Thanksgiving 2010

There were many things I was thankful for before Thanksgiving. Afterward, I find myself thankful for even more.

We were sold out....again. Thanksgiving was on Nanny's turf. Well, part of it. We celebrated at home that evening, but all plans for neutral territory or our own home were null and void. Dad said, "Sure, we'd love to come have lunch with you." And so we did.

There is nothing worse than being obligated to hug someone you don't like. Maybe there is, but it sure doesn't feel like it. And thus began our visit. Lunch was pleasant. Mom and I agreed to make the best of a bad situation and be on our best behavior. Apparently it worked. One of the managers came over to greet our table. Gwen, bless her heart, had no idea who we were.
"Oh, my goodness," she said placing her hands on my mom's shoulders, "You must be Mary Frances. Fran has told us so much about you and your son Ben. Did he come with you? We can hardly wait to meet him...we've heard so much about him. And she's shown us so many pictures, such a handsome young man. You must be so proud of him...Fran talks about him non-stop." Mom placed her knife and fork on her plate (a good thing, too), smiled sweetly and said, "No, I'm Melinda...the daughter-in-law. This is my daughter Abbie...Fran's granddaughter." Poor Gwen. I now understand the term 'pole-axed'. She replied, "Oh, well, yes, um...she talks about you, too....and Amy." Amy??? Suddenly, I felt like a footnote or a Post Script. It's one thing to suspect that someone thinks you are nothing-it's another for the proof to be out there in the open.
Then mom said, "Fran, how would you like to get out? Go for a drive?" I thought, Great, we will open the door and push her out.....YES!!! My dad just looked at my mom like she had lost her mind. And so we went for a drive. For about an hour. And Fran fell asleep. The drive had exhausted her...and so mom's devious plan to not engage in further conversation or visitation worked. So we took her back to the Assisted Living center, set her up for the evening and said our good-byes. As we were leaving, she called my mom back. Dad and I froze in our tracks...ready to snatch her and run if we needed. Fran asked for a hug and held onto mom's hand and said, "I really miss you." Mom just nodded and said, "Thank-you." And we left.

So I find myself thankful for two women in my life: Strangely enough, Nanny...who taught me that being a bitter, old woman comes with a heavy price. And to be good to everyone I can. How frightening to be old, alone and the only person who is still kind to you is the one you've treated the worst.
And my quirky mom, who again, teaches me that being gracious will always leave you with a clear conscience. That doing what is right, even if it aggravates the hell out of you, is better than wanting vengeance or payback.

There's a note on our fridge:
How someone treats you is their karma. How you react is yours.

Understood...lesson learned.

God Left When the Old Lady Moved In

When I was a little girl, I loved church. I really, really loved church. And I wanted to marry Jesus when I grew up. No...not be a nun, but marry Jesus. I was very upset when I realized that couldn't happen.
I looked forward to mass every Sunday. I loved the smell of the church. The cool, slick feeling of the wooden pews. The clink of the kneeling bench as you lowered it to pray. And then I would stare at the altar, memorizing every nook and cranny and finally settling on looking at Christ. After telling God everything, I would grab the hymnal and start looking up the songs we would get to seen, squeaking if it were the ones I really loved. Plus, we would get to sing the Gloria, which was my favorite. If we had mass at school during the week, that was all the better. I was so completely in love with God. I talked to him constantly. We had a table in the living room that had this drawer with candles and matches. I would light candles every day and kneel there and pray. God was my dearest friend.
Things changed when my Nanny moved in about four and a half years ago. She was a Saturday evening mass person. She wanted us to attend mass as a family and so we did. I had not been to a Saturday evening mass since I was baptized when I was five months old. It was a complete and total let down. At first, I thought, "How lovely." The evening sun added a warmth to everything. But then, mass started. And it came time to sing the 'Gloria'. Only there was no music. And then the responsorial songs...only there was no music. Surely this was a mistake! I decided that perhaps the music people were sick. Or on vacation. Next week would be better. It wasn't. Week after week with little music. And just like in real life for me....NO music equals a slow decent into hell. Music has and will save me from the brink of dying.
Each week, our Saturday family time was cut short by 'having to get ready for mass'. No more day trips. No working in the yard in the cool of the evening. No more family dinner and a movie nights. Any disregard for mass now was met with temper tantrums and rantings. Mass became an obligation. A hideous obligation. It felt as though God just packed his bags and left.
And he left our home, too.
My mom was raised Baptist and prayers before meals were more free-thought and meaningful. Nanny only wanted 'Bless Us O Lord...' and prayer changed at our table. Fridays during Lent became hell. Mom was allergic to shellfish, but that seemed to be all Fran wanted as her 'no meat' dinner. For my mom to prepare food that she could not eat and should not touch. Holy Days of obligation meant that someone was going to have to leave work in order to get Nanny to mass. Because a 7pm Spanish/English mass was too long and the church was full of 'them'.
I know that no one can make you do anything without your permission. I understand that. But you can be bullied into submission to make things go smoother.
My Nanny moved to a nursing home when mom had a heart attack. Mom couldn't take care of her anymore. She's not coming back.
There will be no more disdainful discussions about overweight people, ethnic origins, southerners, protestants, the neighbors or politics. There will be no more alcoholism. There will be no more whining and temper tantrums. No more diatribes on the wonders of her daughter and her bastard (both literally and euphemistically) son. No more listening to her tell my mom what a failure she is for not giving my father more children. Or at least a son. No more listening to her tell my dad that she was doing her duty to have him and that he owes her a debt of gratitude.
However....the music has returned to our home. Friends have trickled back into our lives. We have animals again. Our house has gone from feeling like a brick hell to a real home.

