Author Archives: Susan

And The Winner Is

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It’s early Saturday morning and my doorbell rings four times. Before I can answer the door, they knock several times using my new brass doorknocker, two Eskimos rubbing noses. I found it in an antique store in Philadelphia called Antiques R Us. I know that’s tacky but they have some really cool stuff in there.

I trip over my cat Sloopy in my rush to get to the door. Sloopy is trying to escape. He’s terrified of both the doorbell and knocking at the door. I step up to the door out of breath and a bit worse for wear. I see a UPS man standing there. He has his middle finger pressed firmly against the doorbell.

I flash him the universal signal for knock it off, a hand across the throat through the window in the door. I fumble around looking for the key to the front door. It’s in the top drawer of the desk next to the door.

I yank the door so energetically that I nearly rip the door off the hinges. “Hey, you can stop ringing the doorbell. What in god’s name is your problem? Couldn’t you just toss the package on the porch like you usually do?”

The man sneers at me. You probably don’t really know what that means until somebody actually directs that look at you. “I haven’t got all day lady. Can you please sign this?”

He hands me the electronic signature thingy. I sign it. My signature looks like Sanskrit or something. He thrust a heavy white envelope into my hand. He does an about-face and walks down the sidewalk and propels himself into his truck. He pulls out without even checking for traffic coming in his direction. Maniac.

I close the door and look at the envelope. I don’t recognize the return address. It looks like a wedding invitation. Good god, almighty is it possible that I’m being invited to yet another of my college friends’ second-time-around weddings? This will make the sixth one in two years. I don’t think anyone should expect their friends to go to another wedding and give another expensive gift for a marriage that probably won’t last until the second anniversary.

I tear open the envelope. Surprise it isn’t a wedding invitation. It’s an invitation to a Scavenger Hunt. Seriously a Scavenger Hunt, who am I Katherine Heyburn? Where’s my Cary Grant? I look at the invitation for the who, what, and where of it all. It’s from a mysterious someone who is an associate of my investment broker Bill Holden. It’s scheduled for December 31st, 2019 in New York City, from 8 pm until midnight.

Are they kidding New Year’s Eve in New York City? I throw the invitation down on the coffee table. I walk back to the kitchen to finish eating my now soggy Captain Crunch cereal. I sip my lukewarm tea.

I idly tap my spoon against the table. I imagine myself dressed to kill, wearing my to-die-for black fur-lined cape. It has a hand-embroidered trim with golden bumblebees. I haven’t really had an opportunity to wear it yet. New Year’s Eve would be the perfect occasion to make its debut.

Well, why not? It could be a wonderful adventure. I’ll use the limo service the invitation listed. I can drink champagne and eat caviar. Well, maybe not caviar. I hate it but definitely drink champagne.

I walk back to the living room and pick up the invitation and take it back into the kitchen with me. I read it over several times. There’s a contact email to RSVP. That’s kind of odd, but it’s the digital age. I walk over to my computer and boot it up. and send my RSVP to the email address.

I’m busy all day Saturday doing errands. I had to take some of my business suits to the dry cleaners and then I have my nails done and highlights added to my hair. I really want to make a good impression on New Year’s Eve. It’s only ten days away. I stop by on my way home to visit my mother. She lives about fifteen minutes from my house in an over fifty-community.

I knock at the door and my mother answers out of breath. “Santina, you nearly scared me to death coming to the door this early morning.”

“Mother it’s two in the afternoon. You must have slept in this morning.”

My mother has a very close relationship with Vodka Martinis. She likes to throw back a few every evening as she watches some man-hating movie on the LMN Channel. She just hasn’t been the same since my father ditched her and married his dental assistant seven years ago. She swears she wouldn’t have been as bitter if the woman had at least been a younger woman and not someone the same age. Somehow, I doubt that would have made that much difference.

“Can I come in mother?”

“Of course, who said you couldn’t?”

I follow my mother through the foyer and the pristine, never used, formal living room into the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Santina?”

“No thank you Mother, but if you have tea that would be great.” My mother refuses to acknowledge that I never drink coffee. It’s just another of her odd little quirks. “Mother guess what?”

Before I can continue, she says, “Santina, I’ve told you time and again that I don’t like guessing games. How in the world would I be able to guess?”

“Mother it’s only a figure of speech. I didn’t really expect you to guess. I was invited to a New Years’ Eve Scavenger Hunt in New York City, isn’t that exciting?”

“New York City, oh I don’t know Santina. That sounds dangerous. Who are you going with? Who is hosting this scavenger hunt?”

“I’m going by myself. I’ve rented a limo to take me there and drive me around. It will be perfectly safe.”

“You didn’t answer me about who invited you?”

“A friend of Bill Holden, my investments broker.”

“How long have you known him Santina?”

I hesitate for a moment and say, “oh I met him six months ago Mother. He’s very well known in the business community.” A bald-faced lie, but I was not about to tell my mother I never met the man.

“Oh well then that seems safe enough, but be aware that there are a lot of crazy people out there on New Year’s Eve in New York City looking for people to take advantage.”

“I know Mother. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Well, I better get going I have a lot of things to do this weekend. I have a busy workweek ahead of me. I’ll see you later Mom. I’ll give you a call during the week.”

“What? You just got here. Why are you always in a rush to leave Santina? I didn’t even make you your tea.”

I stand up and awkwardly hug my mother. “Never mind Mother I wasn’t really that thirsty.” I head back to the front door and into my SAAB. Somehow my visits with my mother are always brief. I love her, but I just don’t enjoy spending time with her. It’s a shame, but that’s just the way it is with us.

The next week flies by before you know it; it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m dressed to kill.  Even if I do say so myself, I look stunning in my sequined gold vintage Valentino umpire dress. I picked it up for a song in an out-of-the-way shop on South Street in Philadelphia. My cape swirls around me with my every move.

The limo arrives right on time and the chauffeur comes to my door. He’s a handsome man with jet-black hair and a mustache. If that isn’t enough, he has a Middle Eastern accent that’s sexy as hell. When I open the door, I do it with a flourish. He greets me, “Are you, Madam Ferraro?”

“Yes, yes, I am, and you are?”

“My name is Amir Bashara, I am at your service.”

He looks like he could be a sheik, my heart starts pounding and my imagination goes into overdrive. I force myself to calm down. “Yes Amir, here is the list of destinations for the evening. I’m ready to go. I reach over and grab my purse and my digital camera. I follow him out to the limo. It’s gleaming in the light cast by a nearby streetlight. I feel like Cinderella on her way to the ball.

Amir opens the back door and says in his deep, melodic voice, “everything is as you have requested Madam, let me know if I can be of service in any way. There is an intercom in the back should you need anything at all.”

I sit down on the doe soft leather of the back seat. Six people could sit here comfortably. I see a discreet black refrigerator; within it are the chilled champagne I requested and a platter of horderves. I adjust my cape that had become twisted around my legs when I stepped inside the car. Capes are a thing of beauty but not really practical, like many things in life. I stare momentarily at Amir’s profile and dream of a thousand Arabia nights. I let my imagination visit there for a while.

I consider my coming evening. I think about my quest, the places I will visit, and the treasures I must capture. The instructions in the email I received said I must visit the 42nd and Broadway Theater and either take a picture of the theater where the musical Chicago is playing or somehow get a ticket stub for it.

The next goal is to stop in at the Pego Club and have one of their famous cocktails and take the glass. The third stop is the Ice-Skating Rink at Rockefeller Square. I must capture a picture of the Skaters in motion. The final goal is to visit the observatory at the top of the Empire State Building. Where I will meet up with my fellow scavenger hunters and find out who they are. And who is this mysterious person who invited me on this wonderful adventure?

New York City

Photograph by David Mark-Pixabay

The evening passes quickly, and the crisp air in the city is almost electric with excitement. People are walking up and down the streets in glamorous tuxedos and sparkling dresses. I arrive at the theater and see the sign for Chicago. “Amir, could you stop here and let me out? Could you drive around the block and then pick me up in front of the theater? It shouldn’t take me long.”

“Yes of course Madam, would you like me to accompany you?”

