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..