Remembering My Grandfather on the Anniversary of His Death Forty Years (and Two Days) Ago

This past Wednesday marked the forty year anniversary of my beloved grandfather's death. There will never be an August 22nd that goes by without my remembering the night that Gramp passed away, not as long as there are katydids and crickets singing their August songs in the dark or while my own heart continues to beat. There are some things in life that you simply never forget and for me, my grandfather's death will always be one of them.

As I was trying to think of what to write to mark the occasion, I looked through some old blog posts and came across one from when I was just a baby blogger and barely three months old with probably only a small handful of readers - if that. With that small of a readership, it seems like I should be able to get away with re-posting it as it does a pretty good job of summing up what grandparents mean to me and that seems like a pretty good way to mark the occasion of my grandfather's death all those long forty years ago when I was a mere kid of 13. Funny, I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday but I can still recall exactly how I felt on that late summer night and I can still remember what a fantastic grandfather I was blessed with and the terrific memories that I will always have of him even if August 22nd always makes me a little sad.

Charles E. Hart, July 25th, 1904 to August 22, 1972

"Grandchildren don’t make a man feel old; it’s the knowledge that he’s married to a grandmother." ~ Dame Agatha Christie ... Originally posted October 11, 2006

Last week was pretty rough at work. We were still down two dispatchers due to people having left the company awhile ago, Jen is still out on maternity leave, Erik went on vacation, Matt & Brad went down to North Carolina to pick up a few new ambulances, and several other people were out sick. I put in way too many hours and am going to end up with a ridiculous amount of overtime in my check that will definitely make Uncle Sam very happy. Suffice it to say, the week wore me out and I think I've been carrying over some of that residual tiredness to this week. After all, I'm not as young as I used to be - a fact that people just love to remind me of on a regular basis!

I was still feeling pretty worn out the other morning when one of the paramedics that I work with referred to me as "grandma". Initially I took offense to the comment and then the light bulb went on ... "DUH! I am a grandma!" Because my son and his wife live in Rhode Island, I don't see my grandson very often so it's a little too easy to forget that not only am I old enough to be a grandmother, I am a grandmother.

I think part of the problem is that I don't really consider myself to be old (even though there are days when I feel like I was around before Rome was in ruins) and for some reason I have the mindset that grandparents are, well, old! What I keep forgetting is that I am at the age where a lot of people become grandparents for the first time. My own parents were only 46 when my son Michael was born and my friends Cyndi and Rhonda have both held the title of grandmother for several years. Ealier today I came across an old newspaper announcement for the birth of a granddaughter to one of the guys I used to work with at Norwich PD and I initially thought, "wow, he can't be old enough to be a grandfather" but then I thought, well, why not, his son is older than mine. I have to wonder though if, having kids at home younger than mine, he feels like a grandfather? Which brings me to the question of "what exactly is a grandparent supposed to feel like?"

I was very lucky when it came to my own grandparents though I didn't have the requisite two on each side. My mother's mother died when I was only three months old but my grandmother on my father's side was your typical "granny" and that's exactly what she was called - though in later years she always referred to herself as "Old Gram B". If I've inherited nothing else from her, I have acquired some very unique phrases that I hope to write about in a future entry! My grandmother was your typical old Swamp Yankee who used to knit clothes for my dolls, made a mean raisin-filled cookie, and treated me like gold. I can still remember trips to the big "city" of Willimantic sitting between her and Maurice, my step-grandfather who always smelled (not unpleasantly) like the barns he worked in.

On my mother's side, my grandfather was my idol (and still is). If ever there was a storybook grandfather, my Gramp was one and then some. He had the patience of a saint, a fantastic sense of humor, and brewed a homemade root beer with a kick like a mule! Some of my fondest memories are of times spent with my grandfather - Sunday dinners at his house, car trips to apple orchards or to get ice cream with six of us cousins stuffed in his old bought-at-auction State police cruiser, trips to Mystic Seaport and Sturbridge Village, or just sitting on his lap while he read the Sunday comics to us. I swear there are times when I can still smell his Old Spice aftershave and feel his whiskers on my cheek.

Maybe that's why I have so much trouble picturing myself as a grandparent - I'm still looking at grandparents the way that I looked at mine and my best memories of them were when they were older. Technically, though, they weren't exactly old when they became grandparents - only a few years older than I am now - which is a sobering thought! I think they grew into being fantastic grandparents over time and someday I think - I hope! - I will, too. Right now I'm not very good in the grandparenting department but I hope that when Mathew is older, he'll have good memories of me, too. Memories that perhaps 30+ years later he'll be sitting down to write about if he inherits my enjoyment of writing about everything and nothing!

Maybe that's the greatest thing we can leave our children and grandchildren - memories that they will treasure for a lifetime. I know I treasure the memories my grandparents and parents have given me and, no matter what else I might forget in this life, I hope I never lose those memories for they're truly my inheritance in this life.

Tacos and Burgers and Rice - Oh My!

