Farewell 2011

I wish I could write some profound words for my last blog of 2011, but the words escape me.

I can feel 2012 lurking in the shadows, getting ready to make his appearance. Hoping for a wonderful year!

Farewell 2011.

Kindness

"I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.”

-Stephan Grellet

It is easy to put off acts of kindness. Every once in awhile we need to be reminded the life we have left is the time we have to show our love. We may not have the gift of tomorrow.

My Therapy

September 21, 2011. The day I decided I would write my blog every day for one year. I made a commitment, no matter what I was feeling, I would make the time every day to write something in my blog.

100 posts later and I have managed to write something every day.

When I realized earlier in the week, I would be hitting 100 posts, I smiled.

At that moment, I realized, the blog has become an integral part of my journey, and I now know I will keep the one year commitment.

Winter Break

It is so nice to have the kids home for winter break and not feel rushed to do anything in particular. Once in awhile, we all need to just slow down and enjoy the moments in the day. It is nice to watch Andrew build his Harry Potter Lego set, see Madeline curled up on the couch watching a movie and see Benjamin learning how to use his iPad.

Enjoying every moment.

Angel Wings

Some people know just how to touch my heart.

Today, my best friend, Rochelle, gave me a Christmas ornament of angel wings with a small medallion with the words "follow your bliss."

She told me to always follow my dreams to find my happiness. Of course, tears filled my eyes.

Pixie Dust

I think if I had to pick a favorite Christmas gift it would be a simple, small plaque my sister gave me.

It isn't anything elaborate, expensive, or glamorous by any means.

Just a bit of advice from Peter Pan teaching Wendy how to fly. Faith and trust come from within, but Peter Pan was fortunate to have Tinker Bell to supply him with the pixie dust.

Christmas Day

"One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don’t clean it up too quickly.”

- Andy Rooney

With all the anticipation for Christmas, the day always goes by too quickly for me. I make a conscience effort to put the camera down to enjoy watching everyone open their gifts, and enjoy all the moments that make up the day. I want to remember every moment, every smile and every bit of laughter.

Those moments, smiles and laughter, and a big pile of torn wrapping paper, are what I remember when I think of Christmas Day.

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve traditions. Going to mass and leaving an angel ornament on the tree at the church. Sitting on the floor in the family room eating Chinese food while watching the film Elf. Being allowed to open one Christmas gift and it is always pajamas.

How can I not smile?

My Crooked Tree

I saw a beautiful tree last week at The Henry Ford museum. There is currently an exhibit on the Wizard of Oz and a Christmas tree near the entrance is decorated to match the theme.

Sometimes when I see a beautiful tree, I imagine myself creating and displaying such a magnificent tree in my home. However, I am quickly reminded when I look at my crooked, live tree with needles falling on the carpet, decorated with ornaments my children have made over the years, my tree has some thing more magnificent.

My tree has love.

My Christmas Stocking

Yes, my stocking is hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon will be here.

My Christmas stocking is the same one I have had all my life.

It is worn and not exactly the prettiest stocking, but it has certainly been loved for many years. When we bring out the Christmas decorations, it feels so good to hug my stocking when it comes out of the storage box.

I smile. How many people can say they have had the same Christmas stocking all their life?

Christmas Past

I have such a weakness for vintage Christmas decorations.

I am not sure where I picked up these candle holders. I am always drawn to Christmas items when I see them at flea markets or garage sales. Sometimes I will stand, teary-eyed and wonder who owned them, and cherished them before me. I feel compelled to bring them home, knowing I will appreciate the timeless look and find a special place to display them at Christmas.

I guess it is like collecting memories of Christmas past. Charles Dickens would be proud.

Peace

I knew it would happen eventually. I didn't know the when, or the where, but it happened tonight.

I was doing some last minute Christmas shopping and for a few seconds, everything seemed to slow down around me. Maybe it was because Madeline and I finished the Christmas cards today and I dropped them off at the post office. Or, maybe it was because I bought my mom her favorite perfume as I do every year. Maybe it was because I changed the ring tone on my phone to a quote from the movie Elf.

Whatever the reason, as I drove down the street, the Christmas lights seemed brighter, I felt at peace and the tasks I know I need to complete over the next few days didn't seem so daunting.

Suddenly, it felt like Christmas.

Snowman Quilt

When Andrew was about four years old, he and I made a snowman quilt. Every year, we hang it in the foyer. We picked out pieces of fabric and I remember the small boy who was excited to build the snowman.


I am so happy I made the time to complete projects with the kids when they were little. Right now, their lives are busy with many activities, and it is a time for me to adjust to them growing up.


My life is surrounded by so many of the projects we completed together, and they make me smile.

