Forgiveness

During the stress of holidays, or maybe it is the memory of the past, or the absence of those who are no longer present with us today...I needed something to fill the emptiness. I searched for something to read to feed my heart and soul. I would pick up a book and after three or four pages, I would discard it, feeling empty.

A few days before Christmas, while I was at the book store, I found a movie called A Christmas Snow by Jim Stovall. I bought it and took it home to read that night while in bed. While getting ready for bed, I found the movie version of the book was on television. I was lucky because the movie had just started, so I sat down on my rocker to watch it. The movie was good but its underlying message was of forgiveness and it touched a sore spot buried deep down inside of me.

Forgiveness for me is hard. For me I anguished over forgiveness and the lack of it over a number of years, centering on the man I once loved, and who left me. The changes were deep and hard and I still struggle with this area called "forgiveness."

In the movie, Snow, the main character at the age of 10 watched her father walk out on her and her mother at Christmas time. The girl goes through her life cold and closed off and it isn't until she is in her 40s that a Christmas blizzard stands a young girl and an older man with her that her life changes.

I don't consider myself a sap but I cried at the end of the movie. That night I read the book and it helped me. No, forgiveness is still hard because I cannot forgive that person for his actions that hurt me and hurt my children deeply. But I have forgiven myself for being so hard on me. I have moved on despite the sadness. That is how I handle forgiveness.

Holidays, movies, books and songs can make a person weep or laugh or be introspective. I think a movie and a book called Snow did that for me this Christmas in 2010. I was inspired by the author, Jim Stovall, who is blind. He is a man who is wiser and can see more in his heart and words, then I did with my sight.

My Father's Christmas

My father’s favorite holiday was Christmas. It officially began in our house on December 6—St. Nicholas Day. Upon waking, my brother and I would find two socks hung on the stair rail overlooking our modest living room. The socks usually were Dad’s dress socks, well worn, sometimes with a hole in the toe or heel, and strung up haphazardly with twine.

Inside each sock was my Dad’s idea of a joke—maybe two potatoes complete with eyes or a few crooked carrots and a penny or two. If he could have found coal, it would have been in there as well. When it came to Christmas, my father was very influenced by the two Ds—Dickens and the Depression.

But my brother and I both knew that the frugality of St. Nicholas Day, only meant that Christmas Day would be that much sweeter.

There was always a real tree, at least until the advent of artificial trees. My father insisted it wasn’t Christmas unless the piney scent of a tree wafted through the house. He favored the long needled pine, which he thought gave best advantage to the ornaments and the strings of bubble lights that as a child I’d stare at with fascination as they heated and bubbled their rich ambers, greens, reds and blues.

My earliest memory of trimming the tree was at age five. My brother hadn’t been born yet, so I bore the brunt of my father’s Christmas mania. I have a distinct memory of sitting at the kitchen table with an enormous bowl of freshly popped corn in front of me that I wished would disappear. In my one hand I held a thick needle attached to heavy thread that I imagined could suture a rhino’s hide, and in my other hand I held a fragile kernel of popcorn.

No matter how hard I tried, as many times as I successfully threaded a kernel, just as many times I stabbed my finger or broke the popcorn, disappointing my father.

So by the time my brother was old enough to string corn, my father abandoned popcorn chains and turn his meticulous attention to tinsel and trains.

Under my father’s unrelenting gaze, my brother and I had to, strand by strand, delicately place the tinsel on the tree. It was to hang just so, giving the appearance of icicles.

Of course, as my brother and I grew older and bolder, whenever my father’s back was turned, we’d toss handful of tinsel all over the tree until he finally lost his temper and exiled us from the tree trimming, which had been our intention all along.

Sadly, with the advent of artificial trees, my mother, a compulsive neat freak, insisted we get one. For years, my father fought her, until she wore him down. But his surrender was not without a small victory. He brought home what I like to call his anti-Christmas tree—a white, glittery concoction that looked like it should come with a strobe light and disco boots.

Not to be deterred, my father exacted his revenge for the loss of the piney Christmas trees, with the train that ate our basement. The train started small and simply, a single track circling the Christmas tree. There was one engine, maybe six cars, a black transformer with a lever that controlled the train. Even at five, I was allowed to fit the track together and play with the lever.

But each Christmas, my father’s notion of a proper train grew until “the train” took up half our basement. Set up on a long, rectangular sheet of plywood supported by two sawhorses, there were several trains, multiple transformers, engines with lights, coal cars, passenger cars, cabooses, towns, hills and bridges, trees with fake snow and townspeople. It was unbelievable, and it was Christmas.

Least I forget the outside—my father strung lights on all the bushes and trees and along the eaves of the house, even the statue of the Blessed Virgin with hands folded in prayer held a string of light. And for a while a lighted, life-size, plastic Santa stood next to our front door, letting everyone in the neighborhood know that this was the Christmas house.

After I got married and moved to another state, my father started putting up two Christmas trees—one in the living room and one in the finished basement. Now resigned to the world of artificial trees, neither tree was real, but at least they were green.

By then he’d lost interest in the train, but not Christmas. Whenever I came home for the holidays, my father would decorate the basement as if it was a Christmas store. There’d be strings of lights around the walls and over pictures; the bar would have garlands and tinsel all over it, and always along the top of one wall would be a sign welcoming us home for the holidays.

So when my father was dying in late fall of 1996, he hung on until December 20, which we all thought was his intention. And as if honoring that intention, my mother decided to hold his funeral the day after Christmas.

Standing at the lectern in the church, my brother started my Dad’s eulogy by turning around and pointing at the Christmas decorations—the Christmas trees, the poinsettias, the lights, and the wreaths.

“Dad would have loved this,” he began. “At Christmas, if it didn’t move he decorated it.”

In loving memory of my Dad.

How We Celebrate Christmas

Christmas season can be stressful or fun. For me, it is both. It used to be my buying gifts for my nine kids, doing the shopping and wrapping, preparing the Christmas Eve meal and Christmas Day meal. With nine children and not living by our extended families, we never got invited to spend the holidays with anyone else. That is the downside of a very large family. Oh wait...I did have one friend who would invite my family over to their house for snacks, desserts and ice cream pecan balls, on Christmas night. It was something that I looked forward to. It prolonged the day. The desserts were delicious. They would serve vanilla ice cream rolled in crush pecans for the children. I know my kids liked that treat and I wished that I was one of them while they ate the pecan balls. But I did sneak a spoonful or two from one of the kid's bowls.

Now that my children are grown with families of their own, my Christmas has changed. I have tried to prolong the holiday with our family cookie exchange. Each year it turns out better then the one before.

We also try to go to Light up Night in Bellevue, in one of the nearby boroughs. We start off at my son's house and walk the two blocks to the downtown area. We stand in line for free hot chocolate and a Christmas cut out cookie. After we walk around, we go into the coffee shop, where one of the ladies reads a Christmas story. Then we stand along the curb with the little ones and watch a small parade of EMS cars and trucks drive by with Santa standing prominently on the top of one fire truck with the sirens going off, and waving at the children. When Santa gets off the truck, the children can go and talk to him and give him their Christmas wish list. We end up going into a pizza shop and order pizzas, appetizers and drinks.

Sometimes a few of us go out and cut down our Christmas trees together and follow that tradition off with lunch at a restaurant.

I now buy and wrap present for nine children, 14 grandchildren, 4 daughters-in-law, one son-in-law, two of my daughter's boyfriends, an adopted son, and my son's girlfriend. A few friends come over and share the festivities with my family.

Christmas Eve is still celebrated here at my house. It takes a few days to clean, decorate, prepare the tables, buy the food, and get everything prepared for Christmas Eve. I also haul down all the presents that I have bought and wrapped and place them under the tree in the living room. The room fills up with other presents as my children arrive for the evening.

Unlike my Italian grandparents, I do not make the Italian Seven Fish Dinner. I do not like fish, and have found another way to celebrate our Christmas Eve. I make cheese fondue. In the beginning, when our family was smaller, we sat around the table and used a few fondue pots. We ate cheese fondue, a steak and shrimp fondue, with an assortment of dipping sauces. I also made a special salad, with my own homemade dressing. It took a long time to consume this meal but that was the point...to sit around the table, eat, talk and laugh together as a family.

As my family has grown larger from the original eleven, we no longer fit around the table, So, we have appetizers laid out on one table, We put our fondue pots on another table. We fill up our plates and sit on the couches or on the living room and kitchen chairs.

Later, we open our presents. Imagine being in a living room filled with furniture, all those adults, grandchildren, a tree and tons of presents. It isn't easy, no matter how hard we try to figure out how to handle all of this. For over an hour, the presents are passed out, unwrapped and the paper discarded into big black trash bags. It is loud and crazy! When we are finished we are exhausted and lucky that we can find the floor and no one has thrown anything away. Then we go back and eat and drink.

After everyone leaves the place is as quiet as a tomb. I put out the rest of the presents for the children who are staying with me. I also fill their stockings. I try to clean up a little but in the end, I am tired and go off to bed.