“What? No, that’s not necessary, but thank you very much for the offer. I’ll be fine. This won’t take me more than a few moments. I step out of the car and onto the street. It’s unbelievable how crowded the theater district is. There are actors walking around in costumes from some of the shows that are playing in the theaters. I walk up to the theater playing Chicago and take several quick shots of the Marquee and the people milling about. I look around on the ground for a ticket that someone might have dropped. It’s difficult to see because of the constantly moving feet of the people around me. I hear a deep and familiar voice say. “Madam is this what you are looking for?”

I look up at Amir standing there, looking like Aladdin. “Oh, Amir that’s very kind of you but unnecessary. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. ”

“I have no doubt Madam, but such a beautiful woman as yourself should have company in this great city of New York.”

I look at him closely. I hope he isn’t some kind of stalker. I don’t see crazy in his eyes, but you never know. He hands me a ticket. It’s a stub for Chicago musical. “Wow thank you very much, Amir. I guess we can be on our way.”

“Follow me madam the car is right over here.”

Somehow, he found a parking spot right in front of the theater. He opens the door for me. I step in like Cinderella into the pumpkin carriage.

It doesn’t take very long to arrive at the Pego Club. There’s a long line of people waiting to go inside. I wonder how I will be able to go in and get a cocktail and grab the glass. And still, have time for the other two destinations.

“Madam if you would allow me to step out for a moment I will see if I can arrange for you to enter more quickly?”

“Really, why that would be wonderful. Otherwise, I think I will be waiting in line all night.”

Amir pulls the limo into a spot that miraculously appears in front of us. I look at his mysterious eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s looking back at me. I look down quickly embarrassed to be caught looking at his handsome face. He steps out of the car and disappears into the crowd. The car seems suddenly empty and missing some essential energy. He returns in a few moments and taps on my window. “Madam, I have arranged for us to go in long enough for a drink.”

Us, did he say us? He takes off his cap and puts it in the passenger side of the front seat. I realize for the first time how tall he is and that he’s wearing a very expensive suit that fits him like it was tailored for him. “Oh of course.” I stammer and somehow get out of the car gracefully. My cape flows out behind me like the train on a wedding dress. He offers me his hand as I step out onto the sidewalk. I feel a surge of electricity flow between us. I think I really shouldn’t have drunk that entire carafe of champagne.

I can’t help but notice that the crowd seems to make a path for us to the door. The bouncer lets us walk right in. There’s a low buzz of people talking in the background. A wonderful aroma of incense or perfume is in the air. It reinforces the feeling that I’m walking into a dream. Amir finds a space at the crowded bar and orders. He hands me my cocktail and drinks something dark and golden. After I finish my drink Amir hands me a bag.

“This is for your glass Madam.”

“Amir please call me Santina. I would appreciate it.”

“Madam, I mean Santina that’s a beautiful name. It fits you. Sorry I shouldn’t make such a personal comment.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t really look like he is embarrassed. I’m at a loss for how I should act since I have never been in a situation like this before. “Oh, that’s fine thank you very much. I guess we should be on our way.”

“Of course, let’s be off to the skating rink, I’ve only been there once as a little girl. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it very much.”

The next thing I know we glide up to Rockefeller Center. It’s very crowded. Apparently, everyone wants to skate on the small rink on this beautiful New Year’s Eve.

“Santina would you like to skate on the rink? I can arrange it for you if you wish?”

“What? Oh no, another time would be wonderful. I’m really not dressed for skating, thank you.”

“As you wish. If you would like I will take a picture of you, next to the rink. Then we can be off to the final destination of the Empire State Building observatory.”

We arrive at the Empire State Building at quarter to Twelve.  We are parked at the Fifth Avenue entrance. The street is a wonderland glowing with magnificent Christmas lights and gold and silver decorations.

As we exit the car, I see there are snowflakes beginning to fall. It really seems like a wonderful dream. Amir takes my hand as I get out of the car. I forget that he is my limousine driver. I feel like a princess whose hand is being held by her prince, her Arabian prince. I allow myself to be lost for this moment in this fantasy. We walk into the lobby. It’s an amazing combination of beautiful lights and soft music from a Quartet playing in the background.

“Santina, the elevator is this way.” He escorts me to what looks like a private elevator.

“Amir this can’t be the public elevator. This looks like a private elevator.”

“Santina, it’s alright we can go this way. It has all been arranged for you.”

For me? I wonder what he means by that.  Oh, he must mean for the scavenger hunt group. The elevator arrives at the observatory in what seems like a twinkling of the eye. Amir takes my hand as I step out of the elevator. The view is unbelievably beautiful. The city of New York City is ablaze with lights in every direction. I’m awed by the vision before me.

We walk over to the far wall. Amir makes a sweeping gesture with his arms. I look in Amir’s eyes and he’s looking back into mine. He leans down toward me. All the fireworks and whistles and horns are blowing, fireworks can be seen in the distance. I hear “Happy New Year Santina. It’s all for you. You have only to reach out and take it.”

Courage Isn’t The Absence Of Fear. It’s The Ability to Act Despite Fear

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Life is challenging. Every day we face problems that must be solved, questions that must be answered, tasks that must be completed. If you think about it, these are the same problems we had to face since our childhood. It’s only the complexity of problems that have changed as we grow up and grew older.

As a young child before I started school. I was quiet, shy, reticent about straying too far from the familiar. Reluctant to be separated from my mother for any length of time. But still I was filled with curiosity about the world. The world outside my house, outside my yard, outside my neighborhood. I had a fraternal twin sister. It is hard to imagine anyone being more different from me than my twin sister.

We didn’t look alike. I had blond hair, she had dark hair. She was friendly and outgoing and talkative. I was shy and quiet. I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. I avoided calling attention to myself. I like the familiar, she was more mature and tried different things. 

These differences became more obvious when we entered school. My sister made friends more readily. I made friends slowly and with more care. I did every thing I could to avoid calling attention to myself in the classroom. If I could have become invisible, I would have disappeared. I always tried to sit in the back of the classroom. If I was a turtle, I would have pulled my head inside my shell.

Because of my personality and my shyness, I often woke up on schooldays with a stomach ache. I would have trouble sleeping, afraid of failing in school, afraid I wasn’t smart enough. My concern about my intellectual ability was exacerbated by my father. When I was reluctant to go out with my parents to visit friends or relatives or I wouldn’t speak up when he asked me a question, he would say, “I don’t know what your problem is, are you stupid, or lazy?”

I sought comfort in my imagination, in making up stories. And by making friends with all the animals in my neighborhood, the cats, the dogs. I would imagine I was a bird and could fly.

But still I had this inner strength that kept telling me you can do it. And when I was afraid to answer that question in class, I decided I would just stand up and answer even if it made me feel uncomfortable, even if I was wrong. If I had difficulty one day, I would try harder the next. I became stubborn. If someone told me I was wrong, I would be even more determined to prove I was right. My father started saying, “Susan would argue with the Pope.”

If another classmate was being picked on by someone, I would stick up for them. I became braver to help them. Because I knew what it felt like to be picked on. I remembered those butterflies in my stomach when I was afraid. Even if I was shaking in my boots speaking up for myself or a classmate, I did it. I cared about other people and their feelings. I knew what if felt like to be afraid. Their fear, their pain became mine. And I wanted to help them, I wanted to help myself.

These changes did not happen overnight. They happened over years. Years when I learn to accept who I was, and what I was capable of doing. And when I learned to listen to my inner voice and not to the people who told me I was stupid, or lazy. I realized that I knew myself better than anyone else possible could. And so, I did not allow myself to be limited by their definition of who I was and what I could or could not do.

When I was old enough, I asked my father to teach me to drive although I knew he didn’t believe women should drive. He didn’t allow my mother to learn how to drive. I was afraid of driving. But I was more fearful of how my life would be limited by not knowing how to drive.

 

I started working part-time in my senior year of high school  as an dental assistant when I was seventeen. The only other job I had was baby-sitting for my nieces and nephews.

I wanted to go to college, but my father said, “girls don’t need to go to college they’re just going to get married and have children.” So, I didn’t go to college at eighteen even though I attended an all-girl college Prep High School, called St. Mary of The Angel’s Academy in Haddonfield, NJ.

I eventually attended college at the age of thirty-six at Temple University in Philadelphia, Pa. at The Tyler School of Art. I had been married for fourteen years and had two children who were six and three years old in my freshman year. I graduated Summa Cum Laud at the age of forty with two degrees. It was a dream I always had, and I made it happen. It wasn’t easy. I was the only adult student in the Freshman class in 1987. I enjoyed every moment of it.

