Tag Archives: life.

REGRETS, I’VE HAD A FEW, BUT THEN AGAIN TOO FEW TO MENTION

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I grew up in an Irish Catholic family. There were six children in our family. My fraternal twin sister and I were the youngest, and then I had three older sisters; the oldest one was fifteen years older, and the next two were seven and eight years older than I was. My oldest sibling was my only brother, who was nineteen years older than me.

My childhood home in Maple Shade, NJ

One of the things that I experienced during my childhood was that my family was not big huggers. In fact, I recall very little physical affection from my parents or my siblings. For that matter, it was a rare occasion when my mother or my father told me that they loved me. As for my siblings, I don’t remember them ever showing any affection to me. I’m not saying that they didn’t love each other. I’m saying love and affection were not displayed. I believe at some level that we cared about each other, but we rarely expressed it. I believe that this was a trait that originated within the Irish Culture in Ireland. And since both of my grandparents originated in Ireland, you might say that this lack of showing love or affection was a trait that their parents and their parents and previous generations displayed. And it has occurred to me that if I had grown up in Ireland, this lack of affection might not have affected me so deeply because in Ireland, this is a trait of people in Ireland.

But, since I was born and grew up in America, I knew people and families whose families originated in many other countries. My oldest and best friend’s family was Italian. Her family were affectionate to one another and often expressed verbally their love for one another. I spent a great deal of my childhood at my best friend’s house, and I couldn’t help but notice how often my friend’s mother and father hugged her and told her they loved her. It made me feel sad. I recall asking my mother one day why she and my father didn’t hug me or tell me they loved me. She didn’t really respond to my question. So, for most of my life, I questioned whether my parents loved me.

As I grew up, I came to realize that both my father and mother loved me. And they demonstrated it with their concern and care for my well-being. My mother took care of me when I became ill or if I fell and was injured while playing. She worried about me when I went on bike rides and didn’t come back for hours. She worried when I went to visit my friends and didn’t come back on time for meals. My parents showed their love by enrolling me and my sister and my older sisters in Catholic School for twelve years, which was a financial burden for them. Not to mention that my mother cooked hot meals every day of the twenty years that I lived at my familial home, even when she worked a full-time job.

As I look back over the course of my life, I recognize that I have had difficulty showing my feelings. However, what I have also recognized about my nature is that I have a big heart. That I showed my care and love for people in different ways. Since I was a young girl, my older siblings married moved to their own homes, and started their own families. I found out that I loved being around their children. I enjoyed taking care of them and showing my love for them by hugging them and playing with them. I didn’t have any issues showing affection toward them I loved them as if they were my own younger siblings.

I looked forward to the time when I would fall in love, get married, and have children. And over time, all these events did take place. I had my first child when I was thirty and my second child when I was thirty-four. And I can say without a doubt that there were no two children who were loved more than I loved my daughters. They were not perfect children, and I know I was not the perfect mother. But I love them both with all my heart through the good times and the bad. I also recognize that when they were young, they received many more hugs and kisses than they received when they became adolescents. Adolescents can be like prickly pears.

It was never a matter of me loving them less, but they seemed less able to accept and respond to my affection. Adolescence is a difficult time for both the adolescent and the parents. They are moving forward and away from their families, and perhaps I, along with most parents, attempt to hold on more tightly, perhaps too tightly to them, which causes them to rebel and react negatively.

Parenting an adolescent is perhaps the most difficult challenge anyone can have in their life. Because during that time, adolescents are attempting to move away from childhood and move towards independence. Which is the natural order of things but still a painful time for parents. And a challenging time for adolescents.

I have to admit during my children’s adolescence, there weren’t a lot of hugs and kisses. I regret that, but it is hard to hug someone who makes it their life’s goal to move as far away from you physically and emotionally as they possibly can. And they are just as willing to leave with angry, hateful words.

When I left home at age twenty, I talked to my parents in advance. I was not angry, I still loved them both with my whole heart. I was just ready to move forward in my life and my independence. And that included having started working full-time by the time I was eighteen. I bought my own new car and found an apartment in a town thirty minutes drive from where I grew up. I became responsible for my own expenses, including car insurance, health insurance, rent, and food.

Everyone doesn’t take the same path in life. And life often offers us challenges that are difficult to overcome. Sometimes it is better to take one day at a time, one step at a time. And sometimes, it is better to make that leap of faith in yourself that you are capable of being independent.

On the other hand, growing up doesn’t have to mean growing apart. But sometimes it does. When I was twenty-three, I moved to Florida and got married. Then, my new husband and I moved to Santa Barbara, California, so that he could attend Brooks Institute of Photography. I did not move back to New Jersey for seven years. It was a time of growth, both mentally and emotionally. And I returned a much more independent, mature young woman.

After we arrived back in New Jersey, we stayed with my parent until my husband found a job, and then we decided to buy a small home in Pennsauken, NJ. It was only about a ten-minute drive to Maple Shade, where my parents lived. In fact, my father was one of our first visitors.

When I was thirty years old, I had our first child, and three years later, we had our second child. It was a challenging time for us, and we were so happy and blessed to have my parents in our lives. Becoming a new parent and a stay-at-home Mom for several years was challenging and rewarding. On the other hand, I often felt isolated because I spent most of my time alone with two young children.