Just Breathe

I try and give 100% to everything in my life, but this week, I need to remind myself, without a doubt, I always do my best.

Most importantly, I need to remind myself this week to breathe.

Just breathe.

Christmas Books

Every year, I love to see the look on Madeline's face when she opens the large container containing all the children's Christmas books we have accumulated over the years.

She opens the box with a smile on her face, finds herself a comfy spot next to the container and begins the process of shifting through the books. Her eyes light up when she pulls certain books out of the box, as she sorts them into two piles.

The first pile is one with books she just wants to scan, but not necessarily read. The second pile is the books she wants to place in a large basket and keep them out for the Christmas season.

As she sorts them, she comments and laughs about the books. You can see the excitement on her face when she finds the book Christmas is Coming and she giggles as she reminds me she use to keep the book out year round in her bedroom. Of course, there is The Crippled Lamb, The Tale of Three Trees, A Wish to be a Christmas Tree, Arthur's Christmas, Merry Christmas, Biscuit, Winnie the Pooh's Christmas and many other books.

I think I raised a daughter who loves to read.

A Sweet, Thoughtful Gift

Today I received the sweetest, most thoughtful, gift from Benjamin.

When I picked him up after school, he told me he made me a gift, and would like to give it to me today. I asked if it was a Christmas gift because he could put it under the tree for me.

He said, "No, it is a present I want to give to you today."

When we arrived at home, he asked, "Can I give it to you now?"

"Sure, as long as you don't want to wait until Christmas..." I responded.

With a proud smile on his face, he held out in his hands, a mouse pad. As he turned it around so I could see the front, I was so surprised to see a picture of me as a little girl!

"I made the border olive green, Mom, because I know it is your favorite color."

Tears welled up in my eyes. I reached out, pulled him close and hugged him. It was truly a sweet, thoughtful gift.

My Sister

Today is my sister's birthday.

Kimm is my older sister and only sibling, separated by fifteen months. Growing up, my mom dressed Kimm and I in similar clothes, and we were always playmates. Even once we reached our teenage years, Kimm and her friends welcomed me into their group of friends.

We each had our own bedrooms on the second floor of my parent's house, yet I spent many nights sleeping in her bedroom. Once, we actually made her walk in closet into a "bedroom" for me - who knows how long I slept in the closet! I remember around Christmas time going into her bedroom to wrap Christmas presents, and how could I forget the many times she would have me lay on her floor and apply make-up to my eyes!

Kimm has a wonderful laugh (even if she snorts some times)and when we are together, we always find something to laugh about. Sometimes the things we laugh at are so inappropriate, yet that makes it even funnier.

I am so thankful for my sister.

Broken Hearts

As short lived as the romance was, my youngest son now knows the feeling of a broken heart. A note appeared in his locker today, ending the relationship that started a week ago.

When he showed it to me after school with tears in his eyes, I felt so sorry for him. Knowing that nothing I could say, would make him feel any better, I looked at him with tears welling in my eyes and said "I'm sorry. I know it hurts."

He looked back at me and nodded his head.

Christmas Sweaters

Down to the twelve days of Christmas.

Madeline and her friends have been searching for the ugliest Christmas sweaters they could find since the summer months. This morning she came downstairs wearing a red turtleneck with candy canes and a navy blue button down fleece cardigan decorated with a snowman.

What I thought was so funny, I know her intent was to look silly, but reality was she looked adorable!

Christmas Spirit

I need to remind myself during this Christmas season to enjoy the spirit of the holiday. Just take a deep breath, step back and let the wonder of the season fill my heart.

Christmas Cookies

This weekend, I was fortunate to do some Christmas baking. I remember growing up, my mom would always pull out her copy of the The Complete American-Jewish Cookbook at Christmas time for cookie recipes.

My family is not Jewish, nor do I have any Jewish relatives. I have no idea how my mom came across the cookies recipes in the book.

I can't say I use any of the cookie recipes from the book, but every year when it is time to bake cookies, I always think of my mom. She would sit in the kitchen and make a list of all the cookies we would bake.

Now, I ask the kids what cookies they want, and I go to my favorite recipe binder for the recipes. If I can't find the recipe in the binder, in just a few clicks of the mouse, I can always find what I am looking for online.

Harry Potter Nativity

I live in a house with true fans of Harry Potter. Andrew made a Harry Potter themed Lego nativity to put under his Christmas tree in his bedroom.

As long as he didn't make Lord Voldemort as baby Jesus, I don't see a problem with it.

Treasure Chest Love Notes

Yesterday, as I mentioned, I received a note from Benjamin telling me how much he loved me. Today, when he came home from school, he hurried in the kitchen and said, "Mom, I got my first love note!" I responded with a "Really?" as he handed me the folded piece of yellow paper.