I do miss the old days when everyone was little and under my roof. I do miss my friend's invitation to have dessert at their home. You know something - I miss those pecan balls with my friends. I miss everything about those days and more.

Family Cookie Exchange

Something that I always wanted to have was a family cookie exchange. I wanted to bake cookies with my daughters, then daughters-in-law, and eventually my grandchildren. So when my middle daughter suggested a family cookie exchange, I was excited.

This was the beginning of our families' annual cookie exchange. We sent out email invitations. Each person was to bake their own cookies and give one dozen to each of the other households. My daughter, who is a chef, planned and cooked the brunch.

The first year, everyone showed up - daughters, daughters-in-law, sons and babies. They loved the brunch, and the cookies. Some years it was a delicious homemade French onion soup with crispy bread to go along. Some times, it has been a full breakfast with eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes and the works. Other times it was quiches, croissants and salads.

I guess I should have given more thought as how to do a cookie exchange. The first year everyone showed up ready to actually make their cookies at my house from scratch. We mixed our cookie dough, baked the cookies, packaged them, and divided them up. By evening I was the last to get my cookies baked and handed out. It was fun but an exhausting day.

The following year we figured out that we needed to just make our own cookies in our own kitchen and then come with them already packaged. We eventually eliminated the "boys" from coming along. Anyway, some of them lost interest, even though they wanted to eat their sister's great meals.

In the beginning, a few who attended would find shortcuts as to what to make, like Oreos dipped in chocolate with sprinkles on top, or pretzel rods dipped in chocolate with sprinkles. They were good and everyone enjoyed them. But as the years evolved, everyone tried to find different kinds of cookie recipes and would try those.

The packaging of the cookies became the high point of the exchange. Some were in Christmas boxes and others on Christmas trays. A few different packaging ideas were fancy Chinese containers or festive holiday, plastic ware.

Now our cookie exchange has seemed to come along way and it runs smoother. We still gather together, eat something and exchange the cookies. But the simple idea of one dozen cookies has evolved into a few dozen cookies, which isn't so bad. But the plus of all of this...we come together for a short time to talk, eat, and share cookies. For a few hours we forget about all that we have to do for the holidays, and we are family under one roof until our big Christmas Eve celebration.

The cookies don't last long but the memories do.

Chuck E. Cheese

Chuck E. Cheese - a name that would strike terror in my heart when I was a mother, and now as a grandmother. Every time my grandson would ask me to take him to Chuck E. Cheese, I would say, "No." I came up with every excuse that I could think of. Then one day, I actually said, "Yes," to my grandson, Tyler's delight.

That was the day I packed up my writing bag and took Tyler to Chuck E. Cheese. We arrived there early, before anyone else. The lady stamped the backs of our hands with the same number, to assure we came in together and we would leave together. Nice safety feature. Then she asked if we were here for anything special? "No," I replied,"We're here to just have fun."

Tyler took off for one of the booths and took off his hat and coat. He grabbed my hand and we went to place our pizza order. Besides that, I handed the lady a coupon for the pizza. I was able to use my second coupon to purchase 100 tokens. I handed Tyler a small plastic cup with half his tokens, and he ran off to play the games. With each game, Tyler, would get tickets from the machine. In the end, the tickets were fed into a machine that counted them, and then printed out a receipt with the
number on it. Tyler would be able to cash that in for prizes.

We ended up going to Chuck E. Cheese on a weekly basis. Tyler loved it. We ate pizza for lunch and in the end, I actually wrote and completed a novel. Sometimes I took breaks from my writing and played along side of Tyler. Or, sometimes, I just watched him, soaking up the joy that came from just seeing him play and his reactions.

Tyler taught me something important and that was to have fun. We found it at Chuck E. Cheese and I learned that the place wasn't just for kids. I also learned that these special times that I spent with Tyler would last a lifetime for me and hopefully he will remember the fun he had with his grandmother at Chuck E. Cheese.

My Father's Ugly Aluminum Christmas Tree

Christmas for me personally, is the smell of pine, a real tree, with shimmering lights, garland, special ornaments made by my children, and grandchildren, and a few new ornaments.

I vowed a long time ago that I would always have a real tree, preferably one that I would cut down with my family; a tradition that my family and I still follow to this day. A Saturday or Sunday is chosen in December and those family members, who are available, drive to one of the tree farms in the country. We pile into the tractor pulled wagon and sit on the bales of hay. The tractor pulls the wagon and then drops us off where the Christmas trees are growing. It never fails, it is usually the first tree that we like but we still keep looking at other trees. Finally, we go back and cut down the first tree, take it back to the wagon, pay for it, and then secure it on our vehicle. We head for a family lunch at a restaurant that is close by.

But sometimes in the 50s, an awful thing happened in our house, awful for us but not for my Dad. The aluminum tree hit the stores, stole my father's heart, and became a mainstay in my parent's living room. I can still remember how excited my Dad became when it was time to set up the tree. He painstakingly laid the pieces of the tree on the floor, set the main pole in the stand. Each individual branch would go into the holes. The tip of the branches sort of puffed out like a spidery chrsyanthemum. My Dad sorted the colored balls, and placed these strategically throughout the tree, alternating the colors of reds, blues, and greens. But that wasn't the end. He set up a rotating colored wheel with a spotlight shining in front of it. When my father finished with all of his tree decorating, he would turn off all the lights in the living room, sit in his favorite chair with his legs stretched out on the ottoman, and watch the colored wheel turn the aluminum tree red, green and blue. He literally worshipped that tree. He gazed at it lovingly, just as I imagined he once looked at my mother. I hated that tree. And that was when I swore to myself that I would never own an aluminum tree or any artificial tree!

After my father died in 1991, my stepmother still put the tree up for a few years. She loved it as well. Eventually she stopped putting the tree up and stored it away. When we cleaned out the attic, I inherited the tree, rotating wheel and spotlight as well. My oldest son always said that he wanted that tree. I brought the tree back from Cleveland to Pittsburgh and put it in my garage. My son was married at the time that I told him the tree was in my garage. He hemmed and hawed, and finally said that his wife would kill him if he ever brought it home. I finally threw it away.

The past year, while visiting my cousin, Netta, in Utica, New York, and sharing family stories, I told her about my Dad's aluminum Christmas tree. I laughed when I told my cousin about my contempt for that tree. Her face was unreadable as she walked our of the room only to return with a photo of her Christmas tree. There it was in color...deja vu...an identical, ugly aluminum tree. A chill went up my spine as she whispered, "I love this tree."

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

What I am thankful for:

My children, grandchildren, daughters-in-law, son-in-law, and niece.

The wonderful legacy and memories of my brother.

My friends, especially my writing group, and blogging partner.

Continuous good health.

Food, because I love it and write about it.

My ability to write and keep my dreams alive about being published.

Sharing my daughter's first Thanksgiving as a married woman.

Glenn Beck and The Tea Party that woke up a sleeping nation and made then roar.

The Cleveland Browns for finally playing like a good, solid football team, despite their record.

The Cleveland Cavaliers for coming together and playing like a team without any big names and big salaried players.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!

The "Worst" Generation

Once defined as the bulge in the python, we’re now being called “The Worst Generation." USA Today is running a series of articles about our generation in which we’re blamed for the current economic crisis, the rise in unwanted pregnancies, and the decline of the American family. During our youth, according to such knowledgeable historians like Tom Brokaw, all we did was take drugs and have sex. If only! All this negative attention has been prompted by the fact that the first wave of us turns 65 in 2011. And the country is in economic trouble and has no idea how it’s going to honor social security, Medicare, and other commitments it made to us, as we were busy doing drugs and having sex. I guess calling us a generation of self-indulgent, oversexed, selfish pigs let’s the government off the hook.

Well, I remember it differently and since I lived it, not just saw pictures and read news clips, my opinion carries the weight of having lived it. As a daughter of depression era parents who suffered through the Great Depression I grew up with the constant reminder that at any moment it could all be taken away. So I took that lesson to heart and became a life-long saver. As a young bride I worked hard to put my husband through dental school, rolling penny rolls for gas money and living in a roach infested apartment. Just as my husband neared graduation, he was sent a draft notice, mainly because the draft board in their infinite wisdom chose young men from poorer neighbors. If you listen to Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son,” you’ll understand. Even though we had a child, and even though my husband was still in school, his number had come up and he was headed for Vietnam. I fought hard to keep him in the states, calling Illinois senator Percy to help keep our family together. He didn’t go to Nam, but he still served his two years, being spit upon by war protestors and called a baby killer when he wore his uniform in airports. Though I didn’t like that treatment, I was on their side and so was my husband. We knew this wasn’t a just war. And his choice was serve the two years or go to Canada. So he served and we felt lucky he never went to Nam.

