Love offers many things we may not always see . . .

Love Offers

Living, Learning, Light, Luminosity

Time, Truth

Opportunity, Oneness, Openness

Vastness, Versatility, Virtue, Victory

Enlightment, Endurance, Endeavor

. . . the hidden blessings of love.

~ gg

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The theme for this quarter’s readings in my sophomore reading strategies class is self-awareness.  Students choose their own independent books while the pieces we study in class to supplement our comprehension mini-lessons (poems, short stories, journal articles and a class novel) all relate to this universal theme.

With PLAN testing, we had a shortened day yesterday and took the opportunity to journal, or raw write.  The invite for the day was to write a self-expressive, free verse poem.  I wrote mine below rather quickly; although, it’s indicative of what I told the students to express – whatever was in their minds at the moment.  It’s darker than what I usually pen, and I don’t like it.  I’ll write a happier piece tomorrow, I’m sure.  But for now, this was the quiet scream in my head.

Unmarked Title

 

Visible invisibility

Loud silence

Clear ambiguity

Full emptiness

Expressive blank stare

Questionable answers

Infinite finiteness

Recurring finale

~ gg

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Like small children, there’s something within us always longing to go home – to return, even briefly, to our parents.  Whether we are 6 or 60, we have that desire.  I am very blessed to be able to go home to my mother on any given day.  I haven’t, however, been able to go home to my father for quite some time.  My life (along with my mother’s and brother’s) changed forever on this April day years ago when, without warning, my beloved father died.  Life changed with the news of the moment during that spring break before Easter Sunday.  I was a freshman in high school and my brother was a 4th grader.  Our dad was away on a business trip in Colorado when we received an unexpected visit from his best friend and colleagues delivering the news no one in the world ever wants to give - our father suffered a major heart attack in the middle of the night and died alone in his hotel room.

One of my favorite photos of Dad and me!

His death certainly was not characteristic of his life.  He was very much a people person – the devoted husband, the caring father, the gracious host, the silly cousin (as his cousin, Anthony, strongly attests!).  When I recall his voice, I hear his laugh.  He had a way of making everyone around him feel comfortable, and he was known for his fun demeanor and unique sense of humor.  To this day, when I see someone who knew my father well, I consistently hear, “Oh, the stories I have about your father!”   He was quite the practical jokester.  An example ongoing joke between my mom and dad:  they took turns hiding this hideously hairy, riducuously realistic toy mouse from each other and tryed to ‘one-up’ the other into finding the most inconspicuous place that would drive the most reaction.  He knew what it meant to hold on to the little moments in life.  At the same time, he was a man who took great pride in his work while trying not to take himself too seriously.

An early family photo - Dad, Mom and me

I have no regrets for lost joys – I replay the good memories, am very grateful for the precious time, and remember the love wholeheartedly.  “The Missing Piece” by Shel Silverstein illustrates a significant life lesson I learned from my father’s death:

“The Missing Piece” by Shel Silverstein

It is a fable about a big wheel, a fabulous wheel, the fastest wheel of all. It outraced every other wheel and took a great deal of joy and pleasure out of doing that. One day it was wheeling along having the greatest time when it hit a bump and lost a piece of itself. Now, with a chunk missing, the wheel went clunking along, struggling to keep up with the other wheels.

The wheel felt extremely sad. It started journeying great distances in search of its missing piece. As the wheel traveled it grew tired and lay down on a field of grass. It saw the white clouds against the blue sky and heard the birds sing. It began to see life’s beauty everywhere.

Some years passed, and finally the wheel found its missing piece. Overjoyed, it made itself whole again and reattached the piece. But something went wrong. The wheel realized that it had actually felt more whole when part of it was missing. The experience of loss had guided the wheel into a new state of awareness and fulfillment. The wheel had learned how to turn loss into life.

I look at myself in the mirror and sometimes I see his eyes.   I know I have a guardian angel always watching over my family, and he will live on beneath everything we do.   He would be extremely proud, for instance, of his first grandchild’s outstanding achievements, and be completely overjoyed over his second granddaughter who was born on his birthday!!!!!!!!

My father always loved nature . . . mountains, water and storms.

John Mayer wrote in his song, “Daughters:”  ‘Fathers, be good to your daughters.  They will love like you do.‘  I’ve learned that the most important thing every father teaches his daughter to do is to love completely and truly.  My “anything for TC” father certainly taught me that.  I’ve asked myself if I am who I am . . . what I am . . . how I am . . . because my father lived or because my father died.  The answer, I’ve decided, is both!!  My father taught my mother, brother, and me an important lesson right through the end of his life here.  His death forced us to learn how to survive under the most difficult of situations, how to approach life’s unexpected turns, and how to turn loss into life.

