Spring

I have to say, spring is probably my favorite season of all. One moment everything is dull looking. The snow has left its imprint on everything and the mud and the colors of brown have dotted the landscape. It’s as if in a blink or overnight one wakes up to sun and warmth and eventually buds and colors.

I love seeing the spring fashions in my garden – the buds on the trees; both green and red. The buds on the plants bursting their seams and the crocus beginning to open in all their riotous colors: purple, white, yellow and more.

Before I know it, the crocus are in full bloom, the forsythia is blazing, so is my lonely grape hyacinth (the one given to me last Easter), and my many daffodils –tall and short, yellow and white, fighting for my attention. Then it is my tulips – usually those graceful beautiful deer, which trip through my back yard, stop and feed on those delectable treats. Yet, thankfully they seem to have overlooked my front yard. Those lucky tulips have bloomed into red, yellows, whites and a gorgeous purple. While all this is all going on, the Red Bud Trees in my backyard are blooming, and eventually my fragrant lilacs add their own scent and beauty.

I find total joy in my garden. I have plans for it and am eager to carry out my plans for its summer beauty. But right now, after the cold and dreary months of winter, I am fully ready for the glorious season of spring!

Babies

The day was a little downcast. Gray skies and a chill in the air. But I saw the sun shine when my 15th grandchild, (12th granddaughter) was baptized. Why is it that no matter how I am feeling, that seeing a baby, holding a baby, and watching a baby smile makes me feel so happy?

I had nine babies and I never tired of watching them and wondering what they would grow up to become. I loved their smiles and the feel of those soft chubby hands. Their smell is so hard to describe. It is a mixture of sweetness, of the baby itself, or maybe it is all of that mixed with heaven?

Sunday, my granddaughter was baptized, and I felt grateful to be there with my family during this beautiful moment. Later my children, their spouses, grandchildren, family and friends celebrated Ava’s party at my house. For a few hours my normally quiet house reverted back to the old days of having my children living there. Children’s voices, their laughter, and running throughout the house, made my house come alive once again.

Ava is a beautiful baby girl and it will be a treasure to see her grow and see what she will become some day. In a few months, my youngest son and his wife are having a baby. The sonogram showed a perfectly formed, beautiful baby. That will be the 15th grandchild. Another little girl will make it my 13th granddaughter. Yes, another little girl. Simply amazing!

Toxic People

My youngest daughter would always remark about Toxic Friends – the kind who complain over and over and can’t find any positives in their lives, or say things continuously to bring you down…way down. Her advice would always be to stay away from them.

I had one friend that did that to me and I removed that person from my life. I also had an ex- sister-in-law who could never make you feel good about yourself and your family. Whatever accomplishments you or your family had, that person could never say – “congratulations, or that is great”. No, she had to play the ‘one up game,’ where she had to top everything you said. It was like being in a contest with only one player playing.

But a few days ago, I realized that Toxic Friends can include Toxic Acquaintances and just plain Toxic People. They are everywhere and can affect you in a strange and negative way. Over breakfast, a close friend and I were talking about an old acquaintance we both knew from a long time ago. At first, she was an interesting, and very creative person to know. My friend and I hadn’t seen this woman in over 10 years, and we were both left with a better feeling. We both wondered if this woman had changed.

Oddly, in less then a week, I ran into this woman in the grocery store. We exchanged pleasantries, asked each other about our families, and what we were doing now. From our exchanges, I knew that this woman may have grown older, but she hadn’t changed – not one little bit. She dropped the name of Harvard as she told me her son would be graduating from there and he had not just one job offer but two job offers, and her two daughters were married and one lived on the East coast and the other on the West coast. One of them would be getting their MBA. I remained mute about my children other then they were fine and all but two lived close by. She asked if I was still writing or whatever I was doing, in a patronizing voice. I said yes and added as an afterthought, that I had published a book. Big mistake on my part! With a few comments, and without missing a beat, she informed me that her husband published a book and thought it was fun. We said goodbye.