Unlike the Greatest Generation’s war, which had a noble cause, Vietnam was a murky political war. The Vietnamese never attacked our country. Ask yourselves today if the draft was still in effect, how you would feel being ripped from your life for a war started for all the wrong reasons. Because of the brave students who protested on campus throughout this country, there is no longer a draft. I know first hand what the ravages of war look like. My father served for three years in the Pacific theater during WWII and came back broken. He told me that he had to punch his commanding officer to get treatment for shell shock, now known as post- traumatic stress syndrome. He had to fight to get his veterans benefits.

Then there was the treatment of women in the workplace that our generation worked to change. It was not uncommon to be asked to show your birth control prescription if you were married and applying for a job. It was not uncommon to have calendars of naked women displayed in the workplace. It was not uncommon to be kept in the lowest rungs of management if you were lucky enough to be a manger. I had that experience first hand working at Southwestern Bell Telephone. I watched a man hired at the same time as me and in the same position being groomed for promotion, while I toiled away for lesser money, knowing that as a woman I would never be prompted no matter what I did.

Unless you were living it, you have no idea of the prejudice against minorities, and I’m including women in that group. There was no equality and there was nothing you could do about it. My mother told me that she once saw an elderly black woman shoved off a sidewalk by a white man, because she was black. But our generation worked to change that. In case the media has forgotten, young people went to the southern states to work for voting rights for blacks, and some lost their lives doing do. We understood that the enemy wasn’t in Vietnam; it was here in our own country. Listen to Neal Young’s song, “Four Dead in Ohio.” The National Guard fired on students protesting at Kent State University, killing four of them. Consider that Martin Luther King Jr., Robert Kennedy, and John Kennedy were murdered in this country. I remember sitting in our dingy apartment in St. Louis and watching with horror Robert Kennedy dying on the hotel’s kitchen floor, his arm outstretched as if pleading or maybe in confusion. What was there left to believe in when our leaders were murdered for standing up for the underdog? A numbness descended on us that no moon landing could erase. Worst Generation? More like most disillusioned.

Yet, we fought for the environment, honored the arts (To declare yourself a business major in my generation was tantamount to declaring yourself a loser), and questioned the government. Are we a perfect generation, no. But neither was the Greatest Generation, which did fight valiantly, did save their money, and did stress family values. But in order to do that, they had to exert a repression that their children had to question unless they were brain dead. Every generation has to live in the time they were born in. My 89- year-old mother recently said that.

I’m sick of the media and politicians looking for scapegoats because, in truth, the media often tends to be lazy, “Oh, the boomers are turning 65, let’s sling some mud rather than examine something in depth”; and the politicians are masters of passing the buck. “We haven’t a clue how we got in this economic mess. Wait, let’s blame those boomers who are about to get what the government promised them. Then when we cut their benefits, we’re justified.”

I refuse to accept being labeled the worst generation, because I refuse lazy thinking and broad generalities.

What do you think?

Country Living Fair 2010

It was an early morning start for me, as I shut the alarm off, washed and got ready to be at my daughter-in-law's house by 6 am. I was thankful that we only lived about 10 minutes from each other, so that I didn't have to get up any earlier then 5:30.

Shortly after I arrived, we started out on our trip to Columbus, Ohio, to see the Country Living Fair 2010. I had never thought of going to the Fair, although I have subscribed to the Country Living magazine and saw the ads for it. So, when my daughter-in-law, who started a small cottage business of antiques and collectibles, along with a website and Blog, asked me to go along with her - I jumped at the chance.

The drive should have been a little over three hours but we lost 1-1/2 hours when traffic came to a halt. The four lanes went down to one, and we were detoured off the Interstate, onto a one lane highway. As a matter of fact both sides of the Interstate was closed down because of a major accident. The detour and traffic didn't dampen our spirits because we figured that by the time we drove back home, everything would be cleared up.

The Country Living Fair included over 170 antique dealers, crafters, and artisans. We could shop for items and attend free seminars and demonstrations. Besides, we could enjoy the food, ice cream, almonds, smoothies, and whatever else we wanted to eat.

We arrived at the fairgrounds, parked for a minimal fee and got into a rather small line that moved faster then the "Will Call" line. Every thing was moving along nicely. Maybe all of our glitches were now out of the way.

We walked around enjoying the craft booths and the antique booths. My daughter-in-law got a number of ideas of what is selling and in demand to use in her shop, and even bought a few things. I actually bought a small hand crafted lamp, perfect for my small table in my living room. I loved the fact that it was not only hand crafted but the price was very reasonable.

The booths had everything from handmade clothes and accessories to furniture. Wonderfully clever Christmas and Halloween items were next to hand crafted and unique jewelry. Some pieces were simple and others were ornate. Whatever you wanted you could find - soaps, preserves, crochet and knitted items, ceramics, pottery, metal, and wood. Looking at the booths made me realize how talented people have become, and their items gave me an appreciation of their talents.

With all the walking and looking, we did stop for a Philly steak and cheese sandwich, which we washed down with a cold bottle of water. We stopped at Jeri's Ice Cream stand. My daughter-in-law bought a scoop of salty caramel and a scoop of brown butter almond brittle for herself, and a scoop of honey vanilla bean for me. The ice cream flavors were different and delicious.

After a few hours, both of us were hot but happily saturated with all we had seen. We drove back home, and to our disappointment hit the same traffic problem that we had encountered before. The Interstate on our side was closed because two trucks had collided and spilled oil on the roadway and the EPA had been called in. The other side of the Interstate was opened. We made the same detour, down the same one lane highway and lost another 1-1/2 hours.

The traffic problem and the extreme heat were the only inconveniences to a rather pleasant day trip. In the end, my daughter-in-law went home with a few things and a lot of ideas. I on the other hand got to spend a few hours alone with my daughter-in-law and we talked about her new business venture and about my writing a Blog as well. All in all we had a great time together.

Chicago Trip

I flew to Chicago with my daughter, Erin. It would be a short trip and we had planned on staying at my brother's house. My niece picked us up from the airport and took us to the house. It has been three months since my brother, Jack, died.

My niece, her husband and a few friends have gone in and cleaned out the papers, closets, cupboards, and dresser drawers. My niece has taken a number of boxes stuffed with her father's papers, cards and photos. I could tell she has been working hard.

The two day visit was fun for my daughter and I. We ate at Jimmy Buffet's restaurant, "Cheeseburger in Paradise." I had to have a cheeseburger and I was in total paradise. After lunch, we went to a jewelry and fashion expo in the Rosemont Convention Center. There had to be 500 vendors, and tables to view. My niece made us go and look at each table, and made sure that we saw every single item. We walked around the center for four hours! It was pretty neat but my feet, ankles, and legs ached. All three of us did find a few good bargains and purchased them.

That night my niece left us at my brother's house. The cable and Internet had been discontinued. My daughter played around and tried to hook up the VCR, so we could watch a video. I walked around my brother's house feeling lost and sad and not sure quite how to handle my feelings. Sensing my mood, my daughter suggested that we check into a hotel. We did. We found a Hilton close by the house and booked a room for two nights. The beds, mattresses, pillows, and the room was A+. We splurged on the fabulous room service both days. The room was comfortable and it came without memories.

We got up and met my high school classmate and blogging partner Gail, at my brother's house. Gail, my daughter, and I managed to find a place to eat breakfast and catch up on the last time we saw each other...that would have been June, 1964. I still remember Gail from high school and I have to say she looks great! We talked about writing and losses, while my daughter talked about being a chef and a marathon runner. We actually talked about the Diva Marathon and seeing if we could meet up with our daughters and do that. If we do, I will be walking with a crown...running is not my game. I was happy to see Gail and we have talked about meeting up again, when I come back to Chicago.

Later, Erin and I drove down to the Rosemont Convention Center parking lot. We paid for parking and took the Blue Line L, and then transferred to the #66 bus to go down to the Navy Pier. We stayed there for a few hours, walking outside and indoors. We bought tickets for the architecture tour of the downtown buildings on one of the scenic boat cruises. I was excited about this because it was something that I had always wanted to do. This tour was worth every penny and I wasn't disappointed. Neither was my daughter. When we finished, we retraced our steps and returned to the car and drove to my niece's house next to Oak Park. We ate outdoors at a nice little Italian restaurant and then walked next door for a gelato for dessert. Hhmm...everything was delicious.

That night I tossed and turned listening to the loud winds and torrential downpours. When we turned on the television, we found that Chicago was under a tornado watch, and the high winds grounded all the morning flights at O'Hare Airport. I hate to fly but room service for breakfast temporarily soothed my mood.

We did go back to my brother's house and packed a few of his things that I wanted and was able to take back home. I stood in Jack's bedroom for a few minutes taking it all in. I finally said goodbye to Jack and his house for the last time, clutching a few of his persona items.

We Will Survive

Last Thursday evening when I turned on my computer, there was an email from my friend, Elaine, who lives in Cleveland. Her email was short and to the point letting me know that her brother had passed away. My friend's mother had passed away almost two years ago. I knew that this was going to be tough for my friend. I thought a lot about Elaine and her loss. Her family is gone. There isn't much to add. I know exactly how she feels.

