Saying Goodbye

Last week, I attended the memorial service for a dear friend of mine. It was a memorial service and not a funeral, because he crossed over on January 5, 2012. His family had moved from Little Rock to Phoenix, and were having the service for all of his friends from where they had lived for 27 years. We were honored to be invited to attend. I wasn't invited to speak, but if I had, this is what I would have said.

Everyone loved Bob. That includes us. I first met Bob Carl in 1981 when he interviewed me for a job as a "Gal Friday" as he called it. I had just left my first husband and was looking for a job and a place to stay. A friend offered me her son's room while he was away at college, and I jumped at the chance. I stayed only two weeks. It might have been longer if Bob hadn't seen something in me that no one else saw at the time. During the interview, he asked me what my salary expectations were. Since I had nothing and needed a job, I bid very low. He sat back in his chair and immediately said "Well, you have to take into consideration your train fare." And he gave me more than I had asked for. I told him that if he hired me, he would never be sorry that he did. I got the job.

Maybe he WAS sorry once or twice, but he never showed it. He made me a part of his family, inviting me for events at the holidays, and bringing chocolate covered strawberries into our Michigan Avenue office. To this day, I can't eat a strawberry without chocolate on it. I grew to know the Carl family immediately. They were all in town for the holidays that year, and we sat in their family room, drinking glug (yes, Pat, I still have those grog mugs) and passing my guitar around for all who knew how, to play. We played and sang silly songs like "The Ballad of Claudine Longet", a song passed on from one of the Carls' friends. I sang a couple of my own tunes, and a man in attendance, who claimed to be a deejay, offered to put it on the radio. That never happened, but it was fun, and one of the best times of my life.

Every time I went to the Carls' home, there was something different to eat or drink, and the good times definitely rolled with them. Pat Carl, Bob's wife, came to be a friend of mine, but I'm not sure if she knows how much she influenced me over the years. There were little things that Bob and Pat said that impacted me greatly. They helped to shape me into who I am and were responsible for giving me clarity. For example, when I met Steve and we were planning our wedding, it was Bob who told me to make my wedding any time I wanted. I protested that my family usually goes to Florida during that time, but he said that if my wedding was important enough, they could change their plans. And they did. Interesting that he saw that before I did.



The Carls came to our wedding, and we have several photos of us together. They came to our wedding because that's what good friends do. Little did I know that soon they would be moving to North Little Rock to form their own business. They lived there happily for 27 years until Bob went into full retirement. We lost track of them then, as they split their time between Florida and NLR, and we never knew when they were in town. We lost them, but we never forgot them. They came to visit after I had Rhys, and Pat took the picture of him standing alone for the very first time. What a gift. The Carls were full of gifts and they were the first people who I recognized as having genuine affection for me.



Bob had this thing for transportation. First, he offered me more money for the job because I needed transportation. Then when the train fare was raised to a ridiculously high level and I could no longer afford to take the train to work, Bob would come and pick me up at my apartment and we would ride in together. I felt like a freeloader, but not because of anything he said or did. It was just that he gave me so much, and I had nothing to give in return. The Carls traveled to our wedding. And then when we were going on our first vacation ever (to Hot Springs), our horrible P.O.S. car broke down in Podunk Arkansas. We found a tiny church off the road and called the Carls for help. We were about an hour away from them. Not only did they drive to get us, but they called a wrecker and had our car towed into their mechanic's shop. Thinking we would never get to our destination, they surprised us by loaning us Pat's Volvo so we could continue our vacation. Their kindnesses were not lost on us. They are an indelible part of our lives. Later on, Bob and Pat became members of a sports car club. Not surprising, considering all the transportation assists we had received from them. We came to visit them a couple of times, and most memorably, for Thanksgiving one year when we had both of the boys and they were young. It was a time I will never forget and we will never forget their kindnesses to us.



Through the miracle of the internet, I found the Carls in Phoenix in the last year. I didn't hear from them much, because Bob had some issues with his heart and Pat was his primary care giver. When she heard a shuffle or a thump, she ran to his side. If we were on the phone at the time, I didn't mind when she said abruptly, "I gotta go." I knew it was to help Bob. Bob was the first recipient of the LVAD, Left Ventricular Assist Device. I don't know much about it, except that it helped him to have a year that they would not ordinarily have had. Bob had his first heart attack soon after moving to North Little Rock, and was not afraid of dying, but wanted others to have the chance to live, and now seven others have received this miracle of modern medicine at Banner Good Samaritan in Phoenix.



