Overdue Blog..You Say It's Your Birthday...

It's my birthday too..okay..pretty soon - February 18th

So, today is my birthday.  This is the first one that I will "celebrate" without my Dad.  As long as I can remember, I used to talk to both of my parents on my birthday and ask them - tell me about the day I was born. It did not matter if I was 5, 15, 25, or 45 - I asked the same question - and never got tired of asking the question.  They would pass me back and forth to each other on the phone, talking to each other often about that day.

I am pretty sure that my mom will be thinking about him today...just like I will.

There is something about being born in February - for a short month, I have so many February birthday friends, and frankly, its a fairly dreadful month to be born in..why you ask?...when I look back on my birthdays, there is one more familiar theme than other..Wow - there is nothing like the flu to celebrate a birthday.

Maybe it goes back to the snowy cold day in Cleveland, Ohio when I made my clearly, unexpected appearance - a month early, Mom was on bed rest from placenta previa - nothing was going well for her - she was miserable, the weather was miserably cold, and she was sick as a dog.  They called an ambulance that morning - but when they got her settled in they told my Dad that nothing was going to happen - go home and rest; tomorrow will be the big day. Of course, ever ambitious, I felt the need to enter the world as an Aquarian rather than a Pisces and came out kicking and screaming moments after 6 pm to the surprise of all.  One month early - and kicking my way out - like a miserable little banshee. Mom, often reminds me of this -and Dad was home taking a nap.

To say that a 4 lb 6 oz baby is cute is an utter lie.  I looked like an uncooked, plucked chicken in search of a pot.  Only carrots, celery and a handful of parsley would've improved my appearance.

Flash Forward
When you are an adult, there is nothing better than having your birthday off, especially as a paid holiday.  But when you are a peanut - you want to be the kid who brings in the cupcakes, everyone sings happy birthday and you get to wear some crazy crown.  Having a birthday that is often celebrated with George & Abe makes that a hit or miss affair - that and SNOW.

You Can Vote, Drink & Attend Your Grandfather's Funeral - 18 SUCKS...
Well, my 18th birthday was a notable one.  Two days before my birthday, my grandfather died.  He died of Lung Cancer - just like my dad, nearly 29 years later.  I remember that phone ringing in the middle of the night - and my 18th birthday spent "celebrating" my grandfather's life.

My dad, being pretty hip to the fact that this sucked, took me out on that snowy, miserable day and bought me a new to me ("used") car. It was a sweet, used car - a Pontiac Trans Am - black, gold and tricked out all over. Dad was a car man.  We traded in the red Camaro with louvers..like I said - Dad loved cars.

So, for my 18th birthday I learned about death, fast cars, and how to move forward.

The Flu
It's really ironic that on February 18, 1966, Life Magazine's cover story was a picture of the Flu "Germ" and viruses. Because if there has been one constant on my birthday, it's been sudden, dreadful Flu-ness.. I think its a conspiracy...some big guy made a deal for this tiny, far too soon pipsqueak to drop in on the universe - in exchange for a series of shitty future February 18ths...

Of course, we spoke about my 18th birthday..let's fast forward to 22. It was a vastly above average day for State College, PA - sunny - 45 degrees - nearly summer. I woke up feeling great - had a terrific lunch - and by dinner time, had a 104 fever and was bouncing from the University Health Center to the local hospital, delirious with fever. It's the only time I have ever hallucinated..trust me, its over rated - and I am thankful for my friends who managed my care. It's safe to say - they owed me..I was the "21" babysitter for many of them.

You may ask about #21 - non-event - drinks at the Lions Den..dancing, no drama..after all - I had turned legal drinking age three year prior in Ohio...but I digress.

Fast forward to 25 - Irish Pub - Philadelphia.  A regular haunt.  A normal night - nothing special - hello flu for a week..trust me -a few beers at this advanced age do not = hangover...

Holy Smokes - DISNEY TOO
So, in in 1996, prior to being knocked up with our current kid, we decided to head to Disney to celebrate the big 30... We scored a room at the Contemporary last minute -which meant - WOO HOO - Chip & Dale breakfast with flying napkins for my big 3-0.... It started out with my favorite chipmunks...it ended with a queasy lunch at Planet Hollywood - an evening flight home hugging a barf bag (with the nicest seat mate ever) - and being met by friends with balloons and an amazing cake (this is pre-9/11 after all) - and the need to throw up with a blazing fever..Fucking awesome..