When we talked the following day, I told her I was sorry and she knew how I felt. I let her talk, and knew her feelings, right down to the final period of our conversation. It is hard to believe that we have been friends for over 40 years. Our friendship started out in St. Louis when we were first married. Our connection was firmly sealed when we first met each other. We seem to have a lot in common. We both grew up in Cleveland, we attended different all-girl high schools, each had an older brother, and we married our husbands, who had gone to the same high school, college and medical school together, and roomed with each other for a year. Our husbands were in their second year of medical school when we got married.

We would remain friends through the years, through all our moves, all our children (Elaine with four, and me with nine, we also lived together for a few months, and then each of us settled down in separate states. We called and kept in touch by phone.

We shared our divorces and were able to lean on and depend on one another. Our phone calls always seemed to occur when one of us was at our lowest point, and our voices would magically appear on the other side of the phone line to prop the other one up.

I made sure that I was with my friend when her ex remarried. There was no way I would let her be alone on that day. Even though I had suggested that we should become wedding crashers, we didn't but it made us laugh, and get through an otherwise difficult day with all those bittersweet memories thrown in. She was there with me when my daughter got married to make sure that I had support facing my ex and his new wife.

Now we both have lived through the deaths of our brothers, leaving us the last member or our own small families - mother, father, brother. We share those feelings of loss and being left behind and being alone. We know how each other feels, without saying a word.

Years ago, when my one son got married, Elaine and I danced together to Gloria Gaynor's, "I Will Survive." We danced with abandonment, tears and sang along with the words. I know we are both survivors and we will survive this period of our lives too.

Fear of Flying

Okay, I hate to fly. That little secret is out even though my family and few friends know this about me. Now, whoever reads this post will. Oddly, when I was in grade school. I found one of those advertisements in a magazine to fill out and send into stewardess school. I cut it out, filled in the information and mailed it away. I received a packet of information and lied my way through that, and mailed it back.

I doodled away pictures of airline stewardesses and thought if there was an emergency I would be the heroine of that story. One day, I received confirmation that TWA accepted my applications and I could start school in the fall. Me, little old me? I was only in the 8th grade! What the heck was I thinking! I took all the correspondence and threw them in the garbage and waited in fear that the mail police would find out where I lived and arrest me. Nothing happened. But that incident cured me, and I never sent away or filled out another questionnaire.

Then one day I woke up and the "fear of flying" set in. How? Why? I can't answer those questions. Forget about being an airline stewardess, even if they were cute, perky, and had great uniforms, and flew to far off exotic places.

The first time I had to fly - I was petrified. I hated it. It took a long time for me to realize, I hated to fly because I had no control over the plane. My symptoms were interior terror, my mouth would go dry, and I felt light headed. I loved the taking off and landing. I even wouldn't mind flying a few feet about the ground. I definitely could handle that. I also hate when the plane shudders, or hits turbulence, or moves. Yeah, I hate it. I hate everything about flying.

I remember flying one time and sitting by the emergency exit. Remember you get a little more legroom with those seats. I was flying with a friend who sighed as she stretched out her legs. The attendant came on the loud speaker and asked for the passengers to take a look at the typed up plastic paper and familiarize themselves with the emergency exits and procedures. I looked at it, read and re-read it and studied it, until my friend said to put it away because we would be fine. The attendant walked by and asked if I felt comfortable and capable handling an emergency while sitting next to the emergency exit? My heart raced, my eyes went wide and I tried to lick some moisture to my already dried lips. Before I could croak out a word, my friend assured the attendant I could do that and everything would be fine. After the attendant walked away, my friend leaned over and said, "Don't worry, if something happens, I'll knock you out of the way and attend to the door." Anything for a few inches of legroom!

Even though I have flown over 13 times, I am still not comfortable. I still remember flying Southwest Airlines and being given an unlimited amount of pretzels to eat when the plane dropped a few feet, scaring the hell out of everyone, and quieting a group of noisy travelers into silence and fervent prayers.

The first time that I ever flew, I can remember having to wait for hours because of a big winter storm. Another time I had to change planes because of mechanical problems. You can bet that didn't make me feel too relaxed or confident.

It even got better coming back from a Chicago, two months ago with my daughter, Kate, when we flew on a smaller plane. The attendant asked for three passengers to move from the right side of the plane to the left side of the plane so to balance the load!

Recently, on the day I was to fly back from Chicago to Pittsburgh with my daughter, Erin, I awoke to a howling wind, alternating with loud downpours of rain. I turned on the news to find that Chicago was on a tornado alert, and the planes had been grounded at O'Hare airport. We were flying out later in the day. Eventually, that evening, we boarded our plane on time. The pilot wanted us to get our luggage put away quickly, so that we would get our plane up in the air before the new storm moved in.

I'll probably fly when I have to. I'll probably still feel nervous. But, I still rather travel when I have control of the wheel. Maybe I should become a pilot?

On second thought - I don't think so!

Pushing 65

My friend, Elaine, and I were sitting at my brother-in-law's kitchen table and going over Social Security and Medicare information. Elaine had her Medicare information in hand and I had my booklet and an envelope with personal papers. My head was spinning and getting bigger with all the Medicare and Social Security information.

Because Elaine was still working, I listened to the advice Dave gave her about holding off with taking her social security until she was 66 and if she did, she would receive 100% of the benefits. When he talked about Medicare, I wondered with all the health care changes, how long would a provider or company be able to afford to take care of its employees with the new Obama Health Cave plan? This was the first time that I was glad that I would be depending on my own coverage. Finally, after drifting off into my own world, I heard Dave say, "Now it's your turn." He began telling me that on Monday we could go to the Social Security office in Middleburgh Heights and I could sign up for my ex's Social Security benefits as a divorced spouse, and also sign up for Medicare. "Do you have what you need?"

I went through my envelope and produced my birth certificate, marriage license, and my divorce decree. "Yep, I have it all, plus my driver's license. I guess that is everything."

The next day we got up early and arrived at the office. Inside, we received a walk-in number and we were the second ones to be called into the office. The lady who would take care of us was extremely nice and had a dry sense of humor. That was what I liked...the humor. It helped. I have no idea why I was so nervous, but I guess I was worried that I wouldn't have everything that I needed and that I might not be able to answer all the questions. Thankfully, my brother-in-law was sitting next to me and gave me the support that I needed.

I signed up for Medicare Part A and B. Once the papers would be processed, I would receive my Medicare card within 30 days. That was easy enough. But at Dave's house, he went through the Medicare booklet and steps. I knew that I would need a supplemental insurance and I could get that only after I received my card. Then I could enroll in the Highmark Advantage Plan that I chose. This would cover my prescription drugs. We even called the Highmark number in Pittsburgh and got all the information that I needed on a call that lasted about 20-25 minutes, while even being put on hold.

After being signed up for Medicare, the lady started to work on my Social Security benefits. It didn't help that I had the same m=number and three different names...Mary L. Aiello, Mary Aiello Gauntner, and Mary L. Gauntner. We straightened that up and I would receive a card with the right name and my same Social Security number. As we went along with the paper work, the lady pointed out that I had to be truthful and if I lied, I would be prosecuted. Being raised a good Catholic and having all of that Catholic guilt, lying isn't something that I would do anyway. My brother-in-law kept telling me to relax. I did have all the right papers.

Since I didn't work enough quarters, I would not be getting any Social Security benefits of my own. Sadly, being a house wife for almost 33 years, raising nine kids, and working my butt off, doesn't entitle me to anything but a divorce, and being able to take Social Security benefits from my ex. I guess that will have to do.

All in all, I sailed through every thing. In a little over an hour, we were out of the building. I was relieved, and grateful to Dave for his help. I will get some money from my ex's benefits. I will have my own Medicare card in about a month. I felt happy remembering when we started off in the office that the lady looked at me and asked how old I was? She said that I didn't look old enough for Medicare. She was my kind of person. Even if I don't look my age, in 30 days, I'll have a Medicare card, and hopefully I will have my first Social Security check which will eventually pay for my Medicare supplemental insurance. All I can say is where did the years go?

Good luck to anyone who has to go through Medicare. I just wish you could have someone to help you like my brother-in-law, Dave.

Thanks, Dave!

D'Agnese's, Fire, and Lucky's Cafe

Cleveland seems to get a bad rap - like being dubbed, "The Mistake on the Lake." Or, who would want to go to Cleveland, or live in Cleveland, or even play on one of the pro sport teams in Cleveland? The Cleveland Indians won the World Series in 1948. The Cleveland Browns football team has never won a Super Bowl championship game. The Cleveland Cavaliers basketball team has never won an NBA championship. You get the point.

But I have to say that Cleveland has a tremendous amount of restaurants that are outstanding and memorable. I had to narrow my list down to my three favorites: D'Agnese's, Fire Food and Drink, and Lucky's Cafe.