It's rather hard to believe that a full week has passed and that I have flown out to California and back already but it has and I did. I think I'm still trying to process some of my trip but while I'm doing that, I thought I'd share with you some of the food that I had the chance to enjoy while I was on the West Coast that I can't get here on the East Coast ... and that's probably a good thing as I sure don't need to eat like this on a regular basis!

First up was my late dinner on the Monday that I arrived in Stockton.  My flights were running a bit late so I didn't get checked into my hotel until almost 9:00 and at that point all I wanted was something fast to eat (I really miss the days when they'd actually feed you a real meal on a plane!).  Luckily for me, there was a Jack in the Box right down the road from my hotel so I grabbed an Ultimate Cheeseburger and some Seasoned Curly Fries so that I could take a picture and make my cousin Amy jealous while filling that hole in my stomach! Healthy?  Heck no!  Tasty?  Whoa yeah!

Tuesday dawned rainy and blah but that was okay, I know they need the rain out there and it sure wasn't going to stop me from partaking in my first really good Mexican meal in almost three years!  I decided to head to North Stockton and have lunch at Miguel's which is the very first Mexican restaurant I ever ate at in Stockton way back in 1980 when I visited there with my first husband. Cyndi and I used to go there on occasion also when we weren't hitting up our favorite Cancun as it was closer to her home so yes, there were some sentimental reasons for going there - plus the food is delicious!

I suppose that it looks a little bit like a hole-in-the-wall kind of place but don't let that fool you at all! I got there a bit before the lunch crowd as you can see but when I left, it had filled up quite a bit.

Let's see, I had the combination plate with a chicken taco, chicken enchilada, and chile relleno - delicious!  And may I just say - with no offense to Cancun - that Miguel's makes the best salsa in Stockton.

After a rather long day - more of which I'll tell you about later - I didn't get back to my hotel room until after 11:00 at night and with lunch having been about twelve hours earlier, I decided to hit up another burger joint - this time the local In-N-Out Burger.  Just FYI, I didn't eat all of the fries though I probably could have if I had let myself!  It's probably a good thing that neither Jack in the Box nor In-N-Out Burger have East Coast chains or I'd really be in trouble!

Wednesday's lunch I'll tell you about later when I write a post about my trip to Yosemite National Park with Katharine but for now, I'll skip ahead to Thursday after my return to Stockton when I decided that since I was downtown anyway, I may as well stop in at Cancun for lunch. I knew it wasn't going to be the same without Cyndi there with me but tradition dictated that I eat there at least once.

I got there around 2:30 and had the place to myself which seemed to fit how I felt - the dining room was about as empty as my heart. That said, my stomach was pretty empty too so in honor of my friend, I ordered my traditional #12 combinación plate that consists of a beef enchilada and beef quesadilla along with the usual beans and rice.  I opted to add on a chicken taco also as truthfully, I can't get enough of chicken tacos when I'm in California!

Sentimental fool that I am, before I left I asked my waitress if there was a possibility that I could perhaps buy one of their platters to take home with me to go along with the coffee mug that Cyndi had bought for me years ago.  She offered to check with the manager and he graciously agreed to the transaction so I'm now the proud owner of a Cancun dinner platter. What I'll ever do with it I don't know, but I'm pretty sure I'll never look at it and not think of the wonderful meals I shared at my favorite Mexican restaurant with my best buddy over the years. Like I said, I'm a bit of a sentimental fool.

I didn't get back from visiting Cyndi at her new sub-acute care facility in Sacramento until late on Thursday night and at that point I was too tired to even think about eating so there are no pictures of Thursday night's dinner as there was none! I suppose I could have taken a picture of the Super Dog on a Pretzel Roll from Wienershnitzel that Cyndi had requested and I brought to her but I didn't even think of that!

On Friday, I met an old friend and former roommate of mine for lunch at Arroyo's which used to be a restaurant called Luigi Murphy's years ago that he and I used to frequent quite often back when we were attending San Joaquin Delta College together.  A transplanted Long Islander, Scott has been a resident of Stockton for quite some time now and is now the senior sports writer at the Stockton Record. It was great to see him and reminiscence a bit while also catching up on each other's lives.

Being a bit of a stick in the mud it seems when it comes to my menu choices, I had another chicken taco, chicken enchilada, and chile relleno!  Of course, each restaurant makes their food a little bit differently than the other so it wasn't like I was eating the exact same thing over and over again.  That said, even if I had been that would have been okay by me!

Arroyo's sits on the banks of Quail Lakes which is a series of small man-made lakes with a nice housing area developed around them; it's been part of Stockton for as long as I've known Stockton so the view from our table was quite familiar and also one of my last views of Stockton before I pointed my rental car towards Sacramento for a final visit with Cyndi before heading back down to San Francisco to catch my red-eye flight home - something I'm pretty sure I'd never do again!  As far as last views of Stockton go, this one wasn't bad and sharing it with a long-time friend made it even better.