The day I walked onto that campus as a first day freshman was the opportunity of a lifetime for me. But I have never been as frightened or nervous as I was that day. But I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. All the way up to the day I graduated at the top ten percent of Temple University. I was proud of myself, proud that I accomplished a very difficult goal, proud that I didn’t give up every time I was tired, overworked with school, taking care of my two children, taking care of our home, shopping, cooking and cleaning and staying up half the night or all night studying and doing homework.

Many years have passed since I was a little girl going to my first day of grade school. I have lived a long time. I have moved to another state when I was twenty-two by myself. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California and now have retired to North Carolina with my husband of forty-five years.

I have worked as a dental assistant, sold high risk auto insurance, went to hairdressing school in the mid-seventies, sold hats and wigs, worked as a houseparent at St. Vincent’s School in Santa Barbara, gotten married and had two children, went to college as an adult, taught art in my own art studios, had an online business selling one-of-a kind jewelry with my daughter. Worked in Social Services for a decade in Camden and Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ helping at-risk inner-city kids.

So yes, I’m not that shy little girl who was afraid of speaking up and out. I have challenged myself hundreds of times. I have known people who from all of the world and from around the block. I’ve met and gotten to know millionaires and homeless people. And they are all just people struggling in their own way as am I. We all come into this world innocent and none of us gets out of this world alive.

Try and meet all the challenges that life brings to you and always do your best. Life is short and passes by so quickly, do good along the way. Fear may often be your companion but you don’t have to let it lead your way. You are the navigator of your life and don’t let anyone or anything keep you from living the life you want to lead.

And one final thought in case you think I spend everyday typing out stories and sharing my life in this blog. No, I’m still living my life as fully as possible. I work as a volunteer at an exotic animal rescue three days a week. I take care of endangered Parrots and Macaws. And some of my best friends now are lemurs, and a Coatimundi called Neffin,  a monkey called Teddy, a lemur named, Monroe, and a rabbit called Marilyn, eight dogs and too many cats to mention. Foxes as sweet and gentle as any dog. And a host of other animals too long a list to mention. 

It’s your life, lead it, my friends. It’s normal to be afraid at times, but don’t let fear especially fear of failure stop you in your tracks.

 

 

 

The Day The Earth Stood Still Or So I Thought

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I shoveled in my oatmeal as quickly as possible without choking. I was watching my mother’s parakeet Prettyboy eat his morning treat of lettuce. Afterward, he hopped out of his cage through the open door and flew onto the kitchen table. He walks across the table, knocking the forks and the knives onto the floor.

My mother pretends she’s mad. “Prettyboy stop that. Get back into your cage.”

I think she secretly enjoys his mealtime antics. 

“Susie and Karen, please eat your oatmeal.”

The oatmeal feels like a ton of bricks in my stomach. My mother believes that every child should start the day with something warm in their stomach that sticks to their ribs.

Still, it’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning, my favorite day of the week. I can get up as late as I want. Well not really, if I wasn’t up by nine AM, my mother would come into my bedroom to see if I was still breathing. It’s late spring, which means I only have about eight more weeks of school. Then summer will arrive. I hate school more then I hate vegetables, and that was considerable.

As soon as I finish my last spoonful, I jump up so violently from my chair that it falls over. My father starts yelling,” Susan, you are being a pain in the ass.”

“Susan, please remember your manners and asked to be excused.” My mother chimes in.

I start explaining to my father. Sorry, sorry it was an accident.” He keeps going on about how I did the same thing every day and never seemed to learn. I was pigheaded and stubborn that I would argue with the pope. “Sorry, Dad, I won’ do it again.”

I run out the kitchen door, slamming the screen door behind me. I can hear my father yelling after me, “I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t slam the door.”

I was free now, free to go where I please and do what I want. I chose to wander over to Mrs. Collins’ yard and visit my friends who live in her cellar. But they’re allowed within the confines of the outside kennel to enjoy the good life out in their backyard.

There are about twenty to thirty cats, give or take a few. I know all their names and stop to pet them and exchange a few words with each one. They come rushing over to greet me. Each beautiful in their way. Some were black and white, some calico. Some had long tails that sway. Some had no tails at all. They’re my friends.

My best friend’s name is Strottles. He doesn’t live in the Collins’ cellar. He’s a wild cat. He had belonged to one of our neighbors, the Lombardi family, but he scratched up all their furniture and sprayed on the doors. So, they put him out of their house.

He survives on his wits and on food that people in the neighborhood put out for him. It wasn’t unheard of for him to kill and eat the occasional bird or mouse. Strottles is the biggest cat I have ever seen. His fur is orange, and mangy looking. He has scars and part of one ear missing. But to me, he was the most charming and handsome of them all. I love him.

As I crouch down in the grass petting the cats through the chicken wire, I see Strottles cruising through Mrs. Lombardi’s yard and heading in my direction. I call out to him, “Strottles, hi Strottles. How are you?”

He comes over to me slowly and bumps his head on my shoulder. I can hear and feel him purring. I start telling Strottles about my morning and how my father told me I was pigheaded. I told him how I was yelled at for knocking over my chair. He gazes at me with his enormous golden eyes and somehow conveys to me with his look that everything will be ok.

Strottles and I spend the morning investigating and saying hello to all the neighbors’ pets. Strottles is very tolerant of dogs and female cats, but he can’t abide other male cats.

In my room early in the morning, I have often been awakened by the sound of cats waling and screaming. When I look out my bedroom window, I see a whirling dervish as Strottles fights any male cat that dares to interlope in his territory. As far as I know, he remains the victor in all his battles. He wears his many scars and healing wounds as any great warrior would. I hear my mother calling me to come in for lunch from the kitchen door.

“Susie time for lunch, come home Susie, lunch time.”

“Strottles, I’ll see you later.”

He stares at me intently with his great orange eyes, and I stroke him from the top of his head to the end of his straggly, broken tail. As I run towards the side of my house, I take a last look at Strottles as he strolls away in the other direction. He seems in no great hurry to reach whatever his next destination might be.

As I open the kitchen door, I smell chicken noodle soup that’s steaming in a pot on the stove. My mother stands there in her housedress, covered by her everyday apron. She has a long line of safety pins hanging down the front of it. She claims that you never knew when you might need a safety pin, to pin up an errant hem, or replace a lost button.

“Hi, Susie.” She says with her beautiful smile. I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches, please go and wash your hands before you sit down.”

As I run into the bathroom, I hear my sister Karen, coming in through the front door.

“Hi, Mom, what’s for lunch?”

Then I close the bathroom door. As I finish my business in the bathroom, I hear a great commotion coming from the kitchen. My father is yelling, and my mother ‘s crying. I run into the kitchen to see what’s going on. I see my father at the kitchen door with a broom. He’s chasing what looks like the tail end of an orange cat. I have never seen my mother cry before. I feel my lower lip start trembling, and tears sprang to my eyes. My mother gives me a look that I had never seen in her eyes before. I know that something terrible has happened and somehow I‘m to blame.

My father comes back into the house, and his face carries an angry expression. I know that I was about to be on the receiving end of something terrible. “You and that stupid cat,” he spits at me, “look what you have done.” My sister looks at me, her mouth in a circle. Then everyone stares sadly up at Prettyboy’s now empty cage.

“Where is Prettyboy?” I beg as tears roll down my cheeks.

“That dammed cat of yours, he ran into the kitchen while your mother took out the garbage. He jumped up onto the kitchen table and he killed your mother’s bird.”

“Oh no, I sobbed, oh no, Strottles wouldn’t do that.” But I know in my heart he would. He’s always hungry and on the lookout for food.

My mother looks away from me. My father roughly grabs me by the arm and smacks me on my behind.

“Go down the cellar and stay down there and think about what you have done.” He pushes me through the door and closes it behind me. It seems I was down there a very long time. I cry and cry until my eyes are swollen shut. I hear my mother’s soft voice and feel her arms around me.

Parenting- These Things I Know To Be True

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Parenting is, by far, one of the most challenging tasks that a mother and father must face. It’s not something that happens in a day. It’s a continuous progression of changes that occur over a long period. And if you have been successful as a parent, your child will be capable of making measured, responsible decisions although there will be many mistakes along that path. 

