It wasn't a perfect beach day, but it was a beach day.  And to Domenick, any day spent on the beach was a perfect beach day.

Dom didn't get to see the beach this year, except in the eyes and sounds and smells of those of us around him.  It seems when someone loses that one thing, the one thing they love beyond all else, they lose their will to continue.  It happened with my mother, as she descended into blindness, and it happened to Dom when he could no longer get to the beach.

I first met Dom, appropriately, on Pompano Beach in Manasquan.  In those years, the early years, Dom would see us approach and jump up to meet us; to help us carry our paraphanelia onto the beach.  He'd be sitting right next to the bulkhead; his cooler hanging on it.  Often there'd be surprises hidden in his cooler....like Mike's mom's purse, Domenick's cooler was a secret place of hidden treasures.  Eggplant sandwiches...tomatoes from his garden....Wawa lemonade.  And what he had, he shared.  Especially if he liked you.  Then, he'd make your favorites.  Like stuffed olives!

As the years flew by, and our lives changed, Dom's role in our lives changed as well.  When David arrived home from Korea, he became Beach Grandpa, Grandpa Dom, and the love affair between David and Dom began.  In our family, we aren't bound by blood, and no Grandpa and Grandson could have loved each other more than David and GPa Dom.  We'd get to the beach, and GPa would bound up to meet us.  Sometimes to carry the chairs....more often to get David.  Perhaps Dom's heart went a little bad watching as David grew fearless of the waves, each year venturing further and further.

Somehow, things changed over these past few years.  Little changes at first.  Dom stopped going into the water...one or the other of the beach friends would help him on and off the beach...he couldn't get onto Pompano any longer, but instead sat at the inlet...then last year....he couldn't get onto the beach at all, but would sit in the gazebo at the inlet and enjoy the beach that way.  This year, he wasn't able to get to the gazebo. 

Yesterday, wasn't a perfect beach day, but it was a day on the beach, and as everyone knows, any day spent on the beach is a perfect beach day.

Domenick.  We love you.  We miss you.  But we know, where you are, you're enjoying a string of perfect beach days.  Rest peacefully, dear friend.

Thank you for the gift of you in our lives.

Father's Day

The first time he did it, I was surprised.  Mother's Day mail, and I found a card from David.  His return address, his name signed in a scribbled hand.  It arrived on the same day the card from my dad did.  I smiled at the card; at the thought.

Every year thereafter, and every special event, my birthday, Valentine's day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, there'd be two cards waiting; one from David, and always, received on the same day, the one from my dad.

Dad missed Mother's Day this year.  He wasn't well enough to get out for cards.  He called to wish me well.  And the only card from David was the one on the kitchen table.

Yesterday, I went to the mailbox, and there were two cards waiting for Michael....one from David and one from my Dad.

Happy Father's Day to all the Dad's in my life, but especially to MY Dad.

Things that make me smile...part 2

Our annual holiday photo, once again,  shot by cariellen.  Inside:

Happy New Year....and all that jazz.

Things that make me smile...part 1

David's Art Work

French Kitty

Mother's Day...Redux

The call came on a Tuesday.  That which we had waited for, our match, our son.  At the meeting with our social worker, we got this photo, and I lost my heart to you.  For months, I carried you with me everywhere I went.  So close to you, yet still so far away.

Tuesday, May 4, 1999.  The call came.  You were to arrive, in Philadelphia in one week.  One week!  One week and I'd hold my beautiful boy.

Tuesday, May 11...It was a day unremarkable to most.  But to me, it was Mother's Day.

Your plane was scheduled to arrive at 7:17, PM.  You remember, David, why I will always remember that exact time?  I told you of it this morning...your connection to my father, to your grandfather.

The plane landed...and everyone... everyone could sense the anticipation.  Coming off the plane people told me of the beautiful boy, the boy who didn't cry, the boy who was waiting so patiently to meet his forever family.

I'd waited so long, yet those last few minutes, those last seconds felt interminable.

Finally, the last of the passengers deplaned and the babies came.  Two pinks, girls, followed by 2 blues.  Daddy says he didn't know you at first, but I knew you the moment I saw you.  I'd carried you in my heart forever.  Your escort, the beautiful nameless woman who brought you safely to us, seemed reluctant to let you go.  'Good baby' she said, as she finally relinquished you to me.

