'Tis The Season

It's December - the time of year when the days are shorter and the nights, longer - at least in the Northern Hemisphere. It is also a time of celebrations, depending on one's faith or religion, as well as where one lives.

I've always loved this time of year: the sights and sounds - the spirit - of Christmas. And yet, there's a reflectiveness to the time of year; as the days get shorter, it's almost easier to have the darkness add a certain melancholy-ness, along with reflections.

This year, we'll most likely be having a quiet Christmas: good food, some small gifts, and having some family over. Thinking of this, I've been inundated with memories of years past...

I wrote about some of these memories in December, 2012. Those memories are wonderful, for the most part, though many times, the memories are easier than the reality of the time.

Example: I was trying to think of the worst Christmas we've had as a family. (Kind-of counter-intuitive, isn't it? Holidays are supposed to be wonderful.) But the worst one had to be the year we had to move. My landlord had lost a job and had to sell all three of his rentals to keep from losing them and the house he and his family lived in. I can't say I blame him for deciding to sell his rentals; I would have done the same.

After months of looking for a place - I won't go into the details - things really looked bad. We had to be out by the beginning of the new year, with little prospect of finding a place.

Christmas, that year, was stressful. We made it through, though, and on the day we had agreed to be out of the old house, I managed to find a place. We're still in the same house. But that Christmas, with its stress, stands out.

"At . it's not as bad as the Christmas we had to move," one of my sons has mentioned in subsequent years, when I've bemoaned being broke.

But, for the most part, Christmas is one of good memories. I have pictures of one Christmas in New York when I'd gotten a bike for Christmas. Somewhere, there's a picture of my sister and me in front of the fireplace in the same house; I think we were getting ready to drink hot cocoa.

There are Christmases in Connecticut that are memorable. One year, my brother, G., had wanted a guinea pig. I think his class had a couple of guinea pigs, and he wanted one in the worst way. Christmas morning, when he came downstairs, he spotted the cage with the cute furry animal and shrieked, "I got a pinny wig!" Of course, after that, the animal's name became Pinny Wig.

There was another Christmas in New York - Rochester, to be exact - before my parents split up. The next Christmas was in Florida; I still remember walking along the beach over looking the Gulf of Mexico as the sun set, that first Florida Christmas. Mom had been working at Red Lobster, and finances were tight. But it made for a peaceful end to the day.

Now Mom is gone. It's been a little more than a year since we lost her. Technically, it's the second Christmas without her. Dad has been gone for more than eight years. So many people gone...and yet, their memories live on, especially at Christmas tme.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

October Can Be a Little Tricky...

October has been a little rough the past few years.

Mind you, it hasn't been that way. But if you've read most of the posts in this blog, one from exactly three years ago (October 24, 2012; "Octobers Haven't Always Been Rough..."), you might remember that Octobers have been a little dicey over the past few years.

I still like October, for the most part: My birthday falls in October, as does Halloween; the weather starts to cool off a little (even in Florida - or maybe it just feels that way, since the heavy humidity of summer is gone); the holidays are right around the corner. Also, the local Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure happens at the beginning of the month, which is almost always a positive event, held with a party-ish flair. Good stuff.

But then there's the flip side: Nine years ago today, my late husband died. He's thought he'd never marry again after losing his previous wife to breast cancer. (This partly figures into why I started walking/running the first year the Tampa Bay Race for the Cure was held; that year, it was in April, with the subsequent races being held in October. Also, my dad - yes, my dad - was a breast cancer survivor, later losing his life to prostate cancer.) I had also sworn that I'd never get married. As I used to tell Kevin the cabbie, "If Mr. Right ever shows up, he'll have a heck of a time getting my attention!"

But when I first met Paul, I had a strange feeling we'd be seeing a lot more of each other. We married a little more than two years later. And then he died. We'd been married 3 weeks shy of our ninth anniversary. October 3 of this year, I'd officially been widowed exactly as long as we'd been married. That kind-of does a slight number on one's equilibrium.