And yet, there is no line saying yes, this person is ready to be completely independent. He or she doesn’t need my input anymore. When my oldest daughter moved out into an apartment in Philadelphia in her last year of college, she made some financial mistakes. In her first couple of months, she ran her cell phone bill up to over five hundred dollars. She invited her friends over for dinners. She didn’t have the money to cover the $500.00 phone bill or to buy additional food.

I had to have a serious conversation with her regarding her financial status. And how much money or how little money we had to contribute to her living expenses. We were paying for her school expenses and her art supplies while she attended the Hussian School of Art. Also, we put the first, last a deposit on her apartment and furnished it for her. We had purchased her cell phone.

The good news is that my daughter graduated at the top of her class and excelled in every area.

It’s difficult to stand by and let a child make decisions that you consider inappropriate or immature without considering the consequences of that decision.

It was the same when that child took his or her first stumbling steps when they started to walk. You stood several feet away with your arms outstretched. And let them come toward you, knowing full well that they will fall at first, possibly get hurt. But allowing them because this is the necessary process, we all go through in learning to walk — their first steps to becoming an independent person.

Your child matures from an infant to a toddler to a young child to adolescent to young adult. Many changes take place. There were decisions to be made. When can the child play outside without the mother or father’s watchful presence? When can I allow him or her to walk to a friend’s house unaccompanied? How far can she or he ride their bike? When are they old enough to be left home without supervision? And later when are they ready to date, hold a job, learn to drive a car.

Each child is an individual and must be treated as such. There is no rule book for parenting. Many times, it’s a trial or error process. There is always a learning curve in parenting. Especially the first time around. And even the second or third time can be completely different than the others.

But the most significant and relevant factor in parenting is consistent. Consistent in rules of behavior, consistent in discipline. Consistent in love and acceptance for the child as an individual.

Children need to have structure in their environment and stability in their parent’s behavior towards them. And also, in the type of behavior parents expect in return from them.

Although a mother or father’s role as parents never ceases throughout their child’s life, it does change. Change can be difficult at times for both parents and child. But ultimately, it is absolutely a necessity for growth.

When anyone’s child is living on their own and completely independent of their parents, it may seem that the parent has become irrelevant. But still one finds that even the adult child will need approval, acceptance, and love. No matter how old the child is, including when they have children of their own.

So, in a real way, a parent’s job is never finished but is an ongoing process.

THE MIND IS A WONDERFUL THING

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Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs as I stand at the kitchen sink washing the dishes. I look around quickly, feeling as if someone is watching me. I’m sure everyone has left for the day, but all the same, I walk through the dining room and into the living room, and yell up the steps,” Charles, is that you?”

No one answers.” Huh!” I must be getting paranoid in my old age.  I walk back into the kitchen. I pick up some more dirty glasses along the way. God, why can’t people pick up after themselves? How hard is it to bring the glass in and at least put it in the sink?

The dishwasher is on the fritz again. We can’t afford a new one.  Last week I was laid off from one of my part-time jobs. I put a new trash bag in the can and take the stinking, over-filled one out to the trash can in the backyard.

As I’m about to go back to the house, I have the same weird feeling of being watched. And sure enough, there’s a creepy-looking guy standing in the driveway of my neighbor’s house across the street. He’s staring at me. I look quickly away and walk back into the house. I’ve had a lot of problems with that neighbor in the past.  I tried my best to avoid any interaction with her or any of the freaks that lived on and off with her.

I lock the door behind me and put the chain across to be on the safe side. I wished those neighbors would all move away or disappear from the face of the earth and do the world a favor.

Over the past eight years, Meghan, the woman that owns the house, has sold drugs to minors and provided alcohol to middle school kids at her older son’s thirteenth birthday party. Gone through three messy divorces and a string of live-in boyfriends and had two children in addition to the two she already had.

None of which is any of my business, and I didn’t want to know about it, but I had heard all the fights, including knockdowns in their front yard, that always followed the public displays of affection. She allows her two younger children, less than three years old, to play in the street unsupervised.

Now, this new person, standing there, with his long stringy, black and gray hair, no shirt, and pants hanging so low, you could see everything, including his protruding stomach, and the crack of his ass.

When will it end?” I ask out loud to no one in particular. God, how I had come to hate that woman, I know it’s wrong, but she makes it so easy. I called the police on her one day when I saw her kick her young son on his butt as hard as she could with her booted foot. And he flew five feet, and landed face down in the graveled driveway, then she walked over and started pummeling him with her big meaty hands.

After the police left, she came out into the street and called me every filthy name she could think of, some that I had never heard before. Her language would make an Eagles Football team fan cringe.

I force myself to stop obsessing about her and her minions, by starting the wash and paying some of the bills, on my online bank account. As usual, there are more bills than bucks. I pay the ones that need to be paid first, and I’ll worry about the others later.

It’s time for me to get ready for my one remaining job, as a crossing guard at the elementary school, it doesn’t pay much, but on the other hand, it doesn’t have any benefits either. Who needs health insurance anyway?

I walk the six blocks to the school and wait for the kiddies to arrive. Luckily, I love kids and look forward to seeing their shining, happy faces every day. They all called me Wavy Woman because I have a habit of waving at everyone that passes, by foot or in a vehicle of any kind. It had started as a friendly gesture but has now become something of a compulsion, albeit a harmless one.

Sometimes people in the food store wave at me and said, “Hello, Wavy Woman, nice to see you.” As if that‘s my Christian name. Of course, I’ve found there are a lot of worse things for someone to call you.

I wait until twenty minutes after the last morning bell, and sure enough, here comes Joey, my notorious neighbor’s son, running up to the corner, “Hi, Joey, don’t you look nice today, have fun today in school, see you at three.”

He never speaks to me, just shyly smiles, and runs into the school, once again to be marked tardy. I will be back later. I decide to take a long way home and get some exercise in the fresh if somewhat frosty air.

When I return home, I‘m going to comb through the newspaper and the online job sites for another part-time job. Maybe try something more challenging. I don’t know, maybe being one of those women who replace greetings cards in food stores.

I simply refuse to work in fast food, not because they ruined the environment, by cutting down the rainforest so the cattle can graze there. But for a more selfish reason, I ‘m secretly addicted to French fries, and onion rings, and I’m trying not to become the fat lady in a carnival.

As I arrive at my driveway, I give a glance at my neighbors’ front yard. Thank god, he isn’t there, and then I see he’s sitting on their front step, smoking what I hoped is only a cigarette. I rush up to my back steps and almost step on what appears to be a dead mouse. Dear god, I think what’s next, a horse’s head over my bed?

I walk into the kitchen and grab a plastic bag, and put my hand inside and carefully pick up the mouse, which isn’t in complete rigor mortis. I pull the bag inside out and run to the trash can to throw it in. And run as quickly as possible back into the house, and double-lock the back door.

I throw myself into the task of finding another part-time job and keep my mind occupied for the next three hours. I apply for every part-time job, including a dog walker. Not my best decision. I have a total phobia of dogs of any size, including the type that can fit into teacups and never stop their incessant high-pitched barking.

I eat a quick lunch, answer a few e-mails, and delete all my spam, and empty the little computer trash can for good measure. I know this is done automatically periodically, but what can I say, I’m an organized person.

Before I know it, the timer on my cell phone beeps, signaling me that it’s time to cross the kiddies again. Being safe rather than sorry, I look out the backdoor before venturing outside, and it’s all clear, so I go my merry way.

When I get home, I decide to go through the front door,  to be safe. I walk into the kitchen and look into the freezer to find something I can cook for dinner. Not much. As I ‘m doing that, my cell phone begins ringing. I think it might be about one of the jobs I sent my resume. I pick it right up. It’s not about my resume.

” Hey, it’s me.”  It’s my best friend, Babes. God knows I love her to death. But it’s impossible to get a word in with her, and even more challenging to get off the phone. She’s going on and on about her husband’s habit of leaving a trail of dirty clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Which is annoying, but I’ve heard it a million times, so I start zoning out.

It’s just at that moment I hear a loud rapping at the door. I look through one of the windows at the top of a door, and I think god help me. It’s the pervert. He keeps banging, and banging, he can see me, so I have to answer the door.

“Babes, there’s a freak at the back door. If you hear me scream, please call 911 right away. Hold on while I answer the door.” 