I got to see Pat at the memorial, along with her granddaughter, Gloria. I worry about Pat being alone, because so much of her life was wrapped up in Bob's life and his care. My resolve to go out there to visit is extremely strong. But I wish I could have seen Bob again. I saw lots of pictures of him, at his best and at his worst. What a great guy he was. The world just doesn't seem right without him in it.



I think Bob would be proud of the person I am becoming. I am going to college and am graduating with my Associate of Science in May. I have been accepted into the Loewenberg School of Nursing for the fall of 2012. I wish he could be at my graduation. But maybe, just maybe, if I listen closely enough, I can hear him say "well done" that day. I just wish I could hear it in person.



Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Treasure Hunt

For quite a few years, I have been threatening to go into the recesses of the attic and find "The Box" that I put all my childhood mementos in. I was looking for one particular object: My autograph book. In that book are the signatures of my grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts and uncles who are all gone now. For some reason, I just HAD to take another look the other day.



First, I sent my son into the attic (because I'm old and decrepit and can't be trusted not to fall down the stairs, apparently), and when he came up empty, I went up there and got a couple of boxes that I knew had some of Steve's mementos in them, and brought them down. It wasn't until yesterday, while hanging upside down on the inversion table, that I saw something familiar peeking out of the box and started to tear into it.



What I saw was a red ribbon with the moniker "TF South" on it. I knew immediately that I had found the box with my treasures in it. There among Steve's boy scout patches, I found the autograph book for which I had searched so long and hard. Instantly, I tore it open (unzipped is more like it) and searched for Dzia Dzia's signature. I passed more than a few signatures along the way, that of Felix and Mary Cieslak (my great-grandparents), Busia (my grandmother), my parents, and then I saw his signature.



Dzia Dzia's handwriting was a beautiful cursive, and not at all like the writing you see so often today. Penmanship was prized back then, and I had even won an award in first or second grade for penmanship. I ran my fingers along the words he had written, closed my eyes and imagined him as he wrote them. The thought brought a stab to my heart, as I brought myself back to the present, realizing once again that he has been gone an entire 38 years. I closed the book again after showing it to my family, who know how much I reverence Dzia Dzia's memory and left it on my dining room table with the other items from the box, which I had not yet begun to go through.

I started going through the items today, and found a treasure trove of memories I had forgotten all about. There were newspaper clippings from when I was in high school, my report cards for grade school, award ribbons, graduation cards, my bronzed baby shoes, old letters from a girl my brother Wayne was supposed to marry but didn't, old pictures given to me from people I knew in junior high school, my high school graduation picture and one made 10 years later, and some small portfolios I had from pets that were part of my life. I was going to throw the pet portfolios away, but was tempted into looking inside. It was then I got the surprise of my life.



In those folders, were pictures of my german shepherd, Brandie, and my cats, Animal and Spooker, all now long gone, but not before leaving me with very fond memories. There were pictures of me when I was a young wife, not quite 19, doing my needlework, with a red bandana on, and Brandie as a puppy, romping playfully nearby. There are a couple of pictures of some guy I used to know holding Spooker, and if it weren't for Spooker being in the picture, I'm sure I would have thrown them away. I don't even remember his name. But the pictures will stay, just because they caught my beautiful black kitty at his most beautiful stage.





As I packed my treasures up, I teared up; it's sad to notice how snugly all my little memories fit into this small box. They seem so large inside me. Maybe that's the way they are meant to be.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Saying Goodbye to a Dear Friend, Our Beloved Shelby

Our dear darling kitty was put down yesterday. She passed away at 3:51pm on October 18, 2010. Although it is a time for grieving, I want to remember Shelby with all the joy she gave us.

Shelby came to us through the Humane Society, just a few short weeks after we had to put our older cat, Ginger, down. At first, I brought home a white cat with black spots and named her Lexie. Lexie was playful, and we needed to have a healthy, playful cat in the house after tending to Ginger's ailing body for so long. The mood in the house lightened a little, but Steve was still suffering Ginger's loss, so I went back to the Humane Society looking for a brown tabby to bring home.