So anyhow, there you have it - lots of Mexican food with the occasional burger thrown in! Eventually I'll get to the serious stuff in regards to my trip but I just wanted to share this part first. Of course, now I've gone and made myself hungry but there's nary a chicken taco to be found!

In Honor of My Dad's Birthday ...

Today is the 77th anniversary of my father's birth and in honor of that I'm posting this picture.  Now, I suppose you're wondering what on earth a picture of a can of Van Camp's Beenee Weenees has to do with what would have been my father's birthday, aren't you?

In January of 1966, my Dad - who was a career military man in the Air Force and a darned fine aircraft mechanic - was deployed overseas to do his mandatory tour of duty at Da Nang Air Base in the Republic of Vietnam.  I believe that Dad was part of the 61st Tactical Wing at that time and Da Nang was considered to be the world's busiest airport with 1,500 take-offs and landings recorded on peak days.  It was also the target of a lot of bombings and my mother received many a letter that was written in very shaky script as my Dad waited out the bombings in a shelter.

This was back in the days before there was any such thing as web cameras and email so contact was limited to letters that came back to the States via snail mail and maybe - if one was very lucky - a very rare phone call.  If families today think they worry about their military members who are deployed, that's nothing compared to what families went through during the Vietnam War and the wars that preceded it. I've got no doubt that my Mom was probably worried sick pretty much every single day that my Dad was away but being made of the stern Yankee stock combined with a very stiff British upper lip that she inherited from her mother, my Mom very rarely showed any of that fear and worry that she no doubt felt as she waited for each letter to arrive.

Meanwhile, my Dad was no doubt on the other side of the world also looking forward to Daily Mail Call when he'd receive word from home or if he was really lucky, a Care Package that my Mom had lovingly put together containing some of his favorite things from the States that he couldn't possibly get his hands on in Vietnam.  As packages went over via slow boat back in those days, Mom had to be choosy about what she would include so she'd bake some of his favorites that she knew would last the long trip and also include a few other non-perishables like cans of Vienna Sausages and another of Dad's favorites - Beenee Weenees.

I hadn't seen a can of Beenee Weenees in years but on a recent trip to the grocery store, while searching the shelves for something else, I found myself looking directly at the Van Camp's label on the can of one of my Dad's favorite things to receive when he was in Vietnam.  Needless to say I had to buy a can and maybe - just maybe - I'll pop it open and eat the contents today in honor of my Dad and his service to our country all those many years ago.

Happy Birthday, Dad; as you can see, you'll never be forgotten even if it's in ways you never thought twice about!

Six Sad Songs on a Saturday

This post came about rather accidentally ... I was going through my CDs last night to upload some music to the computer so that I could put it on my iPod for my train ride down to Florida this coming Friday when I came across a CD that I had burned quite a few years ago with the simple title on the case of "Angst". Ut-oh ... I had totally forgotten about that CD but as soon as it was in my hand I immediately remembered why I'd made it and obviously it wasn't because I was at a high spot in my life.

Those of you who have been with me on this blog for some time are probably quite aware that I walk around with a hole in my heart and have been doing so for years. I don't think about the guy who put it there too much these days (oh thank goodness!) but he's someone I still love and always will. He can't be with me and I can't be with him but for awhile there we were together and it was that sort of heart-in-your-mouth, forget-to-breathe kind of love that has probably inspired more sad songs than anything else when it goes wrong.

Anyhow, long story short it did go wrong and not being a songwriter or musician myself I turned to the help of those who could in one of the saddest genres of music out there - country.  The CD in question has 18 songs that put into words what my heart was feeling and I'm sure I listened to it endlessly until I finally sucked it up, pulled myself together, and put the music of my life away where I completely forgot about it until last night when I pulled it out and decided to see just how angsty I was at the time.

Wow, I'm surprised I was upright and functioning and not taking copious amounts of anti-depressants at the time! However, I can assure you that I wasn't and that today I can listen to these songs with merely a twinge of sadness and regret for what might have been but never was rather than climbing back into a large pit of darkness and despair and pulling the covers back over my head.

Life goes on, hearts sort of heal, and even though you never really forget that you have a hole in your heart, you get on with life. Of course with that said, the song at the bottom of this pile still applies from time to time though thankfully those times are further and further apart. I no longer need to burn CDs labeled "Angst" to sum up my life and can now just enjoy the music for what it is - good music by good artists who got me through a tough patch in my life.

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

All of the posting the last couple days of pictures from my latest trip to New York City with Amanda got me to thinking about one of my very first trips to New York City when I wasn't much older than Amanda in September of 1977. At the time I had just barely turned 19 years old and was stationed at McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey which made it easy to hop on a bus and venture up to the Big Apple where I met up with my best high school buddy Carol, still only 18 years old, who had taken the train down from Connecticut.

We were getting together to celebrate my birthday a few days late as well as attend my very first Broadway play at the Helen Hayes Theater.  We had chosen Equus as at the time it was starring Leonard Nimoy and Carol and I were admittedly big Star Trek fans which made it totally exciting for us!

