Christmas Edition 2016

October 2016, Teddy Roosevelt Park (Photo by Jesse)

Hello Family & Friends,We hope joy has been your constant companion, peace has warmed your heart and you have felt comfort in the arms of your loved ones this year.  

  

Photo by Jesse

Emily, now 6 years old, continues to enjoy school in 1st grade.  She seems to be a natural with mathematics.  Her favorite subjects are, as they have been, Art, Music and Gym.  This summer she participated on the neighborhood swim team and swam in the backstroke event. She asks us almost everyday if we can go to Disney World. 

Matthew, now 3 years old, has moved up to the Hormigas class in his Spanish Bilingual preschool.  Recently, he said to Anne, "Gracias para ayudame busca por mi carro." (Thanks for helping me look for my [matchbox] car.)  In his holiday recital, he performed a dance to Feliz Navidad which he enjoyed very much.  He asks us almost every day if we can go to Sesame Place.  

Photo by Jesse

David continues as an Assistant Principal, though he changed schools this year.  He hopes to to make a meaningful contribution at his new school with his understanding of how to challenge advanced learners with engaging instruction.  He has also been practicing his talent and skill for cooking with increasingly complex and sophisticated dishes which we have all enjoyed.  

Anne was pleased to have the opportunity to share the work she is doing at several conferences.  Though it is hard to be away from home and family, an unanticipated benefit of this was that she was able to indulge in her love of reading which consumed most of her time while waiting at airport gates. 

Sesame Place, July 2016 (photo by Anne)

Kill Devil Hills, July 2016 (Photo by Bernie)

  This summer we were happy to take some time to spend together.  We returned to Sesame place where Emily was tall enough to ride all of the rides and Matthew was brave enough to go on the raft for the big water slide.  We also spent four days at the beach.

Wishing you health, wealth and happiness in the new year, with love from our family to yours. 

Inside of a Dog

I have been reading a series of books about dogs such as The Art of Racing in the Rain, and A Dog's Purpose. Most recently, I read Inside of a Dog. This book in particular has significantly changed my interaction with Zeldie and consequently she has been responding to me differently. In particular, I know now the effect that touch can have on a dog. Much like it is calming to humans, it is calming to canines as well. And so, when she is distressed by the noises and smells that penetrate our front door causing her to pace and bark uncontrollably, I go to her and gently hold her bracing her body against mine to radiate safety and security to her. I have noticed a shift in her preferences. Previously, David was her entire world. She lived, breathed, ate and pooped by his undivided adoration of her. When she wanted to play, she wanted to play with him. She would go to her toy basket, pick the distraction of her choice and plop it in front of him dipping into a puppy play bow as she did so. David would indulge her infinitely. In turn, Zeldie would express her delirious happiness in her twists and turns and fits and spurts. But now, she will intermittently drop her toy in front of me to play. She will more consistently cuddle with me. It brings peace to my heart when she does this.  To be loved by a dog, even as her 2nd best person, is a wonderful thing.  

A Eulogy for My Father

In late October of 2011, we lost my father to his 17 year battle with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia.  He was 68 years old.  When our friends and family came to the funeral, many of them expressed that what they remembered about my relationship with him was that at times it had been strained.   I understand that by acknowledging this their intent was to be considerate of me, though this awareness added to my grief.  

I had visited my dad, for what would be the last time I spent with him early in October over Columbus Day weekend.  He had been sick over the summer and had spent much of July and August in the hospital. It is my belief he knew his time left on this earth was short, but he did not ask me to come home or express any sense of urgency.  Regardless, I told David we needed to go to Albany.   

That weekend, my dad said nothing about the severity of his suffering or the prognosis of his condition. There must have been something that passed between us though, because during the visit we were in a good place and as we drove home it became clear to me I wanted to speak at his funeral.   

In the days following his death, when I heard from so many people that what they remembered about our relationship was that it was conflicted, it became important to me the eulogy commemorate how I came to understand him, make transparent the depth of our relationship, and establish myself as a relevant part of his life beyond the conflict in our relationship.  What follows is the eulogy I gave for my father.  