31 was a repeat of 30 - only it was a cloudy day, business lunch - and then three days in bed with a raging flu..

Can March come soon enough?

AND SO ON...
Since that time I have spent my birthday trapped in hotels in ice storms, lost my luggage for a week when heading out for a week of scuba diving in the middle of no where Caribbean (is it wrong to wish for just your underwear to show up..just that?)...so you get the picture - my birthday has often been eventful, sometimes bad, and sometimes good.

NOW WHAT? A CONFESSION
I am writing this the night  before my birthday..this is not the first time I have not been with my dad on my birthday - outside the original one.  When I was three - he was traveling on business - trying to support his family of four - going on five.  He sent me a long letter telling me about how much he loved me and how much he regretted missing my birthday.. I have that letter.  I am feeling fairly certain that I will be able to read it tomorrow..

I just don't know what to expect on February 18, 2013 of myself, others, or if Dad decides its time to check in.  I have family and friends that are beyond compare - but in the words of Joan Didion - "It's A Year of Magical Thinking." I have been surprised, disappointed, inspired, and saddened in ways that I have never encountered.

It's another day..another test..a day to remember, a day to forget..a day to move on.

All I can say, is to quote Joan Didion..from "The Year of Magical Thinking"

“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind."

This is my Year of Magical Thinking...and being - its fucking bizarre and sad and weird and ???

Dear Pooh, I love you too!

Before Sandy..
Before Sandy blew into our conciousness , well, it showed up in mine somewhere about 5 days it made its left hook, I was thinking about my "Ode to Pooh."  I am pretty obsessed with weather, it comes from growing up in Cleveland, OH, and being part of a family that incorporates the weather into every conversation we have - because, well, you always have weather..

Pooh and Pam - The Early Days
When I was a lucky little grade school girl, my parents took us to Disney World.  This was not long after it opened - imagine me in plaid pants, shag hair cut.  I burned all those pictures but here are some great pics I found that are representative of the fashion of the times.

 It was during that trip that I learned some harsh lessons, like, sales tax.  I grew up in Delaware, so there was no such thing as sales tax (still isn't).  Imagine my horror after eyeing this little fellow for days in the gift shop, bringing down the precise amount, and finding out I did not have enough money..Thankfully, my parents had a few pennies left from this trip, and gave me the sales tax. Below is my little purchase, he has been with me for nearly 40 years..yep, you do the math.

Pooh circa 1972, now in my bathroom, love you Pooh.

Pooh - The Middle YearsPooh and I both grew up and during those years between being a little kid and being a mom, I still lived a Pooh existence.   This is pretty much my Tao of Pooh during high school and college.

Classic Pooh vs. The Other Pooh - Nursery Fashion Wars
Somewhere in the mid-90's I grew up, got a job and could no longer subscribe to the "Value of Doing Nothing" if I wanted to live a glamorous lifestyle. But, I still loved Pooh.  When we got the word that our party of two would be a party of three, we were plunged into the Pooh Nursery Fashion Wars.  Did you know there are two worlds of Pooh?  If you have ever been lucky enough to have a baby shower or attend one of these amazingly boring events, you know what I am talking about. Apparently "Classic Pooh" is nouveau Pooh, while Pooh of my youth was no longer in vogue. See the style wars below.

Classic Pooh

Not Classic Pooh - though Classic

These were troubling times for those who love Pooh.  How could there be high society Pooh and déclassé Pooh?  But there is one thing I learned throughout all this...

Having a baby will change your world..and all of a sudden, the Pooh above makes so much sense. 

OMG its the Real Pooh...and Friends..

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.

“I might have known,” said Eeyore. “After all, one can’t complain. I have my friends."

I wouldn't trade it for anything. Never, no, never. Your friendship is the best present ever. 

 Any day spent with you is my favorite day. So, today is my new favorite day. 

Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart. 

Pooh...Present...

What else can you say..



Add you own caption..

What is a friend, after all?