D'Agnese's (www.dagneses.com) is located on W. Royalton Road in Broadview Heights. This Italian restaurant is in a small strip mall and is contemporary with an upscale wine bar. The restaurant is located close to my daughter's house, so I have been there for lunch and dinner a number of times. I have to say I love the lunches and in particular their fresh salads, especially the Mediterranean salad with fresh romaine, kalamatas olives, cucumbers, red onions, feta cheese, tomatoes, and oregano in balsamic vinegar. The Italian wedding soup is flavorful and hot with carrots, greens and pastina, and the most incredible tiny meatballs! My favorite has to be the Italian Reuben sandwich, which I usually share with my daughter. It contains salami, corned beef, sauerkraut and smoked mozzarella cheese on a Kaiser roll. D'Agnese's serves pomme de frites (french fries), or sweet potato fries, with some type of coating that is out of this world. The fries are not greasy. Their pastas and sauces and other menu items are also delicious.

Fire Food and Drink (www.firefoodanddrink.com) is an eclectic restaurant located on Shaker Square. The restaurant's concept is a simple one - simple food, finest ingredients, friendly efficient service and a focus on classic American foods. The restaurant supports the local farmers. Douglas Katz is the chef for Fire. He is young, innovative, and friendly as he makes his way around each table, greeting and talking to each patron, as if they were family. I have eaten dinner and had their brunch. I even attended the James Beard Foundation dinner that was hosted there a few years ago. It was quite an event. The Sunday brunches are wonderful. I have been there a few times and have tried their home made sticky buns, and wished that I had my own order, so as not to share it with others at my table. They were that good! I had their vegetable frittata, with Yukon gold home fries. My personal favorite was the Fire Benedict house made English muffin, house made ham, basil, poached eggs, and hollandaise. I wasn't disappointed with that dish!

Lucky's Cafe (www.luckyscafe.com) is located in the restored historic area of Tremont, under head chef, Heather Haviland. The restaurant uses local area grown produce, while even growing some of its own produce. They also make their own home made jelly from fresh seasonal fruits.The restaurant offers a counter for take out for home made muffins, cookies, scones, pastries, and coffee. Lucky's has been featured on the Food Network and Guy Fieri sampled the House Made Granola plate, biscuit, Baked Mac-N-Cheese and the Lucky Reuben. I have been there and ate the most wonderful pumpkin pancakes with homemade whipped cream. Most recently, I had their Vanilla Bean Buttermilk waffles topped with warm strawberry rhubarb compote, honeyed whip cream, and striped with house made caramel sauce. My daughter ate the Baked Mac-N-Cheese -cheddar, brie, parmesan, and mozzarella cheeses, baked with brioche breadcrumbs and served with house made apple sauce. My son-in-law ate the Shipwreck - a blend of hash browns, eggs, seasoned vegetables, bacon, cheddar cheese, served with toast and fresh fruit jelly.

After eating in these restaurants, the food leaves me with a lasting memory of all three.

Click open their websites, and if you are ever in Cleveland, you have to stop and try the foods at D'Agnese's, Fire, and Lucky's. You won't be disappointed - I promise you.

D'Agnese's has now eliminated the Italian Reuben, much to my daughter and my chagrin. :(

Writing Group

My Wednesday mornings usually begin with me picking up my writing friend and going and eating breakfast at Eat-N-Park. We talk about the happenings of what has occurred since our last meeting. Afterwards, we usually go to the library and focus on what each of us is working on.

This Wednesday was a little different. We expanded our group to a third writer. I'm not sure if this will be a permanent member but it just might be the beginning of something good. Each of us brought something that we are presently working on, or a creative idea. This is what a writer or artist does.

Writing for me is a daily occurrence. It is like breathing. I have to write on some kind of daily basis, either on the story that I am working on at the moment, or writing in my journal. Usually, I just go about my writing business alone. I have a lot of ideas. Those ideas might just come from my daily living, an incident that has occurred, or listening to something on the radio, or just being.

A writer writes, it is that simple. Writing is also a very solitary practice. I believe that I am a good writer, and that is why I write. Writing is my therapy but it can be lonely. So being with other creative people is a good way to keep ones creative juices flowing. Exchanging ideas is exciting and helps to trigger something inside of me. For me, writing isn't just sitting down in front of my computer but it is talking to other writers. It excites me to hear what the other person is working on, or exchanging ideas and advice. Talking about writing or ideas is what a writer needs to keep their writing going forward. Having someone help you when you get stumped or when you hit a writer's block is a blessing. Having someone read your writing and give you that helpful feedback is wonderful, even if you don't follow it exactly.

I am lucky because I email daily to my blogging partner. She is another source of inspiration to me. I know that I can bounce an idea or two off her. I value her advice, even though it is only by email. I also know that if I need help, I can count on her.

Writing is a daily job for me. But meeting and sharing breakfast and ideas with the other writers is what refuels my writing. I look forward to those Wednesdays, and it becomes so much more to me. Routine is good. Being alone is good. Writing is good. But sharing ideas and getting that excitement back into my writing is even better.

I look forward to continuing to sit in front of my computer and crafting my stories. Now I look forward to Wednesday to refuel my ideas, my writing, and sharing breakfast with my writing group.

Horses

I was listening to a radio talk show when the host went on about the new movie Secretariat that would be coming out soon. The host mentioned the number of books and movies that have featured horses. Then he asked, "Why are there so many books and movies about horses?" Without answering that question, he continued on about the fantastic Miracle on Ice, where the American men won the gold medal for hockey at the 1960 Olympics. He added that this was a great game and a great win and only one book and one movie had been written about it. Actually, he was wrong about there being only one movie, there were two movies made about the Miracle on Ice.

As the host paused for breath, I said out loud, "Hey buddy, I love horses!" I always wanted a horse but we rented houses for years and were not zoned to have a horse in our little backyard. But, that fact didn't deter me because I still wanted a horse, and always begged my parents for one. For years, that wish was number one on my Christmas lists.

I have read a lot of books about horses - Man-O-War, Seabiscuit, Spectacular Bid, the Horse Whisperer, and others. The last book that I read was "The Untold Story of Secretariat, The World's Greatest Racehorse." So, when the movie comes out, I will be the first in line to buy a ticket for it.

Personally, I think horses are beautiful creatures. They are big and sleek and graceful. They amaze me. I love watching them race, although I don't enjoy seeing them get injured and having to be put down. Besides, wanting a horse, I also wanted to be a jockey. But that never happened.

My youngest daughter took riding lessons for a while at Bargee Farms in Hampton. The riding stable was out of this world. The horses lived in their own beautiful stable with warm wooden walls and shiny brick floors. The newly built stable was spotless and elegant. As I walked through the stable, I wished for one fleeting moment that I was a horse and lived at Bargee Farms.

I loved those early Saturday mornings when I took my daughter to her riding lesson. The work out area where she rode was in an enormous white building with an indoor riding arena. There was another area with comfortable chairs and tables with magazines, where anyone could relax and have access to hot coffee. Large windows surrounded the building, I was able to look out at the trees and sloping hills, or just watch my daughter going through her riding routine. Usually, I brought along a book to read but I always ended up going into the arena and standing by the railings and watching my daughter on her horse going through her jumps. For one hour, I was taken out of my old routine and enjoyed the smell of the hay, watching my daughter in her riding gear, and the gracefulness of her horse. Only on Saturdays at Bargee, I entered a totally different world from my usual one, and I enjoyed it.

What is it about horses? Like people, some are underdogs, and others are champions. I can only imagine taking a chance on a horse, and watching him or her become a winner.

As for Secretariat, he was the only two-year-old to win Horse of the Year in 1972, and in 1973, was a Triple Crown Winner. Secretariat was listed #35 on the ESPN's top 100 athletes of the 20th Century. He is the only horse listed among men and women and actually ranked ahead of the great Yankees baseball player, Mickey Mantle.

I can't answer - why so many books or movies about horses. But, I can ask, "Why not?"

High Hopes for Football Season

My daughter and I have been Cleveland Browns Football season ticket holders since 2000. Buying the season tickets was thrilling for both of us. The only thing more thrilling for me would be to have tickets in the End Zone, on the bleachers, in the rabid "Dawg Pound!"

I have been a Browns fan since I was a little girl growing up in Cleveland. I knew the player's names, their jersey numbers, and their position on the team. My first and favorite player was #32, Jim Brown. He was and always will be the greatest running back of all times. I always pointed out this fact to my kids (even though they are die hard Steelers fans). I told them Jim Brown just didn't work hard but he would arrive early at the field to limber up and go through his drills. He would leave late, played hard (without pads, because he felt that they slowed him down), and then at the top of his game he retired to be a full time actor. First and foremost, he was an athlete. At the University of Syracuse, where he attended college, he played football and lacrosse, He was considered one of the best lacrosse players. Brown was inducted into the Football Hall of Fame and into the Lacrosse Hall of Fame. He was a natural athlete, and an exciting player to watch.