In memory of Daddy!!

I took this with my first camera! No, his hair is not long. That's the shadow of Mom's ugly hanging lamp behind him.

➔ ➔ ➔ The glue of the family, see my post celebrating my mother’s unbelievable strength that guided us through the difficult time of my father’s death:  My Mom, Still the Coolest Mom Around

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In honor of the holidays, I am sharing the story of a special Christmas from my childhood ~

Surprise Santa

Place yourself back in time when you were very young and Christmastime felt magical.  The world seemed to transform into an ever-jovial, bright and sparkly place.  And it wasn’t just because your mother exchanged every single household item (including the shower curtain and dinner plates!) for its Christmas counterpart, but because the WHOLE world was more fun.  Yes, even school was a happier place.  As Christmas loomed closer, the anticipation of Santa’s visit guaranteed tummy butterflies and lingering wide-eyed moments in bed before sleep.   Christmas Eve night included gazing out the window, guessing which bright star might be the Big Guy himself.

Year after year, my parents – like many loving mothers and fathers – gently told my brother and I that we couldn’t wake up in the middle of the night before Christmas lest we wanted St. Nick to take back all the presents.  Being the very abiding daughter that I was, I took that very seriously.   On one particular Christmas dawn, my 10th Christmas to be exact, I was the first to wake up bright and early just before 6:00 a.m.  I gleefully hopped out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to gain a first glimpse of the goodies under the tree.  My plan was to sneak my own peek, wake my bro, and then we’d both barge in our parents’ room.  Well, it didn’t quite work that way as I had a surprise that literally stopped me in my slippered tracks.  My glee instantly turned to shock as I stood still as a statue and stared at Santa Claus in what I thought was the middle of his delivery.   I felt my heart leap; I couldn’t move any closer than the end of the hall.  In the living room a few feet before me stood a tall-as the-tree Santa, dressed in his beautiful red suit, his big bulky black boots, his long white beard . . . and he was reaching into the tree.  Oddly, he was standing as still as I was but I interpreted that as his shock in being discovered.    I stood there for a very long moment not sure what to do; furthermore, in the rather dark room, I looked around and swore I saw three little elf heads peeking out at me from around the corner.  It was then I conjured up enough strength to run back to my room as fast as I could, jump back in bed, and cry.

It didn’t take long for my mother to hear me sniffling.  She concernedly whispered to my father, “Why is T crying on Christmas?!?” When she came in to ask me what the matter was, I exclaimed between flowing tears that “I woke up too early and Santa was there and he was mad that I saw him and now he’s taking all the presents back!” My mom started to chuckle and told me she heard the opposite - that Santa wasn’t mad at all and, in fact, left an extra big surprise this year.  I hesitantly followed her back to the living room.  The figure in the red suit was still there but my mother turned on some lights and revealed the big “surprise:” a life-size Santa stand-in (and I do mean life-size!). I gasped and ran to touch him.  Oh . . . ummm, those elves I saw – they were my imagination playing tricks on me.  I was so relieved and excited again.  Christmas was back on!

Mom & Santa two Christmases ago!

Mom and I decided to turn off the lights, hide in the foyer, and wait to see what my 4-year old brother’s reaction would be when he woke up and wandered in.  I was sure we were in for a show!!!  It wasn’t long before we heard his footed-pajamas slipping down the hall.  He too stopped at the end of the hall like I did – but that’s where the similarity in our reaction ends.  You see, here’s exactly what he did:  he rubbed his eyes, muttered, “Oh, that’s nice,” instantly spotted my mom and I and asked, “When can we open the presents?” I let my imagination run wild and here my little bro intuitively knew otherwise!!  How did that happen?!

The following year I eventually discovered the truth about Santa and learned how my parents acquired our unique Christmas novelty.  My father was the manager of an A & P grocery store at the time.  Pepsi-Cola donated the Santa to him.  He displayed it a couple weeks before Christmas and drove it home Christmas Eve day (quite a feat, considering how big Santa is and how many family members we had over that night for our annual Eve bash!).  Since then, he’s come home with more interesting friends such as a big black scaredy cat and a wart-nose witch.  But, none of them brought the memories that our Surprise Santa sprung. 