I said all this while she was still talking a mile a minute. So I don’t know if she heard what I said or not.

I reluctantly answer the door, but only a crack, with the chain still attached. “Yes, can I help you? I’m busy. I’m on the phone conducting some business.”

He sticks his hand through the crack. I jump back as if bitten by a snake. He says slowly,” Here, this is yours. We got it by mistake.”

I take it into my hands and look down. It’s my electric bill. I look at him.  I say. ”Thank you.” And quietly pull the door closed.

To Be Or Not To Be A Parent-These Things I Know To Be True

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The decision to have children can be an easy decision to make, or it can be the most difficult decision you make in your lifetime.

My experience with this choice was no choice at all. I recall with absolute clarity that as a very young girl, I wanted children.

I came from a large family of six siblings. But my family was dissimilar than most of the children that I grew up within the 1950s and 1960s. The difference was that my fraternal twin and I were the youngest, and there was a wide age gap between the two of us and our older siblings. My older brother was almost twenty years older than we were. And my oldest sister was fifteen years older. And the next oldest was eight and seven years older.

As a result, my older siblings began marrying and having children when I was about ten years old. My sisters visited often and brought their babies and toddlers and little kids over to their grandparent’s house (my house) to visit. I fell in love with every one of these kids as they came along, beginning with my oldest niece, Maryellen. She was so smart, adorable, and affectionate. She was a happy baby. And her smiling baby face is one that I can still picture to this day.

Some kids at the age of ten or eleven might be jealous of the attention these little ones received, but I wasn’t, not for one moment. I looked forward to their visits with anticipation. When they arrived at our house, I would immediately want to take them to show them off to my friends and their families.

I started babysitting my nieces and nephews before I went to high school. I loved spending time with them. There has never been a more dotting aunt than I was. I resolved that I too would become a mother someday.

I met the future father of my children when I was quite young. I didn’t have to look that far. As it turned out my best childhood girlfriend, Joanie had a boy cousin that I had known. I decided that this was the person I would marry. In fact, as an adult, after we were married, my mother told me that when I was about ten, I told her that Bobby Culver and I were going to get married someday.

And we did marry in 1974 when I just turned twenty-three and Bob turned twenty-five. Bob recently returned from serving in the Navy during the Viet Nam war. Bob decided to go to school to study photography. He attended Brooks Institute in Santa Barbara, Ca.

As we all know, life doesn’t always follow the script we write. It takes its course and then there are the occasional bumps in the road or roadblocks.

I hit a roadblock. My doctor informed me that I was infertile for unknown reasons. After years of Doctor’s visits and tests, I was able to conceive and give birth when I was thirty in 1981. There was never a happier pregnant young woman than I. Even though I had morning sickness for almost the entire pregnancy.

Jeanette was a beautiful baby. I can remember the day we brought her home from the hospital as if it was yesterday. We put her in the borrowed bassinet. Bob and I stared at her all day. We are waiting for her to wake up. We could hardly believe that we had created this beautiful child. She seemed a miracle to us. 

When you bring your baby home, it is like falling in love. It is an all-encompassing feeling. If you remember the first time, you fell in love. It is a similar feeling except you are responsible for the health, the safety of this fragile dependent creature. And it’s your responsibility to teach your child how to talk, walk, eat, dress. You will always be their parent, even after you pass from this life. It is an awesome responsibility.

Jeanette said her first word, light when she was four months old. And she spoke in full sentences before she was two and a half.  Jeanette is highly intelligent. And challenging first child. She didn’t sleep through the night until she was almost three. She could climb like a monkey. I had to put gates everywhere. Between the dining room and the kitchen because Jeanette would climb on top of the stove, and climb up the stairs.

She scaled the dining room chairs and climbed on top of the dining room table and dance on it. I would find her balancing on top of the rocking chair and rocking it. She accomplished these acrobatic feats in the blink of an eye. You might think I wasn’t watching her, but Jeanette would be there one second and gone the next. And there she was on top of the dining room table.

When Jeanette was about two and a half, we decided she would benefit from having a sibling. And so, in time, her sister, Bridget was born in January of 1984.

To say that Jeanette was happy by this turn of events would be an outright lie. She had a raging case of sibling rivalry. We had to put a gate in the doorway of the baby’s room. If Jeanette made her way into Bridget’s bedroom, she would climb into the crib and jump up and down. Yelling, “I’m giving the baby a ride.”

Over time as Bridget grew and Jeanette was able to play with her and Jeanette’s tolerance for her new sister grew to acceptance.

Bridget was a happy baby, smiling and easily pacified if she cried. Once she learned to crawl, she followed Jeanette everywhere with her stuffed bear between her arms and legs. Bridget sucked her thumb until she was four. But somehow, she could speak clearly with that thumb planted firmly in her mouth. Bridget learned many new words by listening to Jeanette talk.

So, although their personalities were very different, they did have similar talents and interests. They loved games and puzzles and drawing and creating things. They both came to love reading as I took them to the library every week throughout their childhood.

There were never children born that were loved more than Jeanette and Bridget. I spent every moment of my life playing and talking to them and teaching them. I was a stay at home mother for seven years.

The good news is that by the time Jeanette graduated from highschool with Bridget three years behind her, they developed a better relationship.

And here they are now grown women who are as close as sisters can be. And they’re each other’s best friends even though they live eight hundred miles apart.

In conclusion, I would like to say becoming a parent is both a blessing and a challenge. Everyone who has children brings more love into their lives. But having children also brings fear. Fear that something unforeseen may happen to your precious child. If you are strong enough to bear that fear, then being a parent is a choice for you.  My life without my children would have been narrower, less challenging. I would have missed out on one of my life’s most fulfilling experiences.

YOU’LL NEED ALL THE PRAYERS YOU CAN GET

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I wake up covered in sweat. I hear my name called over and over again.

“Susie, Karen get up and get dressed. It’s time to get ready for Mass.”

Oh, god, I think. I hate Sundays. Why is it so hot? It is only the end of

Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church, Maple Shade, NJ 1957.

May? I roll over and my sister, who is sleeping in the bed with me, said, “Get off me. You big oaf.”

So, I roll off the bed in the other direction. My older sisters were already out and, on their way, wherever that was. I throw on my Sunday clothes and walk slowly down the steps to the kitchen. My stomach is growling, but since I wasn’t allowed to eat anything until after Mass, I know I would have to suffer.

As I step into the kitchen, I see my mother standing at the counter washing last nights’ glasses and cups. My Dad has his head bowed as if in prayer but is petting his dog Andy on the head. “Hi, Mom, hi Daddy.”

My mom looks up with a big smile on her face.” Good morning Susie, how did you sleep?”

“I slept fine Mom,” I didn’t, but my mom is an awful worrier, and I don’t like to give her any more cause for worry. My father is sitting there listening to this exchange, and finally says, “Hey Susie, what’s up?”

“Nothing Daddy, just waiting to go to church. I hope Sister John Michael isn’t there this morning. She’s such an awful grouch on Sundays. And I hope Father Nolan is saying the mass; he always gives a short sermon. And we are usually in and out in less than a half-hour.”

“Susie, go call your sister Karen, and tell her it is time to get up.”

“Oh Mom, you know it’s so hard to wake her up.”

“Susie, just go upstairs, and get her up, don’t yell from the bottom of the steps.”

I stomp up the steps to the doorway of our bedroom, and Karen is still in bed with her head covered by the blanket, deeply asleep, or pretending to be. So, I step closer to her and stick my hand under the covers and start tickling her on her side. She is very ticklish, and she jumps up out of bed, mad as a hornet. Her face was red as a beet, yelling. “Get out, get out of here, I’m going to kill you.” I laugh and run down the steps.

My Mom says, “What is all the yelling about Susie?”

“Nothing Mom, Karen should be right down.”

“You two better not be fighting, or you’ll both be in trouble.”

I walk over to the sink to get a glass of water, hoping that it will be enough to quiet down my growling stomach until after Mass. Karen and I head out to church when we hear the church bells ringing. We don’t have to walk far since we only live two houses away from the church.

Karen is ignoring me, even though she’s walking right next to me. She’s probably still mad about me tickling her awake. As we’re walking towards the church steps, I see that Sister John Michael is standing there twirling her giant rosary beads and frowning. And beside her is Father Siflarski who is rather plump and has a baldhead. On top of his bald head is perched a very unnatural-looking, black toupee.

