OUT OF THE BALLPARK

          So I wrote an inspired, heartfelt blog about my brother Nick.  I had the photos I wanted to use, and I had been thinking about what I would say.  The words came pouring out, and I was pleased with the result.  I never imagined the tremendous response I would have from my family--his family--my friends and his friends.  
         
           I had used my writing ability to reach out and say something that mattered, that had been residing in my heart for years.  I entertained, I consoled, I celebrated and commemorated, all at one time.
                   
                              But what do I write after that?
         
           I have many other photos to use in my blog, that of my family, of me, of my life in its many aspects.  But now I want to hit each blog "out of the park".

                                And I know that's impossible.
          
          It's like having that first sip of cold beer on a hot day, that first spoonful of your favorite ice cream, that first kiss from a new love, that first laugh from your baby grandchild, that wedding, or graduation, or vacation, or any other joyful moment, but just THAT FIRST INTENSE MOMENT.

         
  Only over and over again.....a home run all the time.

          
          I can see a pattern over the years of my life---that of chasing down such moments, and trying desperately to repeat them, to extend them, to hold on to them.....but that's impossible.

          
          Even as my babies grew into adorable toddlers, I was already wanting to hold on to each moment with them, to freeze time, to keep the hours and years from whooshing away.

          
          So I took endless photos. (Oh what I could have done with digital technology and camera phones back then!)  I bought a clunky video camera when they first expensively came out---and then realized that I was being a camera-woman, and not a Mom, at the events I was filming.

         
           If I strained to record, or started to feel melancholy about the passing of these moments, then these moments passed out of my grip anyway, and I hadn't been present.  I was not showing up for my own life.

          
          It's been stated frequently that the happiest time in a person's life is the later years.  By then we know that the moments fly by with such speed, and that all we can do is BE PRESENT, in our present.

          
                        For it becomes the past just that quickly. 

         
           So I write my blog, I hope at least weekly, with all the variety that is my life and my minutes.  It would be a great pleasure to share some of my thoughts with other readers, and to resonate with my readers at times.

          
          But then I am blessed with a certain resonating every day in my life, every dawn as the first bird chirps at four a.m., and every sunset as the sky presents its sunset mural.  It is up to me to make those moments special to myself.

(One of my favorite poems, adopted by me when I DID have fifty years or more to see the blossoms):

          A Shropshire Lad  2: Loveliest of Trees, The Cherry Now                                                 ( by A. E. Housman)

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

          With so much less time "to see the cherry hung with snow", I intend to savor even those moments after the cherry blossoms have fallen, when the ball just is a tiny infield single.

          For it is a great privilege to be IN my life, in my NOW.

MY "BIG BROTHER" NICK

          Chronologically, my brother Nick was 

three years younger than me.  

But in so many, many wonderful ways, 

he was my BIG brother.

          Despite his wicked sense of humor and sense of fun, he was born with a mature head on his broad shoulders.  Married soon after college to his beloved Kathy, his perfect soulmate (in humor and all ways wonderful), his marriage remained loving and rock-solid.  They were always "in love".

          He stayed with his first job at Montgomery Ward's for most of his working life--a true "company man"....until Ward's folded, and he moved on to Staples.

          His friends from school were lifelong friends, and he was truly loved by these friends.

          He was the center of the universe for our family...he was the only sibling really close to our Dad...he was the beautiful son revered by our mother.  He teased me endlessly, but really "got me", despite our great personality differences.  I was flighty where he was solid, restless where he was sure, irresponsible where he was dependable. 

          He was there to help his sisters shop for cars, console us in times of trouble, always be truthful and incisive even if it hurt, be the most serious and yet the most silly all in one heart-felt package.  Our Dad could confide in Nick about his fears after his first heart attack.  Nick fiercely "adopted" my sister Joanie when she was born...he called her his little "Deets" (no translation)...he was all of nine years old!

          He was mischievous in high school with his imitation of his teachers behind their backs. He could wield the wickedest funniest insults and yet had the softest lovingest marshmallow inside.

          Here is a sweet picture of Nick and I (my "signature bow" again), when photographers came to your house, and posed you atop side tables: 

See his sunny smile?  Always there, along with 

that dear twinkle in his eyes.

           But he was far from being a saint; he loved teasing me, and I was the perfect foil, because I "hated it".  He was in his glory when I began dating, and he could do impersonations of my dates.  We only had one phone, in the dining room.  I remember so well sitting on the floor in the corner, trying to escape his antics as I talked dreamily to some swain.