When my oldest daughter was in the second grade, and my youngest daughter was in preschool, I made the decision to go to college, and I was accepted at three art schools: Hussian, Moore, and Temple Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia. I decided to attend Tyler School of Art because they offered me a full scholarship for the first year. After the first year, I applied for student loans to continue my education.

The Tyler School of Art 1991

It was difficult balancing going to college and being a wife and mother. But, with the help of friends, I was able to do just that. I graduated at forty-one with a Bachelor of Arts and a teaching certificate. I was in the top ten percent of Temple University in 1991. It was a challenging four years for me, my children, and my family. My oldest daughter was in the fifth grade, and my youngest was in second grade when I graduated. I have to admit it was one of the hardest but most rewarding challenges I ever faced, both for me and my husband and two children. During my four years in college, I spent my time with my children when I was home. After they went to bed at night, I did my school work and studied sometimes long into the night. When I was on school break and during the summer, I spent all my time with my children. It was a growing experience for all of us.

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THOSE WERE THE DAYS

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Dear Kathleen.

High School Graduation 1969

You asked me recently if I would tell you about some of the things I did when I was young so here it goes. It was1970 and I just turned nineteen years old. I was working as a dental assistant. The dentist’s office was in the dentist’s house. I started working there part-time while I was a senior in high school. And after I graduated I worked five and a half days a week. I was off on Wednesday afternoons since that was the traditional day the Dr. Woz and all other dentists golfed.

He trained me and I learned how to develop x-rays, be a chairside assistant, sterilize the instruments and set up the room for the patients. I also answered the phone and made appointments, typed out the bills, and called all the patients the day before their appointments to remind them. I was really busy the whole time I was there and the day just flew by.

I realized that I enjoyed being busy and that I was highly organized. So I decided to try and get a part-time job at a florist shop on my day off from the dentist. I didn’t have any experience working with flowers but I always considered myself to be highly creative. I happen to know the florist that owned a shop called Fabulous Flowers. The owner’s name was Liza. She told me that she would give me a chance and see if I could learn by observing her create flower arrangements. And then I could start off doing easy arrangements like centerpieces for tables. Meanwhile, I could answer the phone and take orders.

On my first day, I was alone at the shop for a short time as Liza was out making a delivery. She called me to tell me that she was going to be delayed and was expecting a flower delivery. She ask me to unpack the flowers when they arrived and put them in the refrigerator.

About a half-hour later a delivery truck pulls up in front of the shop. The delivery guy brings a large box to the door and waves at me from outside the door. I two-timed it over and open the door for him since his hands were full.

He said, “oh, you must be new. Is Liza around?“

“Not right now. But she told me to accept the package and put the flowers in the frig.”

“Alright then, can you sign your John or should I say, Jill Hancock here? And I’ll be on my way.” So, I signed it and he was out the door in a flash. I didn’t even get a chance to ask his name or say goodbye. Oh, well next time.

I open the box and there was a gorgeous bunch of long-stemmed red roses in it. I was about to start taking them out when I noticed something was moving inside the box. I couldn’t imagine what it was. I carefully moved one rose at a time out of the box when I heard the bell on the door chime. I looked over at the door. It was Liza.

I said, ” Hi, Liza.” And then all of a sudden I felt something moving across my hand. It was the biggest spider I had ever seen, and it had fangs. That’s right fangs. I just totally freaked out and I jerked my hand above my head and the spider flew across the room and hit Liza square in the face. And then we were both screaming. Lisa knocked the spider off her face onto the floor and then she slammed her foot down on the spider and squished it with her size nine and a half clod hoppers. And that my friends was the end of that spider. He traveled all the way from South America only to be smashed into oblivion by a terrified florist.

But I have to admit it was an exciting beginning to a part-time job. I was making a dollar sixty an hour and Liza told me she could use me all day so at a dollar sixty an hour for eight hours. I was making an additional twelve dollars and eighty cents. Plus the ten hours a day for five days a week at the dentist I was making an unbelievable eighty dollars a week. I felt like I was rich beyond my wildest dreams. I started to make plans on what I would do with my newfound riches. The only money I ever made before was for babysitting my nieces and nephews.

During the first week I worked for Dr. Woz I was in the office talking to someone on the phone and I heard a buzzing noise. I had no idea what it was so I just ignored it. The buzzing went on and on. And I thought huh I wonder what that is all about. I started taking patients’ files out for the next day. All of a sudden I heard Dr. Woz say, “Sara didn’t you hear me buzzing?”

“Well, I heard a buzzing noise but I didn’t know it meant anything let alone that you were trying to get my attention.”

“What did you think it meant?”

“I don’t have a clue. What does it mean?”

“It means I need you to come in the room and assist me.”

I look at him and said, “alright but next time you probably should tell me about it first because my father didn’t raise any mind readers.”

He stares at me and I stare back at him. Then he laughs, and says, “I guess you’re right. I’ll keep that in mind.” I was only a kid, but I wasn’t a dummy. And I wasn’t going to let anyone blame me for something that was their fault.