Probably the only reason we chose Equus was because of Nimoy as the play itself is rather, uhm, disturbing you might say. Equus was written in 1973 by Peter Shaffer and it tells the story of a psychiatrist who attempts to treat a young man who has a pathological religious/sexual fascination with horses.  Pretty heavy material for a couple of teenagers especially considering there's full frontal nudity at one point; you've got to remember, 1977 was a totally different time as compared to now and those things were still pretty racy.   I can still remember the older lady sitting next to me waking up at just that point in the play and gasping "Oh my goodness!" rather loudly! 

Still it was quite the adventure for Carol and I and we had a wonderful time posing for pictures in front of the theater ...

... and then later visiting the Empire State Building where I posed for this picture at the top.  The quality is pretty terrible as these pictures are pretty old and were taken with what I believe was a Kodak 110 Instamatic Camera - or something along those lines - so I have no idea if I was pointing at anything in particular or not but I have a feeling I was.  I don't believe that was a typical pose for me!  

Good Lord, and to think that I thought I was fat back then. What the heck was I thinking??

This picture of Carol was taken back at the Hotel Edison where we decided to stay for the night.  That was back in the days when you could actually walk into a hotel and ask if there were any vacancies then get a room without having to lop off an arm and a leg to pay for it!  I bet if Carol were to see this she'd be shocked at how young she looks, too!

Anyhow, this trip was just one of several that Carol and I took to New York City while I was living in New Jersey but it may be the only one that I have any pictures of.  Obviously I wasn't attached to a camera back then like I am now which is too bad as the memories these pictures provoke are priceless.  I can still remember how much we laughed when we went to open the window shade of our hotel room and it came crashing down off of the window or how shocked we were when Leonard Nimoy just materialized in front of us while we were taking pictures out in front of the theater.  And what did my brilliant 19-year old mind come up with to say on such an auspicious an occasion?  "Oh, it's you!"  Duh ...

Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go feel old and fat!

A Moment in Time

In spite of a nice Christmas, I've been missing Jamie being home and reflecting a bit on this past summer when she was last here.  While doing so, I came across some of the pictures that she took when we stopped by the Long Island Sound near New Haven, Connecticut on our way home from Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in New York.  I thought I'd share one of my favorites with you.

An Award Prompts a Walk Down Memory Lane

Recently a new blogging friend Kat, webmistress of Kat's Corner, proclaimed my blog as "You Are a Great Read" and passed on the pictured award to me. I was particularly honored to get this award as the other two blogs that she passed it along to were cat blogs - We Three, Ginger cats tales and The Wumpus.com - and we all know how many really good cat blogs there are out there!

Part of accepting this award is to take on the task of listing ten things about myself which is easier said than done when you've pretty much left your life an open blog for the past three years. What on earth could I possibly find of interest to write about that I haven't already told you about before? Well, how about some ancient history that perhaps I've not divulged before? Ten things about my time serving in the United States Air Force (which I thought might be appropriate being that Kat is a retired MSgt from the Air Force). So, here we go then ...

1. I left for basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas at the young age of 17 on June 7th, 1976 after graduating from high school on June 3rd of that same year. I didn't want to give myself time to chicken out!
   
2. I really, really, really wanted to go into Law Enforcement but there were no openings in that career field when I enlisted so I let my recruiter talk me into Ground Radio Repair instead as I somehow scored high on the Electronics section of my ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) test.
3. I was stationed at Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi from July of 1976 until February of 1977 for training in my "chosen" career field.
   
4. My very first duty station was at McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey where I was assigned to a small radio facility that was actually part of Gibbsboro Radar Station which was located further south of McGuire.
5. While stationed at McGuire, I met my first husband at the Academy Awards ... or at least a televised showing of them at the barracks!
   
6. I once received orders for Spain but at the same time my then-husband, who was an Air Traffic Controller, received orders for Germany. We figured that commuting to France wasn't going to work so turned the orders down (which we could do as it would have required both of us to extend our enlistments).
7. In 1980 I opted to change career fields, cross-trained over to Motion Picture Camera Operator, and received orders to be transferred to Norton Air Force Base in San Bernardino, California.
8. Shortly after moving to California I became pregnant with my first child - Michael Joseph. At the time of his birth, I opted to leave the Air Force to care for my son. In retrospect I probably should have stayed in but my crystal ball wasn't working at the time and I gave up the option of being able to retire at age 37 had I made the Air Force a career. Idiot!
9. I was honorably discharged on April 22nd, 1980 with the rank of Sergeant.
   
10. Shortly after I got out of the service, so did my first husband and we moved to Stockton, California to begin civilian life. Later that year was when he told me that there were too many single women for him to be a husband and father and that was the first time I became a single parent.

And there you have it - ten things about me from what now seems like another lifetime ago. Thank you once again, Kat, for the lovely award and for the chance to stroll a little bit down Memory Lane. Now can someone tell me where the last 33 years went??