The first time I brought my husband home to Albany to meet my family was for Deborah’s graduation from Holy Names. As we started to make our way through the party, I introduced him to all of the family and friends who were there. Each time I introduced him, the person he was meeting would say, “Have you met Kenny yet?” and David would reply that he hadn’t. Then they would say, “well, he’s a character.” This happened so many times that David actually asked me, “Is ‘character’ a euphemism for something?”

As an English teacher, I would teach my students that you learn about a character by what the character says, does, thinks, feels and by what other characters say about him. Over the past few days, I have been thinking about how the legacy of my father’s character is imbued in his children and grandchildren. I’ve been thinking about this because as Neil Postman once said, "Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see."

I think about how my dad loved people. He was a raging extrovert. People gave him energy. My sister, Carolyn, is much like him in this way. She will talk to anyone and tell them as much of her life story as they will listen to. 

I think about how my dad was story-teller. How he had an intuitive sense of timing, suspense, humor and plot. When he told a story, he captured your undivided attention. And, he loved to tell a good story. I’m sure you all have a favorite story of his that you remember him telling you. My sister, Deborah, is much like him in this way. When she tells a story, she is entertaining. Like him, she has an intuitive sense of how to captivate an audience. If you haven’t already heard it, ask her to tell you the Popsicle story. It’s about my dad and it’s a good one. And the first time I heard her tell it was when I realized how much like my father she is.

I think about how my dad had a strong connection to his family. How he felt a responsibility and duty to all of them. He loved to talk about all of the family he’d helped get jobs, in-laws and all. I know that when he was considering career opportunities that would take him away from this area, how his family would be impacted was always a significant factor in his consideration. My brother, Anthony, is much like him in this way. Even though, I have never resided in Albany with Anthony, I have always felt we have had a strong connection. And what is extraordinary to me is Anthony’s effort in that. As a young boy, growing up 400 miles away from a sister 20 years older than him, it would be easy for him to feel a detachment from me. But, he has never given me that impression. He has always hugged me every time I visit; he has always told me about himself and asked me about myself. I think that has a lot to do with the connection to family he feels. And talking to him, I know he wants to have a big family of his own someday. 

Now, to be quite honest, when I was thinking about how Anthony was like my father, it was hard to choose between that and his devastatingly good looks. Which, quite frankly, I think we all got.

I think about my Dad’s ambition. How he took what he was given and made the most of it by making something of himself. About his accomplishments, and any of you who saw his obituary, which I should mention, he wrote himself, know about his many accomplishments. I think about how he was proud of himself for making something of himself and succeeding beyond what was expected of the boys where he was from and how he did this for his family. My nephew, Justin, is much like him in this way. My dad was deliriously happy to see Justin go to college. At first, he wasn’t so sure about Justin going to an art school, but when someone he respected was considerably impressed with Pratt Institute, where Justin goes to school, he was convinced and threw the full force of his praise and support behind him. A picture Justin drew of my dad and McKenzie hangs framed in the living room.

I think about my Dad’s focus and determination and how he could be persuasive. All characteristics of a good salesman. And my dad was quite a salesman. I remember one time we had a garage sale and he sold vacuum cleaner parts to someone who didn’t even have that type of vacuum. My nephew, Tyler, is much like him in this way. My mom had a garage sale over the summer and Tyler was selling his toys to the kids who came for more than what he paid for them. He also wouldn’t let anyone walk away without buying something.

I think about how my dad was a charmer. He could charm a cobra with his playful nature. My niece, Katrina, is like him in this way. She is uninhibited in her quest for attention. She loves being the center of attention and everyone loves it when she is. She will dance and play and smile and smirk in a way that is irresistible. And in this way, entrance everyone around her. 

I think about how he was a risk-taker and adventurous. He left home when he was 17 and joined the Navy. He wasn’t afraid to take chances like for example when he left his home in Auburn and moved his family to Albany to pursue his career. My daughter, Emily, is like him in this way. At 13 months, she is fearless. Just recently, at the playground, she went down the slide all by her self. It brings me comfort when I think about how my dad noticed this about her too, the last time he saw her.