The first few months I worked there I took the bus to and from work. And then my father said he was going to let me use his old car since he was going to get a different one. I had  just recently gotten my driver’s license. And I wasn’t an experienced driver. But the next thing I knew I was driving back and forth to my job. I was a little scared at first but I soon got used to it. The car my father gave me to drive was old. It had seen better days. It was a hoopty, in fact, it used to be a taxi. So it had a whole lot of miles on it.

But that car was my ticket to an independent life. I realized that I could come and go as I wanted. It meant I didn’t have to take the bus everywhere or ride my bike. I could go to any old place I wanted to go and no one could stop me. Once I turned eighteen my friends and I started going down the shore on the weekends and going to nightclubs on Friday nights and dancing. We had a ball. There was no keeping us down on the farm anymore. Not that we lived on a farm. It meant we were free to go anywhere we wanted to go. Gas was only about thirty-six cents a gallon back then. And we would all chip in and oh boy, those were the days. We had some fun.

One Wednesday when Dr. Woz was out golfing or at least I thought he was out golfing. I went into their house to let Mrs. Woz know that I was leaving for the day. So, I called out, “Mrs. Woz, Mrs. Woz I’m leaving now.” But she didn’t answer. And then all of a sudden I saw Dr. Woz standing at the top of the steps. And he was wearing nothing but a tiny pair of jockey shorts. I stood there momentarily shocked. And then I ran out of the house and left.

When I got home I told my mother that I couldn’t go back there again. She kept asking me, “why what happened?” But I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I told my mother to call Dr. Woz and tell him I wasn’t coming back. My mother said, “you have to tell him yourself.”

The next day I called Dr. Woz’s office and I said, “I’m not coming back.” And he said, “Sara, it’s alright. I didn’t know you were downstairs in the living room or I wouldn’t have come out at the top of the steps without my pants on. Please come back. Everything will be alright. I can’t run the office without you. You are doing a great job.”

So I said, “OK, I’ll come back tomorrow.” For the first couple of days, I couldn’t look him in the face. But after a while, I got over it. But I never forgot to this day him standing at the top of his steps in his tiny jockeys and how hairy he was from his neck to his ankles. I wondered if all men were as hairy as monkeys for a long time.

I worked for Dr. Woz for quite a few years until I decided it was time for a change. My father was upset that I quit working at the dentist since he thought it was a great job. And it was a great job. I enjoyed it. But I hardly had any free time.

So I started looking for another job. And I finally found one in another town not far from Dr. Woz’s office. It was an insurance company owned by two brothers, Harry and Evie. It was called Ellis Insurance. They sold high-risk auto insurance. This means that their customers had a tendency to be involved in high-speed accidents or had a great many accidents or tickets and lived in low-end neighborhoods and had difficulty getting insurance somewhere else.

I liked working there because there were two other young women there about my age. And it was the first time that I didn’t work alone all the time. The two men that owned the agency did not have a great work ethic. Especially Harry and he often took us all out to breakfast or lunch almost every day. They used to joke around all the time so it was a fun environment. The pay was better too and I didn’t have to work in the evenings anymore or Saturdays. I also got an increase in pay. So, it was a win-win situation.

I worked there for several years until I started dating someone seriously. And then I decided to move to Florida. And that started a whole new chapter in my life I’ll have to tell you about that when you next time I write. So, what have you been up to?

Best wishes, TTYL, Love, Sara

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TICK-TOCK, TICK TOCK

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The last two years have by far been the most difficult years in my entire life.  I’m not trying to be overly dramatic or garner attention or sympathy. I’m just stating the truth. Yes, I’m speaking from my perspective. Who’s else would I speak from?

Home in Moorestown, NJ

First, my mother developed terminal cancer, and then my father started exhibiting memory issues that worsened over time. I’m an only child, and there was no one else to help me. In addition, I have a high-pressure job. I couldn’t just stop working and stay home with my parents. Who was going to pay the bills?

After my mother passed away, I had to make the difficult decision to place my father in an assisted living residence. I wasn’t selfish. I

was practical. The day-to-day care of my father as he declined was more than I could handle. I was exhausted. Sometimes, he would roam around the house at night and come into my room crying that he wanted to kill himself or just come in and wake me up several times a night.

I never got enough sleep. I had to bathe him and change him several times a day because he became incontinent. He had to be watched while he ate. Because sometimes he forgot to chew his food and would choke on it. You can’t possibly understand how stressful and exhausting it was unless you experienced it yourself.

I made the decision that was the best for both of us. He was safe. And caring people took care of him twenty-four hours a day. I saw him as often as possible. He passed away after six months while he was living in the nursing home. After he fell and broke his hip, I did the best I could; it wasn’t my fault that he fell.

My script is due in less than a week, and I can’t afford to be late. On the other hand, I don’t want to send in a script that will be rejected. I have a reputation to uphold. I’m running out of capital, and so I’ve been writing non-stop scripts hoping that one or all of them might get approved and get me back in the black and out of the red.

Being a writer is not an easy job, not by any means. You spend a lot of time alone. Writing is a lonely job. Then there’s the additional bugaboos, procrastination, and writer’s block.