Rusted Remains of Days Gone By in Preston

Having three days off in a row can be a wonderful thing - especially when the sun is shining, the skies are a beautiful blue, and there are interesting things to take pictures of! This past Thursday was no exception as I bribed Amanda with ice cream out at Buttonwood Farm if she wanted to go for a ride with me to check out some old milk trucks that Renee, one of the ladies that I work with, had told me about awhile back.

The trucks are located behind the old Broad Brook Dairy which was located on Route 165 in Preston, Connecticut and run by the Niewiarowski family. Back in the day, there used to be many dairies in the area that not only delivered farm fresh milk right to your door in awesomely cool glass milk bottles but that also sold farm fresh ice cream. I have very fond memories of my grandfather taking us to Norm's Dairy Bar in Jewett City when I was a kid and getting the best vanilla ice cream cones ever and I also recall visiting the Broad Brook Dairy from time to time, too.

It seemed like just about every area had their own dairy store and I'm sure that many Preston residents happily remember when the Broad Brook Dairy was up and running for them to stop in at or when the dairy's trucks delivered fresh milk, cream, butter, and the like to their homes. There really was nothing quite like it and it's one of those by-gone things that I really miss. I was fortunate enough to live in an area of Canterbury that the Mountain Dairy out of Storrs still delivered to when the girls were little back in the early 90's and even though it might have cost a little extra to have milk delivered each week it was so good - and good for you - that it was more than worth it.

Unfortunately all that remains of the Broad Brook Dairy, whose name is still barely visible on the old neon sign above the door, is a building partially torn down and three rusted milk trucks sitting in the back lot - the trucks that Renee had told me about. Stepping over what later turned out to be a flattened "no trespassing" sign attached to the flattened fencing in front of the building (oops!), Amanda and I took a walk back towards the rusted remains of the trucks that were last registered in 1968 and had obviously seen better days!

If trucks could talk, I'm sure that these three would really have had some stories to tell. Stories of the families that they delivered to, stories of the drivers who sat behind their steering wheels, and stories of their travels up and down the back roads of Preston. Unfortunately, though, these trucks weren't talking as they just sat still in a silent testament to an age when life was simpler and things tasted a heck of a lot better.

As I took pictures of the dilapidated trucks and the crumbling building I mentioned to Amanda that I had lots of happy childhood memories of going to places like Broad Brook and getting some of the best ice cream ever but obviously those days were long gone by.

"So, how's it feel to be looking at your crumbling childhood?", the almost 17-year old who will never have those kind of memories asked me.

All I could say was, "Sad. Very, very sad."

Previews of Coming Attractions!

The bad thing about vacations is that they end. The good thing about vacations is that the memories can continue on long after you come home, especially if you took an awful lot of pictures! I know you guys are going to find this really hard to believe but I did take a lot of pictures and by that I mean a lot of pictures! It's going to take me awhile to get them all sorted out but in the meantime, I thought I would share a few before heading into work for another long 14-hour day. Like I said, the bad thing about vacations is that they end!

The view from our deck through the sea grass and down to the beach.

One of the locals stopped by to sit on the roof and visit for awhile!

The Point Judith Lighthouse

One of the fantastic sunsets over Matunuck Beach.

The SouthEast Lighthouse on Block Island - very old and very beautiful!

The top of the Pilgrim Monument at Provincetown, Cape Cod.

Did I happen to mention that the sunsets were absolutely gorgeous??

This may sound strange but after last week, I now have a new-found love for the State of Rhode Island and I'm going to make it a point to get back over that way more often. Unfortunately, it won't be in the company of five fantastic people but I will take their memories with me when I go and have them there in spirit if not in body.

Speaking of memories, I'll share some of them tomorrow when I have a day off and can collect my thoughts as well as put some more pictures together! You may not have ever thought so before but trust me - you're going to want to go to Rhode Island, too!

“Remembering the past gives power to the present.”

Never forget.

Sunday Remembrances

Even though I have lived in Norwich for almost 8-1/2 years (a lifetime achievement for me!), were you to ask me where I'm from I would answer Canterbury, Connecticut as that's where my roots originate.  In spite of the fact that my Dad was career military, my parents lived in Canterbury when I was born and whenever Dad would get shipped overseas, it was back to Canterbury (or close to it) that we would return.

The vast majority of my relatives have lived in Canterbury at one time or another and a lot of them still do - including my mother.  Both of the grandparents that I grew up with made their homes in Canterbury, though initially my father's mother lived in the small town of Scotland just west of Canterbury before eventually moving to the little house across from my aunt and uncle that they built for her.

My beloved grandfather that I have written of several times before in this blog was born and raised in Canterbury - eventually building his own house across the street from his childhood home.  It was at his house that some of the best memories of my life occurred with a lot of those memories occurring on Sundays and beginning in this church.



