Time Out Tuesdays

 My mother used to say my father was incredibly shy when they first met.  She would be mingling with everyone at a party and he'd prefer to be sitting in the corner by himself.  Then one day, at a party, he kicked all the throw rugs at the hosts' house down the stairs, pretended to pull a goldfish out of a bowl and eat it (it was really a carrot) and the rest is history.  He was social.  That's how I know him.

During my childhood, my father always seemed at ease talking to anyone.  He could talk construction equipment (his line of work), he could talk mechanics, stereos, sailing, home decor, current events, you name it, he could speak to it.  My parents made a great pair that way.  Always at ease in any social situation and always the center of attention.  But as I realize it now, it was always on their terms. 

For instance, if someone, god forbid, stopped by our house uninvited, my mother would literally lock herself in her bedroom until they were gone.  She'd tell us to tell whoever it was that she wasn't home.  She would not meet anyone unless she was prepared to do so.   

   

My father was better about that but as we get farther from the date of my mothers death, I see him reverting to his old self.  He can still do a party, but he spends less and less time attending.  He pulls away to spend time by himself.  I think I can relate to that.  As much as I’d like to be in social situations and can handle it for certain periods of time,  I do love the time that I get to be alone.  Not even because it affords me that ability to do anything special.  I just get to be.  

Beginning this year I have reduced my work schedule to four days a week instead of five.  I just felt like I wasn't getting anything done and that extra day off during the week would afford me that ability.

What I have found instead is that I spend a lot of that time doing nothing. Or at least nothing productive.  I had great plans of catching up with friends or family, cleaning the house, exercising. But for the most part I haven't.  I feel badly, like I am wasting time.  There are all those quotes about making the most of every day.  Carpe diem and all that.  But I just can't bring myself to go there right now.  Instead, I am living the "take time to stop and smell the roses" one.  I think that is what my body and my head need right now.  A time out.  I know that it won't be forever.  And I am trying not to feel guilty for the luxury of having it.  So I am going to enjoy it for now. 

Time out Tuesdays. Who's in?

Christmas and other oddities

Someone posted something on facebook the other day that said the older I get the more the things on my Christmas list are things that can't be bought.  Time with family, good health, a granddaughter.  But I realize that I have a lot of things on my list that I can't have either.  Too many family members have gone.  Those big, harried family dinners with people yelling over each other and stealing meatballs out of the sauce are over. Being young and carefree, a thing of the past.

I find myself longing for those crazy times.  I wish I could go back and pay more attention to what was going on.  Talk to more people and actually listen to what was going on, instead of always being in the kitchen or setting a table. If I knew they were going to be gone so soon, we would have eaten off paper plates and skipped the china all together!  No amount of moist turkey or unlumpy gravy is worth that amount of time taken away from the gathering.  Away from the connectedness of family and friends. Because as you find out, always too late, once it's gone it's gone.

So I am vowing to try and be more connected this Christmas.  To spend less time worrying about the food and more time finding out about how my son's life is going.  And what is new with my son in law. Sharing family stories with my girls.  And along with my husband,  glorying in my granddaughters first Christmas.
Wish me luck!

Patience is a virtue.

So.  We are coming to the final days of my daughters pregnancy.  It has been a good one, from what I have been told. It's hard to not be in the same state as she is experiencing all these changes.  But we are all working to get them home, so that is for another post.

As we count down the final days, I find myself more and more impatient.  With everything. It's like nothing will be right until this baby is here.  People driving around me on the way to work are more annoying.  The songs on the radio are pissing me off.  Clients at work are beyond frustrating.  I can't concentrate.  I can't think more than a few minutes ahead of time.  And I'm only the grandmother!  What is my daughter feeling.  It's funny because I was there three times.  And yet, I really don't remember that clearly how I was feeling at that time.  I think it's because once it's over, any frustration or pain or impatience, it's all forgotten.  You have that new life in your arms and you are suddenly thrust into a whole new chapter in your lives.  You are now busy with midnight feedings and diaper changes and laundry (who knew something so small could produce so much laundry!).  Life picks up speed at a rate you really can't comprehend.  Everything is marked by a milestone.  First smile, first word, first step.  Then, God willing, second child.  More smiles, words and steps.  It keeps you racing forward until you wake up one day and find out the last one is moving out.  A whole new chapter.