But what strikes me about his character is how it evolved over his life. When he was a younger man, he was restless. He was burning with purpose and passion. As he aged and the illness took its toll, he slowed down. It, wiped him out in a way that nothing before ever did or could have. I know this was difficult for him to accept. But, my dad was always a reflective man; some of you may know this from the poetry that he wrote. And being a reflective man, I saw how he grew from this experience. I think it must have taken great strength and courage to do so. One month before signing the Emancipation Proclamation, President Lincoln said to Congress, “The dogmas of the quiet past, are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew.” In my life, there have been many times when I have had to act anew and think anew. This being one of them. I can tell you that it has taken great courage and strength to grow from the experience. That is the legacy of my father.

These are the reasons why we loved him. These are the ways we are connected to him.  These are the living messages from him that we will carry forward with us from this day to a time he will not see.

It took me by surprise that after I shared it with a friend when I got home, she asked me where I was in it.  My intention, as I explained it to her, was that the last paragraph represented the way I was like him. Only after months of introspection did I realize the entire piece reflected the ways in which I see the two of us as being connected.  It occurred to me my relationship with my father was strained because it was complex.  By embracing this, I was able to accept not only my dad for the person he was, but also myself for the person like him that I am.  I let go of the anger that characterized the continuing conflict in our relationship. I grew to appreciate the things I admired about him while forgiving the things I did not.  This is how I evolved.  This is how I grew from experience.  This is how we arrived in a a good place in the end, a place where I accepted who he was, embraced who he was not and understood that he was the best father to me he knew how to and was capable of being. 

A Wedding Toast

In June 2011, my dear friend Kathy celebrated her wedding vows by hosting an intimate reception of her family and friends.  Even though Kathy has four sisters, I was lucky enough to be asked to give a toast.  

I was thrilled to give the toast.  I wanted to create a meaningful, lasting memory.  Especially since after the epic disaster that was the Best Man toast at my own wedding, I understood the lifelong significance the moment would hold for Kathy and her husband. 

Much to my surprise, I struggled to find  the words to capture the moment in such a way that would honor her and her husband, share the appropriate sentiment and communicate my happiness for them.  I assumed that considering the great bond between us, my love of writing and experience with speaking in front of crowds, the words would come easily.

I knew it needed to be about her.  I knew it needed not to be about me.  I knew it needed to be about him.  I knew it needed not to be about past hims.  I knew it needed to be about the two of them together.  I knew it needed not  to be about me and David.  I knew it needed to impart some worldly wisdom. I knew it needed not to be condescending.   I knew it needed to be sentimental.  I knew it needed not to be sad.  I knew it needed to be funny.  I knew it needed not to be sarcastic.  And I knew it needed to be short.

And so, I toiled away writing drafts, the majority of which were unusable.  Mostly because they were about me as in, "I remember when Kathy and I did this," or "When I got married I learned that," or "My favorite thing about Kathy is...".

Until it struck me.  

Kathy and I became friends in high school when our lockers were separated only by Chris V.  Poor, Chris V.  I’m not quite sure how he survived four years of Kathy and me talking through him to each other.  

When we became friends, one thing that I quickly learned about Kathy was her passion.  At the time when we were in high school, it was for the field of medicine and becoming a physician.  Anyone who knows Kathy knows that her passion is one of her greatest strengths.  She pursued this goal with unwavering determination and spirit and is now one of the most dedicated doctors I know.  

When Kathy told me about her first date with Soner, it was clear to me she had met someone who had that same passion.  I distinctly remember her telling me after a date one night the first time they kissed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole next day.  I thought, this is a good sign!    

    

It reminded me of something someone once said  “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away”.

To the bride and groom, may the love you share today be one day seen as small, compared to the love you will feel years from now. May you continue to grow in love and as individuals and may this day just be one of many that take your breath away.

And that struck them.  

Books that Shaped Our Lives

A while back, a colleague of mine asked me to submit a piece of writing about a book that shaped my life.  Here is what I wrote. 

In my life, there have been so many books.  There have been so many books that my mother would tell you she can’t remember a time I wasn’t reading a book.  There have been so many books, that my husband would tell you we don’t have room for any more.  There have been so many books that I can tell you, it is hard to say which one has most impacted my life.

There have been books that served as companions when I have felt alone in the world.  There have been books that have helped me cope when my struggles seemed greater than the strength I had to deal with them.  There have been books that have helped me grow when experience was not enough.  In each of these instances, I could tell you the one book that made a difference to me.  But to say which one made the most difference is like to ask which star in the sky is my most favorite. 