This is the First Congregational Church of Canterbury and it stands on the Canterbury Green about a mile or so up from my grandfather's former house on Route 169.  This isn't the original First Congregational Church as the first building was destroyed in a fire when I was quite young but I still have memories of swinging on the bell rope as a very young child at that church when my grandfather would let us try to ring the bell for Sunday services.

My grandfather was a member in good standing of the First Congregational Church and served as Sunday School Superintendent for many years as well as being a Deacon.  He faithfully attended church every Sunday and customarily sat in the second pew on the right side.  When we were in Connecticut during the times my Dad was overseas, I went to Sunday School here and afterwards I would always meet my grandfather and attend Sunday services with him.

Sunday School classes were held in the basement of the church (now called Hart Fellowship Hall in honor of my grandfather) and after class was over I would go upstairs and wait on a bench in the vestibule until my grandfather would walk through the door.  At that time I would always jump up and give him a big hug (my grandfather gave the best hugs ever!) and then I would accompany him to "our pew" where I would always be so proud to be sitting next to him as he sang the hymns of worship in a clear, unfaltering voice and listened intently to the sermon.  I loved going to church with Gramp and truly missed it when we weren't living in the area.

Sunday services were always followed by Sunday dinner at Gramp's house.  By the time Gramp and I would return to his house after services were over the place was bustling with activity as my mother, brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins were all gathered for the weekly ritual.  Before church my grandfather would always put a roast beef into the oven that was generally accompanied by the best scalloped potatoes on the East Coast and by the time we got there after church, just about everything was ready including fresh vegetables from Gramp's own garden and mashed potatoes that I generally got the honor of mashing once my Aunt Mary taught me how to get the lumps out!

The adults and youngest of the children would gather round the big dining room table while we 'older' kids got to eat at the kitchen table.  Myself, my oldest brother Mark, my cousins Steve and Dave who were brothers, and my other cousins Diana and Pat who were sisters, generally made up the group in the kitchen though sometimes one of my younger brothers or cousins might get to join us, too.  Along with the fantastic meal, we drank bottle after bottle of my grandfather's homemade root beer that had an amazing kick to it unlike any other root beer I have ever had!  After dinner there were was always a cake which was made by my grandfather that had the funkiest colored frosting imaginable and sometimes his fantastic bread pudding.

Following dinner the adults would retire to the living room while myself and the cousins would tend to kitchen clean-up and dish duty. Sometimes one of my older uncles would join in and then even doing the dishes turned into a fun task.  When the cleaning up was done we'd all spend the day at Gramp's either running around outside and driving the little tractor around the fields or, if it was winter, sledding down the hills behind the house.  Oftentimes my grandfather would pile all of us kids into his car (usually an old State Police cruiser that he had bought at auction) and we'd go for a ride somewhere in the countryside. If the weather was bad we'd stay inside playing board games like Clue or card games like Hi-Lo-Jack and no Sunday was complete until Gramp had read us the Sunday Funnies from the local newspaper. 

When my grandfather was alive Sundays were absolutely the best day of the week and I always looked forward to them knowing that I got to spend time with my grandfather, my cousins, and the rest of my family.  Sundays were definitely special back then but all that ended on August 22nd, 1972 when my grandfather died from leukemia long before he should have.  Thirty-six years later I can still remember how special Gramp made Sundays and how special he always made me feel. 

Whenever I go to visit my Mom, I drive past the church that I once spent so many happy hours in and that, technically, I'm still a member of.  As all things do over time, it's changed quite a bit since my grandfather attended there and I sat proudly by his side but the sight of it will always bring back many happy memories of a time when Sundays were special and a young girl knew that someone loved her unconditionally.

Portraits from the Past

One of the casualties of a divorce, in addition to the really obvious ones, can be pictures of your family. In my own divorce back in 2002, that was most definitely the case as the ex-husband got custody of the vast majority of the professional portraits that we had taken of the kids when they were younger. Chances are good I have some of them stashed somewhere around the house but, old and addle-brained that I am, I'm not exactly sure where they might be hiding. No doubt I'll come across them someday but for now it was a treat to find some of them while I was up at my mother's house this past weekend.

Those of you who are regular readers of my blog have seen quite a few pictures of Amanda, my oldest daughter, but I guarantee you that she looks nothing like the pictures of this little girl in these pictures. Of course I'm a bit prejudiced, but wasn't she just adorable?

The first picture above was taken when Amanda was a little over two years old, the one to the right was at age three, and the third one was taken when she was in third grade at Veterans School here in Norwich.

Time goes by so quickly that it's way too easy to forget what your children used to look like, especially when the child in question has taken to coloring their hair every shade except normal and, rather than a big smile, what you get most of the time is a surly teenage sneer. Sigh ... It's a good thing I found these pictures to help me remember!

Speaking of teenagers, Amanda isn't the only that I can lay claim to as Jamie is most definitely in the same category when it comes to her age - though certainly not her hair! This first picture of Jamie was when she was only about 4 months old. The quilt that she's posing on was one that I actually made myself for my son before he was born so it's circa 1981 and the only quilt that I ever attempted to make in my life. Each child used it as a baby and now it's stored away in a box in the basement. Now that I think about it, I should have given it to my son for my grandson to use - d'oh! Guess I'll have to try to remember it for the next grandchild - if there is a next grandchild!