Clearly, there is nothing like the combination of a self imposed sabbatical, the death of a parent, and an assortment of other miscellaneous crap to make you sit back and think some big thoughts.  Today, while sweeping soggy leaves off the back deck, and coming to terms with all the changes in my world, I asked myself, "What is a friend, after all?"  Which lead to a series of questions (thankfully, only in my blond head), which included the following..

• What makes somebody your best friend?  
• Can you have more than one best friend?
• Why do we stop being friends with some people (for no particular reason, like, they slept with your husband), and stay connected with others seemingly forever?
• Why do I have completely different expectations of each of my friends, and some get judged far more harshly (in my mind) than others?
• Why do any of these people really want to be my friend?
• Am I a sucky friend or a good one?

I am going to make this conversation a little easier by just eliminating male friends from this blog.  Why? Because, I have many of them, and they are SO LESS COMPLICATED, and that is why sometimes, I prefer being around guys, usually when I don't want to talk about anything important.

In the Beginning

You too??

So, what is a friend?  I think that changes, but when I go to the core of the question, it goes back to a wonderful C.S. Lewis quote, 

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What! You too?  I thought I was the only one."

I don't think this one ever changes, whether its when you are the little girl who just moved into a new neighborhood, or your first day of kindergarten, college, or when you take your child to their first day of daycare and you cry like a newborn leaving them behind.  

Are you a Collector or a Soloist?

I don't think we start out being one or the other, things just happen, that takes us down these paths.  I think most women are probably collectors, but heck, what do I know.  I just know I am a collector, but I try really hard to be a soloist when I am with my friends..

Soloists - just me and you baby

The Collector -yep that is me in the middle

I don't think one type is better than the other, though, when you are a collector, and your friend is a soloist - (or keeps a small entourage), it can lead to some pretty difficult crossroads.  I never expect all my friends to get along with each other when they are not with me, but I do expect them all to be fake it, at least when I am around.

What made me a collector? Probably a combination of being a tomboy who always wanted to play games (and Barbies at times), moving many times with my parents, and the love of travel.  I love to go see my friends in their habitat.  So..I prefer a circle of friends when they are together..

See, one big circle

But when I get to spend time alone, its quite amazing as well.

Shh..don't tell anyone this, but...

Threesome, anyone?

I think that being one of three children leads to an interesting dynamic.  People always say, "Oh blah blah blah gets left out, " or "Someone has to sit in the middle," or some other crazy saying.  Me, I am actually pretty darn good with have a two friend ride along (as long as they manage to get a long).  Frankly, its the best way to travel...

How I plan to spend my retirement

Maybe, its also because we are just three in my grown up family. Some people have a real issue with this, I think a few of my friends do, but, they seem to tolerate my tendency to enjoy having another person along to fight over the shotgun seat.  Mostly, I do it for them, because I like to go to sleep early, read books by myself, and can get very cranky if I don't eat when I am hungry.  I am probably not always great company, so its good I bring a better half along..

Having three along means someone will always go in the ocean with you

See, I am not such bad company

Make New Friends but Keep the Old..One is Silver and the Others Gold..Bullshit..Usually

When I was a little girl, I was a Brownie.  I was not a very good Brownie, and I was an even worse Girl Scout. Pretty much because I hate uniforms and following rules.. (unless it involves being a cheerleader which = cute boys).

Miss Peters will not be wearing this if it requires a skirt

They did teach us some very cute songs, including the one I quoted above (author unknown). But thinking about friendship, I think this is more apropos..

"Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest..It's about who came, and never left your side."

If I knew who to attribute this to, I would pay them their royalty and high five them, maybe a fist bump as well.  But I think I am pretty much the luckiest girl alive on this one, I am still friends with women who knew me before I was a girl in a uniform, for that very reason  I just quoted up there in the boldy, italic-y thing...to provide emphasis. They never left my side, even for the vast majority of our lifetimes, when the internet, email, Facebook did not exist.  We somehow managed to be there for each other. Not all the time, just at the right time.. Which leads me to some final thoughts.

Final Thoughts, and answers to none of the questions that I posed earlier...

You never know where you are going to meet your new friend...seriously.  

A good friend always hold your hair back

Be open to making new friends, honestly, I have met friends in the oddest places...if you are reading this, you know who and where you are, a good friend never gives up the real good stuff.  But really, what I just want to say is this...