But, if you were to ask which book has been unconditionally relevant to me, I would tell you it was The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.  I have found meaning in this book over the course of my life regardless of my age or experience.  At times it has inspired me.  At times it has made me feel profoundly sad.  At times it has affirmed ideas I believed to be true and right and good.   

And so, for my daughter, I have acquired a copy of this book.   It is my hope that in its pages she will find insight and understanding and in this way come to cherish it as I do.

The Urban Trekker

The last time I bought hiking boots was about 12 years ago, when I was in my 20's, doing a lot of serious hiking.  It occurs to me, that the acquaintances who have come to know me since that time may not have an accurate picture of me when I say I was doing some serious hiking.  So, for those of you who did not know me then, by serious hiking, I mean the kind of hiking you do where you carry everything on your back, dig a hole for your own waste and do not shower for 3-5 days as you explore the wilderness in places like Glacier Bay where the boat drops you off by pulling up to shore, throwing a ladder over the side and tossing your pack down to you.  That kind of serious hiking.

This past weekend, I dug my hiking boots out of the back of my closet, which, to be honest, is where they spend most of their time these days.   Hurricane Sandy necessitated this expedition since the majority of use I get out of the boots these days is to keep my feet warm and dry during rain and snow storms.  The boots, surprisingly, even after what I was shocked to remember as 12 years, still remained in phenomenal shape.  

I should take a moment to mention the significance of the accomplishment acquiring these boots was.  My first pair of hiking boots was an inexpensive, generic brand that carried me through the early days of my hiking as a camp counselor in upstate New York.  They were a sky blue, nylon pair we had purchased from a discount shoe warehouse.  They were functional and supportive but I envied the other counselors who had the elegant leather boots that stayed dry, didn't show the cracked and dried mud caked to the sides and bottom of the boot and had contrasting red laces that crisscrossed up to a decent height at the ankle instead of as high as a flapper boot.  I had these boots forever.  Until, several years after I started working when I could finally afford a new pair.  I, of course, when straight to the holy grail of camping equipment, L.L.Bean and  purchased a pair of boots that most resembled what I had coveted all those years, the Super Expedition III's,  a boot for serious hikers.  Boots that reflected the intersection of my youth, autonomy and self-sufficiency.

Then, I moved to Northern Virginia, got a time-consuming promotion, married my husband and had a baby.  The boots migrated to the back of the closet.  Except on the rare occasions when there was a weather event like the great snowstorms of 2010 or Hurricane Sandy this past weekend.  

Which brings me to this past weekend when I dug my boots out of the back of my closet to keep my feet warm and dry as we braved the hurricane force wind and rain to hike the aisles and hunt the shelves for any remaining bread and milk at Giant.  As I was traversing up and down aisle 10, where there had apparently been some sort of vicious attack on the potato chips, I stepped right out of the sole of one of my boots.  It flapped at first, snapping back quickly with a loud crack and then came right off in one whole piece.  I shouted to David.  This was impossible.  These boots were L.L.Bean.  L.L. Bean is quality.  L.L.Bean has a lifetime guarantee.  

That is when it struck me.  L.L.Bean has a lifetime guarantee.  We have an L.L.Bean store.  So the next day, despite the weatherman's desperate pleas for  everyone to stay home and avoid unnecessary travel, we drove up to the mall to exchange the boots because of course, I am a Serious Hiker, one that braves the elements.  In the shoe department, the kind man who, had himself braved the Hurricane to get to work, was sympathetic and apologetic taking the shoes in his hands.  He admired them, turning them back and forth and around as he examined them carefully, finally pronouncing, "Yes, these look like an early model of the Super Expedition III.  These boots are for serious hikers.  These are the boots they take up Everest."  I smiled smugly, trying not as hard as perhaps I should have to conceal my conceit.  Then he said, "Let me see if I can find you something that will work for you today," and he disappeared into the back.  