Karen and I look at them and groan.  Thinking oh no, the double whammy, Evil Sister John Michael, and long-winded Father Syflarski. We agree about how much we hate going to the children’s Mass on Sunday morning.

All the kids gather in pairs in the vestibule of the church, waiting for the word from Sister to start slowly walking towards the pews. This is where the kids sit every Sunday. Karen sits as far away from me as possible. My friend, Helen, runs up to stand next to me so she can be my partner. Helen and I resemble each other, and most of the time, people think she’s my twin sister, not Karen.

Helen’s father is a Maple Shade cop, and everyone calls him Skip. His hobby is making bullets. One day when I was over her house, he said we could come in the garage, and he would demonstrate how he made them. He had a small furnace that melted the metal, and then he poured the liquid metal into molds. He had all different size molds. He used a tool like big tweezers to move the hot molds into slots until they cooled. And He showed us some of the finished bullets.

One time he was driving Helen and me to the Cherry Hill Mall, and he suddenly grabbed a light from under his seat and stuck his arm out the window, and put the flashing light on the top of the car. Then he started racing down the street chasing some other car and forced them to pull over. He wasn’t even wearing his police uniform.

It was exciting. I thought maybe they would start shooting at one another. But they didn’t. Skip just gave the guy a warning for driving too fast in a residential neighborhood. I didn’t tell my mother about this. Because I knew that would be the end of me going anywhere with Helen and her dad, as I said, my mother was a worrier!

The church starts to fill up. The pews that weren’t filled with children are filled with the parents of the students and their siblings who are too young to attend school. It’s a noisy Mass, what with the nuns walking up and down the isles terrorizing the kids with their little clickers that they hold in the palm of their hands.

If anyone got out of hand, a nun would stand next to the pew and click at you. If you were warned more than once, you know you were going to be in trouble in school the next day.

Father Syflarski and two altar boys are walking up the aisle at a snail’s pace. Father Syflarski swings an incense burner, and one of the altar boys rings a bell over and over as they move towards the altar. And so, the Mass begins.

Helen and I had created a kind of hand signals system where we could communicate with each other about what was going on in the church. Very often, the other kids would try to get each other in trouble with the nuns by making faces or farting so others would laugh.

Next thing you know one of the nuns would be next to them clicking away like a mad cricket. I love to get Helen laughing because she has the kind of laugh that is contagious and sometimes, I got her laughing. Before you know it all the girls in the whole aisle were laughing. And then I would kneel down as if I was silently praying and minding my own business, and then the nuns come!

On this particular Sunday, I happen to notice that the woman who is standing or at times sitting or kneeling in front of me has a hanger inside the collar of her coat. And the hook is jabbing her in the back of her neck every time she puts her head up. She doesn’t seem to realize what’s the source of her neck pain. Because every time she puts her hand to her neck, she puts her head down and doesn’t feel the hanger.

Well, I was having a good time watching her dilemma, and I start laughing, and the more I tried to hold it in, the more it wanted to come out. I poke Helen in her side to get her attention, and she looks at me, then the lady, and she starts laughing, and the chain effect begins.

Next thing you know Sister John Michael, and Sister Joseph Catherine are both standing next to our isle. And we are all escorted out of the church to the front steps, where they try to wring the truth out of us about who started the riot. Going so far as to threaten eternal damnation.

But there is one thing that can be said for Catholic school kids is that we stick together. And we do not rat each other out.  So, no one had much of anything to say. And we all had our heads bowed, and our lips sealed. Sister Joseph Catherine did her best to try and make us talk, but nobody did.

The final result is we would all be spending the next week after school clapping erasers. This was my after-school chore, so it didn’t make any difference to me. Then they march us back into the church, everyone in the congregation stares at us like we were convicted criminals on the way to the death chamber.

We file back into our aisle. Personally, I am glad because we had missed a good portion of the Mass as Father Syflarski was already past the Our Father, and up to Communion. Which meant we had missed the gospel and his sermon. I thanked God for that, I can tell you. After we had all marched up to communion, the kneeling, standing, began again in earnest. The Catholic Church is always making people stand up, sit down, and kneel. It was a real workout just going to Mass on Sunday.

At the end of the Mass, Father Syflarski begins the slow procession out of the church with the incense, clanging bells, and all. Then we file out one aisle at a time as always. Oh, did I mention the Catholic Church is big on drama only they call it a ceremony.

As I walk out of the church, I think I’m home free, Sister Joseph Catherine grabs me by the collar and pulls me to the side, and says, “Well Miss Carberry, don’t think you got away with anything. I know you were the one that started all the malarkey and believe me, you will pay for it either in this life or the next. God knows all and sees all.”

When she let go of my collar, I ran down the street towards my house like the devil is after me. I burst through our front door. My mom says, what’s the rush Susie you act like the devil has you by the coattails. “I look at her and said,” well he did Mom, but I got away. What’s for breakfast?”

Life Brings Joy and Happiness and Loss- These Things I Know To Be True

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During my life, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience many joyful events. I witnessed my older siblings get married and have fourteen beautiful children and watch them grow up. I loved each one of them.

I met and fell in love with the man with whom I have shared my entire adult life. I’ve given birth to my two daughters, Jeanette and Bridget. I was able to nurture and love them and teach them what I had learned during my life. I had the opportunity at thirty-six to attend college. My daughter’s learned it’s never too late to learn and grow in life. 

I lived in diverse and beautiful places. I grew up in the North East in New Jersey. I lived in Florida and California in the 1970s. I have retired to North Carolina.

In my work life, I had the opportunity to give back to my fellow man. I worked in social services with at-risk children who had an incarcerated parent. I worked with the Amache Program with Wilson Goode and Big Brothers/Big Sisters.

I worked as an Assistant Supervisor and houseparent at Ranch Hope in Alloway, NJ. to adolescent boys from inner cities including Camden, NJ.

I owned and operated two small businesses. Teaching art to children and adults in my art studios and making jewelry and selling it online.

Life offers us many opportunities, blessings, and challenges. We can grow from these experiences, or they can break us.

Life can be a smooth or unexpectantly bumpy and tumultuous path. We have to learn to navigate both.

There is an old but true expression. That into every life rain must fall.

When I was twenty- eight years old, my oldest sister Jeanie passed away. She was forty-two years old. She developed breathing difficulties when she was about twenty-seven years old. She was tested and diagnosed with a genetic disorder called alpha 1 antitrypsin disorder. It causes symptoms similar to emphysema. In that, it affects the lungs. She also had hemochromatosis, which is a blood disorder that causes a build-up on iron in the liver. That causes affects all your organs. It’s a disease that seems to affect people whose family’s origins are Celtic countries, such as Ireland, England, Scotland, and the Welsh.

Jeanie was sick for a long time. She was the bravest person I have ever known. Almost to the very end of her life, she maintained her sense of humor and her undaunting courage.

My sister’s death had a profound and lasting effect on myself and my entire family and her husband and two children, who were teenagers at the time. My mother and father were devastated by her death. My father seemed angry after she passed. He told me he was mad because no parent should outlive their child. 

I came back to New Jersey for the funeral. I knew she was very sick and had been for years. But I had never reconciled myself to the fact that she wouldn’t recover. Or the fact that she was going to die from this disease.

When my older brother Hugh called me and told me she had passed away, it was a harsh blow. One I had not prepared myself for in any way. I had lived away from home for over six years and hadn’t seen her.

Every day for a year after her death when I woke up, I thought about my sister, Jeanie.  I would never see her again. Every day this broke my heart anew. I would feel a wave of pain roll over me. And I would feel like I was drowning in that pain. Grief and regret were my companions. I regretted all the years that I had missed seeing her when I lived far away from her and my family. Years I could never recover. Opportunities lost. Every day for almost a year whenever I was alone, I would cry. When I was driving to work, I would have to pull over until I was able to get my emotions under control. I began having insomnia. I would awake in the middle of the night. And grief would wash over me like the tide.

About a year after my sister’s death, my husband graduated from college, and we moved back to New Jersey. I could see that my mother and father and siblings still felt my sister’s absence in some profound way.

But we each in our way started to carry on with our lives and move forward. My husband found a job. And we purchased our first home. We started a family. Somehow, we and anyone who loses a loved one must begin living their lives again.