Paul at Sawgrass Lake Park



So I took this month one day at a time. It was still a bit of a roller coaster month. On the third, my daughter, M.H., drove me to do the Race for the Cure. This year, it was held at night - not the best time of day for me (my night vision isn't the best). It was the first race since having a fairly major medical issue this past spring. On the way there, M.H. stated that she'd wait for me. Then, seeing the festivities, she decided to participate; I think she enjoyed it as much as I did, even if I did run out of steam before we crossed the finish line.

The next day, we went to Pinot's Palette in St. Petersburg (Fla). That day's class was a bit Van Gogh, with the Tardis from Dr. Who. Several hours later, we left with our paintings. Did we have a good time? Ooooh, yeah. Very relaxing, a lot of fun, and something to add a little color to our walls.

Today, we went drove to the University of South Florida St. Pete (USFSP), where the Tampa Bay Times Festival of Reading was being held. Only stayed for a little while, took some photos (which will be posted later), then came home. It was a much needed break and diversion.

One more week until October is over - along with passing out candy on Halloween. It may be do-able.

The Scammers Are At It Again - And I Wasn't Home...

The scammers are at it again. This time, it wasn't the scammers pretending to want to fix my computer; this time, it was about an impending lawsuit that the IRS is bringing against me. Too bad I wasn't home to take the call. But they did leave a voice mail message on my phone.

I usually try to remember to check for any voice mail when I get home. Sometimes I overlook it for a couple of hours, but I do end up eventually checking. This time, I noticed the flashing light on the base of the portable phone right away and knew there was a message.

Okay, ice cream put away in the freezer (I do have a few priorities), I checked the voicemail and heard (in a very heavy accent), "Yes, this is a very important message for you. We know that the IRS is attempting to bring an impending lawsuit against you. You may be to pay back very much money. Please call us back immediately, as we are able to assist you in this troubling, expensive matter..." The person leaving this important message then left a number so that I could call them back.

Isn't that sweet when someone wants to "assist you in this troubling, expensive matter"?

Yeah, right, I thought, wondering how this heavily accented, anonymous person knows that the IRS has an impending lawsuit against me, especially since I haven't received anything in writing from any official government agency in I-don't-know-how-long...In fact, the last thing I received from anyone from Washington, it was a couple of emails from my representatives in response to an email I'd sent them. (Probably an email addressing scammers, no doubt!)

So, I called the number. It rang and rang and rang and rang... At least I didn't get a recording telling me that this was not a working number, which I'd half-expected.

But finally, after about 20 or 30 rings (yes, I'm persistent, especially if I can harass a scammer), someone - or, rather, something - picked up. A heavily accented voice on their voicemail advised me to "kindly leave a message so that we can get back to you and assist you in your time of need."

Dang, I thought. I was so hoping for a live human being.

But since they wanted me to leave a message, I did. And here's the message I left: "Yes, leaver of important messages. It was so kind of you to call to offer assistance in an important matter. I just wish you had been available to take my call.

"In case you're wondering who this is leaving this message, rest assured that I am the reigning Queen Snarkmistress Supreme, of the Snark-castic queendom. I'm afraid I can't leave my number, since you already have it. I look forward to assisting you in your snarky time of kindness."

This was several hours ago. They have yet to call me back. I wonder if they will? I would have loved to have (snarkily) spoken with them...

Mom's Memorial

We held my mother's memorial last Sunday, a week ago tomorrow. She lived a long life, most of it good, some of it difficult, lived mainly on her own terms: a good enough score for anyone. While Mom died in November, it's really been this past week that it's hit me hard.

I'm not sure how it's hit my sister, A, yet. I'll probably call her sometime over the next week. She used this past week as vacation time, flying from Oregon to the west coast of Florida, staying in a condo at the beach, then going to visit her in-laws for a few days. She came down with her husband and youngest daughter, and met up with her son and other daughter.

Growing up, and most of my adult life, I'd been closer to our dad than mom. Even if we have a decent home-life growing up, by which I mean two great parents who are doing their best at muddling through the job of raising kids, most of us, I think, tend to feel a little closer to one parent or the other. Usually it doesn't mean that one parent is good while the other is bad, it's just that we feel a little closer to one than the other. And while Dad died back in 2007, Mom's death hit me much harder than Dad's did. Maybe it's because now A. and I don't have a parent who could fill in the blanks of any questions we might have from when we were infants, someone to stand between us and death. A. and I are now the last two people in our birth family alive, a thought that I found a little jarring through the memorial.