Santa has been part of numerous memories since then.  For instance, during Santa’s 2nd year, my father performed “surgery” as Mr. Claus was tired and didn’t want to stand any longer.  Given the special signficance behind the statue, my father would not let Santa ”retire.”  Instead, he enlisted the help of our neighbor but, being the silly guy that my dad was, he decided it would be more fun to bring Santa to our neighbor’s house rather than have his friend come to our home. My father rolled the top down of his convertible, “sat” Santa in the passenger seat, drove to our neighbor’s house, honked the horn and waved to him with his red-suited friend.  Mind you, this was the middle of winter AND this particular neighbor lived across the street only five houses away.

The neighbor's get an extra treat every year!

 Surprise Santa still makes an appearance each Christmas, much now to the delight of my little niece.  His beard has been shampooed, his suit’s been dry cleaned and his body has been re-secured with heftier stilts but he still stands strong.  Christmas brings out the inner child in us all that is so important to channel once in a while.  I continue to get giddy when I decorate, the world still feels cozier this time of year, and I recall the memories when I look at Surprise Santa.  Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone!!!  Let the magic of Christmas brighten your days!

My daughter and Santa quite a few Christmases ago!

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ORIGINALLY TAKEN FROM A HANDOUT WE’VE USED IN OUR ENGLISH DEPARTMENT FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS NOW.  MY COLLEAGUE, MRS. JENNIFER KRAUSE, COMPILED THESE WILD, WACKY WORDS 

Says  is one of those overused words.  The Second Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary contains full entries for 171,476 words in current use, and 47,156 obsolete words. To this may be added around 9,500 derivative words included as subentries.  With all these words, why do we overuse the general, imprecise ones?

GG note:  Please do no utilize “goes” to replace the verb “says.”

FOR EXAMPLE:  He goes, “I don’t like that anymore.” → I hear this colloquial-type conversation from my high schoolers.   ‘To speak’ is not even a published definition of goes; the closest definition is ‘to utter a sound’ as in The gun goes bang.”  Luckily, I don’t think you’ll have a problem coming up with varied words here.  Enjoy!:

What other imprecise words need replacing?

OVER THREE HUNDRED WAYS TO SAY “SAYS”

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Mom and Me

4^th Grade International Cooking Days at school (most creative room mom ever!), watching me roll – and roll – down the hill at Lorado Taft, Crimes of the Heart in college when I cried on stage and could hear her sniffling in the audience almost as loud as me, the birth of my daughter, annual American Girl Place visits when Arianna was little . . . These only comprise a taste of special experiences I have shared with my mother – the one person in my life who is always there when I need a shoulder to cry on, an ear for listening, or a hand of support. I know of no one as selfless as she. My mother helps others before she helps herself, she makes life fun for those near her, and she is someone I want to be like when I grow up.

My mother puts the happiness of those she is close to before the happiness of herself. Throughout my life and my brother’s life, my mother has spent maybe one eighth of the time on herself. The rest is devoted to her family. She is either driving back and forth to my home to pick up my daughter when I have a schedule conflict or on the phone to offer an ear to Dave or taking my grandmother out shopping. When we were little, all of her decisions revolved around our well-being: she chose a job as a waitress so that she could be home with us during the day; she chose to maintain our home after our father died so that our lives would remain nearly the same; she chose to work more hours to fortify the lifestyle she thought we needed to be happy. Her caring doesn’t stop with my brother or me. She was the one who opened up our home to her mother and father when her mother became ill with cancer. (Of course, I was excited that grandma and grandpa were living with us; I didn’t understand the extra stress it placed on my mother’s life.) She was the one who looked after my grandfather who moved a few blocks away after my grandmother passed away. When her sister was dieing of breast cancer, she was the one who took her to and from her doctor appointments. In other words, she was – and is – the one who is there whenever family or friend is in need.

While striving to help others in any way that she can, my mother still manages to make life fun. Our home was always filled with fun toys, loving pets, happy music, and sweet smells. We were the only house on the block to hold a Fun Fair for the neighborhood complete with games and prizes, arts and crafts, and movies. Summers were filled with swimming in the backyard and Mom bringing out lunch on a tray with LHDRUs (ask me what that stands for later!). Christmas was a magical time, transforming our home from a suburban dwelling to Santa’s dreamhouse. Little elves abounded everywhere as everything from the welcome mat to the mantle centerpiece to the pictures on the wall evolved to Christmas décor. To this day, my daughter still finds Christmas Eve at “Gum’s” house as her favorite night of the year. Whenever my brother and I were sick, she would bring us food in bed, move a T.V into our room, and buy us magazines. I take pride in knowing I have a great role model for creating a happy home for my daughter.