Once at the Humane Society, I went to the cats and saw a big cage with about 10 cats in it. There were several tabbies, and for some reason, this little, very thin cat stole my heart. They called her "Twiggy" there because she was so thin. She had a small head with big round eyes that looked a little startled when you looked at her. She had lived on the street, which was why she was so thin. I took to her immediately and named her "Shelby" right there on the spot, vowing that she would have a new life to go with her new name, and never have to forage for food again.

When I brought Shelby home, I let her out of the carrier, and she ventured out very cautiously. Lexie came bounding over to her and began to lick her up one side and down the other. Lexie was thrilled to see her. They got along famously and became great friends. Steve came home from work to see a brown tabby, just like Ginger, except for the long hair on the tail. He took Shelby in his lap, sat down in his recliner, and seemed to be more comforted now that there was a brown tabby in the house again.

Shelby went on to grow and eat as if she would never see food again. She spent many hours at the table, begging for scraps, and there were many times when she would tap Steve on the back as he was eating, as if to say "Hey! Don't forget about me!" Steve told me last night of the times when my back was turned, when he would say, "Shelby! High Five!" and she would raise her paw up to touch his hand. She would "bark" at birds she saw out the window, but when we let her into the backyard, she would skitter toward the door, afraid she would be left on the street again. Her trips to the backyard were infrequent because I didn't want her to be afraid.

Shelby loved Thanksgiving and was always in attendance when I was cutting up the bird. She got her fair share of the little pieces and loved every single minute of it. She would follow Jason when he had cereal, as she knew he would put his bowl down for her, with the last bit of his milk in it. She lapped it up eagerly. Shelby grew to 20 pounds, and we were happy to see her enjoy herself so much. At one point, we started calling her "Speed Bump" because she was so big and laid in what seemed like the middle of everything.

Jason in particular became very close to Shelby when she got big. It seemed to him that we were all ignoring Shelby because of her size, and in part, he was right. But whatever the reason, he got very close to her and she knew and loved him well. Jason would lie down on the floor next to her, and she would reach her paws out to touch him on the head. She purred her loudest purr whenever he was around her. You could hear her purr across the house. It was obvious that she loved him as much as he loved her. Shelby would find solace during a thunderstorm under Jason's bed, and as much as we didn't want to admit it, Shelby was definitely Jason's cat. They had a bond closer than I've ever seen with any of our animals, and they were best friends.

In the last couple of years, Shelby had started to pee in the laundry room but not in the cat box. We thought maybe it was because the cat box was dirty, and made every effort to clean it more often. But then she started peeing in more areas of the house and it became necessary to do away with the carpeting to help make cleanup easier. She began to lay in the cat box for no apparent reason. It was obvious that Shelby was suffering from kidney disease, just as Ginger had.

Shelby had started to deteriorate a little at a time until the last two weeks. Then her descent was rapid and could not be stopped, no matter how much love we gave her. She was drinking copious amounts of water, but began to refuse food. We gave her whatever we thought she would eat, and began to lace her water with cranberry juice and Gatorade to keep some electrolytes in her rapidly thinning body. When she started to refuse even the foods she loved, we knew she was nearing her end.

When Ginger was dying, we tried to keep her alive through force-feeding. After she was gone, I swore I would never do that to an animal again. However, this past week, it became obvious that Shelby was refusing food, and I didn't want her to die of starvation. I made that promise when I adopted her... that she would never want for food again. Jason and I began to give her syringes of very soft cat food, the kind the vet said they would give to very sick animals when they refused everything else. It didn't matter. Shelby was too far gone and we couldn't get her strong again, so we took her out into the backyard to let her lay in the sun, while we petted her and talked to her, knowing we had to make a very painful decision.

Shelby was stretched out on the grass, and her breathing became shallow. I told Jason that she was going. We kept petting her and told her it was okay to go and that we would always love her. But Shelby wouldn't let go. It was Jason who made that courageous decision, and I'm so glad he did. I couldn't do it. When Ginger was dying, I knew it was time. When Rebel was dying, I knew it was time. This time, it was Jason that knew. He saw in her eyes that she couldn't take any more pain. Shelby was suffering, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, we had to let her go.

Jason called Steve at work, who came home immediately to spend a few more moments with our beloved Shelby. A call was made to Dr. Pearce, who said they would wait for us to come. During the ride to the vet, Shelby's breathing was extremely shallow and her eyes indicated there was no one home. Steve thought she wouldn't even make the trip to the vet. But, fighter that she was, Shelby just wouldn't give up. We took her in and I held her as her breathing stopped. It didn't take long. The injection wasn't even complete when it stopped. She was finally out of pain and our pain began.