I cheered for the Browns, Jim Brown, Ozzie Newsome, Brian Sipe and the Kardiac Kids, and of course, Bernie Kosar. How could you not love Bernie Kosar? He was born in Boardman, Ohio, and never wanted to play for any other football team, except for his hometown team that, he loved, and cheered for, the Browns. Now that is loyalty. Other players, owners and coaches should have that kind of loyalty. Kosar was the most popular player to play in Cleveland and the fans loved him.

I am not ashamed to admit that I was part of the crowd who intensely disliked the owner of the Cleveland Browns, Art Modell, when he traded Kosar. I despised Modell when he took the Browns football team and relocated them to Baltimore, Maryland, and renamed them the Baltimore Ravens.

While the Browns team was no longer in Cleveland...every Sunday some of the bars would show reruns of the old games to a packed house filled with Browns fans yelling and cheering their team on. A team was reinstated in Cleveland in 1999. There was a big clock in the Terminal Tower, located in downtown Cleveland, which did a countdown for the days and hours and minutes until the team would kick off their season. I still wear that "countdown to 1999 sweatshirt," despite the rips and holes in it. The team returned with the same colors, orange and brown, and the same uniform and the helmet without a logo, and the same name to the delight of all the loyal fans. The team was even allowed to keep their trophies, statistics, and all their memorabilia.

Now, like every fan, I can't wait for the season to begin. Like every Browns fan, who bleeds "orange and brown," I believe this will be our magical year to win. Yes, hope does spring eternal! It has for me for the past 10 years, and this season isn't any different. In August, I think, this is our year. As for the other seasons, I firmly believed that with my whole heart and soul, until the 3rd or 4th game of the official season. Then reality sets in with their losses, and I and every other fan express, "Well, maybe next year will be different."

My daughter and I still walk from the parking lot, next to the Cuyahoga River, about 15 minutes away from the field. We walk through the crowds of tailgaters, and someone always comments on my #17 jersey, with "SIPE" stitched on the back. We dodge the cars, corn toss games, footballs, and give hi-fives to the other fans. Then we walk the long walkway up the inside ramps of the stadium to get to Level 5, and then up the steps to our seats, which are about 20 rows from the top of the stadium. But they are at the 50-yard line. They are good seats, even though they do not come with oxygen and oxygen masks. It takes us a few minutes to catch our breath, but not so long before we sip our pop, tear open our bag of peanuts, shell them, and cheer when the team runs onto the field. I love the feel and noise in the stadium as the fans erupt in joy. It feels exhilarating to be surrounded by fans and my football community.

It doesn't get any better then this on football Sundays at 1:00 in the afternoon, during football season. Well, maybe a win would help us face our Monday mornings in a little better mood if the team logs a win.

YAY, GO BROWNS!

Coping

I have a number of posts to put on the Blog - at least a dozen. My writing has slowed down a bit. My drive to query and mail out stories is at a stand still. Except for the Blog writing, even my daily journal has suffered.

It has been almost two months since the death of my brother. I have been working on a short story about him, along with collecting stories, old and new, that I put into my file.

Right now - things do not have much meaning for me. I have tried to keep to some sort of routine, exercising at the gym, running necessary errands, helping my daughter in her catering kitchen, and baby-sitting whenever I am asked. Frankly, it is all a routine and I am just going through the everyday motions of life. If I were left alone, I think that I would stay in my pajamas, sit on my rocker in my bedroom, and watch television, non-stop.

I don't know if this is how others cope when faced with the death of a close family member? When my parents died years ago, I was younger. My nine children kept me busy and kept me from thinking. They pulled me along in different directions.

Since the house is quiet, I keep myself busy by getting out, even as I longingly look at my rocker and television to escape from the reality of life and loss. This is how I have been coping. Is it easier? Yes, in some ways I have accepted the death of my brother. I don't seem to cry as often. But the tears come unexpectedly when I receive a phone call from my niece, or an email mentioning him, or when I see his picture, or work on my short story about him. Tears come at the oddest times.

Sometimes, I find myself angry with other people and snap at them for some innocent comment, or trivial remark. I see all of this in a logical way but I still can't make sense of it. I guess that is how it will be for a long time. I am trying to cope as time goes on. I am trying to decide about doing something totally different to help me. But I'm still not quite there. Not just yet.

Why I Went Back to Work

In 2002, I officially retired from my teaching position at the University of Illinois at Chicago. I was giddy with relief. My first book had been accepted for publication and the administrative side of my position—running the undergrad and grad internship program had turned into a nightmare. The new head of the English Department had put me on notice that an internship program had no place in UIC’s English Department. Using the annual state budget as an excuse, he cancelled the internship program.

I was summoned to his office where he explained that he felt bad having to do me this because my son had been his student at Johns Hopkins University. Wow, that was harsh. I sat listening, seething with anger. He wasn’t sorry because I’d spent seven years building a program to include grad students. Finding and finessing internships at prestigious places like Chicago Shakespeare Theater, the American Medical Association, and the American Bar Association. Many grad students went on to be hired at these organizations. I thought I was doing a great job.

He leaned back in his cushy chair, steepled his fingers and said, “I have no idea what your educational background is. But I’m sure you could apply for a comp class or something like that.”

I was done with institutional full time work. I retired early and went home to be a full time writer and part time editor.

Flash forward eight years and two books to 2010. I’m back at work. What changed? For all the baby boomers on the brink of retirement, the answer to that question may disturb you or not, depending on your relationship with work and self. I missed the sense of purpose, I missed the paycheck, I missed the camaraderie, and I even missed catching the commuter train to and from Chicago. But even more than that, I discovered I needed to work. Blame my depression era parents who insisted I start working at age 15—in my house those who worked were afforded a special status--or that my grandkids live far away, or that my husband and friends still work. But I just couldn’t stand being home anymore, even though I volunteered one day a week and was still writing. I need the adrenaline rush of work.

So this summer, I contacted the Director of Creative Writer at Roosevelt University and asked if there were any classes he’d like me to teach. I’d briefly taught there once. He hired me to teach Intro to Creative Writing. There are 34 students in my class, on any given Wednesday, plus a grad student I’m mentoring. It’s an amazing challenge managing a writing class of 34 fledging writers. And to be honest, there are times I wonder if this was a good decision to go back to work, especially when I’m plodding through 34 student pieces. Also, I’m discovering the divide between this generation and my generation is vast. Without doubt the class is too large for a creative writing class. But this is the new working environment post-recession. Workers are being asked to do more, work longer hours, just to hold on to their jobs.

For now I like the challenge. So that’s why I haven’t blogged lately. I’ve been teaching 34 students how to enthrall an audience with their words. I’ll still be contributing to the blog on occasion. But for now, I’m just another working stiff.

The Inner Harbor

I was invited to take a trip with my son, his wife, my nine-year-old granddaughter and an almost month old baby granddaughter. We left Pittsburgh early in the morning to drive to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, Maryland. It took around four hours to get there. Luckily, we were able to check into our room early. Yes, one room where I would share a bed with my granddaughter, who likes to sleep on top of me and talks in her sleep. She is a bed hog but a cute one. After checking in, and cleaning up, we were ready to do some sightseeing.

The hotel we were staying at was right next to Baltimore's Baseball Stadium,Camden Yards. The use of the bricks for the stadium and design makes Camden Yards look old fashioned and beautiful. The stadium is right next to Chesapeake Bay. It is considered one of the best ballparks and has been an influence on other parks that have been built after it.

On our first day of sightseeing, we walked everywhere, which helps when you eat and don't want to gain too much weight. We actually ate only one complete meal each day of our visit. We walked through a mini gallery filled with shops. Then my son, granddaughter, and I,toured two ships in the harbor, while my daughter-in-law waited on a bench with the baby. The first ship was the USCGC Taney, the last United States' vessel that saw action in Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. We boarded the vessel and walked around touring it's narrow galleys, climbing up and down steps, reading the historical facts, and taking photos of the vessel.

Our second tour was aboard the USS Constellation, which was launched on August 26, 1854. The ship sailed during the Civil War and was used to blockade the Confederate States ship Sumter, until the crew abandoned her. The ship, given its history, was pretty impressive to me, since I am a Civil War buff. The Constellation was being renovated but the interior was large and the wood was beautiful inside the ship. The crew slept on swinging hammocks. The captain's quarter was large and very impressive, even though he didn't spend much time there.

We ate dinner at a place called Philips Seafood House. After dinner we went to Barnes and Noble, which is located in a renovated Power Plant. On top of the smoke-stake is a colorful guitar because the Hard Rock Cafe is one of the restaurants in the Power Plant.

Saturday we were up early, grabbed a drink and snack, and went to the National Aquarium. The place was fantastic, all five levels of it, filled with sharks, sea turtles, manta rays, jelly fish, dolphins and many other aquatic fish. We sat through a 15-minute film at the 4-D Immersion Theater, where we got sprayed with water and felt the wind and cold in our faces. Later we sat through a Dolphin show. My favorite was the sea turtle, Calypso, right down to the missing left flipper that had to be surgically removed to save the turtles life.