I can't help but wonder....is it too late to see if God would like to move back in now?

Grounded

I'm grounded. I've never been grounded before....ever. I thought I'd look the word up just to make certain I understood the concept. Here is what I found:

grounded-adj. Sensible and down-to-earth; having one's feet on the ground.

I'm fairly certain that the complete opposite is what got me into trouble in the first place. So really, I'm grounded for being ungrounded. I'm sensing an argument coming on that could by my freedom through confusion. Hmmm.....

Mom is looking over my shoulder and says, "Don't even try it, young lady."

The funny thing is, since it is such a new concept, no one really knew how to approach it--the grounding. I mean, what do I do? Not do volunteer work for a few weeks? Not attend lectures at Berry? Not spend as much social time online? Well, maybe that one...but somehow I need the friends more than ever. Take away my music and art supplies? My parents know I would physically die.

My punishment, at first, seems as kooky as everything about us: I no longer stay at home to do my coursework. I go to Berry. I do my work in an extra office where my mom works. I do research in the library. I do phys ed at the Cage center. It's like day school in paradise. Berry is one of my most favorite places on earth.

It seems crazy, but grounding has really become something intangible. It's knowing that I was given a gift....trust...and I didn't cherish it. It's knowing that I will have to suck it up (the feminist in me doesn't want to say 'man up') and look someone in the eyes and apologize. It's searching for a way to right the wrongs. It's looking at myself in a different way and wondering what need I'm trying to fill and what the more positive course would be. Mostly, it's knowing I received an amazing gift....a person, a heart, a deep soul friend, a love....and didn't treat is as one of my most precious treasures. Perhaps being grounded will help me become more grounded after all.

Thanksgiving 2010

I'm going to start by talking about Halloween. It is by far my favorite holiday, but one of the things I love about Halloween is it's the kick-off for the holiday season. From November to January, we have Thanksgiving, two birthdays, Hanukkah, Christmas and New Year. It's like 60 days of festivities...and you gotta love that!
As I get older, the holidays take on new and different meanings. When you're a kid, Thanksgiving is the Macy's parade, hoping you don't miss the Snoopy balloon and looking forward to dessert later. Cousins come over and you have extra playmates for the day. It's like the dress rehearsal for Christmas. It's hearing your family go around the table and talk about abstract things they are thankful for. Watching them get teary-eyed and wondering what that's about. It's running through the dining room past the sideboard and never seeing the place cards, made years before, that have been laid out in memory of people who are no longer there.
This year, just weeks shy of my sixteenth birthday, I find myself moving from the ranks of child to adult...reflecting teary-eyed over the past year and everything for which I'm so very thankful.

• I spent a month in Europe. I had planned on it being a visit of sight-seeing-arriving with list in hand of all the places I wanted to see. I never expected it to be an experience on the scale that it was. I gained new friends, new life experiences, lost my faith in someways and found it anew in others. I got to know my family in ways that I never thought I could. I thought it would be like a trip to Disney-lots of fun, cute photos and great stories. It was a life changing experience.
  
• I got a bunny. If you know me, then you know I love bunnies. I have dozens of stuffed bunnies. I sleep with them, travel with them, snuggle with them. Now I have a real one. A Holland Llop named S'mores.
  
• My paternal grandmother moved from our house. I won't go further. Again...if you know me, you know it's a really, really good thing.
  
• My mom survived a heart attack. This would be the thing about which I'm most thankful. It has given her a new life, a new perspective and to me a new mom.
  
• A kindred spirit...life traveler....soul mate...best friend.
  
• I finally have a home. Two, to be honest. A brick home and a heart home.
• I'm thankful for arms, legs, hands and feet...a whole body.
  
• Friends...new ones, old ones, ones that love you no matter what you do, but especially Cyberfriends. Who knew you could connect on such deep levels with people you have never met?
  
• Facebook. Is that crazy? In real life, I'm a dork. A geek. A nerd. I dress funny, do weird things to my hair. On Facebook...I don't really have a physical identity, except for a tiny picture. What I do have is a voice.
  