"A friend is someone who believes in you, even when you've ceased to believe in yourself."

  

I am so lucky to have so many friends!

Way to stay classy Ann Coulter

 I am going to keep this short...

WTF Ann Coulter, you really tweeted this "Ann Coulter ‏@AnnCoulter

Arlen Specter has just switched to the Dead Party."

Did you really think that you were being witty, funny, or classy?  Because, frankly, as a woman who just lost her father to cancer, I find your comments to be disrespectful, harsh and out of bounds.

When I saw the breaking news that Arlen Specter had died, I turned to Twitter to see what was out there.  

John McClain, being the mature adult tweeted, "Arlen Specter - a dear friend who served his state and nation with honor and distinction. RIP."  

Did I always agree with Arlen. No. But did I get him. Yes.  

Why? You always knew where you stood with him. He was an independent minded champion of the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. 

He gave us a lot of material to criticize him about, but as a woman, I knew he firmly was in my corner, and this is not just about abortion. 

He was a good family man, a true Philadelphian, and he loved EVERYTHING Philadelphia, from sports, to Penn, to talk radio.  I will miss sneaking a peek at him on the squash courts!

I used to call myself an Arlen Specter Republican when I first moved here, because he made sense to me.  The tent used to be a lot bigger.  But as the tent no longer had room for folks like us, so Arlen and the rest of us moved to a different tent.   
                                                                                              The last six weeks have taught me a lot about death, and how people say all sorts of awkward things to you when they are trying to be supportive when you have lost a loved one.  But no one deserves to get shit on like this.  

The Specter family is mourning the loss a husband, father and grandfather.  They will gather to share their grief like my family did last month.  I for one, extend to them my deepest condolences and will say to you what many said to me about my father, "Your father made a difference in my life."  It made me cry every time, but I knew that when they said it, they meant it.

So to the Specter Family, "Your father made a difference in my life.  He challenged me to think differently about politics, he made me proud to be a transplanted Philadelphian, and I want to thank you for sharing him with this great state and nation."  

Arlen, when I pull that lever on election day, I will have you on my mind, just as my dad will me in that booth.  I'm pretty sure you two just cancelled out each other's votes..

Arlen

Dad at a Republican Party Gathering circa 1965

Welcome to the Club...Sorry you were invited..

Newcomers Night at The Club
Last night I went to dinner with a good friend, it was a dinner to welcome me to a club of sorts.  No, this is not one of the fancy clubs that you have to get six people you know to propose you, or that requires that you wear white when playing racquet sports... (In full disclosure, I belong to such places and I enjoy them, which is not very liberal of me).  This is a club, that, as my wise friend told me,  "I sometimes wonder if they told you at birth what the price of admission was, you may have asked for a pass."  The name of our club is not a secret, you might have your own version, but I will call it the "Those Who Have Lost A Parent Club."  I belong to a particular sub-club, called, "Girls Who Lost Their Dad Club." 


Thankfully, my mom is alive and kicking...in fact, if she would get her knees done (which she has vowed to do right after the holidays)..she will be kicking..probably for another 25 years.  I could write a whole big blog on my mom, and I promise to do so..but she is okay right now, so I am going to deal with my daddy issues.

Mommy and Me

Dads and Their Little Girls

What can I say?  All girls have different relationships with their fathers.  My sister and I would probably tell you two completely different tales of our dad.  I grew up with my dad being a role model for how I wanted to be professionally, he encouraged me to be an exceptional athlete, taught me how to do advanced algebra by figuring out the over/under on football bets.  When I wanted to play baseball in the boys league because softball was just too easy, he said, sure, why not?  He took me to football games (umm..go Browns, yea Tribe, and even my first Phillies game at old Vet stadium.).  My dad grew up as an only child and his father died in World War II, it was just him and Vanda (and one step dad who was essentially a juvenile delinquent for a few years).  I am eternally grateful to my Uncle Joe, who is still with us at 97, who gave my dad some grounding in being a dad.  We all love Uncle/Grandpa Joe.  But really, dad had to make this up on his own.  Was he perfect..HELL NO..Was he right..usually..