My son M. and I got to the condo around 5:15-ish. (J. couldn't make it, nor could my oldest, J.A., who lives in Tennessee. J.A., if you're reading this, I'm still working on the tape of the service; you will get a copy - this year!) M. and I tried punching in the code to the elevator; when nothing happened, we tried again. Then, I tried to call A. Finally, the elevator opened; my niece, S., was in it, waiting to escort us up.

"S?" I asked, tentatively, and she nodded. I hadn't seen her since she was a few years old; she's almost 17 now.

Once upstairs, we found A. and C. in the condo, as well as C.'s extended family.

Over the next 45 minutes, more family showed up: M.H. and G., A.'s other two children - now adults, one of A.'s friends, and, finally, my uncle D. and D's youngest, Ch.

My first three thoughts, on seeing Uncle D. and Ch. were how old D. had gotten, how much Ch. had grown, and the fact that, while A. and I still have each other, D. is the last - the very last - surviving member of his birth family. He was Mom's only sibling, and now she's gone.

Of course, D. and Ch. have changed: I've seen D. maybe twice since shortly after Mom's Mom - and his Mom - died in 1990; I hadn't seen Ch. since then.

"Okay, everyone," A. announced. "We'll eat first, then have the service. Dig in."

We did, and as we did, we talked, catching up, the way families do.

As soon as we'd eaten, we began the service. A. had asked me to give the eulogy. I'd written it down so I wouldn't forget anything that I'd wanted to say.

But of course, I did forget a few things that I'd desperately wanted to add. The main one that comes to mind was of our first Christmas in Florida, back in 1971. We'd moved from Rochester, New York that year, leaving in February, getting here the first few days of March. Rochester being snow country made a snowless, semi-tropical Christmas exotic. That evening, we walked on the beach as the sun set, which made having her memorial at the beach even more poignant.

After I gave the eulogy, we began telling Mom stories, laughing at many of them, getting misty-eyed over others.

One story, which I'm not sure made it on the tape (I had a video camera going, and one tape ran out...) dealt with an English As A Second Language class Mom taught. Two Vietnamese brothers who'd been coming to class brought a third brother along to join the class. Their brother's name was a "perfectly good, a great name," the older two said. Unfortunately, when pronounced, it sounded too much like an English obscenity. Mom delicately asked what the name would be in English.

"Sam," came the answer. From then on, he was Sam. Of course, we laughed at Mom trying to handle diplomacy; I'm sure she could have taught those in Washington a lesson in diplomacy that day.

My cousin, nephew (hidden), Uncle, & sister.



Cousin, nephew, brother-in-law, uncle, sister



Cousin, nephew, brother-in-law, uncle, sister



Cousin, nephew, brother-in-law, uncle, sister behind uncle



Soon it started to get dark, and we brought some floating lanterns out. The plan was to light all five of them and have them float off to the sky, essentially taking thoughts of Mom with them.

First few lanterns

Cousin & nephew lighting a lantern



More lantern-lighting





Several lanterns made it to the water...





One lantern, though, did make it to the sky, finally disappearing just before the rains came.

Mom's Eulogy...

It's never easy to lose a loved-one. If one lives long enough, one tends to lose too many loved-ones.

My mother died back in November. My sister and I are having her memorial today. I've been elected to give the eulogy.

We had planned to go out onto the beach to scatter a few of Mom's ashes. But unless the rain lets up, I don't see that happening. Such is life...and death.

In the meantime, here is the eulogy I plan to give:

'We're gathering today to remember a special person. Some of us remember her as Mom, Sis, Aunt J, Grandma, Maghee or friend. If we include all her names from her 83 years, she'd be J. D. H. S. C. S. Quite a mouthful of names, but then, she lived quite a life.