My biggest problem is procrastination. I can find reasons to delay writing for hours, days even. After all, I’m a creative guy. I have to take Al to the park. He hasn’t been anywhere except in the backyard for a week. I need a haircut. I have to get a haircut; I’m starting to look like a hippie. I haven’t had a decent meal for a week; I go out to lunch with a friend. This takes care of loneliness and hunger at the same time, a twofer. Unfortunately, I like to have a shot or two or three when I go out to lunch. And that tends to put a dent in both my creativity and my typing.

If I’m able to get past the procrastination, the blank page can deter me for quite a while. But eventually, eventually I get an idea and type away, and before you know it, I’ve finished the script or the screenplay, the short story, or even the book.

But it doesn’t look like today is going to be one of those days. I’m staring at the laptop screen, and I find myself humming “Troubled Waters.” And then, out of the blue, there’s a loud knocking at the door. It startles me so much that I scream out, “holy shit.” And then I laugh at myself. Who do I think it is, the bogyman? Or the bill collector? No, it can’t be that no one really sends out bill collectors anymore.

Well, that’s not entirely true once last year, I fell six months behind in my car payment, and they came and towed my rental car away. I have terrible credit. I’m not entirely reliable in either paying my bills on time because of lack of funds or just plain undependable, I guess. I make good money when I work. But as I said, I have a problem with procrastination and the fear of the white page.

I hear the knocking again. It is more insistent and louder. Al starts barking in earnest and goes so far as to stand up and look towards the sound of the knocking. Al isn’t a very energetic dog. He sleeps about fifteen hours a day. But the loud knocking keeps disturbing his naptime. Finally, we both get up and head toward the front door. Al takes the lead, barking the whole way. If you ever heard a Basset Hound bark, you know it’s no joke. It can be loud and resonates through the whole house. The knocking continues.

We arrive at the front door, and I look out the glass windows on the door. I see a brown cap. He’s still knocking. I quickly unlock the door with one hand and pull it open. I hold Al by his collar with my other hand. A surly face is on the other side of the door. “I have a delivery. You have to sign for it.”

I grab the clipboard and quickly scribble my illegible signature. And then he hands me a small package. I take it and shut the door. “Asshole,” I say to the closed door.

Al and I retreat to the living room, and I sit down on the couch, and Al lies down on the area rug and falls asleep in moments. I will never understand how dogs can fall asleep in a single moment. I envy him.

I carefully open up the small package. Inside I find a key. It looks old. Like the kind of key that my grandparents had on their doors. The one that could open all the exterior doors. I think they used to call it a Skeleton Key.

The key is taped on a handwritten note. It bears the legend; this key is for the house that belongs to you now. You are the last living member of the family now. If you have received this key, it is because I am no longer among the living. There is a signature on the note, but it isn’t legible, no phone number, just an address. 2567 Crofton Way, Moorestown, New Jersey. It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Come on, Al, let’s go have lunch, and then I will try and find out what this is all about.” Al doesn’t answer me. Al isn’t much of a talker, probably because Al is a Basset Hound.

And then the two of us head toward the kitchen. I sure could use a strong hot coffee right now. I pour dry dog food into Al’s bowl and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Whenever I’m stressed, I eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Probably harkens back to my long-ago childhood days. I spread the peanut butter twice as thick. And I pour myself a steaming hot coffee. I’ll be the first to admit I am addicted to caffeine. Al looks up at me as if to say, any dessert?”

“No, that’s it, Al. How about I let you out in the backyard to relieve yourself.” Al looks up at me with his sad Basset eyes as if I’m asking him for a payday loan. He reluctantly heads toward the back door. I hold it open, and he goes out into the yard and is soon consumed with smelling all the smells. A Basset Hound is really all about the nose and smelling.

I pick up my phone and google the address. And Google magically comes up with the information that the address is the former home of none other than Cecile Menlo, my mother’s brother, who has apparently passed away.

Cecile Menlo, wow, now that’s a blast from the past. I scrounge up a memory of my long-ago childhood. I have to dust it off it was that old. I drink down the first cup of coffee quickly and scorch my throat. I pour a second one and sip it ever so slowly as my childhood memory comes flooding back to me.

It was in the mid-sixties I was in middle school. And that my friends were a long, long time ago. But still, those are the years of my life that I always felt I were the happiest. The endless summers with no responsibilities, swimming at the lake or my neighborhood friends above ground pools, riding my bike all over town. As long as I was home for meals on time, no one questioned my whereabouts or what I had been up to.

And then there were the summers I spent with my uncle Cecile Menlo. He lived in a house in Moorestown, NJ; it was so enormous, so over the top, it was hard to believe it was real. He had made big money as one of the original investors at RCA in Moorestown, NJ. RCA was a large facility that developed and manufactured government apparatus. And eventually became a division of RCA Government and Commercial Systems.

My uncle retired at forty, which was unheard of since most people worked until they turned sixty-five or older. Summers at his house were a kid’s dream come true. He had several pools and tennis courts and property so immense it would take hours, if not days, to see it all. He used to show movies on a screen so large that it felt like you were at the movie theater. He had horses, and I used to ride all over the property. My friends would come over, and we would play crocket or swim or hide and seek. His Fourth of July parties were out of this world. He had fireworks that could be seen all over Moorestown by everyone that lived there.