Uncle Joe telling TJ how great a golfer my dad was

Patience

I think the one virtue I have learned as a parent is patience. Dad had patience, I know this because he liked to take me golfing, yes, "liked" to take me golfing, all 18 holes (with a cart!).  This is a great way to spend quality time with anyone, who is patient.  In my dad's healthier days he loved to golf, he golfed with my husband, my son, and was particularly proud of our son's golf accomplishments.  The day Princess Diana died, my husband and dad were golfing together.. You can see from the picture below that they were happy, not only because the Princess had not yet died, but because this was before they lost two dozen balls between the two of them at The Ocean Course at Kiawah. I was also knocked up with said little golfer, but nobody but me knew..nice place..nice memories..don't forget extra balls.

Husband and Dad at the Ocean Course

Princess Diana frolicking in the waves - which is what I was doing while they were golfing

Sorry this is not the wedding you were dreaming of planning...

I think I really bummed out my mom when I decided not to go the traditional white wedding route, and instead chose to get married barefoot at sunset, in Curacao.  My dad was actually relieved that he didn't have to walk me down an aisle and turn into a blubbering mess, so was I...instead this is the picture of my parents at my wedding..

Sitting on a dock watching your daughter get married

Of course, as always, there was a bonus round for my dad.  Curacao has topless beaches..

Woo Hoo Best Wedding Location EVER!

Where are you going with this?

I don't know.  I started off being really sad when I was thinking about writing this, but I had some really fun times with my dad.  He always liked to go to the best or most interesting restaurant wherever we were, take us on great trips, and give us unlimited unsolicited and solicited advice.  In case you are wondering about his restaurant list its like this 1)Longhi's in Maui 2) Osteria (Palm a close second) in Philly and 3) Caffe Capri in Boardman, OH.

A Political Side Note

Well, until I headed off to college my dad and I used to have pleasant political discourse, which is to say, we did not talk about politics.  I moved east, and as we both got older, he became more conservative and I became vastly less conservative (warning! liberals/independents do live in Central Pennsylvania).  He liked to share with my his viewpoints about why my viewpoints were wrong..I pointed out to him that he was no longer paying for my fancy pants lifestyle, so thanks but no thanks.  We really didn't see eye to eye..it doesn't mean that I didn't love him any less, so I took politics off the table as a discussion topic, he occasionally tried to put it back on the table.  I learned to walk away.  Yep, still a god damned independent child.  

Finally...

But still, I was going through a pretty rough patch over the last few weeks, and those who were able to get me through it like no one else were the card carrying members of my new club.  I feel like those who have not yet punched this ticket are in some ways, avoiding seeing me, which frankly, sucks.  

Jesus, you aren't going to make me any sadder, that is not really possible.

So, while the price of membership has been extraordinarily high, I have a lot of work to do to make sure that I am the best member I can be.  There is no quitting this one (like Girl Scouts), but I just hope that I don't see any of my friends names on the proposed membership list anytime soon.

When I was a little Pam

Dad and his girls

THANKS MOM FOR MARRYING THE RIGHT GUY!

  

Narberth, PA..no driveway..no problem

I live in a small town...right next to a big town..

This blog has been sitting in a semi-finished state for months..in fact, I keep meaning to finish it but too many thoughtful and wonderful things keep happening, and my why I live Narb list keeps getting bigger, so before this becomes a novel, let me just get this blog out... Below is a sweet little picture, take a moment to ponder it, read it, and think...does this happen in my neighborhood? Take your time, I made it big so all my 40 and 50 something year old friends can read it..

Some examples of why I live here..and why we stay..

Here are some amazing things that prompted me to begin this blog..in just one morning of walking out of my house to our little downtown..

• Three of my neighbors stopped to ask me how things were going in my career sabbatical, and I had not even gotten to a stop sign.
• My neighbor's little girl called out to me to ask me where my son was...she is three, he is 14 - they are buds...she likes to tell him about everything on her mind..When he was three, he did the same with the two lovely teenage girls next door.  See, when you have a front porch, its pretty hard not to know your neighbors..
• I left the house to run a few quick errands, you know, the post office, locally owned grocery store, cheese shop, French bakery, the local hardware store.  It took me three hours to go precisely 1/4 mile.

Going Postal...not here..