We have all cried for Shelby. We cried for ourselves. We cried for the pain she suffered, and we cried for the joy she gave us that we will never have again. We brought her back to the home she loved, to place her in a special spot in our backyard. We placed landscape stones on top of her shallow grave and will put special paving stones and a cement planter there to mark her spot. Ginger is buried nearby, as are our canaries and the gerbils we loved. We have been readying the house to be sold as soon as I finish school, but I'm not in as much of a hurry now. I would have to leave Shelby, and I'm not ready to do that just yet.

We won't be getting another brown tabby to take Shelby's place. No one could take her place. She was one of a kind... the most gentle soul I have ever known. We have 4 dogs and 3 other cats to love and learn from, and we know that we will have to know this pain another 7 times. Even as we feel the pain now, it would be wrong to close off our hearts to try and protect it from the pain to come.

My darling Shelby... if love could have saved you, you would have lived forever. Now you live forever on the other side. Wait for us, Shelby. We'll catch up with you. We'll love you forever... until we see you again.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

New Blacktop and Memories from Oglesby

The City of Memphis did a wonderful thing recently, one of the few things for which I have to give them kudos. They constructed a new addition to the Greenway, which my family and I love to ride our bikes on when the weather and our schedules cooperate. This new addition supposedly stretches from Germantown to Midtown Memphis, which is quite a haul. It backs up to our house, a mere 4 blocks away, so you know we have to take advantage of it!

Steve and I had ridden the trail a few nights ago, and I was really pooped from a long day of studying. (Funny how using your brainpower really CAN wear you out!) We rode, but not as far as I wanted to, because I wanted to make sure I could make it back. I wanted to go out riding yesterday and no one would go with me. So today, faced with the same situation and beautiful temperatures outside, I went alone.

But I wasn't alone. Even though the trail is not "officially" open until construction is complete, it was riddled with bikers, runners, walkers, and occasionally a biker who toted a double stroller on the back of his bike. I smiled as I passed them, gave them a chipper "Good Morning!" and kept going. Alone with my thoughts, as I smelled the new tar laid on the asphalt, it brought me back to when my birth family and I lived on Oglesby Avenue in Calumet City, Illinois, in a much simpler time.

It was a lone block of starter homes, all of them with 3 bedrooms, one bath, living room, kitchen and a basement. Everyone knew all their neighbors, and even if you didn't quite see eye to eye, you still lived together in relative peace and harmony. I loved living there, with the trees in the front and back yards and nothing but prairie behind our backyard. We spent many a day running and playing in the prairie, but one of our greatest joys was riding our bikes up and down Oglesby (and occasionally to a different street). My mother always had a fit when she found out that I would venture off Oglesby and go to visit my cousins on Bensley or my great aunt Evelyn on Clyde. We would also visit what we called "The Little Store", which was about 5 or 6 blocks away from home, and mostly we went there to turn in pop bottles for the 2 cents we would receive. We never brought home the money, but spent it on penny candy or a new bottle of pop, should we have returned enough bottles to get a free one! I loved those days of freedom. When I rode my bike, I felt like I could fly!

I didn't always have a bike. I wanted one, but my parents said I had to learn to ride before they would get me one. HUH? Let me get this straight... I have to learn to ride a bike which I don't have before you will get me a bike to ride??? My parents were not known for their logic. Anyway, a kind neighbor let me use her bike to learn on (thank you Tammy!) and learn I did! I showed my parents one day and then the next Christmas, Santa Claus brought me a brand new sparkling teal bike! How did he know? *wink* Anyway, I rode that bike whenever I had the chance. I rode it everywhere except school, which was a lot farther away than The Little Store.

One day, we found out that the village was blacktopping an extension of Oglesby, which would take you from Dolton Road/State Street to Sibley Boulevard. Our block would be extended by two whole blocks! It seemed like the world to me, and my brother Wayne pledged to ride that blacktop until he had put 5 miles on it. Well, I don't know if he actually counted the blocks he rode, but I know that the new blacktop had bikes on it all the time. In those days, there was no such thing as a 10-speed or God-forbid, a 16-speed. You had several speeds to choose from, and you got to them by pedaling faster and faster. All bikes were the same except the boys had a bar across theirs and the girls didn't, which makes absolutely no sense at all considering the boys have body parts that can be easily damaged by coming in contact with that crossbar. But I digress. I rode and rode my bike up and down that blacktop, and think it's a shame that this younger generation doesn't know the freedom that we had in those days.