Today, David, is a day, always will be a day, wrought with emotion.  As I waited on this side of the globe, another woman gave me the greatest gift of my life.  The gift of you.  I take time today to honor her, to revere her, as I do throughout the year.

But mostly, David, today is about you, and how you turned Daddy and me into a family.  Forever.  I love you two times.

on Mother's Day....

today....I think of a woman....and I thank her for making this day possible for me...i think of another...and i thank her for the gift of my life...the bittersweet of Mother's Day....

The Anniversary that Wasn't

About a month or so ago, Mike called me at work and asked me if I wanted to go away for our anniversary.  Our 16th anniversary.  We'd gotten what I'd have considered junk mail.  An invitation from several Atlantic City hotels to come and stay at a very reduced rate.  Mike said that the night of our anniversary would be free; just room tax.

Since he was willing to make all the arrangements, I went along with it.  He booked the room at Bally's and made dinner reservations at Ruth's Chris.  My only job, and it was a big one, was to find overnight babysitting, a task made even more challenging because our anniversary was on a Thursday, a school night.

My neighbor, and bff, Karen, said that if I couldn't find anyone else, she'd stay at our house and get David on the bus Friday morning, but as it turned out, my niece (Jack's daughter) Jessica and her boyfriend Mike came down, took David out to dinner, stayed the night, and got him on the bus in the morning.

We had a delightful night.  Dinner was excellent.  We had a beautiful corner room.  Just a really nice night.  Next morning we got up, bought a couple treats for David, and headed home.

When we got home, Mike called our friend Mindy.  She and her husband, also Mike, got married the same weekend as us, at the same place as us, the year after us.  In the course of their conversation, Mike wished her a Happy Anniversary, tomorrow.  "Silly", she said, "our anniversary was yesterday.  Yours is tomorrow".  Mike went into the dining room, where our Ketubah is hanging, and sure enough, our anniversary is the 13th, not the 11th.

Oh, well.  The weather was better on the 11th anyway!

Happy Valentines Day

I was in my late 30s.  I had had several, many, tons of failed relationships.  I was working in the Mortgage Banking business.  Hanging out with Carrie.  I had resigned myself to a single life.  I was okay with that. 

I was at a crossroads.  David had moved out of our shared apartment, and on into a new life.  I needed to move on.  Lou Ciullo counselled me.  He said, why pay rent.  Buy. Buy. Buy.  So I put my energies into finding a new place to live.

It didn't take long for me to fall in love with a condo in North Brunswick.  As with so many things in my life, my timing was impeccable.  I bought it for a great price.  I closed on it in Mark Lybeck's office; drank my first single malt that afternoon.  Moved in shortly before Thanksgiving, 1992.

Carrie counselled me.  She said, place a personal ad.  And so I did. My ad read: "Single, Jewish Female.  Fun and Cute.  Seeks single Jewish Male who's never owned a leisure suit".

1993.  Before online dating.  Before cell phones. 

It worked like this.  My ad was in the Star Ledger, along with an 800 number for my suitors to call.  When they called, they got my voice saying this:  (it's a line from a movie; I don't know which.  I got it from Dawn) "At the sound of the tone, tell me everything".  I had a number to call to listen to my messages.

I got many responses.  I made a few mistakes.  There was a man who I agreed to meet for dinner.  He carried a pink sweater, in case he was cold in the restaurant.  He left me cold in my heart.  I picked up the dinner tab, as I didn't want to be beholden to him.  I learned from that mistake.

There was a guy who lived close by to me.  In my new digs.  We had some fun phone chats, I liked him, agreed to meet him.  We went out a few times.  While we were dating, Mike left me a message.  I called him back.  Said, thank you for calling but I just met someone, and I want to give this a chance.  He said, I hope that it works for you, but please keep my number.  If it doesn't.  But good luck.

The local  boy proved to  be a disaster; something about pornography and white cotton panties.  Perfectly acceptable perhaps at some point, but not before the third date.  So I said good bye to him,and called Mike. Mike was happy to hear from me, but he was just getting ready to leave the country.  He said he would call me when he returned.

I went back to my voice mail.  I talked to a Jewish, divorced motorcyle guy.  Not my type; I was into suits at the time, but hey, I figured.  I'll try it.  By this time, I'd worked out a routine.  No more dinners for me; I said, meet me at the mall.  In front of Nordstroms, lower level.    I got to the mall, entered Nordstroms through the upper level, and took the escalator down. 