It's all good.  They are all things that everyone should experience.  The love and the heartache.  It would just be nice to be able to hit a pause button every once in a while.  To be able to take a breathe and really see what's going on around you.  To really be able to take it all in, before it's gone and the next thing has come along.

I realize that as I say this, I am wishing for the baby to be here now.  To race forward to that moment when she comes into the world and opens her eyes.  Ah impatience.  Be careful for what you wish for, it'll be here and gone before you know it!

Bubbe

So, I'm going to be a Grandmother!
A few years ago, I would have been horrified at the thought.   My mother certainly was.  She refused to be called Grandma or Nana.  We finally settled on Marnie, a familiar version of her name Marilyn.  Deadly glares would be visited upon anyone who uttered the "G" word.  It was upsetting at first.  I took it like she had something against my children.  I gradually realized that it was part of a deeper issue that my mother had with regard to her age and self image.  It was sad, because she was a beautiful and talented woman, although I don't think she ever saw herself that way.  As she grew older she did relax a little and I did finally her her identify herself as a grandmother before she died.

I on the other hand had a feeling that my children were never going to leave the house.  So the thought of having another body in the house was slightly overwhelming.  But, as they all do, my children have moved on and I am now ready to have someone to dote on.

So now the big question.  What will the little being call me?  There are certain names that are absolutely out.  Granny, Grammie, Gammie, Gamma.  No.  I don't think of myself as a Nana.  I do really like Grandmummy, but I have been told that it's too stuffy.  Mama G sounds like I should be riding a Harley.  Oma and Nonni are the wrong ethnicity.  Someone suggested Tata, but I think that that sounds more like a stripper name.

Then I remembered Bubbe.  Yiddish, yes, which I am not.  But it is such a great name.  When I hear it I think of warmth and comfort and for some odd reason, food.  All good things for a grandparent to have and to provide, right? I used to think that I would want to be a "cool" grandparent.  But the closer it gets to becoming a reality, I really only want to do one thing.  Get my arms around that baby and hold them close.  And then to get my arms around my daughter and hold her closer and thank her for allowing me the privilege of becoming a Bubbe (or a Grandmummy, that one is not totally off the table yet!)

a funeral

Today we had a funeral. My maternal grandmother, Nana, died at the ripe old age of 103. There were 6 of us attending, my father, my uncle, my brother and sister, my husband and I. When you live to be 103 you don't have any friends left or a lot of family, either. It was a nice enough service. The pastor knew my grandmother and had actually done the service when my grandfather passed away 16 years ago.

We sang a couple of songs, he read some scripture and prayed. We got in the car and drove to the cemetary and said our goodbyes. But in actuality, I think I had said my goodbyes to her years prior. It's hard to see someone you love become diminished like she did. Physically she was fine. Right up until her death, she was only on Tylenol for pain, no IV's, no oxygen, no feeding tube. She went peacefully in her sleep. But she hadn't known who I was for years. Sure, she'd smile when she saw me, but she did that to everyone she saw. She'd also try and take her clothes off or steal shiny jewelry.

The Nana I remember had bright red hair. She loved shoes and purses and make-up. She ate lobster and cooked with lots of garlic and fresh herbs. She had a huge garden in her backyard, which was something because they lived in the city. They grew grapes, strawberries and raspberries. Garlic, carrots, lettuce and tomatoes. And rhubarb, which lined the back fence. She let us drink Coke and had Tang and Space Food Sticks in her pantry. They ran a vacuum and appliance store at the front of their house. I remember walking through it and seeing all the vacuums and sewing machines. My grandfather had a room off to the side where he repaired things. My grandmother had a small post office in one corner of the store for many years. We'd sit up on her high stool and play office, stamping papers and counting change in the drawer. There was a convenience store on their corner that when we were older, we would walk to. We would buy candy buttons and candy necklaces, boxes of Smarties and MacIntosh's Toffee.

She wasn't the typical grandmother, who would bake cookies or read you stories. She was working and when she wasn't, she and my grandfather were golfing or travelling. She went on a game show once in NYC and won a bunch of prizes. She went to Switzerland and Acapulco. They owned a home in Ocala. They were cool.

And she was the inventor of the May goodbye. The goodbye would start, usually in the kitchen with hugs and kisses and promises to come back and see each other again soon. Then it would gravitate out to the living room where there would be more hugs, more talking. It would then move on to the door, where my Nana would take my mothers hand and press money or some other goodie into it, telling her to just take it, while my mother would say "no Mama, I can't", but she always would. It would then move to the porch and down to the driveway, before we would finally all be in the car, backing out of the driveway while they waved from the porch. It was a long goodbye. But never final, always with the promise of seeing each other again.