          After I saw the movie "Psycho", I was so jittery and couldn't sleep.  When I heard Nick come in from a date, I called him to come talk to me.  So of course he enters the bedroom, arm raised as if he was going to slaughter me, Norman Bates-style!  So funny!

            Nick and I shared the same body type (chubby), and Mom put us on a diet when he was about eleven, and I was fourteen.  We did both trim down, and enjoyed better body image through high school, as evident in our high school pictures (he went to Weber High School, I went to Siena High School, both in Chicago), looking awfully darn cute (in my humble opinion):

          He loved combing his abundant head of hair Elvis-style, wrinkling up his forehead to look incredibly "cool", as in this photo at age sixteen, the "Weber Whip":

  

          He met his beloved Kathy when they were students at DePaul University in Chicago, and married her at the age of twenty-two---a young groom, but a grownup head and spirit. 

          When I married some years later at the ripe old age of twenty-seven (some of the great-aunts were getting worried about me), he danced with me, his "younger sister" at my wedding.  The love shows:

          His legacy resides so poignantly in his family.  He died from a sudden heart attack at the too-young age of fifty-five, leaving three terrific children and (now) eight beautiful grandchildren.

          As part of his eulogy, I wrote about his heart--that they said it was his heart which gave out.  That would be impossible.

          Not that beautiful, loving, dear heart.

PROMISES, PROMISES--

           Remember my breathless, impassioned promise to write a DAILY blog during July, in honor of my birthday on the 20th?

          

         So what happened to that so-called contract?

          (sigh)  It went the way of so many promises I make to myself that wobble and often shrivel up.  Every day I would vow to myself to "catch up"...at first that worked out, writing two blogs per day.  And then the days started sliding by, along with my resolve.  My dear daughter Niki, ever the faithful confidante (and enabler), reminds me that since I have reached the lofty RETIREMENT goal, I need not have any "shoulds" in my life.

          How many times have I exhorted her, and other loved ones (mostly female) to not "should" on themselves!

          So, in the spirit of independence and a fine should-less existence, I will go back to my haphazard frequency of blogging.  I have many photos which I have scanned to use in future entries.  These photos have served as springboards to my blog musings, and I feel that every blog is enhanced by a photo or two.  

          I will illustrate this apologetic blog with the message so dearly written in the card my granddaughter Rosie gave me as an early birthday wish: 

          I am pleased to use this as my anthem for all the days of this birthday year--and any years hereafter:

              "I hope you have fun being 74."

          And for me, "fun" is being inconsistent.  

It suits me so very well!

          

JULY 7--WITHOUT A NET!

          January 2009 began with me swooping out into the arena of my life, flying through the air (with the "greatest of ease"?) as I began my life in Retirement.  I was going to do it all without a net, without the schedule and structure of a daily job, a preassigned place to be, a set of tasks to be accomplished, a parade of people to encounter and to serve.

          Sounded like fun to me!

           I've always enjoyed change, thrive on it, court it, seek it out and embrace it.  So Retirement was going to be exciting and stimulating and never boring and glorious.

          Or so I thought! 

          At first, I did have a part-time "job" which I joyfully took on--I would be a grand-nanny for my very young second grandchild, Rosie.  She was barely three months old, and I found the early weeks so sweet, as winter gripped Chicago, I was cozy and content with my grand baby.  Who wouldn't be content with this face greeting you:

          When she was sleeping (as she did in those early weeks), I would turn on the TV and get my fill of Oprah and "The View" and the news and...and....I could watch Rosie as she grew into her various toys---conducting toddler scientific studies:

        or officiating at her toddler "office center":  

          So I was in "Nonny" hog heaven--Rosie's name for me when she began talking....she actually picked it up from one of the nicknames I had for her.  I loved it, and found out later that "Nonna" is Italian for "grandmother".
          However, that was on my schedule for two days per week, but what to do with my other days?  What a weird feeling, this flying around my life without a net, without a full-time job, and kids to care for, a household to tend....I was husband-less by this time also, since my husband David died while I was still working.  
          What to do, what to do....I checked out book clubs to join, but the book titles didn't entice me enough to sign up.  I looked into some community college items, but never quite found a "fit".  I could revel in the fact of brunches or lunches with friends during week day hours, along with other "seniors".
          That first year of retirement went by rather pleasantly, but I still had a sense that I wasn't quite "anchored".  I started exploring volunteer opportunities, and did get involved at my local library for a while.  Since my last career before retiring was as a librarian, this seemed like the ideal place to volunteer. 
          But something engaging was missing from my life....what to do....what to do???