There is something special about being able to walk to the post office.  Maybe its that other people are walking too, and usually, a nice older gentleman, with a VFW hat always opens the door for me, its never the same one.  I always offer them to please, step up in line in front of me, since they were courteous first..but, they always decline.  It's nice to not to always be in a hurry, because that leaves you time to chat with the friendly person that is always behind the counter at my post office.  Don't look for a note of sarcasm here..there is none to be found.  Perhaps they are trying to determine if I am violating some major postal rules by engaging me in polite conversation to weed out what it is I am really shipping. And no matter how many times I have shipped a package to an APO address, we always take time to talk about those we love who are fighting for our country.  

Happy Postal Man

By the way, do you know your delivery dude's name?  Mine is Eric...my grandparents had Tony as their postman. It was the highlight of my day when Tony stopped by my grandparents house.  Eric does not miss our former, dearly departed dogs..but he always has something nice to say, usually not about the Eagles..

Eagles fan..typical species

The Best Neighborhood Grocery Store ever...

I am certainly not the first one to write about American Family Market, ("AFM" at our house..), see, our local Philly food writer, who lives here did that..Rick Nichols (aka "Scrooge" for our Dickens Fest), but here is a link to what he said..

http://www.narberthpa.com/AMF/index.html

If you aren't into clicking on links..let's just say this, the brothers Bovo run the this family place.  My husband spends a minimum of a half hour a day with them...almost every day.  I was in there on Saturday morning, it was a great day..they asked me where my husband was (umm..golfing..when he is not here with you two..), and then they asked me about my dad...how was he doing..the dad that lives 400 miles away..and they knew he was ill...when I told them the news..well, it was hugs from my Italian uncles..they get it..Angelo lost his wife a few years back, it was so sad.  Angelo looks like a chubby happy version of my dad...let's not go there..but geez..what great guys, and their meats, and DiBruno's cheeses..Mama Mia!!!

AFM..baby

Your Friendly Neighborhood Drug Store..the legit stuff

Hey, I am all for some "version" of reasonable health care costs containment, management of some type..not sure what..but DON'T TREAD ON ME..when it comes to my local pharmacist, Narberth Pharmacy..for God's sake..the local large chains are pill mills.  I love my little corner drug store where they know my name (and don't confuse me with the other seven members of my family who live in this town), they have caught more than a few mistakes made by docs with crappy handwriting, and have free delivery (yes, I know its two blocks away). And on those rare moments when I show up at two minutes after closing time in tears, they wait for me to show up because my super nurse practitioner just called something in, and give me that knowing look, the one that says, "we understand."  Good luck finding that at Rite Aid.

Fine French Pastries, Pedicures, Wine from Big Brother, and Everything you forgot from Jed.

As usual, I am getting really long winded, and have not even come to my big close..

Let me be brief...(stop laughing). 

If I want a warm greeting, a divine pastry and a superb cup of La Colombe coffee (soy milk soon, please?), or I am trying to find my Canadian brother in law and two year old niece, I need only to step into the La Petit Mitron..Patrick and Isabelle do it right..their croissant rival any I have had in France..

Of course, this leads me right next door to Rickin's, which to call it a hardware store, is like saying George Clooney is a "tv star."

George Clooney..tv star

Seriously, if they don't carry it at Ricklin's..you probably don't need it.  The first week we moved in our house..oh, 15 plus years ago, I walked in to buy something, I was about $3 short, they said, come in honey next time you are around and bring it in, we know you will be here a long time..you are not kidding..

Narberth State Store...

Open until 10 pm most nights...and we can walk there, what else do you expect from the Stalinist PALCB..bet you cannot walk to your liquor store and get a Joseph Phelps and Everclear..and a smile.

But why now..why are you finally finishing this blog and torturing us?

I shall tell you..There is something special about drinking outside, on the main street of your town. Its more fun than a block party, because its everyone's block party.  We have three or four of these a year in my town. Bands come, kids get their faces painted, and mostly, people stand around and talk to their fellow "Narbs."  We all kind of know each other. 

Our most recent Narberth Music Festival (Arts too!) was this past Sunday. The weather was spectacular, the Eagles stunk, but I had an out of body, why I love this town experience.  I am friends with many of my other townies on Facebook and through friends of friends.   