We ate dinner in Little Italy and found a fantastic Italian pastry shop, Vaccaro's, where we bought a half moon cookie, a strawberry vanilla napoleon, a cannoli, raspberry gelato, and a delicious nocciola (hazelnut) gelato. Yeah...we needed to walk the meal and desserts off.

Sunday arrived much too quickly. We ate brunch at the Cheesecake Factory and ended our visit on a 45-minute cruise of the Inner Harbor. As we went by the Domino Sugar Factory, the air was saturated with a pleasant odor, ending our trip to the Inner Harbor on a sweet note.

A Cultural Weekend

I lived in Cleveland, Ohio, from the time I was six, until I was 22. After I married, I moved to St. Louis, Missouri. From my moves, I learned one important lesson - to take advantage of the area where I lived, and see the sights.

I now live in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Rivers, bridges, and tunnels divide the city. People who live in the South Hills have to come through a tunnel to cross bridges to get to the North Hills area and visa versa. Some people never even venture out of the area, or their comfort zone. Cleveland is much the same in the fact that there is an East Side and a West Side. I grew up on the West Side of Cleveland, and my family seldom ventured into the East Side.

A few months ago when I was in Cleveland, visiting a friend, we took in the sights of Cleveland. I had been to the Italian Cultural Renaissance Gardens in University Circle, located along East Blvd., and Martin Luther King Drive. We went to see the Gardens in early spring. Besides, I had written a story about the Gardens, submitted the story to an Italian/American magazine, and it was accepted. The editor asked for more photos of the Gardens.

The Gardens are located on both the upper and lower levels. There are about 26 other Nationality Gardens along the area, and a few more are in the planning stages. As for the Italian Gardens - don't let gardens throw you. It is more of a cultural garden with replicas of Italian fountains, walkways, sculptor pieces, and plaques, honoring Italians and their heritage.

Our second stop, we visited St. Paul's Shrine located on 40th Street and Euclid Avenue. The church is old and also home to the religious order of Poor Clair Sisters, a cloistered order, who spends their time in prayer.

St. Paul's is beyond beautiful. It is like what heaven might be and it felt very peaceful inside. I had read about this church in a book called, Stalking the Divine by Kristin Ohlson. That was the reason that I wanted to see the church and experience what the writer did. While sitting in one of the pews, that were polished and gleaming, I saw all the religious painting on the ceilings and walls. Everything sparkled and seemed fresh and new like the life-like statues, and beautiful stained glass windows. I felt in awe and peace. Just like the writer felt as she described the interior of the church. I also felt that it was worth seeing and so much more.

The next day we visited Lake View Cemetery, Cleveland's 141-year-old cemetery that once used to be an arboretum and outdoor museum. It is definitely old but beautiful, and anyone can be buried there. There are a number of important people that are buried in the cemetery, like: James A. Garfield, 20th President of the United States, John D. Rockefeller, philanthropist, Carl B. Stokes, first African American Mayor of Cleveland, and Eliot Ness, famous for going after Al Capone, and for being the first police commissioner in Cleveland.

A number of flowering trees were in bloom - cherry trees, tulips, magnolias, dogwoods, and others showing off a variety of spectacular colors as well as wonderful fragrances. The day we drove throughout the cemetery was Daffodil Sunday, where 100,000 daffodils were in bloom throughout the cemetery and along one particular hillside area. It was all beautiful and spectacular!

The weekend was delightful and a part of Cleveland that I hadn't really seen before. If anyone is thinking of planning a small trip to Cleveland, check out Cleveland's Cultural Gardens, St. Paul's Shrine and Lake View Cemetery. I promise that you won't be disappointed.

Grief and Joy

I have a number of postings ready to go on the Blog, but somehow I can't see posting mundane, albeit, humorous musings just yet.

I still am trying to sort out my feelings after the death of my brother, I made a quick visit to see my brother before my daughter's wedding. My brother, Jack, expressed surprise that I would visit with the impending wedding. My response was that I just wanted to visit him and would come back after the wedding for a much longer visit. I don't know what made me make the trip to Chicago, a few days after driving 11 hours from the Outer Banks, and a few days before driving into Cleveland for the Friday wedding for my daughter. I was exhausted, but I am thankful and glad that I made that quick trip. It would be the last weekend that I would spend with my brother, who died while I was there.

It was difficult to leave Chicago and go back home. Conflicted with emotions, I knew I had to get things ready to go to Cleveland for the wedding. I felt closer to my brother in Chicago, Being in Chicago helped me to grieve with my niece, her husband, and all of my brother's friends. It helped to share and hear the stories that his friends and colleagues told. My niece, God bless her, said that she would hold the wake and funeral after the wedding. This made it easier for me to leave. I went home a bit less sad.

I went to my daughter's rehearsal dinner, wedding, reception and picnic. I was torn between grief and joy. I tried to smile and at times I was successful and other times I held back tears with down cast eyes. I was sitting in the Church where my daughter was being married. It was the same church where my brother and I grew up, where I made my First Communion and he was the altar server, who held the paten underneath my chin. It was the same church where we were confirmed and graduated. It was also the same church where I was married. I sat in the second pew with a lot of thoughts. Behind me were my ex and his wife. To say that wasn't hard would be a lie. My grief and joy got me through my daughter's ceremony. I honestly believe my brother was there, helping me though every moment of the ceremony and weekend. I think he was saying, "You can do it."

The wedding was beautiful as was my daughter. During the ceremony, my son leaned over and told me how beautiful his sister looked. I agreed, she just didn't look beautiful - she glowed. It felt strange to feel total joy at this moment and other moments throughout the weekend.

Two days later, I drove back to Chicago with two of my children. In another car, my newly married daughter and her husband would be traveling the same turnpikes to come to her uncle's wake and funeral, later in the day. Another car with three of my other children would arrive a little bit after I did. My oldest son and youngest son were driving to Chicago and stayed for three hours and drove home the same day. They couldn't get out of work.

The wake and funeral was the hardest thing that I ever had to face. My brother's death left me as the last surviving member of our small family. I won't be able to call him anymore, email him or visit him. Our trips together to Utica, (our home town), are a thing of the past as was our plan to go to Calabria, Italy, to visit the village of our grandparents. I will never hear Jack call me Mary Louise, or tell me what a great job I did raising nine children, or how good a writer I am.

Now I look back and hope that my daughter knows that I was there at her wedding, sometimes my mind drifted, but I was there and happy for her. She made a beautiful bride and I am so happy for her and her new husband, Al, who is my favorite and only son-in-law.

I am still grieving for my brother. The roller coaster ride of grief and joy are still there but each day it gets a little bit better. I know that in time, some day, I will see my brother again. Maybe when I am quiet, I will be able to feel his presence, and hear his voice saying, "Hi, Mary Louise...I love you, too."

Wedding Flowers

I left my house early to drive to Cleveland. My oldest daughter had one of her classes and would pick me up from her house so that we could drive to the Florist in Lakewood, Ohio, to pick out the flowers for her wedding.

I left early, basically so that I would have a few hours to myself to unwind from a long two weeks of helping everybody from babysitting, to working at the greenhouse, to preparing and delivering food for my daughter, the caterer, while she was in Italy. Being alone looked pretty good to me.

While driving my 1999 Mustang, I noticed the car could use some gas and I could use some coffee. I stopped, passed on the coffee but filled up my car with gas. I drove about two miles when I actually felt my car change gears or shift or maybe it felt more like a bucking motion. I guess for a Mustang that shouldn't be unusual but then this was a car and not a real horse. Or, maybe I was just going too fast, which isn't unusual for me. Whatever it was, the car just didn't feel right. I pulled over to the slow moving lane, and then on to the berm of the road where I parked.

I put on my right hand turn signal and said, "Oh crap! What now?" The cars and trucks sped passed me on the turnpike. After a lull in the traffic, I cautiously got out of the car to see if maybe I had a flat tire. More trucks flew by and my hair swirled around. I was thankful that I didn't have on a dress because I would have looked like that famous photo of Marilyn Monroe with her standing on a grate and the air blowing her dress around. Yeah, except without the blond hair, white dress, mole and sultry smile. The rain came down, and the 18-wheelers kept whizzing by which added to my distress. Nope, no flat tires, as I eased myself back into my car, thankful that I hadn't been killed by the rushing traffic.

I am not the best in emergencies, especially when I am alone. This was the one time that I had remembered my cell phone and used it, and called my son. Even though I was an hour and a half from home, I needed advice or a human voice to reassure me. Pat responded to my dilemma, "Put on your hazard lights, get into the slow moving lane, and get to a gas station for help."

I sat for a few minutes, took a deep breath, and did exactly what he told me to do. I drove slowly at first with my hazard lights flashing, and then I slowly started to accelerate. Nothing happened. The car seemed fine and I turned off my hazard lights, moved over into the fast lane, and drove with the rest of the traffic. With the small delay, I still arrived at my daughter's house with plenty of time to be alone. Eventually, my daughter's fiance would check out my car and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. Maybe I had some bad gas; in the car and not in me.