Meanwhile, I piled my coat and bags into the stroller the total sum of our gear and equipment being spread across three of the four benches in the store while David and his father chased Emily around.  Prying her off and out of such fascinating things as the heavy sock basket for trying on boots. It wasn't long before the gentleman reappeared with two boxes.  One suspiciously smaller than the other.  The suspicious one, the one on top, was the one he opened first, pulling out a compellingly attractive low-ankled peet colored boot that he called the Urban Trekker.  "This is the Urban Trekker," he said, "Good for walking on pavement and short day hikes."  I was, curiously, simultaneously offended and intrigued.  The Urban Trekker, you say?  Clearly not a boot for a Serious Hiker.  Good for walking on pavement and short day hikes, you say?  In fact, I do walk a lot on pavement.  "Are they waterproof?" I asked reflexively as my only line of defense.  "Yes," he said.  "Do I have to treat them or are they already treated?" I asked desperately clinging to my denial with the only line of reasoning that had any potential to invalidate the boots' practicality in my life.  "They are already treated, you don't have to do anything."  

So, I settled myself down to try them on.  The Urban Trekker, not a boot for the Serious Hiker.  As I pulled them out of the box, the gentleman went on to say that one of the features of this boot was the "easy lace-up" which meant there was only one set of hooks you had to cross the laces under.  A non-hiking, hiking boot, I thought skeptically. Until I tried the easy lace-up.  How fast that was!  I could tie my shoe and chase a toddler out the door into the driveway before she hits the street.  Then, I stood up.  And it felt like I was walking on clouds.  Was there even a floor below me? The last shred of my opposition crumbled and I knew these boots would work for me.  

Which was really what the Urban Trekker is about.  The harsh reality that I have aged past the identity I still cling to.  It's embarrassing to be made aware of this by a hiking boot.  Not accidental nudity kind of embarrassing, but more like realizing you are too old to be shopping in the juniors section at Macy's kind of embarrassing.  It made me wonder how I had gotten from Serious Hiker to Urban Trekker without noticing.  It made me think about the short decade long journey that it was.  It made me grapple with accepting who I am means something to do with embracing experiences beyond my control.  

Nonetheless, upon arriving at home, I resisted the Urban Trekkers, banishing them to the floor in a corner of my bedroom, not taking them out of the box.  Until, we were putting Emily in her costume for Halloween and getting ready to walk the pavement to trick-or-treat.  In the spirit of the holiday, I went upstairs and returned in my own costume, the Urban Trekker formerly known as a Serious Hiker.    

Zeldie the Reluctant Big Sister

Zeldie's world shifted on September 26th when we brought our daughter home from the hospital. Previously, she had been an only child. Now, she was a big sister. Not only that, but a big sister to a human child who had all sorts of privileges that she did not such as sitting on the couch and the bed. At first, Zeldie was confused about where she stood. Especially with Daddy, who had formerly been her whole world and a source of undivided attention. This confusion caused much consternation for Zeldie. Eventually, she discovered not all changes were bad. Mommy stayed home for three months and during that time Zeldie went on more and longer walks than she had since she first came to our house as a puppy. Opa and Memaw, two sources of infinite euphoria for her visited more frequently. Food was spontaneously abandoned in accessible places in response to the baby crying. We did our best to convince her the baby was a good thing, letting Zeldie sniff her and give her kisses frequently and with minimal restriction. However, she remained aloof and undecided. Until, that is, this past month when the baby started moving of her own volition. Emily now makes talking sounds that resonate as loud screeching noises every time Zeldie approaches her or coos to get her attention every time Zeldie walks away from her. Zeldie is beginning to get a firm grasp on the conditions of being a big sister. In Zeldie's world this means that when the baby calls to her, she gives her kisses. And when the baby is on her tummy on the floor, her job is to push her nose under her arm and nudge her to roll over. The two of them are becoming good friends. In fact, it seems when Zeldie loses interest in her, Emily is a bit bored. And Zeldie, once the reluctant big sister, is blooming in her new role. We thought we saw evidence of this when the other day, Zeldie went to her toy basket, pulled out her tug of war rope and dropped it in front of Emily. Ever obliging, Emily grasped at the rope with all of her might and tugged as much as her little 18 lbs. would allow. Zeldie, demonstrating insightful perception, tugged back, but no more than was necessary to create just enough resistance for a taut rope. Zeldie, it seemed, was moderating her play to be gentle enough for the baby. Suddenly, being the big sister has become a lot more interesting.