My uncle was a big influence on me as a child. He taught me self-confidence and said if I worked hard enough and long enough I could achieve anything, I set my mind to it. He was the one adult that encouraged my creativity. Everyone else thought spending most of my time writing stories was a waste of time: even my parents, but not my Uncle Cecile.

As I sit here thinking about those summers with my uncle, I wonder how I ever lost contact with him, he meant so much to me as I was growing up. Why did I drift away from him? And then I remembered that when I first achieved some fame with the first books I got published, I let go of all the people from my past and left them behind. I made new friends with the rich and famous.

I vaguely remember that my Uncle reached out to me over the years, and I never contacted him. I was too important, too busy to care about an old relative. And now here I am, all alone in a house struggling to make ends meet. Struggling because I don’t have the self-discipline to work hard and work smart like my uncle always told me to do.

And here he was, reaching out from the great beyond once more to give me yet another opportunity to do better. And to lift me out of my self-indulgence and self-pity. I have to admit to myself that I don’t deserve his help, but I need it. And this time, I decide I will do the right thing. I’m sure I don’t need a huge house and property. But I could sell the house pay my bills, get back on my feet. And then invest whatever money is left to help kids like I was. Kids who needed someone to care about them and mentor them and encourage them to realize that they too have what it takes to make something of themselves when everyone and everything around them says differently.

I pick up the phone and call the lawyer whose name and number are on the letter I received. “Hello, could I speak to Taylor Brown. My name is Johnathan Cummings. I received a letter and key this morning stating that I was the sole beneficiary of a house that once belonged to my Uncle Cecile Menlo in Moorestown, New Jersey. Would you possibly have time to speak to me in the next couple of days about this inheritance?”

“Tomorrow at one o’clock would be perfect, thank you. I will see you then.” I hear Al scratching and howling at the door, and I go over and let him in. He rubs his neck against my leg. He does this to put his scent on me. So, all the other dogs know I belong to him. But to tell you the truth, Al is my best friend. “Al, guess what, tomorrow we’re going to take a road trip, and you’re going to get to see a place where I spent the best years of my life when I was a kid at my Uncle Cecile’s house in New Jersey.”

Al looks up at me with his big, sad eyes and his doggy smile and lets out a howl. I lean over and hug him. And say, “who’s the best dog in the world, Al? You are Al, you are. And I smile at him and feel the best I’ve felt in years.

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CORONA VIRUS- APRIL 25, 2020

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Another week has passed. Each day seems to be moving at a snail’s pace at the same time it feels like the weeks are flying by in the blink of an eye. I’m a person that enjoys living a productive life. I set daily goals for myself. I’m my own taskmaster. If I’m tired, I push myself to accomplish my goals anyway.

Jalapeno, Eclectus Parrot- Photo by Bob Culver

Unfortunately, I have a tendency to hold my family to the same standards. “What did you do today? What else? You mean you just looked at the internet all morning? I guess you could say I’m a bit of a nag.

I have a high energy level; sometimes I forget everyone isn’t like me. They don’t necessarily feel an internal pressure to be busy every moment of the day. Even before I retired and I was working full-time, I did volunteer work on my days off. I taught English As A Second Language, and Basic Skills Classes and helped people get their GED. I was a mentor for Big Brother/Big Sister. I have always wanted my life to have value and make a contribution to our society and help other people do the same.

For the past three and a half years, I have been volunteering three mornings a week at an Animal Sanctuary in Coats, NC. I take care of parrots, Macaws, and Cockatoos. I love animals. And I loved these birds. But I have to admit it is exhausting work, especially for someone my age.

Sparky- Photo by Bob Culver

As I was driving home yesterday from Animal Edventure, I realized that one of the things that I enjoyed the most now is the drive back and forth from my house to Animal Edventure. It is only a fifteen- or twenty-minute ride. But it allows me to be alone with my thoughts and reflect on what has been happening in my home. And what has or may occur while I’m at Animal Edventure.

I live in a small development, and I drive through farmlands to the Animal Sanctuary. I had the opportunity to observe the long winter pass and Spring arrive one day at a time. The crops are beginning to grow, wildflowers are springing up, giving me hope.

There are fewer cars on the road. It’s a quiet ride that offers me the opportunity to see the cows and chickens and the horses and beautiful steer with their magnificent horns.  And I see the crops growing a bit taller every day. It lifts my spirit. That somehow, our life will move forward to better days. It fills me with gratitude for all our planet has to offer.

I arrive at  7:15 at the Animal Sanctuary, and I’m usually the first one up and about. The eight dogs that live there greet me with their doggy smiles as I walk down the path from the front gate, and I hug and pet each one. Sometimes I offer them each a dog biscuit too. Dogs are such wonderful creatures we are lucky to have them in our lives.

I get ready to head out to the bird building by filling the water jugs and getting any supplies I may need for them and put it all in a little wagon to bring out to their building. Before I go there, I give each of the Foxes a treat. I can see they are eagerly awaiting it. They show their excitement with a high-pitched whining and wide, toothy grins.

As I’m about to go into the bird building, Tuni, the blind pig greets me, and I pet her from her bristly head to her little tail. She grunts at me and waits patiently for her small snack. She is such a sweet soul.
I look forward to seeing her.