Two years after my sister passed, I gave birth to my first child, and I named her Jeanette after my sister Jeanie. I could think of no finer gift to give my first child than to name her after my sister that I loved and admired so profoundly.

It has been forty years since my sister passed. And I and the rest of my siblings have endured the loss of my parents within eight months of one another.

My father died of lung cancer in 1986. And my mother had dementia, and congestive heart failure died eight months later. One of my nephews passed in 2001. My husband lost his father. He died from emphysema when he was only sixty-two. My mother-in-law died at ninety-two, but she suffered from Alzheimer’s for many years before she passed. It is a slow and painful death to watch.

My sister-in-law Mary Ann passed away two years ago. My oldest brother Hugh passed away a year ago last April. As did my dear brother-in-law Jake passed away last April, three days after my brother. I had known him since I was ten years old. He was the kindest, most generous person I ever met. Always willing to lend a helping hand.

So yes, we all know that life is fleeting. That none of us will live forever. But it’s a devastating loss when our loved one’s pass, our dear friends or god forbid one of our children, but it happens.

We must all carry on with our lives, taking each day one at a time. We must move forward and adjust to the loss. Our loved ones who passed would want nothing less than for us to go on living our lives to the fullest. And find our happiness once again.

Family Dance

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They barely made it to the cabin before the roads became impassable. The snowstorm has been raging for over two hours.  There wasn’t any going back now. Sarah could barely make out the cabin through the snowy veil. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She was having difficulty catching her breath. 

“Are you alright, Sarah, you look a little pale?” asked her husband, Paul.

“Yes, of course, I guess I’m just a little nervous about seeing all of them. It’s been a long time.

Paul hears Sarah take a deep breath and exhale. “Truthfully, I’m dreading it. Every conversation with them is like walking over an abyss. I always feel as if I take one wrong step, down I’ll fall. Never to be found again.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little overly dramatic, Sarah?

“No, I don’t. You don’t understand because you came from a normal family. Your parents and siblings love one another. You know when you tell your brother or sister something in confidence, it won’t come back and stab you in the heart. Your parents didn’t pit you against one another and make you feel you had to compete for love and acceptance.”

“Well, this is the last time you will have to see one another if that’s what you want. It’s only two days you’ll be all right, Sarah.”

As Paul pulls their Jeep into the driveway, Sarah can see that they are the last ones to arrive. She takes a deep breath and ties her scarf around her neck and puts on her gloves. Although it’s only a short walk from the car to the cabin door, she feels like she needs armor to guard her against the onslaught of pain and heartache that is sure to come her way.

“Go ahead in Sarah. I’ll get the luggage. Be careful the snow is quite deep, and there’s probably ice beneath it. There always is up here in the mountains.”

Sarah plows her way through the nearly two feet of snow. She feels the snow covering her boots and falling inside with each step. The wind is blowing with such force. She can hardly make her way to the door. She pulls open the heavy door, and the wind grabs it out of her hands. It bangs closed. Sarah pulls it open again, using all her remaining strength.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Sarah close the door. We just got it warm in here. I always forget how thoughtless you are.”

Sarah steps through the doorway and directly into the living room. It looks the same. Somehow, she expected it to look different since her parents weren’t here and never would be. “Hello Henry, nice to see you again too.”

“Where’s that good-looking husband of yours, Sarah? Did he run off with a younger woman?” Ask her sister Kate.

Sarah can feel her heart pounding nearly out of her chest now. She takes deep, slow breaths as she tries to compose herself. “He’s bringing in our luggage. He’ll be here in a minute.” Sarah thinks she rather be an orphan then be a part of this family, not for the first time but perhaps the millionth time.

When she was a teenager, she often fantasized that someday her real family would come and rescue her. She prayed and dreamed the wrong parents had somehow taken her home from the hospital. But the dream was just that a dream. Even she couldn’t deny her uncanny resemblance to her siblings.

Paul pulls open the door and throws the luggage through the doorway and lunges into the room. He slams the heavy wooden door closed.

“Well, no one will ever claim that you two don’t know how to make an entrance. What took you so long, anyway? We agreed to meet here at one o’clock, didn’t we?”

Sarah opens her mouth to answer, and nothing comes out.

“Well, perhaps the four of you didn’t notice, but there is a blizzard out there, and while you all only live an hour from here, we drove six hours. Do you have a problem with that? You’re lucky we made it here at all. The roads are nearly impossible to get through.

Sarah looks first at Paul with a small grateful grin on her face. Heaven’s she knows after a lifetime of experiences never to show any fear. For fear is a catalyst to attack for her brother and sisters. “Where’s Ellen, isn’t she coming?”

Sarah feels a slight lifting of her spirits at the thought that she wouldn’t have to endure a weekend with her older sister Ellen.  Ellen took exquisite pleasure in presenting to the world a mask, of a benign and thoughtful person. But that’s all it was, a mask. In reality, Ellen is a wolf, whose saccharine words are laced with strychnine. Her words could cut you to the core and reside there in your soul and slowly eat it away. If you dare to protest, she would say, “Oh, Sarah is so sensitive. You can’t say anything to her without hurting her feelings. She never let’s go of the little hurts. She holds onto them forever. She’s always trying to get attention and make people feel sorry for her.

“Oh, Ellen’s here. She’s taking a nap. She said she’s been having trouble sleeping. Why don’t you two put your bags in the back bedroom while the rest of us start making lunch.”

Paul and Sarah pick up their bags and go into the back bedroom. “I’ll go get some bed linens, Paul. I’ll be right back.” Sarah stands in front of the linen closet, staring. She walks down the hall and quietly opens the bedroom door where Ellen is sleeping. She looks so innocent in her sleep, but doesn’t everyone. Sarah quietly closes the door and walks back down the hall to their bedroom.

As Sarah makes up the bed, she keeps telling herself, everything is going to all right over and over again like a mantra. Maybe if she says enough, it will be. There’s a knock at the door, and Paul opens it. Henry is standing there. “Well, I have some bad news. It seems as if the power is out. Hopefully, it’ll come back soon. Anyway, we’re going to have sandwiches, and I’m going to start a fire so we can have some hot coffee and tea. Later you and I will have to go out and see what the situation is with firewood. There should be some in the back, and there is a cord or so on the front porch. Lunch, such as it is, is ready. Henry turns on his heels and goes back to the kitchen.

“Oh my god, no power, this is going to be a long weekend. I’m going to lose my mind for sure.”

“Sarah calm down; it’s all going to work out. Don’t get so upset. Everything will be alright, I promise you.”

Sarah and Paul sit down at the table. Sarah looks around the table at her siblings. “What no, hello, no fond embrace Sarah?” Ellen’s expression is one of benign indifference.

“Hello Ellen, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has Sarah. Did you forget my telephone number?”

“No, I didn’t think there was much more to say to one another since our last conversation. You were very clear about how you felt about me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Sarah, you and your active imagination. Always making things bigger than they are. You really ought to see someone about that, dear.”

“You know what Ellen maybe you should keep your mouth shut once in a while.”

Everyone stares at Sarah with disbelief. It seems almost unbelievable that she has finally stood up to Ellen after an entire lifetime of keeping her feelings to herself.”

“Good for you Sarah, it’s about time you told Ellen where she can stick it. She has always been such a bully with you. I always thought she was jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me, whatever for?”

“Well, your talent, slim figure, and sweet personality, to name a few. But I could go on and on.”

“Henry, thank you so much. I’ve always felt like such an outsider in the family. Even Mom and Dad often forgot about me.”

“Forgot about you? Dad treated you like the sun didn’t rise and fall unless you were around. He favored you over all of us.” Ellen all but shouted.

“Not that I was aware. Dad was always saying Sarah would argue with the pope, Sarah stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about. Oh yeah, I was his favorite, all right. He never once hugged me or told me he loved me in my entire life. I hate to think about how he would treat me if I weren’t his “favorite.”

“Sarah, maybe you forget he brought you a bagel home every day from work.  He helped you buy your first car. He bought you that new sewing machine when you mentioned you like to have one. Why he never gave me the time of day. And when you moved away from home, he wrote you a letter every week. It broke his heart when you moved away, Sarah. How blind can you be? Oh, Sarah, why do you think he gave you the power of attorney when he was dying of cancer? You’re the youngest one. Henry should have been the one to take over their finances.”

