swollen, bruised eye and a sprained wrist.I could only think about the fact that it was Christmas break from school, and I didn't have to call in sick for teaching. I got some ice, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed. Later, I cancelled some appointments with my friends, telling them that I didn't feel well( understatement).I was miserable for about 3 days, and then I started to feel better. My eye still looked pretty bad, and my left wrist was bandaged and useless. I didn't know how to explain this to my mom and dad. I needed and wanted to go to their home for Christmas, but I was humiliated by the violence perpetrated on me, and I didn't know what my parents' reactions would be.Meanwhile J called me and said how sorry he was and it would never happen again - abused women hear that all the time , I know, but I forgave him and said ok. When he arrived,he kept telling me how bad he felt about what he had done. I sat quietly, and eventually got up from my chair and went to get us some wine. Bad idea, bad, bad idea. He wanted some beer, and I didn't have any. He took the bottle of wine and hit me over the head with it,and I saw stars as I fell to the floor.Then he pulled a clump of my hair from my head. J left just then and went to the bathroom. I found the phone, called Dad, and said, " I'm hurt, I need you now." I lay on the floor and pretended to be knocked out. Dad must have broken the speed limits, because he was pounding on the door wanting to get in. J wasn't opening the door, so I yelled,"Help me; help me!".I didn't know how strong my father was until he kicked that door in. He helped me to my feet and sat me on the sofa,pausing. just long enough to stop J from leaving. Even though I was dizzy, and everything seemed somewhat blurry, I will never forget the livid look on Dad's face. He looked like he could have killed J. J sat down and didn't move. Dad called the police and an ambulance; the neighbors had their free entertainment for the day. The police took J to jail. I went to the hospital , was treated and released as they say, and ended up having a wonderful Christmas with my family.They didn't pry, and my parents waited until I was ready to talk about the ugly episode. My dad rescued me more than once, when I needed help in the future, and he was my hero. I got a restraining order against JG , didn't press charges and never saw him again.The following March I met Alfredo, and he has been my other hero. A few years later I heard that JG was married with children. I felt sorry for his wife, because I imagined he battered her. It is very difficult for that kind of mean, insecure man to change, and there are way too many in the world. What a hard lesson I learned. I had never been hit by a man , and I should never have given him a second opportunity to hurt me again. I got to thinking about this unfortunate time, because of the three girls in Cleveland who just escaped after 10 years of captivity with a sadist. I was lucky by comparison, but many women stay in abusive situations, and it confounds me.

Distance

Most of my dearest friends do not have any children, all with their own particular stories and reasons.I say this because it is a rather interesting factoid to me.I guess I was thinking about this as Mother's Day approaches. I do have a wonderful Goddaughter and Godson, but I sometimes wonder if my close friends would have asked me to be a godmother if they had had children. I see being a godmother as more than a symbolic gesture. I try to keep up with Matthew's and Lexxi's lives and love them very much, just as I would with my beloved nieces and nephews. Not seeing my nieces, nephews and godchildren grow up, because they live in Michigan and I live in Georgia, is one of the biggest heartaches for me.I love being an aunt and a godmother, and when I lived in Michigan I tried to be a caring and involved person in their lives; I felt a close bond with them.Now, almost all of them have children of their own, and I only see the latest generation when I get up to Michigan. They don't really know me,and that makes me sad. All this makes me think about my own children. We don't have family or their godparents in Georgia. They have really missed out on the abundant , extravagant love of family, get togethers, holidays and the intimacy of all that, which Al and I both experienced when we were young.I think about my own aunts and uncles who moved away when I was young and how I really lost close contact with them except for my Uncle Ronald and Uncle Burnis.I feel that loss, too, now that I'm gone from Michigan, with my dear Aunt Katie and Aunt Barbara. Physical distance is so hard on relationships. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say, but absence also has the sometimes, unforeseen consequences of unwanted broken connections.It's one thing to consciously end a relationship and get space; it's another when emotional closeness is compromised by living far away from someone with whom you truly want to stay connected.Some of my dearest family and friends have never or rarely visited me in GA, and we will have lived here 20 years this October. I can come up with many before -and -afters in my life. When it comes to my circle of friends and family, it's the before and after I moved from Michigan. That makes me sigh.

C.J.