Here is another of those confessions that I'm not particularly proud of:  As I was riding down the escalator, I could see him, and I knew, just knew that I couldn't go through with it.  I walked right by him, into Nordstroms, and out the main door.  Remember...before cell phones.  When I got home I called him and LIED.  I don't often lie, but I did to him.  I told him that I'd gotten hung up at work and wasn't able to do the meet.  He asked me out for a different night,and I compounded my lies.  I ran into him several weeks later when Dawn and I did our annual March of Dimes Walkathon.  He was one of the Blue Angels working the traffic.  I knew he didn't know me, but Dawn teased me relentlessly; she was going to call him over and introduce me.

I swore off dating.

But then, Mike came back from his vacation, and true to his word, he called me.  I probably shared my dating nightmares with him; I remember he had some of his own.  We took it very slowly.  We talked.  And we talked.  He'd call me from work....we'd be on the phone for hours....he'd put me on hold, come back to me, hold, back, hold back.  We learned so much of each other during our chats.  He was from Union, I was from Irvington.  I'd gone to school with one of his best friends, our music collections were virtually identical.  His mother had known, and played mah jongg with, my mother. 

We set a date.  June 2, 1993.  I was working in the mortgage business.  Sharing an office with Donna Herzog.  I was meeting Mike at the mall.  In front of Nordstroms.  I was wearing a denim mini skirt.  T shirt.  Sandals.  I didn't freshen my makeup.  I nearly cancelled the date.  Donna counselled me.  She said, the man gave up Knicks playoff tickets to take you out.  You can't cancel.  I didn't.

 Later, Mike said to me, I have a confession.  I asked what.  He said, I used to own a leisure suit.   I married him anyway.

Happy Valentine's Day, Mickey.

David...this is how I met your dad.

Today I am a Mensch

Jewish boys are said to pass into manhood on the occasion of their Bar Mitzvahs. The passage is marked by the chanting of a Haftorah, the reading of the weekly Torah portion, a speech, and in some cases, an elaborate party. You wake up the morning of, a little boy, and at the end of the service, you are officially proclaimed a man. 

David took his first step towards this milestone during this snowstorm.

With Mike stuck at work, David took his role as 'man of the house' very seriously, and kept our driveway clear.  We didn't expect him to get home until tomorrow (that would be Friday, February 12) morning, but he called at 7 am to say he was on his way.  Although we'd shovelled twice yesterday, we had another 6 inches or so of very heavy snow accumulated.  I knew that we would have to clear the driveway one more time so Mike would have a place to put his car after his 60 hour shift!

I started on my own, thinking that I'd let David sleep.  But this 54 year old body just wasn't up to the challenge, so I came in and woke David.  He got up, got dressed, grabbed a shovel, and finished the job.  And he did it without question or complaint.

Today, I am a proud mommy.

Oh, and he still had time for some plain old kid fun.

Happy Groundhog Day

To some, Groundhog Day is the celebration of the end of winter.  Or the reminder that there's still more winter ahead of us.  To me, it's the celebration of the life of a dear friend.

Carrie loved Groundhog Day.  It was her favorite holiday.

I met Carrie years ago, early in my career in mortgage banking.  Carrie was beautiful, and flawed, and quirky, and we immediately became fast friends.  She was one of those astoundingly attractive women who did not get by on her looks.  As a matter of fact, she was refreshingly unaware of her affect on others.  And as beautiful as she was, her hands were always a mess; she was always working on one project or another.  She'd tackle anything!

I spent a large part of my single, adult life with Carrie.  We only worked together for a short time, but we continued on as friends.  We had common interests; we'd get together to bake, or can and preserve, or taste wine, or antique, or vacation.  Or do other stuff.  Carrie was the godmother to my cats, Ricky and Lucy.  Carrie organized my cat shower, when I decided I'd adopt them.

Cats were one of Carrie's passions.  She always had cats; always rescued cats; always turned those close to her into cat people.  One of my favorites of her cats was Meatloaf, a big, fat grey tabby cat.  And then there was Arlene.  May she rest in peace, Arlene was one of the ugliest cats I've ever seen.  And she had a terrible flatulence problem. Arlene could, and often did, clear rooms.

Carrie met and married John, and still our friendship remained intact.  As a matter of fact, I saw the movie Groundhog Day with John and Carrie.  Their marriage didn't last.  Our friendship did.  For a while.