• Emily Satterfield. She absolutely rocks my world! In my worst moments: Being heartbroken. Being so lonely I think I would die from it. Being so sad and depressed I wanted to die. Being so afraid for my mom. Emily sends small notes with big impact: Are you okay? I miss you and I love you.
  
• Lastly, my family. The whole kooky bunch. For the ones that teach me valuable lessons and the ones that just serve as a warning. For the ones living and the ones who are only alive in my heart. For the family of my future. And for family that is of no blood relation to me at all-but family of the heart.
  

The down side of reflection is, of course, the acknowledgment of things I might not be so thankful for. I've lost friends, betrayed trust, made stupid, thoughtless decisions, missed opportunities to make a difference, and wonder a great deal if I've put myself beyond redemption.
My only hope is that if I learn the lessons in all of this, I can move even the worst experiences into the 'thankful' column.

So here I stand, on the cusp of being considered an adult. Although, I want fervently to believe adolescence does end at 27. I need more time to mature. But, I find my reflections, at least, to be more mature. I understand the teary-eyed memories. I miss those people on the old place cards. I don't mind pulling out the old family albums and hearing the funny stories about my family. And, for the first time ever, I think I'll be okay if I miss the Snoopy balloon.

I Missed the Boat

I miss stuff. Not in the longing sense, but more in that absent-minded professor way of getting sidetracked and missing stuff. Big stuff, little stuff, life stuff....My mom can tell me a dozen times that something is going to occur...something I want or need...and I miss it.

Today, I missed the boat. The Love Boat actually. I missed an amazing opportunity into the dynamics of relationships. What exactly did I miss? I don't know. I just know that it was BIG STUFF. And it was about love.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm an examiner. A self-examiner. I analyze myself to annoyance. My head, my heart, my soul, my spirituality, my feminism, my thighs (most annoying right now), my relationships. Just everything. So, trust me when I say I know myself.

Now back to love....and what it is....does anyone really know?

My mom has this old shawl. It's lovely...it really is. It's cashmere and warm. And the color is perfect and whenever she wears it, people always comment on it. It's about 25 years old. You don't know that at first glance, because she's taken care of it. Followed the instructions on cleaning it. Stored it safely and treasured it.

To me that is what love is like.

She will tell you about how she saved her money to buy the shawl. She didn't charge it and pay more than she needed. She saved and waited until she could afford it. There is a lot to be said for waiting. Especially in our world of immediate gratification. But you can still see joy on her face when she recalls actually buying the shawl. Then she will show you the things you don't see: the small tear from a kitten chewing on it, a couple of moth eaten holes, places that are worn thin from wear, one piece of fringe missing (most likely another kitten) and couple of places at the edge that have unraveled.

How is that like love, you ask? From the beginning, it's like buying the shawl. There is such giddiness about something new that you have wanted, had to 'save up' to obtain. You are happy to show off your love-write it in the sky or doodle it on the pages of your journals. You drag out your shawl on every cold day, regardless of how it looks or matches. YOU think it matches everything!

The next year, you get chilly and think about dragging out your beautiful shawl. Ah....now it's both functional and fashionable. You still love it-the way it looks, how people admire it, but now it keeps you warm and dry. As the years pass, though it is still lovely, it's the comfort that you long for and appreciate the most from your shawl. It's knowing that it will still be a prized possession after years of rain, cold, mud, kids drying the dog with it (sorry mom), wiping tears and runny noses with it (sorry again), wrapping up as many kids and animals as possible.
Years go by and you pull it out during inclement weather...sort of like relationships. You get so busy with life and realize you're cold or wet or need comfort and out comes the shawl. Eventually, you leave it tossed on a chair year round, because the need and desire for it is now more frequent.
To me that is an allegory for love. In the beginning, the beauty and newness is overwhelming. You want the world to know about this crazy thing you feel. As time passes, it is still so beautiful, but function takes over and the real living begins. Love is knowing that there will be stormy-days of thinking you will never sleep again when your children are born, days of hectic schedules, thinking that you haven't seen your husband for weeks except in passing. It's knowing that eventually parents will pass on and already wondering how you will get your spouse through that terrible time. It's knowing that you might outlive your children and getting through that, too. It's knowing that one day, you might be taking care of your spouse because he is no longer able. It's all that and a million unforeseen things in between.
If you ask my mom why she spent so much on her shawl, she'll tell you that it was worth every penny. Quality, she says, will last forever.

I know quality when I see it. The kind that will mature, age beautifully, be a constant source of warmth and shelter and love.

I wish whoever created the shawl knew how much joy, warmth and happiness my mom derived from it. This is where love can be a little different: I can say thank you. I don't know how the love will wear, but I know that it will wear forever. Because of the love you put into it before I ever got here.