Our cat CJ is high maintenance, because he is 15 and diabetic, but ,of course, like most pet owners, we feel he is a member of the family.When Adam was seven, he picked the cat out at the Humane Society, and named him CJ for Chipper Jones. Adam says now that his middle initials were why he called the catster CJ , but for whatever reason, that's our cat's name. CJ looks like our previous cat Gata,who we had for 23 years.Gate was an indoor/ outdoor cat and she had an incredibly long life. Adam was about five when she died, and I guess Adam wanted another cat that resembled Gata.We got Adam a cat, but if truth be told, he is more Alfredo's cat than anybody else's.CJ is totally an indoor cat; he doesn't have his front claws, so we couldn't let him out in any case.He has given us a lot of joy, comfort and entertainment, but now he just sleeps, eats, voids and vomits. He vomits almost daily, and I'm waiting until he passes to get new carpet. Cleaning the light carpet after he vomits is a real chore,because of the dye in his food. I mainly have wood floors, but my front room and dining room have carpet and, naturally, that is where he vomits at least half the time.Also, we give him insulin shots twice a day. We moved his litter upstairs from the basement, because he can't manage stairs very well any more. Of course, we do what we need to do for him,because we all love the little fella. That said, Al and I have decided that CJ will be our last pet. We no longer want to do the daily care, and we travel a lot. Pets are wonderful, but they deserve and require so much care the older they get, and we don't need - or want- any more children, so to speak. So we will enjoy our last pet for the time left that we have him.

Debra

My younger sister Debra not only is the one other member of my immediate family still alive,she remains a strong, positive influence on me. I admire her fortitude and optimism, and my sis is a remarkable role model to her children and grandchildren. We have not always gotten along; we've had our moments, but are assured in the fact that we love each other unconditionally. When my sister was a very young girl, she contracted polio, just before the Salk vaccine became available.I was stupidly envious of all the attention she required, not realizing at the time how fortunate I was not to have the same physical challenges as she had. I was also irrationally jealous of her beauty.I thought that she got all the good looks( I still do, but I'm no longer jealous of that) especially her thick hair, because I've always had very thin hair, which is a very big embarrassment for a woman. My sister became the Easter Seals poster child in Michigan, and she was able to have an operation to repair her afflicted leg.I'm sure she would have preferred to have had her health and no publicity,but at least, Debra and my parents had the financial assistance to help her prevail over this difficult period in her life. I remember that my first grade teacher, Mrs. Buchanan came walking up our sidewalk one day, and I was so excited that she was coming to visit me! However, she was visiting because she wanted to see Debra and my mom.That was another moment of irrational envy. I was young and stupid about how serious a situation my sister had to endure. I regret those absurd feelings now, but at age six, I felt pretty justified, albeit wrongly so.My sister and I shared a small bedroom and the same double bed while we were growing up. We had an imaginary line to divide our sides of the bed, and as ridiculous as it sounds now, we would bite each other if that invisible line was crossed. I have a couple of tiny scars from that, but now I just smile when I think of it. We didn't have the same friends growing up and even in our neighborhood, we hung out with different people. We were two grade levels apart, and so we didn't really spend much time together when we weren't at home. When I look back, I regret not spending more time with her. I think I created that distance , not Debra. Sibling rivalry is an insidious thing, and I guess I had to have time and distance from living with my sister to finally come to terms with how unwarranted my attitude was. I came to recognize the quality person she always was- and is- and I genuinely regret the tension we have had, in large part due to me. She lives in Michigan, and I have lived in Georgia almost twenty years now. It's ironic to me that I feel closer to her now, than when I was a kid, and we live so far from each other. I truly miss her lots and her husband Jerry , children Jennifer and Jason, and her grandchildren Alex,Tyler and Brooklyn. She has a wonderful family and a beautiful home where I am welcomed and nurtured.I am so sorry that I took my sister for granted until I was a young adult. I hope she realizes now that I care deeply for her and pray for her health, well-being and happiness every day. She deserved a better, more compassionate and caring sister when she was growing up,but I am trying to mend that. I admit my failings, and I hope she recognizes my sincere efforts to improve our relationship. I want my sister to forgive my shortcomings; she means the world to me.Our shared familial history makes our relationship unique and I treasure that bond.Debra Ann Shelton Maline Thomas Trevillain, I love you and all our shared memories - the good, bad, ugly and sublime. Thank you for being a soulmate even when I didn't know it. <3