I walked away feeling relieved, disgruntled, and very small. I also knew that she is the same insufferable, self centered person and I was grateful knowing we wouldn’t be hanging out with each other. We wouldn’t be seeing each other, unless we ran into one another in the grocery store. I know that I don’t like playing the one- up game. That isn’t my style. This woman is good at it, much like my ex-sister-in-all. Both are at the top of their games. To be honest, what got under my skin was that I could never articulate my feeling to either woman because, that, too, isn’t my style.

I pretty much thought that it must be hard to live with this woman, who measured and weighed everything by labels and names. I decided that had to be pretty hard. Maybe it was a telling moment knowing that in fact, that all three of her children lived far away from Pittsburgh, and will probably never move back.

Why do people go out of their way to make other people feel little? Is it that they are insecure or insensitive or just so full of themselves, that they can’t allow others to take the spotlight off of their own narcissist self for one second?

Blue Bloods

I like watching a number of television programs and one of the programs that I watch on Friday nights is Blue Bloods. It is a police drama that centers around an Irish American family, the Reagans, who are police officers. The drama takes place in New York City. The star of the show is Tom Selleck.

Blue Bloods isn’t just a police action show. It also centers around family dynamics. Every Sunday the family sits around the dining room table and eats dinner together. I found that refreshing because that was what it was like when I was growing up, Sunday meals were eaten together as a family. I do like the action and how well written the show is and how good the actors are. The episode that made an impression on me was the episode titled, The Job. I have it on Demand I was able to watch it and stop and go back over a few parts. Tom Selleck’s character has survivor guilt when he finds out his old partner is dying form a 9/11 related disease. And yes, many people, especially the first responders have developed respiratory diseases, and cancer from the 9/11 fallout.

In the end…when the partner dies, Selleck gives his eulogy. It was quite poignant. He talked about his partner saving 100 people from one of the Towers. He says that the living will honor those who died, take care of them and rededicate ourselves to the cause for which they gave their last full measure of devotion. Selleck says the Irish Blessing … May the road rise to meet you, may the wind always be at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, may the rains fall softly upon your fields…while the viewer sees the back of him dressed in his uniform, touching the engraved name of his friend with the 9/11 memorial behind and the water in the base running. This sent a shiver up my back and brought back 9/11 and the dedication ceremony.

That is a scene like the day of 9/11 and the days after that will haunt Americans forever. But Blue Bloods made an eloquent statement and tribute to those who died.

Too Long at one Job

Too long at one job

The first time I was asked to make a potato salad in my daughter’s catering kitchen, (I am ashamed to admit this) it took me a total of two hours from start to finish. That was a few years ago. That two hour time frame surprised me because I was always fast at whatever task I tackled. My daughter finally commented, “In another five minutes, it will be a total of two hours since you started making that potato salad. That has to be a record.” I was embarrassed and vowed to improve my out put and speed.

Lately, I have been working with another woman at my daughter’s catering kitchen. That woman is slower then I am. Compared to her, I am a dynamo. I try not to feel superior but sometimes I do. If she does one job, I usually do three different jobs. I do admit that she can chop foods finer then I can. But one day when we were making corn pancakes, hers were definitely smaller then mine. After I finished my pancake job, I noticed the other woman was making designs with her pancakes. Seriously, they were designer pancakes! That was when I mentally lost it, cleaned up my work area, and left the kitchen, frustrated.

Now, the other woman is out for knee surgery. I am once again the low woman on the totem pole, and I am definitely the slowest worker in the kitchen. Today I had to cut a lot of fruits for two different venues…one was for a wedding. The fruit had to feed about 170 people. The other was for a reunion, feeding at least 70 people. By the time I cut up the cantaloupes, melons, pineapples and strawberries, and sliced up oranges for the decorations around the inside of the bowl, as well as grapes and some kiwi fruit…it took me two damn hours!