For these reasons and more, I want to be like Natalie Theresa when I grow up. As I smooth the cream on my face at night, I can only hope that my skin displays as few wrinkles as hers. As I exercise daily, I can only wish that her washboard abs stay with me. As I force myself to think positive thoughts in tough situations, I can only aspire to be as optimistic as her. Natalie is a woman to admire. She transitioned to a completely new and successful real estate career at age fifty. She bought a new home and took on a new lifestyle at age sixty. She maintains numerous friendships that are thirty years old or older including high school buddies. She is privy to the latest fashions and could easily pass for someone fifteen to twenty years younger. She maintained the reputation among my and my brother’s friends as “the coolest mom around;” or, as some high school friends still remembered at my 20-year reunion – she’s a “hot mom.”

The last time I wrote a letter commemorating how significant my mother is in my life was for her fiftieth birthday. Well did we know then where we would be today. Teaching was only a distant dream, my daughter was barely three, and I had yet to endure the pain of divorce. She helped make that teaching dream turn into a reality by her constant support and care. Right now I can only imagine where I will be ten years from now. But I do know this – whatever current dreams I have, they will be more likely to happen with her constant love and positive encouragement to guide me along the way.

Mom and Me

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Timing is everything.

Time is ours to spend but we can’t keep it.

We can’t see time but we can feel it.

We can feel time but we can’t hold on to it.

Time never stops but keeps going and going.

Time can’t be rushed yet it can’t be slowed down.

Once time is lost, it’s gone forever.

Timing is everything.

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Watch those typos!

The other day a friend sent me this text: “No crazy h__ it is displaying that”  (input one vowel; yes, that one). Imagine my shock, anger, and disbelief when I read that. After taking a few deep breaths, I replied with a calm yet questioning message. Well, it’s a good thing he was near his phone because he texted his quick apologies, stating what a horrible typo that was. He meant to send, “Not crazy how it is displaying that.” Needless to say, we’re still friends.

Not all typos are corrected so swiftly. In this technological era of continual texting, daily blogging, everyday emailing, and essential computer work, typos abound by thousands a day. People lose their jobs, friends, lovers, and dignity over something as simple as a slip of the finger. An example of one such blunder with detrimental effects is a university’s recent accidental mailing of false acceptance emails. As a mom with a child about to apply to college herself, I can understand the profound anguish those students must have felt when they learned the truth.  The university sent the corrected emails out about an hour later.  Can you imagine? Unfortunately, this was not the first time a university created such confusion . . . and it probably won’t be the last.

Michael Duplessis, an auto mechanic, filed the now infamous lawsuit proclaiming that in April 2005, tattoo artist Sam Hacker inked “Chi-tonw” on his chest where he had asked for “Chi-town” Talk about having to live with that mistake every day!  Interestingly, some humorous Chi-town residents had the “tattoo-o” placed on t-shirts, commemorating the mistake.

A typo can be costly such as a real estate ad that lists “hardware floor” instead of “hardwood floor,” causing the meticulous home buyer to pass up a listing. A typo can hurt credibility such as an organization’s website filled with some misspellings or grammatical errors. We really do associate typos with a company’s reliability. Employers associate an applicant’s credibility in the same way (sounds like a job for GG!).  On the other side of the coin, a typo can be funny such as a congregation’s sign reading: “For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery downstairs.”  No matter what kind of typing faux pas, it is never intended to create the reaction it does.

Next time you type that text, be careful what time you punch in for your child to be home; next time you forward that email, be careful who you are sending that photo to; next time you promote your business online, be careful to proof your promotions. Now if you’ll excuse me, GG has some pertinent proofing to do before posting this blog.

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Firsts and Lasts

Life is full of firsts. First step, first word, first day of school, first love, first job . . . the list goes on. We commemorate those firsts and remember them. But what about the lasts in our lives?

Do we remember when was the last time we played with a favorite toy from our childhood? Did we know that on one not so memorable, probably very ordinary day, we would be putting a beloved doll to rest in its box for the very last time?

Sometimes we begin traditions without much planning. We start an activity, like the way it fits our lifestyle, and we continue it for a time. All of a sudden, we wake up and realize the “tradition” is gone. Can we recall which was the last Sunday we dined out weekly for brunch?

What about those traditions we followed for years and years? The Easter brunches, the Christmas Eves, the New Year’s sleep overs. Did we make the last time special? Did we know that it was important to make the last time special?

Life is full of memorable firsts, yet it is just as plentiful of special lasts – only we don’t know it until the lasts have passed. Thus, we must take joy in life’s simple pleasures as well as the main events; we must love one another as if we are all brothers and sisters; we must treat each occasion as if it was a first.

Dedicated to you Mom, inspired from your own words

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