This second picture of Jamie was taken when she was two years old, very close to the same age that Amanda was in the first picture of her above. As you can see, at that time I had one blonde daughter and one brunette daughter but both were real cuties - at least in my own non-prejudiced opinion! Oh wait, I'm a mom, is there really such a thing when it comes to your own kids? Probably not!

Another picture that I found on Friday is this one of Jamie wearing a blue sunflower dress that I just loved. Amanda had a matching red one and they both looked so girly and cute when they posed for these pictures. If you look closely, you can see that Jamie has that devil-may-care gleam in her eye and even though she no longer has that dress, she certainly has that look! She was always my "spit in their eye" child while Amanda was more of the quiet child. The girls are only 13 months apart in age but miles apart in personality - they always have been and probably always will be. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that these two individuals have the same parents but trust me, they do!

Last but certainly not least is a picture that I had completely and totally forgotten was ever taken but I'm so glad that I have again. This Christmas picture was taken in 1993 when Michael was 12, Amanda was 1-1/2, and Jamie wasn't quite 6 months old. A redhead, a blonde, and a brunette and yet all three of them are mine. Quite the assortment, isn't it?

When your kids drive you crazy, as mine sometimes do, it's easy to forget what a gift they truly are but this last picture helps me to remember - at least for a few minutes - until they do something to drive me nuts yet again! Or is that more like a short putt??

The Best Deal of the Yard Sale

I may have only raked in a measly $18.50 at yesterday's yard sale but that doesn't mean that I didn't come home with a couple of things that I didn't have before - like a George Foreman style grill that didn't sell which my sister-in-law was just going to send to Goodwill and a couple of pretty blue kitchen cannisters.

The best thing, though, wasn't in the yard sale but was found in my Mom's house while we were gathering things up to put in the sale - this circa 1950 picture of my Mom when she was about 16 years old, the same age Amanda is now. You'll notice she doesn't have pink or blue or green hair, though!

She said that I could keep it and I've got to say that's worth a lot more than $18.50 any day of the week!

The Dead Dads Club Redux

My Dad once said that he thought February was the most miserable month ever and I'm inclined to agree - especially living in New England and just wanting winter to go away while it tenaciously hangs on with one bout of lousy weather after another. By this time of the year I'm ready to scream from the cold, the dark, the hope of spring just around the corner but still out of reach, and the memories that February inevitably brings.

Five years ago was one of the coldest and most miserable Februarys ever and went beyond miserable when my Dad died that month. I guess that considering how he felt about February it was quite fitting that he chose that month to start his "big dirt nap" as he used to call it.

Maybe people think that you can't just choose when you're going to die outside of suicide but I tend to disagree. I know that in speaking to Dr. Slater, Dad's oncologist, he said that a person can't just decide they don't want to live anymore but I think he might be wrong on that one. My Dad was tired and worn out from battling non-Hodgkin's lymphoma and as much as he hated leaving my mother, he was tired of fighting and just wanted to rest. I guess in the end I can't blame him for wanting that but it doesn't mean I still don't miss him and think that it was horribly unfair that he left when I was finally beginning to appreciate who he was as a man and a father.

Last year I wrote a post about The Dead Dads Club so I thought I would repost an excerpt from that post for those who might have missed it and also because I can't really put the feeling of having lost my father into words any better this year than I did last year ...

The Dead Dads Club - originally posted February 22, 2007

CRISTINA: "There's a club. The Dead Dads Club. And you can't be in it until you're in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize. But until you feel that loss ... My dad died when I was nine. George, I'm really sorry you had to join the club."
GEORGE: "I ... I don't know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't."
CRISTINA: "Yeah, that never really changes."

Cristina is right, that never really changes. Four years ago I became a member of The Dead Dads Club when my father passed away unexpectedly in the middle of a CAT scan procedure. Four years later I still have trouble believing it because it still seems so surreal. If you have never lost a parent or a close loved one, you can't grasp the enormous sense of impossibility that never seems to go away. You learn to exist without that person, you have to, but you will still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and it will take you awhile to remember that person is gone because it will just never feel right or real. It isn't just at night either, it can be anytime of the day or night when the overwhelming sense of loss overtakes you from out of the blue. I will never get used to it.

But as much as the loss of my father has affected me, I know that the loss to my mother was immeasurable. My parents were just a little over two years short of their 50th wedding anniversary when Dad passed away and I have no doubt that losing someone after that amount of time has got to be just like losing a part of yourself. How my Mom has survived the ensuing years without him is amazing to me, especially considering that she always thought that she would never have to face that possibility; that with her family's health record she would go before him. Even when my Dad was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma my Mom still thought she would die first but I think that was more of a desire of wanting to go first because she couldn't imagine an existence without him. I admire her strength in being able to go on and I thank her for sticking around when I'm sure she really wanted to just lie down beside my Dad and join him on the other side.