I no longer feel so smug about myself.

Memories

A few days ago, my son, Brian, started talking about my father. He was laughing at some of the stories about my father, and he said that he was sharing those stories with his children. He wants me to write them down and suggested that he bring his daughters over, and have me answer some of their questions, and tell them more stories. He added that I should write a book about my father. In the past I have written short stories about my father. I plan to write more stories about my family in the future and probably will put them into a book.

My father was 100% Italian. He stood 5’9” but was the biggest person in my life. I worshipped him simply because he was my Dad. Whatever he said was law. If I had to be home by 11:00 p.m., regardless if he was in bed, he knew exactly what time the back door opened and closed. If I was late, I would get an earful. Even when I was engaged, there was a curfew and I had better keep it. I did.

My father was quirky in some strange ways. He had to eat his food on separate plates, and he hated mayo or cream sauces. He didn’t want garlic in his food but my mother put it anyway without him seeing her. And he liked all the food that she cooked. He loved his coffee looking like a café au lait with sugar and cream. But his coffee had to be accompanied by cookies. Any type would do but he really preferred Stella D’Oro cookies.

He loved getting presents and had a hard time waiting to open them. At Christmas, if he found his presents, he had to open them before Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. He loved my mother but it was that aluminum Christmas tree that he lusted after, and painstakingly put u. He was mesmerized by the color wheel that changed the tree different colors. Christmas Eve was his favorite time, sitting around his parents’ dining room table and eating, drinking, talking and laughing for hours.

After my father died and I inherited all his ornaments…I divided them up between my nine children. Brian and his family set up a separate tree in their dining room , where they use all of my father’s ornaments to decorate it. It is dubbed Grandpa Aiello’s tree. When he emailed me the photo, it made me smile and I was so happy that he would do this. It was a great way to share memories and the past

Now for the other side…my father ran a jewelry store in Utica, New York, and in the back room he ran card games. He was a big time gambler, who would file his finger tips so smoothly that he could deal the second and third cards from the deck without being noticed. He worked as a card dealer in Las Vegas. He also gambled away my mother’s dream house. Our family left Utica owing a number of debts. But once in Cleveland, my father lived a straight and narrow life. All my mother’s prayers seemed to have been answered.

After my son left, I sat down and wrote more. I wrote about the good, the bad and the ugly. It is from the past that we learn a lot of who we are and how we want to be remembered. I loved my father, despite all of his weirdness. My father made me who I am, along with my mother. Along the way, I chose some of the same roads, but I discarded some of the darker ones.

I plan on writing about my father. But for now, I will tell my little grandchildren some of the stories that will make them laugh and leave the other stories to be told later.

Give me a Reason to Read Jane Austen

I don’t remember if I ever read Jane Austen when I was younger? I like to think that I did. Since my brain has aged and is fuzzy at times, I really am not sure.

A few years ago, a delightful book and then movie called The Jane Austen Book Club, became popular. I read the book, and loved it. Then I saw the movie and loved it even more and bought it on DVD. I have watched it a number of times and it delights me.

Finally, when Borders was going out of business, I came across a Jane Austen book with a number of her stories. The price was right, and I bought it and promptly started to read it. Or should I say, I tried to read it, only to fall a sleep before I read a page of the book.

My friend who I get together weekly to go over our week and share our writing or art, came up with the idea that we should read Jane Austen and report back to one another on our progress. Since the chapters were one page, I have read 18 chapters. After each chapter, I wanted to quit reading Jane Austen. To be honest, each word, each chapter leaves me acknowledging that it was all jumble to me.

I seemed to have missed the clever, witty Jane Austen. Actually, Jane Austen bores me. I still haven’t given up but I need to know – what makes Jane Austen’s books a must to read? What makes her stories, her characters, and her books so good and interesting?

Tell me, how do I come to like Jane Austen? Give me a clue. I desperately need to know.