As I took this trip down memory lane this morning, I realized my legs were getting a bit tired and wondered about how far I had gone. I went past the Wolf River, past I-240 and under another viaduct, which I think was White Station Road. I went a bit further, which I estimated to be around Mendenhall. When I added it all up, it came to about 5 miles one way and 5 miles back. I was gone for an hour and burned 931 desperately needed calories, but I didn't notice on the trail. All I noticed was the sun, the wind, the quiet and the green around me. Yes, life can be good! And somewhere in the other realm, Wayne is smiling.

Nazdrowie'

Paczki Puta

Secrets Of The Filing Cabinet

There I was... minding my own business... and getting ready to tackle emptying the roll-top desk so it could be moved. I really wasn't ready to go through it just yet. I just know it's going to take either a bulldozer or a blowtorch to get rid of some of the stuff we have in it, so I decided to try something smaller... the oak filing cabinet. In cleaning out the filing cabinet, I found a plethora of old memories, just waiting to be dusted off and tossed out. I cannot believe I kept these things this long... just more testament to the packrat I had become. I decided to start by taking the drawers out. Easy enough, I thought. I'll just have someone with more testosterone than me remove them. Ugh... what a mess. I cringed as I began to go through the accumulated junk. Wait a minute... maybe some of it wasn't junk!

I found the boys' old school records... pictures of them when they were in school... report cards. This is a no-brainer. Keep... keep... keep. Boxes of old Christmas cards that had yet to be used. Okay, I can keep those too. I'll just use them up. Who am I kidding? I hardly ever write Christmas cards because I just never get to it. Last year was the first time in memory that I actually got to the Christmas cards along with the rest of my routine during the holidays. So I kept them. I had an awwww moment when I found a card to the boys in my mother's handwriting. I read it and almost cried. Okay, I'm keeping that too. I found things that were addressed to the boys... a couple of letters from and an article about a monk that I used to go to for counsel and that I insisted Jason go to see when he was going through an angry spell as a youth... schoolwork that Rhys had done when he was very young... a prayer card from my Uncle Dick's funeral. I kept all that. A letter from President George H. W. Bush, addressed to Jason, with 2 photographs and his signature. I insisted that Jason keep that. He wouldn't, so I did.

What I didn't keep amounted to a sizable stack resembling a small mountain. There was a stack of brochures from Vermont. Once upon a time, Steve and I had toyed with the idea of moving there. I think it was around the year 1895. Chunk. Brochures from Gatlinburg. We visited Gatlinburg about 7 years ago and loved it. We always said we were going to go again, but we haven't made it yet. Chunk. Brochures from Seattle. Who am I kidding... with the amount of rain and overcast sky they have, I'll never make it past a week. Chunk.

Then there were items that were from very specific periods in my life. All the cards and letters from Mary Kay Ash, when I was a promising consultant and rising star selling the Mary Kay line of cosmetics. True, Mary Kay is/was a famous lady and did a remarkable thing with her business, but did I really need to keep all of this? Chunk. Pictures from when I WAS this budding consultant... keep. I can't believe I was that young or that thin. An old resume showing me as an administrative assistant long before I took up my screwdriver to become a computer tech. Keep. You never know, I might decide to do that again since I'm making a career change right now. Old "funnies" that used to be circulated around offices before the days of computers. Chunk. An old brochure and a letter from Moats Resort. DEFINITELY keep. A program from the 1999-2000 season of Opera Memphis, my last year as the Wig and Makeup Designer. DEFINITELY chunk. I don't know who most of those people are anymore. And they wrote such nice thank-you cards. All of which I chunked.

Then there were the instruction manuals from appliances I hadn't had since the Ice Age. Oh please, why am I keeping these? Okay, you got me. I was never THAT bad about wanting to keep those. That was Steve's phobia... that we would get rid of an instruction manual we would need. I got rid of most of them. I got the stack down to a respectable pile and put the keepers back in the drawers.

Maybe someday I'll go through it all again and get rid of more. But then again... the roll-top is tomorrow. God help me.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

My Busia and Dzia Dzia

After hearing from Uncus last night (who was crying like a baby, watching the DVD of old family movies I had sent him), it brought to mind his parents, my grandparents... who we called Busia and Dzia Dzia (Polish for Grandmother and Grandfather).