Death is obviously an inevitable part of life - we're born and we die - it's the whole Circle of Life thing but that doesn't mean that it's easy to understand or even accept sometimes. I deal with death a lot in my job - not on a personal level but on a level where I have to come to know a lot of our patients by their names in the computer or on the spreadsheet. I talk to people on 911 whose family members are dead or dying; I've heard their anguished cries and the disbelief in their voices on the other end of the phone; and I have sympathized with them over their loss. Thankfully I deal with death from behind a computer, a telephone, and a radio microphone. How the guys and gals that are in the field deal with death face-to-face is beyond me. I could never do it, I know my limitations, but I admire those that can and do.

For anyone else out there who is part of The Dead Dads Club, there is a website where you can memorialize your father and post a tribute to him next to those of others who have lost their fathers. Just click here. And if you aren't a member yet, go tell your father how much he means to you while you still can. Along with your mothers, your grandparents, and anyone else you may have forgotten to tell that to lately.

Two Words - Great Weekend!

I can tell I am totally wiped out from this weekend simply because I have been sitting here staring at the same wall sconce for well over 30 minutes! You know your mind is totally tired when you can just sit in one spot and marvel over a lighting fixture! But it's a good sort of tired. Even though we come to know each other quite a bit through our blogs, I believe there is always that small bit of trepidation at actually meeting another blogger in person. Whereas the internet is a great way to meet people one of the things that you learn very quickly (especially if you've ever done any sort of internet dating) is that people are not always who they say they are. Consequently when you actually meet the person whose blog you may have been reading for a very long time, there's always that little thought at the back of your head wondering if this person is going to be anything at all like they are online I had obviously had the extreme pleasure of meeting Mags before this past weekend and she is everything she claims to be on her blog and then some. A warm, loving, friendly, funny woman you'll not find anywhere else and on top of all that - THE WOMAN CAN COOK! Obviously Mags had a passion for food and the wonderful things that can be done with it before she started culinary school (it was one of the many things we talked about) and she has taken that passion and turned into a fantastic skill. I can't say enough good things about her talent in the kitchen or how about how much joy she obviously gets from cooking for others. While I slept in late in Mags' room (which she was more than gracious to give up to me due to my known back issues) and Mo slumbered away in the guest room, Mags was up early Saturday morning making a delicious lemon cake from scratch that accompanied herbed shirred eggs, something that I had never had before. I'm not sure which was better - the eggs or the cake (though I know which one Miss Bee would pick!). Both were out of this world and a fantastic way to start our day. Even though we had a full day planned ahead of us, there was the knowledge that when we got back to Mags' house she was going to be preparing yet another marvelous meal for us complete with two desserts and how can you not love a woman who makes not just dessert but two desserts?? I left her house Saturday night ready to pop but it was all just so darned good that it was hard to stop eating As for Morgen himself - what a great, great guy. If you get the idea from his blog that he's a man who laughs easily, who has a great sense of humor, and who is just like a big teddy bear then you've got the right idea! He's also a fantastic dancer as I found out when I had mentioned that I had been tagged for a meme by Mimi about dancing but despaired of being able to write it because I couldn't remember the last time I had slow-danced with a man. I had no sooner gotten that out of my mouth then Mo offered me his hand and we danced right there in the kitchen. It was just the sweetest thing ever and now I can say that yes, I have slow-danced recently with a great guy. At Gillette Castle I thought the three of us were going to get tossed from the premises when we kept laughing so much about the tour guide whose voice went UP all the time but we just found it to be the funniest thing and it became a running joke throughout the rest of the weekend. I could be wrong but it seemed that the three of us all seemed to have the same sense of humor - either that or we are all three total nut cases and that's why we found things so funny! I'm probably not too far off in that assessment! I really can't tell you what my favorite part of the weekend was (I can tell you that going to work in the middle of it wasn't!) because it was just so nice to spend time with people whom I genuinely like and have come to care very much for. It's like I've known both Mags & Mo so much longer than I have and they are both people well worth knowing. I'm proud and happy to call them both "friend" as there are none finer. Now if Mags and I could just talk Mo into moving to Connecticut we'd be all set! For the record, we did try heartily on that one, too! We found a lovely little shop for rent down in Essex that would probably cost for one month what Mo pays now for an entire year but I know of at least two loyal customers he'd have and being the type of guy he is, he'd have many, many more to follow. A big, big thank you to Mags for being such a splendid hostess this weekend and another big thank you to Mo for trusting us enough to get on a train and make the long trek out here as I'm sure he had his thoughts about meeting us, too. It really was the best of times! Oh, and before I forget ... the "Two Words - Fairy Wings" refers to a text message that I got from Amanda in the middle of our day on Saturday. When I couldn't think of what to title yesterday's post Mo suggested that as a title so I figured why not?! Two Words - Good Idea! Two Better Words ... Great Weekend!