Carrie always chose quirky living quarters; no simple apartment complex for her.  There was the storefront in Lambertville before she married John, and the three family in the Berg in Trenton with the funky floor plan after.  To this day though, I covet the home she shared with John in downtown Trenton; a brick, center hall colonial complete with a garret and a butler's pantry.

Sadly, I was the one who blew up the friendship. I'd never, ever done before what I did to Carrie.  I let a man, in this case, my husband, come between me and a friend.  That Carrie even came to our wedding, after what I'd done to her, still astounds me.

I was working at yet another mortgage job when Mike called me with the sad news that Carrie had died. She was 43.  She was still unbelievably beautiful.  She had found her next true love, and was living her dream with him.  We had found peace in our friendship.

She had been having stomach pains, he told me, that she'd ignored.  By the time she went to see a doctor about them, the cancer had spread, and it was inoperable.

I never got to tell her how much I loved her.

I never got to tell her goodbye.  Missing you, Carrie.

I was 42 years old when David came home from Korea.  Forty-two was the top age limit to request a healthy new born.  As much as we would have liked to expand our family, we were too old to go through the Korea Program again, and China just didn't seem like a viable option.

We'd heard that if the Birthmother became pregnant again, and was not able to parent her baby, the adoptive family was contacted, in the hope of keeping birth siblings together.  For a long time, we hoped that would happen.  It hasn't.

David is having nightmares.  He wakes in the middle of the night, fearful of earthquakes, tornadoes.  He has decided we should adopt a Haitian child.

If I was 42...I would.

Am I Out of my Mind?

Yesterday was one of those days.  I didn't sleep the night before.  I was busy at work.  It was the first day of the spring semester at Monmouth, my third spring.  I'd spent the better part of the long holiday weekend helping David with a project for his Excel (that's what we call the Gifted and Talented program in his school) class.  I got home expecting to have a quiet night, and found that several of the playing cards for the Galietti project needed to be redone, I had PTA stuff that had to get collated for delivery to school the next day, I had to make solicitation phone calls for another PTA project I'm chairing (how could I say No to the chair of the Reading Adventure Committee?, ..and when will I learn to keep my hand down when they ask for volunteers?), David's teacher Facebooked me asking for a favor that involved creating a note to be sent home to 24 parents, and on top of that I had to check regular homework.  Oh, and dinner and clean up. 

I had a major panic episode. 

How, I wonder, will I fit graduate classes in?  Am I being selfish?  Is being a wife and mother enough? 

I know.  You're waiting for an update on my grad school status.  I did exactly as I said I would.  I met with Dr. V, who on the Monmouth website is shown as the faculty adviser to the program that I plan to pursue, the Masters of Arts in Liberal Arts.  The website is outdated.  Rich is no longer the adviser to the program, however, he is going to be my faculty adviser.  I couldn't be happier.

With Rich's advice, I've decided to pursue the Professional Studies track, with a concentration in English and Communications.  Unfortunately, I made my decision too late to start classes for Spring, 2010, and frankly, if you follow me, you know that I am all about summers on the beach, so I'm not starting until Fall, 2010.  I'm  working on the grad school application and I still have to write an esssay explaining why I want to go to grad school.  

I plan to use my blog as part, if not all, of my final master's project.  So, keep watching.  I'll be writing.

Hey...if you're following me, why not come out and comment? Or at least let me know who's out there?  Sometimes blogging feels much like parenting....you're talking, but you wonder if anyone is listening.

Life Lesson from my Mother

Mim.  I called her Mim.  Her name was Miriam. 

Ruthie, Mim said.  When Daddy and I were first married, for the first month or so, every morning I got up before him, went into the kitchen, and made breakfast for him.  And every morning, I burnt his breakfast.  On purpose.  Finally, after that first month, Daddy said to me, Mim, thank you for making my breakfast every morning, but you know what?  Why don't you sleep in a little, and I'll take care of it myself from now on.

Ah Mim.  I still miss you every day.

Life Lesson from my Dad

Just days after my mother died, my dad and I were sitting around, perhaps during the shiva period, talking.  Ruthie, he said to me, for years, when I made the bed, mommy would ask me to put the pillows on with the opening facing out.  It was just a thing with her.  And every time I made the bed, I did it the other way.  On purpose.  Just because.  It was a thing with me.

If I could do one thing over, I would put the pillows on the bed the way she asked me to.

Life doesn't come with do-overs.  Do it right when you can.