"J was born March 6, 1931, changing her only brother, Dave, from an only child to a big brother. From the stories Mom told over the years, Dave was her brother, friend, confidant, ruining her life – at least in her child's mind, when a stranger offered to take her picture in a secluded area, thus making her famous – to protecting her from that same stranger by calling her name as he searched for her to bring her home. There were numerous other stories she told us of her early life, many of which ended up in her book, The Color Chartreuse.

"She graduated from Penn Hall in 1950, then from St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York, in 1952. It was at St. Lawrence that Mom met Dad. The two married in November, 1952. Over the next few years, three children arrived – me (Robin), Amy Anne, and Gregory John. The stories each of us could tell...The move from New York to Connecticut, the blurbs in Readers' Digest – written about the funny things happening in her life and the lives of her children – and stories published in Yankee Magazine(one of which was published in Yankee's A Treasury of New England Short Stories ), then a move to Rochester, New York.

"In 1971, Mom and Dad split up, and Mom decided it was time to move to Florida to be near her parents. Nothing like a little stress in one's life: a cross-country move with three children, an impending divorce, and hitting 40 at a time when 40 was a lot older than it is now. After buying a house in the Tyrone area of St. Pete, Mom went to work for Guide Magazine, then held several teaching positions in the area, a job she'd held at various times in Connecticut and Rochester.

"It was while Mom was teaching that she met William C. They later married, and, after moving to Largo, the two started the small publishing company, publishing materials for teachers and adult-ed classes. While in Largo, they would frequently throw pizza parties for their grandchildren as the kids stuffed envelopes for Longmuir-Jones. Later, Mom and Bill moved to Murray, Kentucky, where Bill was from.

"Mom continued to write, and read several of her short essays on the local NPR radio station. Many of these essays also made it into The Color Chartreuse. While in Murray, Mom began painting again, something she had done while living in New York (before the move to Connecticut). She enjoyed painting immensely.

"Mom was widowed in 1997 with Bill's passing, and remained in Murray for several years, writing, meeting with friends, adopting the occasional stray dog and cat.

"Then Mom met another man, James S, about ten years older than she was. James brought her back to New York, then on to Allentown, where they remained for several years. James died shortly before Mom did.

"Even with everything that happened in Mom's life – a divorce, the death of two husbands, as well as the deaths of her parents and son, Greg, Mom still maintained a bit of an adventurous soul until the end, and had looked forward to a possible move to Oregon. That was not to be, though, and Mom passed away in November, 2014.

"Mom, you'll be missed, and remembered fondly."

Mom

I've been in kind-of a reflective mood the past few days. Friday was my mother's birthday; she would have been 84, had she lived. She died this past November, so this was the first of her birthdays since she died. It felt strange, wanting to call her to wish her Happy Birthday, and knowing that I couldn't. I felt as though her birthday should be commemorated somehow. In the days leading up to her birthday, I considered texting my sister and suggesting we both find a card Mom would have liked, then sending it to each other. Or maybe simply a text to each other on her birthday. I don't know...

In the end, I bought a cake mix and a can of frosting. It was a yellow cake and chocolate frosting, the type of cake Mom always baked me for my birthday. I figured I'd bake it Friday afternoon, but Friday got away from me, as did the weekend. Maybe tomorrow.

I brought a few things out to the recycling bin this evening, and thought back to when we moved to Florida, a life-time ago. We left upstate New York the last week of February on a day when the wind chill index made it feel like 40 below. Mom and Dad were getting divorced, which is seldom an easy thing. Mom had her brother, my Uncle D., accompany us in his car as far as Springfield, Massachusetts, a city that took us about 250 miles out of the way en route to Florida. Don't ask me why; the logic escapes me. Maybe it was the map-reading thing; maybe it was...well, who knows why.

The next day, Uncle D. headed back home to Aunt N., while Mom, my sister A. and our brother G. headed south. Mom had mentioned she felt horrible. She had debated whether to have us take her to the nearest hospital, but figured she had just enough money to get us to Florida without an extra stop. So she handed me the car keys and the map of the eastern U.S., reminded me that I had a New York state learner's permit, then told me to get us to St. Pete. Fortunately, I can read maps just fine, otherwise we might have ended up in Nome, Alaska. (Passing through customs twice, though - once going into Canada, once leaving - might have tipped me off.)