Mother

I remember my mom every day. I mean that. She died January 1989 at age 57 as a result of the debilitating effects of Addison's Disease.She technically died from a heart attack,; her heart was so weakened from that awful and rare disease. The song " The Wind Beneath My Wings" became my tribute music to her, and I smile whenever I hear that sung. She was certainly my hero. Although uneducated, she was extremely wise, and although she faced many travails in her life, she was optimistic, loving, spiritual and made me laugh. She could do anything when she put her mind to it. She was a wonderful cook- gosh I miss her cooking frequently. She was artistic; she painted, made ceramics, sewed beautiful clothes( she made my prom dress ), decorated cakes, all the while being a very involved parent with all four of her children. She and Dad married in 1949, and my oldest brother was born that year. Mom was in 11th grade at the time, and she didn't finish high school. When I reflect on that fact, I'm always amazed, because she was one of the smartest women I've known, but she never got that piece of paper with the word Diploma on it.My mom was a very good money manager and "housewife." She could stretch a dollar in very creative ways, and even though my parents lived in a very modest home, she took care to make my childhood home beautiful,comfortable, inviting, and always extremely clean.I lived in a three bedroom, one bath, one car garage home and I loved it there. Six people- one bathroom- and it was fine. My parents never lived beyond their means and single income, but they were able to budget a family trip every year - and those were very memorable times- , piano and stringed instrument lessons for all us children, and camp opportunities for us like Interlochen Music Camp. My mother exposed me to opera, ballet, symphonies, musicals, and instilled in me a love of reading. When I was seven, she gave me all her Nancy Drew books, and I was hooked. Some of my best childhood memories were her holiday family dinners with all the relatives in that small home. It was loud, messy, crowded ,joyful and always lots of delicious food. Mom's food was pure comfort food! And birthdays were special. She made the birthday person whatever was requested. We went to the Methodist church in Pontiac, and rarely missed a Wednesday or Sunday. Mom was in a church group called the Martha's Circle, and the members came to our home once in a while, and I heard my mom talk about the joy of her Faith and her love of God. That was so influential for me. She was a very involved member of PTA - president at the elementary school , the junior high school and then at the high school. She became a state officer , in fact.Mom did all this while being very ill a lot, but without complaining about her health. My mom was run over by a car when she was five years old. She was in the hospital for months and she had a small metal plate in her head for the rest of her life , so consequently,she used to get brutal headaches. I have a photo of her when she was very young. She resembled Shirley Temple. I think my mother was beautiful,especially the last few years of her life, and I think she was a courageous woman and an awesome role model. I was mad or upset with my mom maybe a half dozen times in my life, and usually she ended up being right, I admit. Was she perfect? Of course not, but she was excellent. My mother's birthday is May 15, which always is around Mother 's Day. So Mother's Day week is always special. My mother died before my children were born. That thought always saddens me because she was a wonderful grandma to my nieces and nephews, and she would have been a terrific grandmother with Adam and Gina as well.She was as good a wife, mother, grandma and woman as she could be, She was a quality human being. I was blessed to call her "mother."

Broken

Linda didn't realize that her left palm was slightly cut until she saw bloody jagged broken glass on the kitchen's tile floor. Hydrogen peroxide and an extra large bandage dismissed that inconvenient problem,because what was once a large,exquisite, green colored,etched,crystal serving bowl had shattered into too many pieces to count, and those emerald shards had all her attention. " Can't put Humpty together again," Linda mused,and with that fleeting thought,she exhaled loudly. She reached down and picked up two of the largest fragments, staring at them as if they were usable pieces for reassembling an impossible puzzle that lay before her. "Damn it," she spewed, and Linda's concentrated scowl couldn't work any desired magic.Her self- directed anger gave way to sentimental tears, and she left the kitchen momentarily to get a broom and dust pan, all the while sighing and sobbing.This strong reaction to the accidental event surprised her, and Linda began shaking her head in disbelief at her clumsiness. She had reached carefully for the bowl, and had gingerly washed and dried it. Placing her small treasure back on the counter, she left to set the dining room table for Thanksgiving dinner; guests would be arriving soon.She returned to get the beautiful bowl, and as Linda was picking it up, the oven's timer buzzer sounded, and at that exact second of distraction, she dropped it.She was briefly frozen, experiencing disbelief and denial that she had caused the demise of this family heirloom.Linda was supposed to be the keeper and protector of her mother's gift. Mom had gotten the bowl originally from her grandmother, after all, and now the pieces on the floor were all that was left of the only item that Linda owned from her great- grandmother.Over 150 years the bowl had endured,only to come to this inelegant end. Linda swept up the glass pieces and dropped them into the trash can, but she saved one remnant about the size of a half dollar that would be put in her jewelry box as a memento of all that the keepsake had represented. Staring at the trash, she briefly mourned the dish's loss and asked her maternal ancestors' forgiveness for the unfortunate accident. Linda could hear her mom's voice reminding her that, ultimately, a dish is just a dish. So Linda put the broken piece of green glass in her apron pocket, put some water on her face,and then checked on the turkey in the oven.