Our appointment to pick out flowers was at 2:00. It was now 11:30, and eating was first on our priority list. We headed for Danny Boys Restaurant that is close by the flower shop. The restaurant is a small Italian one with delicious food. We started out with a small salad and the most amazing Italian bread. Out came a bowl of homemade pasta sauce and a giant meatball, along with more Italian bread to soak up the sauce. Then came a deep-dish pizza...that we didn't need but we each indulged in a slice of the pizza. We had enough food left over, to take home for another meal.

Close by was the Wild Flour Bakery. They would be providing the cake for my daughter's wedding. We each bought an item for dessert, and it would give us a good idea of what the cake for the wedding would taste like. Dessert would have to wait because we were both stuffed from the food that we consumed at lunch. To be honest, that was the only meal we ate, until dinner. We both had skipped breakfast.

Another few blocks down the road was Brennan's Florist. We spent an hour going over books of wedding flowers. The Florist who helped us was excellent and easy going. My daughter had some thoughts about the flowers for the wedding. I had a list that I wrote down with her thoughts and mine. After telling the Florist what we would like, his response was, "That does nothing for me." My thought was...your not in the wedding party. I kept that to myself. The Florist had his own thoughts and in the end the three of us came to an agreement on what flowers we would have for the wedding. I think that my list only contained one flower that we would use at the wedding.

I gave the Florist a cash deposit and he would send us the contract and the bill, and we would pay for the flowers a month before the wedding. As we sat in the car, with the pleasant aroma of the left over food, my daughter pointed out two things that we had done that were wrong. First, I had given the deposit in cash and didn't receive a receipt. Second, we never asked for some kind of idea as to how much this might cost. I groaned, and not from the food, but from the two mistake that we had made. I would have a sleepless night worrying about the cost but in the end, I thought...it is for my daughter and the flowers that we selected were going to be beautiful. Three weeks later, we did receive the contract and the credit for the cash deposit. The total cost of the flowers was not outlandish, or out of line, and we both breathed easier for our decision.

The time spent at the Florist ended up to be a pleasant one hour with my daughter, who looked overwhelmed at all the choices that the Florist showed her. Since I work in a greenhouse, I was a bit more knowledgeable...my daughter let me add my two cents worth. Well, actually more then that. We shared in the selections; each with our own thoughts and neither one of us caused any disharmony. We didn't get angry or snappy or overbearing. It all worked out fine, despite the blue frosting streak on my cheek, a small piece of bread, tomato sauce, and green basil sticking to my upper gum and teeth. It's pretty hard to get that stuff removed from my teeth without the aid of a toothbrush or floss - you know. Even harder not to smile at the Florist and talk to him with my upper lip covering my teeth. But, I pulled it off quite well.

I Slept with Don Draper

The first time I saw Mad Men, a series on the AMC channel, I fell in love with the main character, Don Draper. Draper is hot and cool and a real man. His hair is perfect, even his frown is perfect, and he is just the perfect package as the total man. My youngest daughter hooked me on this series, It takes place in the 60s in an advertising agency. Don Draper is the top Ad Man. Of course he has a perfect beautiful wife and three perfect children. In spite of everything that is perfect on the outside...there is a deep dark secret that surrounds Draper. I am not going to go into that but trust me, the secret is interesting, but Draper is hot. Of course the real actor that plays Draper is a hunk of a man by the name of Jon Hamm.

In the third season of Mad Men...Draper loses his family, his wife, his girlfriend, and his old job at the Ad Agency. Draper cheated on his wife throughout their marriage. In the last episode, Draper's wife, Betty, is seen flying off with someone else to get her divorce, while Draper and a few of his old colleagues are going to start their own agency. Good luck! I know he won't need it because he is the golden man with the golden sell.

Let's face it, when I first started to watch the show, I hated Draper for how he treated his marriage, and for all those extramarital affairs. But the odd thing is I didn't really hate Draper. There is something about him that I really like. Maybe it is his vulnerability. Underneath all that cool, there is his painful secret.

It I were married to a man that cheated on me, I would have shown him the frying pan, and then the door. But now that I am no longer married, and Draper is no longer married, I decided to get in line with all the other tramps and have my turn with Draper. So, I did what every red blooded woman would, I slept with Draper. What can I say but underneath it all...he is a real cool man. And his hair never gets messed up. Can't wait for season four to be aired on Sunday, July 25, and to see where Draper is headed, and who will be the lucky women to land him. Okays, so the life size Don Draper in bed with me is a cardboard one, thanks to my daughter, who gave it to me for a Christmas present. All I can say is that a girl has to have some fun!

If you have ever seen Mad Men, Don Draper or Jon Hamm...you know what I mean. I bet your would flip for all three.

A King Falls

Even though I was born in Utica, New York...I lived in Cleveland from the time I was six until I married and moved away at 22. I went to grade school and high school in Cleveland, and then to college in Kent, Ohio. Wherever I have moved and lived, Cleveland is still home.

I rooted for the Cleveland Indians and remember when the gas stations used to give away a baseball booklet and individual photos of each baseball player.

I rooted for the Browns football team and remember the winning days of the Browns of the late 50s and 60s, and of course Jim Brown. I rooted for the team through every quarterback including Brian Sipe, #17, who led the Kardiac Kids of the 80s. Another favorite, Bernie Kosar, who was born in Boardman, Ohio, made sure that he played in Cleveland, only to have the owner, Art Modell, get rid of him.

In 1966, Modell took the Browns out of town and relocated them to Baltimore. The city of Cleveland hated Modell for that. The same fans filled the stadium for every game, and were loyal to the team until the owner dished the fans and the town. Until the football league brought back a new team to Cleveland in 1999, the fans during the football seasons would go to the bars and watched reruns of the old Browns football games. Now that was true loyalty.

Currently, Cleveland has lost one of the best basketball players in a manner that would parallel the Modell fiasco. Granted LeBron James left to play for the Miami heat after seven years of being with the Cleveland Cavaliers basketball team. When James first came to the team, he promised Cleveland fans a championship but he never could deliver on that promise. The fans still loved him. This month after playing the season for Cleveland, James became a free agent. The fans waited a long time for his free agency to begin and that was when the circus began...and James played the game like a pro. Looking back at it now, I realized he never had any intention of staying in Cleveland. It was all staged. He finally made his decision on national television, the ESPN network in particular...that was when he delivered the final nose thumbing to the Cleveland fans, when he announced that he would be playing for the Miami Heat.

The town was let down once again but this time on national television, even before informing the Cleveland Cavaliers Management of his decision. Of course the owner wrote a scathing letter to the fans about James. I understood how he felt, but I wish the owner hadn't done that. Jesse Jackson has now weighed in with is feelings. Let me say this Jackson, the owners anger had nothing to do with race or slave ownership. Why don't you speak up about the Black Panthers spewing their hatred toward the white people when you can think straighter?

I saw Lebron James play in person once in a preseason game and I've watched him on television. I am in awe of how he played and what he has accomplished for a man of 25. He is a native Ohioan from Akron. The Cavaliers basketball team was the first and only NBA team he ever played for. He is a gifted player and a wonderful athlete and someday he just might win the NBA championship ring that he visibly lusts after. He did win back-to-back MVP trophies, he loved Akron, and he gave back to the community, both in Akron and in Cleveland.

He also dubbed himself King James and the Chosen. He even has those tattooed on his body. Outside the Cavaliers Quicken Arena...there used to be a 10-story picture of him with his head thrown back and his arms outstretched after his pregame powder toss. The words on the picture mural - WE ARE ALL WITNESSES, followed by the Nike check symbol. It was a famous picture to the fans and visitors and they loved it. It came down on July 12, 2010.

Now James has taken his game to Miami with two other big name players. This was planned for a long time. Regardless of his leaving and going elsewhere to get his championship ring...he left a town sad. In reality, we are the ones who bought his line of the"King" and the "Chosen" one, who bought his merchandise, and who believed in a player who couldn't deliver.

For whatever it is worth...Cleveland lost something when James said he was leaving. In particular his leaving might actually hurt Cleveland financially. We were the ones who elevated him to the status of King and now a mortal man believes he is a King and the Chosen one. Maybe that is a lesson for all of us to really ponder. I think the front page of the Cleveland Plain Dealer said it best with a back shot of Lebron James in his Cavaliers uniform walking away, with an arrow pointing to his finger stating - 7 years and no ring.

Maybe it wasn't the money, but it was all an image and a legacy that someone else was building. But whoever chose the manner for James to stick it to the city of Cleveland, was really uninformed. James fell from King to the ranks of one of the most reviled man in Cleveland, along with Modell. Maybe we ought to look at ourselves for elevating men to godlike status and believing that in all of this there is such a thing as loyalty.

Bottom line- it is the money, the hype, the legacy and the ring. Loyalty doesn't seem to be important.