Mom seemed a little strange during the trip, but A. and I chalked it up to a combination of three major life changes: Mom was turning 40 (a big deal back when she hit 40), she was divorcing Dad, and we were moving a little more than 1,300 miles (and numerous states) away, more than 1500 miles, if you include the side-trip through Massachusetts. By the time we got to Grandma and Grandpa's the day before Mom's birthday, she was in bad shape. In fact, she spent most of her birthday in the nearest emergency room.

Finally, a week or so later, she started feeling better, more herself. It wasn't until years later, while in her early 50s and married to my first step-dad, that she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Apparently, when we'd thought was a bad case of what my younger two and I call the ditzy doodles on the trip was really her introduction to MS, which soon went into a long remission.

During the first month or so in Florida, we stayed with Mom's parents, who lived in an apartment on the second floor. Every evening, after dinner, I'd walk along the long attached balconies in front of the upper floor apartments, descend the stairs at the end of the building, then walk the second floor balcony on the building behind Grandma and Grandpa's, eventually ending up back where I'd started. The weather was exactly the way it is now: definitely warmer than upstate New York, while nowhere near as hot as it gets here during the summer. The air even smells fresh.Whenever the weather is like this in the evening, especially in March, I can't help but remember our first Florida March, and Mom's first Florida birthday. Now it's Mom's first birthday since she's been gone. And while our relationship had been difficult most of the past few decades (I'd always been a Daddy's girl), we'd slowly gotten somewhat closer, almost friendly the last couple of years. I miss her.

The cake gets baked tomorrow, even though it's a few days late. Happy Birthday, Mom.

Life Goes On...

Some years are better than others. I guess that's true for most of us. So far, this year seems to be possibly one of the more productive ones, which is nice, especially after last year. Last year was horrible: we lost several family members died; we had a hard time getting rid of what turned out to be the roommate from hell (yes, it was someone we had known for years); and, of course, the various odds and ends that make a life.

In July, my son-in-law died. While his health was not the greatest, his death was not expected. But considering the medical care he got - or, rather didn't get - he passed away. (Yes, he'd gone to the hospital, three times in his final ten days or so; the hospital totally dropped the ball. That's another story.) His mom had come down to see him in the hospital; fortunately, she got to see him before he died.

Then, over the next few months, my mother began to die in earnest. Her health, which hadn't been the greatest for years, began deteriorating rapidly. While my sister, A., still lived near me, we'd tried to get Mom and our second step-dad to move near us to make life easier, "just in case." Then my sister moved to Colorado, then literally across the country. We still tried getting Mom and step- to move here, but it wasn't happening.

A. flew back and forth to Mom's, reporting to me on what was happening. It wasn't pretty. There were assisted living facilities, skilled nursing facilities, the whole bit. Then step-dad had a stroke and, within a month, had died at his daughter's home. (Again, another story...) A. mentioned bringing Mom out to live near her. But Mom's health was too precarious.

"If you want to see Mom while she's alive, you'd better come soon," A. said during one phone call. Mom was days to weeks from dying. "I'll even pay for your airfare."

Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a crisis here at home. A friend had needed a temporary place to stay and I'd offered to let him rent a room temporarily; he overstayed by his welcome in short order. (Word of advice: if a person's family doesn't want that person moving in with them, that's not a good sign.) I finally had to go into bitch-mode to get him out, after he'd become increasingly unpleasant and verbally abusive. I couldn't fly out to see Mom, knowing that the now-ex-roommate was still there, giving my sons M. and J. all sorts of grief.

By mid-November, Mom and roommate were gone. While Mom's passing without having seen her hurt, at least A. and I knew she was no longer in pain, while ex-roomie's leaving was the definite high-point of the month.

Over the next few months, A. and I spoke a few times. We discovered one final Christmas present from Mom, which surprised both of us.

Now, with March of the new year here, things are looking up. Life, while far from perfect, is running a lot better than last year. While my "kids" (all adults) and I still have things to work through (this is, after all, real life; there are almost always bumps and uh-oh moments), we're hanging on.

Here's hoping for the rest of the year.