Sometimes, Matilda, the Emu is waiting for me, she isn’t                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        patient and always seems to think I’m late. If she is in a particularly bad mood, I have to step aside quickly, or she will peck me with her sharp beak. She has quick reflexes and keeps me on my toes.

As I enter the building with two of the outside cats, Camo and Orange Julius Paco scream out, “helloooo.” I call out, “Hello, birds, how are you all doing today?”

I take out the cat food and put it on the floor for my little cat friends. And as they start eating, I pet Camo but not Orange Julius she doesn’t like more than a pat on the head. I go over to each of the birds and ask them how they are? They each answer in their fashion. Sometimes they say hello, sometimes they scream. It’s noisy in the bird building; it takes getting used to. I have been working there for three and a half years. And I have learned to block out most of the noise. Jalapeno is a bright green Electus. He jumps on my shoulder. Sometimes he likes to ride in the hood of my jacket. He always wants to be fed first before all the other birds. If I don’t feed him first, he will go over and start eating the cat food. He isn’t one bit afraid of the cats. And the cats run out of the building when they see Jalapeno coming towards them.

I spend about three and a half hours in the bird building. I feed all the birds and clean their water and food dishes. I clean their cages inside and out and rake the floor. I have come to love these beautiful creatures—each different from the next in their personality and their moods. I talk to each one and ask them how they’re doing. I feel lucky to have the opportunity to know them.

Sometimes the kangaroos come by and try to break in, but I shoosh them away. And occasionally Jack the Blood Hound stops by, and bangs on the door, and I hand him a dog biscuit. He often lies down outside the door in the morning sun and takes a nap.

It’s a busy morning in the bird building but the time goes by quickly. Before I leave, I say good-bye to my feathered friends. And tell them I’ll see them in a couple of days.

I return the wagon to its parking place and head toward the exit. I say good-bye to all the animals, as I pass them. Adelaide the Kookaburra is one of my favorites; she always sings out for me as I pass her by and, I say, “hello, Adelaide, I see you’ve woke up.”

When I arrive home my husband and daughter ask me,” Ok, what happened today? And I relate stories about each one of my animal friends and what they were up to.

Then I go outside and eat lunch on our screened-in porch and look at our garden and the little pond that we put in the first year we moved to North Carolina from New Jersey. That was almost four years ago.                                      The irises and peonies that I brought with me from NJ look so beautiful this year. And our little Koi fish are getting so big. My dog, Douglas, greets me as if I’ve been away for ten years instead of four hours. I love that little dog so much.

So yes, this is a tough time, a sad time in so many ways. But mother nature has done such wonders this Spring and it gives me hope that someday life will return to a version of what it used to be. I hope we learn whatever lesson we are supposed to learn from this experience. I know one thing is to appreciate your life and the lives of your loved ones. It is precious and fragile and can be lost so easily. I try not to take it for granted. And that our planet is irreplaceable as well we must protect it as if our life depends on it. Because it does.

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She Was Laid To Rest

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Photo by Robert P. Culver

Celtic Moon by Robert P. Culver

I received the call very late at night, long after I went to bed. Long after, I finally fell asleep. I heard the phone ringing. But my mind refused to acknowledge it. We all know that good news never arrives after midnight. And this call was no exception to that maxim.

In the morning, after my first cup of coffee, I notice the message light on my phone is blinking. I look at the caller ID. It’s my Great Aunt Maeve’s number. I can’t remember the last time I heard from her. The fact is, I thought she died decades ago. I haven’t kept in touch with that side of the family. Too Catholic, you know. Too old school. Too judgmental.

My life choices would not bear scrutiny. Not that I’m a serial killer or anything that drastic. Just that, well, let’s say I believe the ten commandments have some flexibility in them, some leeway, if you know what I mean. For instance, it’s not that bad to lie as long as you aren’t hurting anyone with that lie. It’s not that bad if you steal, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone personally. And if the money isn’t missed by anyone, then what’s the harm?

Besides, the church doesn’t believe in drinking or playing the horses or gambling at all, for that matter, unless it’s Bingo. But really, how is that any of their business anyway? What’s the problem with the occasional pint, or ten pints for that matter? Isn’t hurting anyone else, is it? No, of course, it isn’t. Get over yourself. Mind your own business. That’s what I say. Mind your own damn business.

I push the message button.  It isn’t my Great Aunt Maeve. It’s her granddaughter Katie. I always had kind of a crush on her. She was a real Irish beauty back in the day. Hair down to her waist, as dark as coal and so thick your fingers would get lost in it. Her eyes, well, they were that shade of blue that looks like blue ice. Light blue, deep as the ocean. You could drown in those eyes. Her body was a young man’s dream. Sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep at all at night just from thinking about her.

“What’s that, you say? Isn’t she’s your cousin?” Yeah, sure, she’s my cousin. But not my first cousin. What’s the harm, I say? We were young, and it was all very innocent — just a kiss or two, nothing more. Oh, get over yourself.