Anger

I don't like who I am when I'm angry. It takes a lot to make me truly mad. I'm not talking about being annoyed, bothered, interrupted, miffed. I mean downright livid - so angry , I can't think straight.Bureaucracies by nature can be infuriating; that is not to what I am referring.It's the individual, especially good friends and family. When someone lies to me or about me,betrays me,belittles me,humiliates or hurts me ( or someone I love), and especially if I feel used, I can turn vengeful, retaliatory and unforgiving. That isn't a Christian attitude, and the whole turn- the-other- cheek thing makes me mad at myself. As I said , I don't like the person I become,and I end up having extreme guilt about my hostile feelings.All the while I'm seething, and because I'm not physically aggressive,I often have trouble being confrontative.I don't vent very well; I can become crude, malicious and vile, not very mature and overly dramatic.This is rare with me, but it does happen.(I had to learn extreme patience when I was teaching, and I did well for the most part.) Sometimes I feel justified in my acrimony, but often because of the way I can react, the person I become agitated with, somehow turns the situation around to act like he or she is the affronted one. I don't want to hold a grudge, but some people keep reinforcing my anger, by repeating their user/ taker modus operandi and entitlement mentality.I've had an epiphany that I needed to totally eschew these negative people - however close they have been to me- from my life, but you can't exactly do that, unfortunately, if you are related to them. There is someone who is a case in point, but that would take too many pages to explain, and I don't want to go there yet. Suffice it to say that sustained resentment and unresolved conflict create a lot of stress.Yes, of course, I should just let go, but right now that elusive mental freedom and evasive peace of mind feels like a fantasy.

Jim

My older brother Jim and I were born 16 months apart.We were more than just close because of our birth dates. We had many of the same friends and interests. Jim would have had a birthday May 5th, so I've been thinking about him.My brother was murdered September 1978 at age 27 by a wacko neighbor who shot him at point blank range.He was married with two young children and he died too soon, too young and too suddenly. His potential was unrealized.We were all in shock.My parents never got over his death, but they were stoic, nevertheless. He was buried next to my first husband, who had died five years before that. They had been close friends. In fact, Jim had introduced me to Cliff when I was a senior in high school. Two wonderful young men, who I loved dearly,were gone, a weird twist of fate that rattled me. Also, Jim's dear friend Bill and my dear friend Gay Ann married , and Jim and I became godparents for their first son,Matthew. Ironically, Cliff was to be Matt's godfather, but Cliff died just before Matt was born, so Jim was asked. We were all part of a small, intimate group of friends, and both deaths profoundly influenced them as well. One of my best memories of my brother was that he and I danced a lot together, not just at family weddings, but at"clubs" too. We both fancied ourselves as good dancers, and we would show off and have so much fun.Another happy memory was that he really enjoyed making blueberry pies, and he'd never tell me his "secret recipe"; those pies were to die for( no pun intended).We were also card partners frequently for pinochle and euchre, and we were ruthless. He was a good father and husband, a hard worker and a loving son. His two children are now married and have children of their own.Every time I see his son Jeff , I'm reminded of Jim, because Jeff looks so much like his dad. My brother would have been so proud of his children and grandchildren. He was a family man,much like our dad, and loved to be with his kids. He would have only been 62 on his upcoming birthday, still time to have accomplished so much. I loved him deeply.