*****TO BE CONTINUED***** 

July 6--THE THING WITH FEATHERS

     So my favorite poem, by my favorite poet Emily Dickinson:

          

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

and never stops at all.

          This card adorns our refrigerator, for me to see and reaffirm every day, to reaffirm the hope that finds a welcome perch in my soul...because I have seen hope validated so many times in my life, so many times when Depression engulfed me in its dark, destructive tidal wave.

          I no longer am a hostage to depression, and am so happy to be free from its prison....no longer waking up every day to push up that boulder through the hours of my life, only to have to push it up all over again the next day.

          The story of that journey may be material for other blogs.  It matters more that Hope sings its sweet song in me now.  I've seen hope "in action", the sweet love I share with my family and friends...in the glory of my grandchildren's giggles...the hugs of my best girl buddies....the joy of a freshly brewed cup of coffee...that first birdsong at 430am from that cheerful Early Bird....the rest after a peaceful day.

         HOPE barely describes the feeling as I look at these three sweet faces, my grand babies...

     JAKE

ROSIE

BELLA

          HOPE---a mere slip of a word to describe what vibrates within me as I see their beautiful faces.

          Who cannot believe in Hope when "I love you" ends my day with my daughter, as we wish each other a sweet night's sleep?  We are roommates now for over a year, supporting each other in our needs, filling in the gaps....she supports my physical needs after yet another joint replacement surgery as I combat my physical foe arthritis.

          I can support her emotional needs as she bravely faces her deluge of anxiety and depression. We laugh together, we cry together, we revel in the mischievous antics of our third roommate, our kitty Mathilda.  

          It's a loving partnership I could never have envisioned years ago--see what HOPE has rendered!

        

          

JULY 5--EARLY TODDLER TIMES

               So I return to my old photos, and muse over what must have been loving toddler times.  My father's childhood home was in Chicago (as was my mother's).  His home, on Natchez Avenue near Diversey, once was the outer western boundary of the city.  Seems so unbelievable now with our far-flung suburbs, stretching beyond the Fox River to the west!
          
          Until my Grandma (my father's mother) died when I was seven years old, we gathered at the Natchez home for many family occasions.  My "Nonna" only spoke Italian, which I did not understand.  But she spoke "cookie" and "hugs", and somehow we could easily communicate!

          During the early forties, my uncles who were in the army and navy gradually (happily) all returned from the war. My uncles who had fought in the Phillipines brought back this fetching Hawaiian ensemble, which I adorably modeled, in front of the Natchez house. (I was 2 years old, so this would be summer 1943.)

Add captioHONEY BOO BOO, EAT YOUR HEART OUT! n

          According to my adoring mother, I was quite the charmer at the Christmas Eve gathering on Natchez Avenue.  I stood in the middle of the Christmas conversations, reciting "The Night Before Christmas", and probably being benignly ignored.  (Except for aforementioned adoring mother).

          It just occurs to me that my Nonna couldn't even be impressed by my toddler performance:

         she couldn't understand one word I was saying!

          But lack of audience participation has never inhibited my social performances.  It's only lately that I (alas) have forgotten the poem.  

               

           And I now I can be adorable without that hula skirt!

          

            

JULY 4--MOMMA AND HER PAPOOSE

           I cannot imagine a more fitting way to honor Independence Day than by contemplating the joyful way I've LOST my independence...on a wintry day 43 years ago....
    

First Strike against My Independence

Date: January 17th, 1972, at 12:06 pm  
Location:  St Ann's Hospital Delivery Room, Chicago
Occasion: Birth of first papoose, Matthew Nicholas Newsted

               
  Second Strike (still in there "swinging"):

Date:  September 24th, 1973, at 3:59 am

Location: Same as above

Occasion: Birth of second papoose, Nicole Loryn Newsted

Third Strike (and then I was "out"!):

Date: August 31st, 1976, at 10:30 pm

Location:  Same

Occasion: Birth of third papoose, Jeffrey David Newsted

          Why "papoose"?  Because I have a dearly loved statue from a favorite New Mexican artist, Esta Bain.  It sits on the table next to my "throne", the right side of my sofa, where I "rule" whenever I'm home and awake (or asleep over my bedtime reading). 