“Well, I didn’t ask Dad to give me his power of attorney. He asked me to do it after he had a stroke. How can you or any of you blame me for what he did? If you remember, because I was given his power of attorney, I had to make all the hard decisions when he was dying of lung cancer. I had to take care of Mother after Dad passed away. I even had to pick out their caskets and pay for the burial ground. Not one word of thanks from any of you in all the years that followed.”

“Thank you, thank you for what?” Ellen asks.

” I’ve lost my appetite. It’s been a long day. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Oh, running away again, Sarah, how typical of you.”

“Just what do you want from me, Ellen? Do you want me to apologize because you felt Dad loved me more than he loved you? I never felt anyone loved me until I met Paul. He is the first person who ever showed me any kind of love.”

“Oh Sarah, we all loved you, you must know that. We’re just not a very affectionate family, are we?” Kate asks.

“Not affectionate that’s the understatement of all time. I can’t think of a more cold and uncaring person than the three of you. Not one of you has ever had a kind word for me in my life. At every opportunity, Ellen, you have ridiculed me and made light of my feelings and my accomplishments. I don’t give a damn what reason you have for the way you have behaved towards me.”

“Sarah, for heaven’s sake stop carrying on, you’ve always been such a crybaby. No one could ever say boo to you without you running off and crying to mother. You run away whenever things get difficult. Well, go ahead and leave tomorrow. I certainly won’t miss you.”

“Ellen, you always take things too far. You know that Sarah is a sensitive person and easily hurt, and you take advantage of it. Sarah, please don’t go tomorrow. This weekend is our last chance to work things out between us, besides it’s not safe to drive on the roads. You’ll have to wait until the roads are cleared off.”

“Kate, you’re a little late to be sticking up for me now. Neither you nor Henry ever said a word when Ellen browbeat me throughout my childhood. The only reason I came here was to say goodbye and good riddance to all of you. When you sell this house, I don’t want any part of it. Divide it between the three of you. We’ll be leaving as soon as it’s safe to drive on the roads.”

“Paul, how about going outside with me and collecting wood for the fireplace. Just in case we don’t get the power back for a while?”

“What now? Yes, alright, Henry, let me get my coat. I’ll meet you outside.”

As Paul and Henry step out into the howling snowstorm, Kate walks over and puts her arms around Sarah. Please don’t leave Sarah. Henry and I and especially Ellen, want to work towards becoming a real family. After all, we are the only people left in our family. You know it was Ellen’s idea to have this get together. I know she can be a total ass sometimes, but she wants things to get better.”

Sarah looks over at Ellen and says. “Well, it must be deep inside because I don’t see any evidence of her trying to change her behavior towards me. All right, I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. I’ll give her another chance but only one.”

“Wonderful, why don’t the three of us start looking through some of Mom and Dad’s papers and see which ones we should keep and which ones we can get throw away. Ellen, will you come over here? We’re going to start looking through the paperwork. I’ll get the boxes out of the hall closet.”

As Kate goes on her quest,  Ellen comes over to Sarah and sits down on the couch and says,” look, Sarah, you’re right, I’m being a jerk. I’ll try and be less of an ass, old habits die-hard. I know you don’t believe it, but I do love you and always have. I’m just not good at expressing it. I’m jealous of you. You always keep in such great shape. Everyone adores you on sight, and it seems you were the recipient of all the talent in the family.”

A tear slides Sarah’s cheek and is quickly followed by another. Ellen hands her a tissue. Sarah wipes her face dry and says, “Oh Ellen, don’t you know how much I looked up to you all my life. I wanted to be just like you, so full of confidence. Successful at whatever task or goal you set for yourself. I used to follow you all over the place when I was a kid.”

Ellen puts her arms around Sarah and gives her the first hug she can remember. And before you know it tears are flowing down both their faces.

Kate looks from one to the other and says,” What’s happening here, jeez? I was only gone a few minutes?

“I think that we’re having our first real conversation that’s what’s happening. Well, let’s see what kind of papers you found.”

As the day passes, the sisters’ find pictures of them from all the summers they spent here with their parents all those years. Sarah is surprised by how many pictures there are of her and Ellen doing things together when she was little. She looks at one picture of the four of them together in their old rowboat, and the joy that their faces described is priceless. It means more to her than any amount of money they might make from selling the cabin.

Paul and Henry come blustering back inside. And Paul is amazed to see Sarah and Ellen and Kate with their heads bent down and alternately laughing and crying. He and Henry exchange looks and Paul says

“Well, Henry, why don’t the two of us play chef while these sisters spend some time revisiting their past and becoming reacquainted.”

“Yes, why don’t we? It looks like we’ll be spending the next few days together, after all. I never thought losing the power would bring about such a happy ending.

One Is The Loneliest Number- These Things I Know To Be True

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If there is one challenge in life that I have struggled with the most, it’s loneliness. There have been periods in my life that I felt bereft of friends.

I suppose to the people I have known throughout my life, my loneliness may be impossible to understand. It may seem as if I made a deliberate decision to spend the majority of my time in my own company.

As an artist, as a writer, it’s essential to spend time creating, contemplating the world around me. I’m often deep in thought. All of these activities require time spent alone.

When I was a young child, I spent an enormous amount of my time alone. I lived in my imagination. I used to pretend that I was a bird and could fly. I made up stories and drew pictures. I read every book in the library. I walked around my neighborhood and visited all the neighbor’s pets. I would talk to my neighbor Thelma Collins’ cats for hours at a time. She had an outside fenced in cat run area, and her twenty plus cats were free to go in and out of her house.

It wasn’t until I was an adult my siblings told me that they always thought I was an odd child. Different than other children they knew. I was sensitive. And my feelings were easily hurt. I told stories about my adventures in the neighborhood. They believed I fabricated these tales. Which I suppose I did. But the stories were real to me. I talked to animals as if they were my dear friends, and they were. So yes, I suppose I was not an ordinary child.

I had a best friend, Joanie and a whole neighborhood of other kids that played with me. We rode our bikes all over town, roller skated, played hide and seek, chased lightning bugs. All the activities children had in the nineteen fifties and nineteen sixties.

When I was old enough to go to elementary school, I made a group of friends. Kids who were smart and funny.

Somehow as an adult, I lost the gift or the know-how to make friends. As a child, if you saw someone you thought could be your friend, you would walk up to them, and say, “Hey do you want to be my friend?” And then you had a new friend. It’s not that easy as an adult. You get married, have children, a job. You have responsibilities, not as much free time.

When my husband and I bought our first house, we started a family. We had two daughters, three years apart. I loved being a mother. I enjoyed spending my time taking care of them and teaching them. But I will be the first to admit being home with small children can be isolating. You don’t have a great deal of free time. The only adult I spent any real time was my husband when he came home from work.

If you return to work when the children are young, you interact with other adults. If you are a stay at home mom as I was for seven years, it can be isolating. Or at least that was my experience.

When I was thirty-six years old, I decided to go to college. I attended Temple University at the Tyler Campus in Philadelphia. I earned a degree in Fine Arts and Art Education. I was the only student who wasn’t the traditional age of eighteen in the Undergraduate Program.

I can’t say enough good things about going to college as an adult. I was a dedicated, motivated student with a tremendous desire to succeed and learn. I loved going to class with young students. Their energy, their confidence was inspiring.

It was difficult going to school and raising two young children. I didn’t sleep a great deal during those four years, about three hours a night. But I loved every minute of it. I graduated when I was forty years old.

Fast forward to retirement age. My husband and I retired to North Carolina three years ago. The cost of living and real estate taxes are so much lower here than New Jersey.

So here we are in an area where we didn’t know a living soul. We found that our neighbors preferred keeping to themselves. We rarely see them outside, except when they cut their grass. We take a walk every night with our dog Douglas and wave at anyone we see and attempt to make conversation.

I volunteered with the Guardian Ad Litem. I met people who dedicate their lives and their free time to helping children whose families are involved with the family court. 

I volunteer three mornings a week at a wild animal sanctuary called Animal Edventure, where I met many caring people who dedicate their lives caring for rescued exotic animals. The majority of these people are under the age of twenty-five. 

In conclusion, I would like to say that I have found being lonely can happen at any stage of life. It can happen to anyone at any time. Loneliness is part of the human condition. I have come to accept solitude as part of my life.