Like today. It's been a long goodbye, but I'll see you again Nana.

103

One hundred and three. That's the age of my maternal grandmother. She has been in a nursing home for the past 15 years. She went in shortly after my grandfather did. He went because he had a stroke. I remember being there when my mother told her that he has passed away. I was sure that she would be right behind him. But she lingered. Well, I guess you can't really call in lingering when she has outlived him by 16 years. She is frail and weak. She doesn't talk and hasn't eaten in the last couple of days. I'm guessing it will only be a matter of time. My prayer is that she will go in her sleep, peacefully and in no pain. Isn't that how we'd all like to go.

Seeing her started me thinking about my mother when she passed away. That was 8 years ago. Man, it's crazy how fast time goes by. She was in the hospital for the last 18 days of her life, the last 10 in hospice. Her room was at the end of the hall, right next door to the hospice lounge. The lounge had a couple of couches and some tables and chairs, a TV and a small kitchen area with a sink, mini fridge and a microwave. My father, sister and I basically moved in and took over the place. We rearranged the lounge. My father bought new lamp shades for the lamps. I slept on the couch, while he slept in the chair next to her bed. I'd wake up in the morning and go sit with her, while he took a shower and went downstairs to have something to eat. We were with her around the clock. My brother came when he could. My uncle spent a few days there as well. My husband brought Chinese food from Fort Erie one night. My brother brought Anchor Bar chicken wings another. We lived there. The thought of leaving her there alone was unbearable to me. I felt that it was the least I could do to stay and help take care of her. There were times when she was lucid, but she was in a lot of pain so they had her pretty heavily medicated. We spent a lot of time sitting around her bed, telling stories. I got to witness my fathers love for her. She was forever kicking her socks off and her feet were always cold. He'd stand at the foot of her bed and put her feet under his shirt, against his stomach. It was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen. And he'd talk to her, reminding her of all the great things that they had done in their life together. They didn't wait for tomorrow, they did things today.

The night she died, my sister and I were with her. My father, uncle and brother were in the lounge watching something on the television. She had been pretty quiet, but she became very alert, looked off into the corner of the room and then took her last breath. Just like that. One breath in, alive. One breath out, gone. I counted it a great privilege to be with her for that. She saw me into the world and I saw her out. She was 67.

And probably, in the next few days, it will happen for my grandmother. Just like that. This is just a temporary life. Even if you live it for 103 years, it doesn't last forever. We need to make it count. We need to do great things now and not wait until later. We need to remind ourselves of the wonderful things that we have in our lives. We need to connect to the people around us, the people who love us and tell them how much they mean to us. Here, I'll go first. I love you my friends and family. You make me a better person, you put up with all my nonsense. You have my back. I am grateful for all of you. See, that's how you do it. Just like that.

time

I make really great rice krispie treats. I'm not bragging, I really do. Ask anyone. You would think something as plain as a rice krispie treat wouldn't be very hard to make, but you'd be mistaken. The trick is not to let the butter burn and to melt the marshmallows over low heat, just to the point where there are about a quarter of them still whole. Turn the heat off and beat them with a wooden spoon. The residual heat in the pan will be enough to melt the rest. Stir in the rice krispies and you are all set. But it takes time. You can't rush it or you'll end up with rice krispies that turn hard the next day. And who wants that?

I find that I have no problem being patient while waiting for butter to melt, but not so much with other things. The person at the red light ahead of me, who hesitates a little to long when it goes green. The person ahead of me in the grocery store, rifling through her purse looking for a coupon or change or a pen or her bonus card. Or my children when they take longer than I think they should to do something. As badly as I feel when I make remarks under my breath to the strangers who annoy me, my heart aches when I realize I have hurt my kids.

After going through all the firsts of a new baby; steps, words, sleeping through the night, it's easy to kind of gloss over the firsts they continue to go through. The fact is that we all continue to go through firsts in our lives. By definition, a first is something that we haven't experienced yet. So there should be some excitement attached to going through it. And there should be some leeway given to getting it right the first time. But the older you get, the less leeway you are given. I know that when I get the 'eye roll' from someone who is explaining something to me for the first time, I want to pop them one. Give me a chance for pete's sake. And yet, I think I do that to my kids. When what I should be doing is just giving them a chance.

And a rice krispie treat.