                           

                  MOMMA AND HER PAPOOSE

                 ALWAYS BY MY SIDE

    
           When my papooses inevitably left my arms, and flew away from my sheltering blanket, I gained back some independence.  A sweet irony--by that time I didn't really care to be "free"--their adulthood had already relieved me of many motherly concerns.  I also realized that I was incredibly "dependent" upon my love and concerns for them.
     
          Their lives changed, they gained their independence--until my sons both became husbands and fathers and homeowners.  

And then they lost their "freedom" in the sweetest, most loving ways.     Now I have three beautiful grandchildren to hug under my blanket.

Independence is highly overrated!

      

JULY 3--CUTENESS THEN AND NOW

       So this blog-writing has me sorting through old photos, some of which I have already flaunted.  In trying to show how CUTENESS runs in families (mine), I looked for a few comparative family photos.  
    
       My grandchildren are famously adorable, as the world now knows.  I present a few examples, alongside some not-too-exact older photos.

       There's the loving shots of cousins being pals--first my cousin Teri and I--then my grandson Jake kissing his cousin Rosie during their toddler days:
     

     

          The cuteness gene glaringly apparent!  Jake and Rosie have remained good friends, and it's a joy watching them together.

       I have bravely published some bathing suit cuteness from my toddler days...and I now present my granddaughter Bella putting a 21st century "sassy spin" on the bathing suit pose:

 

  

      My life--in these pictures--what a gift!  I'm watching my three grandchildren, Jake (now 7), Rosie (6) and Bella (4) with such awe.  They are embracing their days with fresh new eyes, like my eyes staring out of those old photos.

     

      I wish joy for them, I wish that I could smooth out their paths and guide them around those hurdles which life will clunk down in their way.  But that little girl in those old photos somehow found her way to her NOW.

    

       And it's a good NOW, made up of all the old photos and days among years that lead me to this birthday month.  I wish to celebrate this NOW with every blog this month.

     

     That's my birthday present to myself.

JULY 2--TODDLER MEMORIES!

     My early toddler years were very carefully chronicled, because I was a FIRST CHILD, so my parents wielded the camera everytime I turned on my charm (which was always).

     Well, I had a busy, well-rounded time during these early years where I can't remember anything (see blog about my first memory, posted on June 30th).
      I have many pictures in the company of my younger (by one year) cousin Teri, who lived next door.  I was blessed with having extended family downstairs (I lived in a Chicago two-flat) and next door.  My Grandma and Grandpa, my mother's sister Aunt Ann (or "Tan") and her husband Carm (who was my Dad's best friend) along with their four kids.  
     My siblings and I had a cousin similar in age to each of us, and we shared the holidays and birthdays and just everything.  We thought that everyone could talk out their bedroom window into their cousin's kitchen window, right?
      Here's Teri and I, looking all so fetching and precious (note the coy poses) in our coats and matching bonnets (all the rage in the 40's):

 (Teri on the left, precious Me on the right).  I have to believe that the head-tilting was spontaneous....we were inherently unbelievably CUTE AND ADORABLE !

     Here we are again, just "hanging" in the back yard, probably watching my Grandpa plant his tomatoes and Melrose (sweet) peppers and basil (it was your typical Chicago Italian garden).  Note my cousin Teri's casual hair style--no blow drying then, just naturally curly hair and Chicago humidity.  I am sporting my signature LARGE WHITE BOW that seems to appear with many of my toddler ensembles, both casual, as here in the garden setting, and for other more formal occasions:

       When I needed to cool off during summer months, there was the wading pool at La Follette Park nearby.  Here I am running charmingly (what else?) to the wading pool, which had a fountain in the middle....that I do remember, but a few years later than when this PRECIOUS photo was taken.  Note the cutie-pie hands clasped behind my back:

      In getting out all my photos to conjure up these memories, I was struck by the similarity between some of these precious shots and those of my grandchildren as toddlers. (surprise, surprise)

     STAY TUNED FOR TOMORROW'S BLOG WHICH WILL SHAMELESSLY DISPLAY THESE PICTURES IN ALL THEIR COMPARATIVE CUTENESS!