Anyway, Katie is letting me know that Aunt Maeve has passed over to the great beyond. She tells me the funeral is in three days. And, of course, after the funeral will be the traditional Irish Wake. Well, ordinarily, I avoid funerals like the plague. But an Irish Wake well that I wouldn’t miss even if it were going to be my own goddamn wake. Especially then, I guess. She tells me that the funeral is at 10:30 on Friday morning at Holy Mackerel Church. OK, so that’s not the real name.

It’s really called St. Patrick’s. It’s in Gloucester City, NJ. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Irish have any creativity. Every other church and child’s name is Patrick. Even after the church admitted, there never was a real St. Patrick. They just continued naming every child and church after him. The Irish lot is about as stubborn as they get; don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

Well, no doubt about it, I was going to have to fortify myself in the next couple of days with some good booze and beer. If I am going to survive a week with my family. I’ll have to be good and drunk and stay that way if my psyche will survive the inquisition that every cousin, aunt, or uncle is going to put me through. But, not to worry, I’ve had years of practice — years of training. I’m up to the challenge. Ready or not, here I come.

So here I’m on my way to the funeral. I have Radar Love cracked up as high as possible. I get off the freeway to buy a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. Yeah, I know not a beer of choice unless you like the taste of armpit, but it brings you right down to earth. And that’s what you need when you are going to spend more than a week with the dearly departed and your loved ones.

As I pull off Route 130 onto Market Street in Gloucester, NJ, I have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It could be nausea, could be I drank too much. But I doubt that since I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol in any form. As I see the house at the end of the street, I realize I feel like that kid I was long ago that left home at twenty. Angry, resentful, lonely.

Indeed, I didn’t come back as a war hero or successful businessman.  But hell, I’m a tin knocker. When I work, I make pretty decent money. When I don’t, I live on unemployment until the Union calls me back. That’s life if you work in construction.

I pull my 1971 El Camino next to the curb and stare over at the house. It looks the same. It’s a two-story stucco with faded shutters and a red front door with black hinges. My Uncle Hugh just loved to paint everything black and red. He was quite the character. Heavyset with those light blue eyes. And could be mean as a snake if you got on his wrong side. He was the one that caught Katie and me kissing on the couch in the basement.

The lilac bush was overgrown, and the grass hadn’t been cut in a long time.

But still, it’s the house where I spent most of his youth. My Aunt Maeve took care of me every summer. She fed me Lebanon bologna and cheese. Or sometimes fried bologna sandwiches with chicken noodle soup. Every Sunday, she made a different kind of cake for dessert. My favorite was chocolate cake with vanilla icing sprinkled with shredded coconuts. It was the only day they ate roast beef and noodles. I can almost smell it while I stand here on the porch.

I have my hand poised, ready to knock, but at the last moment, I grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door opens, and I hear a chorus of voices all talking at the same time. Aunt Aileen yells out,” it’s our Danny standing at the door like a stranger. ”Come in, come in and give us a kiss for the love of god. Has the cat got your tongue?”

“Hello, Aunt Aileen. It’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Oh, get on with you. You must have kissed the blarney stone. Say hello to your Uncle Pat.”

“Hello, Uncle Pat.”  He’s sitting on an ancient upholstered rocking chair. There’s duct tape holding it together. He’s even fatter than I remember. He’s wearing a red and white striped shirt with a pocket. In the pocket are his Pall Mall cigarettes. He lost all of his hair, which was thinning even back when I was a kid. I can smell the nicotine on him from two feet away. The lampshade on the coffee table next to him is stained yellow from years of exposure to Uncle Pat’s smoking unfiltered Pall Malls.

“Well, I may have put on a pound or two. You’re a grown man Danny, but I would have recognized you anywhere. So, what have you been up to? What kind of work are you doing these days?”

“I’m a tin knocker, Uncle Pat, just like my dad. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for his funeral. I didn’t hear about it until long after. I was in the middle of moving at the time. And staying with a friend. I should have kept in touch.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Sit down, take a load off.  Your Aunt Aileen will get you something to eat. There’s enough to feed an army, as usual. I hope you brought your appetite with you. You’re a bit on the scrawny side, if you don’t mind me saying. But your Aunt Aileen will fill you out, don’t you worry. She’ll be right back with a plate.”

Danny plops down on the couch. He could swear it was the same couch he remembered from his childhood. They must have finally taken the plastic cover off.  He looks around the room, and there’re some familiar faces. Older than he remembered, but still, he would know them anywhere. Danny doesn’t see Katie anywhere. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. It’s loud in here.  Irish music is playing in the background. He thinks it’s the Clancy Brothers. When he was a teenager, he couldn’t stand hearing all the Irish tunes.

At that moment, he hears his Aunt Liz calling out, “Danny, Danny, my boy, where is he? Oh, there you are. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, give us a hug.”

Danny stands up and walks over to her and is crushed in her bosomy embrace. When he catches his breath, he looks up at her. Her face bears the weight of the years and all the pain she has to carry.” “Hello, Aunt Liz, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time. You look good. Is Katie here? I haven’t seen her?”

“Oh, sure, she’ll be here in a  shake of a lamb’s tail.  Oh, I’ve forgotten how you two used to be as thick as thieves when you were kids. I’m so happy you came. I wish you had come back before Maeve left us. She talked about you all the time, and you were the light of her life. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and you can fix a plate? You look half-starved, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Danny follows his Aunt Liz into the kitchen. It looks as if time has stood still in this kitchen. It’s still painted a cream-colored stained with years of nicotine. The linoleum floor remained in the orange and brown checkered board pattern. Tracks are worn into the tile surface from forty years of foot traffic.