Busia and Dzia Dzia were the best people I ever knew, and they were responsible for me feeling as good as I did about myself, when there were seven other siblings that demanded my parents' constant attention. They were from old Polish stock, and I was their first granddaughter.

Busia (Sophie) was a crusty woman, but in her younger days, she had dark wavy hair, and was a real knockout. She once showed me a picture of herself when she was 19 years old. If I had dark wavy hair, we could have been twins. The resemblance was uncanny. I was 18 at the time.

Busia was the eldest daughter, and she had a younger sister, Anna. Their parents, Mary and Felix, came straight from the old country, and when they didn't want us (grandchildren) to know what they were talking about, they would speak Polish to Busia. I always wanted to learn Polish just so I could understand what they didn't want us to know. Busia worked hard and played hard. She used to work on an assembly line in her younger days, and lost a thumb when her hand caught in the conveyor.

When other people would say that they wouldn't know how to exist without their thumb, Busia was busily sewing doll clothes for my Barbie. She would still do all the things that life required of her, including cooking, cleaning house, making clothes, crocheting and fishing. She was one of the best fishermen I had ever known, overshadowed only by Dzia Dzia.

Dzia Dzia (Joe) was the love of my life. I adored him and the feeling was mutual. He came up hard, often referring to himself as the black sheep of the family. I never understood why, or how someone with so much love to give could ever be so ostracized by his own family. Dzia Dzia was the second of eight children, with 3 brothers and 4 sisters. (Hmmm... there's a similarity here. I was the second of eight children, with 3 brothers and 4 sisters also.) Dzia Dzia loved to go hunting and fishing, and was good at both. But he loved his family even more than that. He had 3 children, who brought him 16 grandchildren, over 20 great-grandchildren (at this writing) and at least 3 great-great-grandchildren thus far. He would have loved that. He worked at a steel mill for most of his life, and although I never understood how he could stand the smell, I guess it was a small price to pay to keep his family afloat. It was just after the Great Depression, and times were hard. You took whatever job you could get and were thankful to have it. Many Poles in South Chicago made this their way of life.

But along with working hard, Dzia Dzia also believed in playing hard, and family was all-important to him. Family gatherings were big on his list of how life should be lived. We often took family vacations together, where we would all gather at a fishing resort in Minnesota, with Busia's parents, her sister and her husband, their children with their spouses and the grandchildren. I am blessed to have known such fine times and to know what it is like to "rough it" in a cabin on a lake, with nothing to do except relax, go fishing, and visit with family. Evenings at the resort would consist of the adults getting together for their card games and booze parties. Stories about the "one that got away" would get larger with each telling, and on special nights twice a week, the adults would get together for a sauna and a swim afterward. The bracing cold of the water was just the refreshment needed after the searing heat of the sauna. What were the grandchildren doing all this time? We were shuttled off to bed, so the grownups could make merry. Good times.

Birthdays, Christmases, Easter and all our assorted religious events required a party, and of course, the entire family would attend. I remember having Christmas Eves at Busia and Dzia Dzia's house, and we had to fast all day and could not eat until the first star came out. They relaxed the rules a little for the grandchildren. We were hungry and didn't care who knew it! When the time came, after working all day in the kitchen making all our Polish delicacies, the women would bring dinner down to the basement, where all our hungry mouths watered. But we still couldn't eat until the aplotek (Christmas wafer) had been broken by the heads of the family, and then shared with everyone. Each person would take a bit from someone else's wafer, wish them a Merry Christmas, and give them a hug and a kiss. It's a wonderful tradition that my family and I continue to this day. After the aplotek, we were finally given the go-ahead for dinner. Grace came first, but then we dug in! On the table, there were always 10 items for the Wigilia dinner. It is a meatless dinner, and includes fish (caught while on that fishing vacation and frozen for the trip home), pierogi, kapusta soup, assorted vegetables and desserts. After dinner, it was time to open gifts. The adults saved this for very late in the evening, right before they left for midnight Mass. The grandchildren all had to go home. (It was much too late for us to be up because Santa Claus was still coming that night!) These sights, scents and sounds will be in my memory forever, as I try to uphold these traditions for my own children.

It was from these traditions and these two very good decent people that I learned that even if you work hard, you should play harder. Watching them helped me to understand that life was not a bowl of cherries, but if you work it right, you can turn those cherries into a pie, filled with love and a little spice.