On Sunday, my Narberth family, just like the Bovo boys the day before, made sure that when they saw me to express their condolences on the loss of my dad.  Many had done so on-line (my dad, for the record, LOVED NARBERTH!), but when I saw them in person, it was hugs, thoughts, let me buy you a drink, I am sorry for your loss...you know..the stuff that makes you glad you are wearing sunglasses, even if the sun is not out.

Get to the point.

I wish I could tell you all the amazing reasons why we live here...but it would take too long.  So here are your take aways...

• As long as you treat your neighbors with respect, you don't need a driveway, unless it snows 30", and then, you cannot get your car out anyway.
• Drive down the street you would like to live on...Saturday afternoons, warm summer evenings, after a snow storm..if the neighbors are out talking to each other, if kids are riding their bikes, if people are on their front porches, if people are digging out each others' cars..BUY NOW.
• The price of your cold cuts, your croissant, a hammer, or your prescription may be a few pennies or dollars more from time to time...but the value of the smile, a quick chat, or a hug when its least expected, but truly needed is priceless.

Find your Narberth..or make your own.

Ps...Thanks Mayor Tom Grady for this awesome picture...

It's the Last Day of Summer..Smoking Sucks

It's the last day of summer, so how did you spend yours??
When I began my summer vacation this year, a little early thanks to my decision to leave a job that was no longer "doing it for me," I had hopes and dreams of travel, blogging, reading, tennis, and finding myself.  Well, its been quite an adventure, with one sad detour that has shaken my soul and brought me unexpected clarity.  I am just going to go right to that and hope that I will complete this blog without turning into an Ativan popping, soggy mess.

My Dad Died...
There, I said it..
Just about three years ago my father was diagnosed with lung cancer, which, to be honest, did not come as surprise.  Dad was a three pack a day smoker for nearly 50 years..they call that a 150 smoker..You do the math (and calculate the expense).  He had stopped more than five years ago when he had a big ass heart attack with blockages, congestive heart failure, etc...but seemed to recover nicely.  I have to tell you how much I loved my non-smoking dad.  My previous dad, militant smoking dad, was a belligerent entitled angry smoker who saw his universe of places he could light up shrivel into a dried up stub of a filter lying in the curb.

My grandfather died of lung cancer (Mom's dad) and I got to spend my 18th birthday attending his funeral (super fun).  In retrospect, I should have realized the level of denial my father had when we left the post burial luncheon and he bought me a car..not any car, it was used...but it was the KIT car from Knight Rider. Of course, I had to share it with my brother, but it was pretty damned cool and replaced my Red Camaro that had black louvers.  Dad was a car guy..

Its not to say my dad didn't try to quit, he tried many many times, always unsuccessfully, and as we all got married and had children, my siblings and I got more pissed off that he would not quit, and in fact, thought it was okay to smoke in the other room while our infants inhaled second hand smoke.  We all love our dad, and it was during those years that I realized what is often said by those who lose family members to drug addiction, "The drug was stronger than them." Don't fool yourself, nicotine is a horribly addictive drug...My otherwise intelligent, successful, loving father chose to smoke a cigarette rather than hold his grandchildren.

That being said..
I always knew my dad loved all of us more than his cigarettes, but it hurt and became the source of many unpleasant family arguments and tainted holiday celebrations.  Enough about fucking cigarettes and smoking...but don't expect me to be tolerant of anyone who smokes..anywhere.anytime.

So Dad made it nearly three years, but in the end, it was the COPD, the anxiety of not being able to control his breathing, the anxiety of those quarterly CAT scans and visits to the Cleveland Clinic, and the anxiety which was kept at bay by nicotine and a smooth vodka on the rocks that caught up to him.

I wish I had known that my Dad had these anxieties when I was younger, I probably did not become aware of them until I became a parent, and he started to share more with me.  I also wish that he was able have found someone who could've helped him manage these anxieties.  If I told you some of the shit my father dealt with, you would go running for your Ativan and have your shrink on speed dial.  Men in his generation, just did not do that..and I have begun to understand why he so identified with Tony Soprano, sans the killing and Russian girlfriends (I think!).