Danny walks over to the narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator and opens it. The ironing board is still neatly hidden within its depths. The General Electric refrigerator had been replaced by a more recent and larger one. And the chandelier which once graced the ceiling is now a fluorescent light fixture. Danny’s Uncle Hugh had an artistic streak and often replaced everyday household items with his creations.

Take a load off Danny. Danny pulls out the chair and sits down. His Aunt puts a plate down in front of him. Danny looks down, and his plate is so full there isn’t an inch of space that isn’t covered with food. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling it in. He hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Mostly his diet consisted of fast food and bologna and cheese sandwiches, followed by a six-pack of Michelob.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him because his plate is entirely empty. And they all start laughing. Danny is embarrassed at first, but then he too joins in the laughter. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been.

“Well, you poor thing, are you still hungry? Do you want some dessert? We have some homemade chocolate cake with vanilla icing with coconut on top. What do you say?”

“I’m pretty full, but yeah, I would love a piece of homemade cake.”

His Aunt Liz hands him a huge piece of cake, and a cup of coffee, so strong Danny tastes the caffeine before he swallows any. After he finishes, he rubs his stomach and exhales. “ God, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Probably since the last time I ate since the last time I was here. Thanks so much.”

As Danny looked around at all the faces at the table, he noticed there were tears on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s cheeks. At the same time, he realizes there are tears running down his own cheeks.

His Aunt Liz comes over and hugs him. “Oh, Danny, we have all missed you so much. It’s sad that losing Maeve’s passing is what it took for us to get you back. But I know that she would be thrilled to see you sitting back at her table.”

Danny looked up at her. ”Aunt Liz, I didn’t realize how much I missed all of you. Aunt Maeve was the closest thing I had to a mother. I guess I couldn’t get over all the anger I had when I left. I just wanted to block out all the angry words between my dad and me. And then he died, and I felt so guilty. That I hadn’t come back and made it right, I couldn’t face the funeral. I’m glad I come back now. It’s hard to be in the world without anyone caring what happens to you.”

“Oh, Danny, we did care. We all love you. We never stopped. OK, no more tears today. Let’s try to remember the good times we all had with Maeve.”

The next morning Danny comes downstairs from his old bedroom dressed for the funeral and feels a sudden emptiness.  On some level, he was expecting his Aunt Maeve to be sitting at the table drinking her tea and reading the paper. He did hear his Uncles and Aunts talking quietly together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

“Good morning Danny, how did you sleep? I guess your childhood bed was a bit uncomfortable for you.”

“I slept fine. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night. What time will we be leaving for the funeral?”

“In an hour. Danny, we would like it if you were one of the pallbearers, and I would like you to get up and say a few words about Maeve. You were such a big part of her life. She would have liked that. What do you have to say?”

“Well, I’m not much on public speaking, but yeah, I’d like to say a few words. After we eat, I’ll go upstairs and write down some of my memories of Aunt Maeve. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“Danny, just speak from your heart. You never had any faith in yourself. But we do. We always did.”

“OK, I will do my best, Uncle Hugh.”

After breakfast, Danny went upstairs and started thinking about his Aunt Maeve and how much she meant to him. And how much she had loved him and accepted him just the way he was. If it hadn’t been for her, Danny would have left long before he got out of high school. His father was a falling-down drunk and used him as a punching bag. His mother had left when he was about three or four. He had very few memories of her at all.

Without his Aunt Maeve, he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. As he thought about that, he realized how much he missed by not keeping in touch with her for the past ten years. He can’t do anything about the past. But he can do something about the here and now. He starts writing.

It’s time for Danny to step up to the pulpit. He clears his throat and looks up and out at all the people who came to acknowledge his Aunt Maeve’s passing but also celebrate her life. He sees his cousin Katie in the first row. She nods at him and lifts her chin up. It’s a signal they used to use to give each other support. When they were young and, things got tough. He lifted his chin to her.

“Good morning, everyone. We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of someone dear to us, someone we will all miss. She will leave an empty space in our lives that she used to fill. But I hope we can fill that space with all the loving memories we have of Aunt Maeve.

For me, she was that safe place I could go when I felt all alone and unloved. She would cook a hot meal. She always gave me a warm and loving hug and a kiss on my cheek. She assured me that I was a person of value. And that I was someone that she loved and would always love, no matter what. She accepted me for who I was and never told me I wasn’t good enough, not smart enough, or not good-looking enough. She held my hand and warmed my heart.

My life was richer for having known her. When I talked to her, she listened. She heard and cared. She was never too busy. She was always there for me. I can see by the way you are nodding your heads that she did the same thing for each of you. We were blessed by having to know her. She was both strong and soft at the same time. I can only hope that someday I can inspire someone else the way she inspired me always to work hard and do my best. So, as we go forward in our lives, let us keep her in our hearts and minds. I know she will be traveling with me throughout my journey through life. I will always feel her by my side, and I will never be alone again.

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.