I will forever miss them.

Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

Uncus and The Big Payoff

I don't know about you, but there are times in my life when something I have done pays off in a big way, just exactly as I had hoped it would. I'm not talking about money. This has to do with doing something out of the goodness of your heart, just because you want to do something special for the ones you love.

Anyone who has been following my writings knows that I had been working on a DVD of old family movies and got it completed last week. This DVD was very important to me, as self-proclaimed Keeper of The Flame, to preserve family memories before they are gone. With the help of my wonderful sons, I created this DVD, duplicated it several times, created a cover and a label, and shipped out seven of these beauties to my very nearest and dearest relatives, all of whom would not otherwise have had access to them.

I received a call from my uncle today (whom I call Uncus), saying that two of my cousins, to whom I had sent copies of my labor of love, are coming to see him for Thanksgiving dinner, and are going to bring their copy of the DVD so Uncus can reminisce with them. You see, these two cousins of mine have no memory of their father, who is present throughout the DVD, in living, breathing color. Uncus is going to tell them about their father, which is one of the best payoffs I could ever have. The other payoff, even larger, is that Uncus will not only be able to share with my cousins about their father, but also about his own parents (my and their grandparents). They have few memories of my grandparents, who I consider to be the best people I ever knew.

To know that this is going to happen in 2 short days is the biggest payoff I have ever had, and well worth all the trouble I had to go through to make the DVD happen. My heart is warmed by it, and I will die a happy woman knowing that this is going to complete the circle for three very dear people.

Nazdrovie'

A Very Happy Paczki Puta

Dad's Hidden Talent

In surfing the internet today, I was reminded of something that my father used to do when I was very young and the world was still a magical place for me. I was looking for the music from the movie "August Rush", which Steve and I watched last night and has quickly become one of my favorites. In the process, I came across some harp music on YouTube. I have long wanted to learn to play the harp, and sometimes I wonder if I will ever have the money to pursue this dream of mine. But I digress... If you've ever been on YouTube, you know that when you watch one video, others are suggested for viewing.

So there I was enjoying the harp music, when I noticed another video of a gentleman playing the harmonica. That brought back a favorite memory of asking my father to play the harmonica for us. When Dad was young, he was smart, handsome and talented. And he knew it. He used to love to entertain us. Anything to make you laugh. He would play "You Are My Sunshine" and the theme from the Woody Woodpecker show on the harmonica. I don't remember any other songs he played, but I know there were more. Dad would play and play... and we loved every minute of it. I wonder how many of my siblings would remember that. He knew my love of music, and I remember him teaching me how to play the harmonica. "It's a matter of inhaling and exhaling at the right time," he told me. "Just practice and you'll get better". And I did. I never got as good as he was though. He would move his hands and make the music sound like it had a vibrato. I loved it. I wish he had kept it up in his older years. I guess life's stresses took precedence over making music. It's a shame. The music should never leave your life.

The music died on October 26, 2008. I will miss it, and the one who brought it to life for me. So Dad, this one's for you.



Nazdrovie'

Paczki Puta

IF - for girls

My mother gave me this for my 8th grade graduation. I always thought there was great wisdom in these words. IF - for girls

If you can hear the whispering about you And never yield to deal in whispers, too; If you can bravely smile when loved ones doubt you And never doubt, in turn, what loved ones do; If you can keep a sweet and gentle spirit In spite of fame or fortune, rank or place, And though you win your goal or only near it, Can win with poise or lose with equal grace; If you can meet with Unbelief, believing, And hallow in your heart, a simple creed, If you can meet Deception, undeceiving, And learn to look to God for all you need; If you can be what girls should be to mothers: Chums in joy and comrades in distress, And be unto others as you'd have the others Be unto you - - no more, and yet no less; If you can keep within your heart the power To say that firm, unconquerable "No," If you can brave a present shadowed hour Rather than yield to build a future woe; If you can love, yet not let loving master, But keep yourself within your own self's clasp, And not let Dreaming lead you to disaster Nor Pity's fascination loose your grasp; If you can lock your heart on confidences Nor ever needlessly in turn confide; If you can put behind you all pretenses Of mock humility or foolish pride; If you can keep the simple, homely virtue Of walking right with God - - then have no fear That anything in all the world can hurt you - - And - - which is more - - you'll be a Woman, dear. Nazdrovie' Paczki Puta