A Week to Remember..or not..
So, I went to visit my parents over Labor Day weekend.  This had been long planned, as my big Italian family that was brought together through the genealogy research I had done (partially sponsored by Dad) and the enthusiasm of some cousins..Dad happened to be in the hospital for his latest flare up of COPD, but he was in good spirits, eating well, and when I left him on Sunday he was stepping down to rehab and on his way home.  He asked me to promise him I would come home over the holiday, I asked him to call my brother and make the same request.  He promised he would, and he did. But, as I tried to keep my shit together as I walked out of that hospital room, with my big unnecessary sunglasses on to cover my tears, my heart told me I would never see him alive again. I had seen the signs, and well, I had a pretty prophetic visit from my grandma the night before (umm..she is no longer with us, but she does drop in now and again)..

Tuesday my mom called me in a panic telling me that things had taken a turn for the worse, and by Wednesday morning, before I could get back to Ohio, he had passed, died, left us...

Here comes my honest moment, I was terrified to be there when he died.  I did not want that to be my final memory of him.  I wanted it to be our time we spent together that Sunday, alone, looking at pictures of his grandchildren together in Florida and Hawaii that summer, complaining about the Tribe and the Browns, and discussing the family reunion he missed the day before.  It was a normal Norm day.

Mom was with him, as always.  It went as well as expected.  The doctors held her hands and comforted her at the end.  I was on the phone while my husband drove me across the state of Pennsylvania as I "handled" arrangements, notified people, and tried to figure out how we would explain all of this to our teenage son who was off to his second day of high school, thinking only that his grandfather was having another one of his twists and turns, but not the final one. It was a blur...

Wow, its hard to keep your shit together when everyone you call, email, text responds with their grief.  Its like I was a giant grief sponge...

Fast Forward
I could write volumes about the generosity of family,neighbors, friends, and sometimes former strangers  as we moved through the funeral plans, viewings (it was a two city tour), and ultimately the funeral (thankfully at the funeral home) and burial.

I turned down all my friends who offered to take that dreadful trek across the PA Turnpike, soundly, I needed them when I got home.

I also told those who had poorly met my expectations when it came to "respecting my parents" over the years that this was not the place to come to reconcile with my mom, me, or their god..Take it up with him.  I am pretty hard core on this one.

I was stunned and touched by those who came to visit with us.  Of course, we stunned them too...because, well, my family is a little twisty.. yes, that is stand up Dad with our family friend, Joe, who drove up from North Carolina to be part of our grief entourage.

Oh, and mom placed his remote control and Gold Sheets in his casket and my son placed a golf ball. It was kind of fun in an American Horror Story kind of way to watch people go up to the partially open casket and see Norm..with his toys.

I had my friend Sid...her name is not Sid, its Kim.  Did you see The Descendants? She was my Sid.  Click this link..its a great interview with Nick Krause, who played the quientessential Hawaiian laid back kid.  Of course, she said nothing inappropriate, and nobody punched her. She kept me properly medicated and tissued at all moments.

http://carpetbagger.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/02/sid-in-the-descendants-and-why-getting-punched-is-fun/

Funerals are also about expectations, as is death.  I think everyone has their preconceived notions how other people are supposed to act when someone dies.  I am probably a "death over achiever".  It comes partially with being Italian, and partially just fearing my own parents death.  I really don't do well at viewings, funerals, etc (nor do I think my performance at these will improve after this week), but I do well with thoughtful notes, donations and hugs and listening (I am also good at crying with you.)

Meeting Expectations..a final word..
So, here are my two parting thoughts..

First, the obvious - DON'T EFFING SMOKE!!! STOP NOW...

Second..as uncomfortable as it may be for you, acknowledge when somebody loses someone close to them (or their pet if that is their thing).  It does not need to be via food, flowers, cards (though all of them are wonderful and greatly appreciated), or donations to the charity of the families wishes (these are special places to us).  An email, a FB post, a text, a hug when you see them, perhaps try to be a little proactive.  Just acknowledge, and be prepared for them to tear up a bit.  But don't ignore them and pretend it did not happen.

Even if its not a close friend or someone you have not seen for a while, and you find out that they have lost a loved one, unless they are your mortal enemy or on your officially "written off" friends list, reach out.

Your soul will feel better for it..and so will I..