JULY 1--I DISCOVER READING

     So charmingly typical of me to publish this July 1st posting on July 2nd...I've always found extreme organization over-rated!  I was delayed because I had to consult my old photos to illustrate this fascinating month of blogs.  I will loosely follow a chronological order of my life, but may deviate when a particular photo pops up and grabs my short attention span.
     So today I revert back to my early toddler years, to my first discovery of <READING>, my passion and favorite hobby.  My corresponding passion and favorite hobby<SITTING>, works well with that Reading "thing".
    My license plate proclaims "BKWRM41"...my favorite job in a lifetime of changing careers was that of a librarian...and I was barely sitting upright when I began perusing the newspaper comics:

Hmmm...I'm still occupying that same corner of the couch today, just not glancing at many comics anymore...I caught on to words early on.  There's just everything to love about reading and how it takes you well, just everywhere so wonderfully! 
        (Much as I adore technology and laptops and smart phones and tablets, my reading--my book reading--remains in the paper form.  Not that there's anything wrong with reading electronically--I just like the calories I can exert in turning that page.)
       I cannot end my day without a book.  I'm falling asleep on that aforementioned sofa, book in hand, then book crashing to floor...that's how my day must end!  (And then when I get back to my bookmarked place, if I've been awake enough to put in my bookmark, I cannot remember the last pages I read--well, I was reading in my sleep, I love it so much.)
       One of the sweetest joys of grandparenthood (among oh-so-many joys) is that of reading to, and with, my grandchildren.
     
  .....Cuz THEY are my passion and "favorite hobby" now! 

BIRTHDAY MONTH MUSINGS

     I am on the brink of my Birthday Month of July....the 74th year I have shuffled, danced, skipped, limped, sauntered, crept, marched through my life.  Could I possibly make a Birthday Promise to myself to present a Month of Musings?  
     I will dare myself: no one else would DARE  to dare me!

     Sooooo....where to begin? 
“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop." (If it was good enough advice for Alice as she wandered Wonderland, who am I to question it?)

     My first memory must have been August 14, 1945, "VJ Day" when World War II was finally over.  I remember being in front of my home at 4943 W. Iowa Street in Chicago IL....there was noise (firecrackers? guns?) but a strong feeling of such joy that I can still feel it, see the summer sky over the homes on my block.  It wasn't exactly this scene...

  .... yet that extreme pulse of joy reverberates with me today.
                My four-year-old self still remembers.

LOVE/ENABLING--WHATEVER!!

      So I had this teeny thought:

Is Love the New Enabling, or Is Enabling the New Love?

          This occurs in relation to my adult daughter, whom I love/enable fiercely.  Because she has been mentally in pain for so many years, she often encountered financial as well as emotional problems.  The Enabling took the form of money given to her to bail her out of this or that debt crisis.  What could I do but pour out the dollars, often when that was all the gifting I could provide her?  She couldn’t/wouldn’t handle being with me so that I could provide treasures of hugs.  I wanted to give her a place to live (with me) so that those hugs were nearby, and so she had fewer bills and debts.

         And then the dreaded word ENABLING reared its ugly accusing head.  I wasn’t REALLY helping her (really?)….I was just reinforcing her need to be needy, not helping her to fish on her own, taking away her power to take care of her own problems, blah blah blah.

         Well, I still kept the trickle (sometimes a river) of money going her way.  The money flow was accompanied by encouraging words and occasional meals together at her local diner in the city….which endeared itself to me by its ragtag ambience, booths repaired with duct tape, and nonstop coffee refills, even if in well-worn mugs.  That diner became special to me:  we met there, we visited there, we shared a meal and some real-time conversation there.

         After years with her city job, and apartment woes (rent still needs to be paid on poorly maintained apartments too), she cried “Uncle”…..or in this case “Mom”.  She was going through a severe anxiety/depression crisis which interfered drastically with her ability to work…often to even leave her apartment and commute to work, let alone function when she got there.

         The real shocker for me was her revelation that the city had lost its charms for her, as in living there.  For years she abhorred her suburban roots and seemed  content in her urban life.  Its charms disappeared as her disability to work crashed through. 

         We tentatively tried living together early Winter 2014, when I had surgery and needed help.  Moving out of her city studio and into my rental one-bedroom apartment was a huge step for her---and for me.  Was this gigantic ENABLING?  Probably.  But it didn’t feel wrong---and she was a great help to me in those early months after my shoulder replacement.

         So after six months, the trial period ended, and we moved into a two-bedroom, two-bathroom (both deal-breaker features) apartment back in the suburb where she had grown up, and where I felt most at home.  (This fine suburb also boasted a killer library, another deal-breaker where I was concerned.)

         We adopted a kitten soon after we settled in, and we love her madly, even when she is dashing around during her daily “crazy time”.  We just renewed our yearly lease.  We are amazed and amused and appreciative that this situation works so wonderfully for us.  Oh, and we share all our expenses.

         For now, we can ENABLE each other!  Enabling never felt so loving!