I asked if he wanted me to read it, and he enthusiastically smiled and said, "Yes!"

As I unfolded the paper, I wondered what the note would say and at the same time, I was flattered Benjamin would want me to read it. It was a sweet note, what I call a "yes/no" note.

I asked Benjamin if he wrote back to the girl responding to the note. Surprisingly, he answered "No." Taken aback, I asked him why he didn't answer the girl, for I had visions of a sad, young lady thinking she put her heart on the line, and didn't get an answer.

Laughing, he said, "I did respond. In person. I thought it was nicer to tell her in person. I said "yes." " Wow. What confidence for a twelve year old! I asked what he was going to do with the note, and he responded he would be right back as he headed to his bedroom. When he returned to the kitchen, he held out his hands to show me a small wooden treasure chest. "I am going to keep it in here."

Of course, I am biased, but I do believe the young lady who wrote the note, is a lucky girl.

Benjamin's Mom

The best part of my day today was being the recipient of a note from my youngest son, Benjamin. Today at school, he participated in Challenge Day. At the end of the day, each participant choose to write a note to someone either to apologize for a wrongdoing, or thank them for the role they play in their life.

I was so blessed to receive a note from him telling me how much he loves me. Not a day goes by in my life, when I am not thankful for him. I was so honored he chose to write a note to me.

I love being his mom.

Magical Christmas Trees

I just love Christmas trees. I remember when I was younger, after the tree was all decorated, laying at the base of the tree, squinting and looking up at the lights on the tree.

It looked so magical.

Tonight, I saw a Christmas tree decorated in hydrangeas, with white lights and gold ribbon. I was so tempted to lay on the ground and look up at the lights, but I refrained.

Someday when I find a tree worthy, I will muster up the courage.

Elevator

Tonight I watched Andrew perform at the high school holiday band concert. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo and I am proud of his musical accomplishments.

As a mother, I can close my eyes and remember the sweet boy who wore overalls all the time, and made the best peanut butter and honey sandwiches for me. He always made up games for us to play and I was amazed at the complexity of his thoughts.

Now I look at the loving, caring young man who carries himself with confidence and I am proud to be his mom. The best thing is, I know if I asked him to play "Elevator" he would smile his big, genuine smile, laugh and say "Remember when we use to play that? That was so much fun! Ding!"

My Wonderful Madeline

Today I had the fun adventure of spending time with my wonderful Madeline. It is days like today, when I really fully appreciate having a daughter. Although she is not a huge fan of shopping, she asked if I would go with her to help pick out some clothes.

She looked at me and said, "Just pick out what ever you think will look good, Mom. I trust you." It is like having a full size doll I can dress as I like, and to top it off, she looks absolutely beautiful in everything. How could I not have fun going shopping with her?

Yes, she is wonderful.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Tonight was fun because I played Just Dance 2 with my youngest son on the Wii. I haven't played in quite awhile, so it was fun to play with him.

Benjamin and I played seven dances, and at 32 years older than him, I held my own, winning three out of the seven. When we came upstairs after our dance off, Andrew was laughing.

I asked him what was so funny, and he said he heard me screaming so loud he knew I must have set a record. I laughed and admitted to setting the game record for Should I Stay or Should I Go? by The Clash.

Benjamin coyly looked at me and said, "You're not going to post that on Facebook, are you?"

I shook my head and responded, "Nope, just on my blog."

Inner Peace

Tonight, I attended an Advent by candlelight event at the church, and the theme was "Peace." As I listened to the people speak, I was thinking about what peace means to me.

I have been on a personal journey for awhile, and in a way, I suppose I am searching for some type of inner peace. During the course of this journey, I realized I have neglected my spiritual, emotional and physical well-being for many years resulting in a lack of inner peace.

Today, I realized I am responsible for finding my own inner peace. Some people may help me along the way, but ultimately, it is my responsibility.

Gifts from the Heart

When I think of romantic Christmas stories, the first one that comes to mind is the short story The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry written in 1906. It is a well known story about a newlywed couple who have very little money and want to buy gifts for one another for Christmas.

Della has long, beautiful hair she sells to purchase a watch chain for her husband's most prized possession, his pocket watch. Meanwhile, Jim sells his pocket watch to purchase a set of tortoise combs with jewels for Della's hair. When Jim and Della exchange gifts they realize the gift they received is truly a gift from the heart.

When I was at the mall tonight, I wondered how many gifts are given from the heart?

My Treasured Book

I have often wrote about my mom reading to me as a child, and I am very thankful she did take the time to read to me. I have one of the books she read stories to me from on the bookshelf in the family room titled The Illustrated Treasury of Children's Literature edited by Margaret Martignoni, copyright date of 1955.

It was this book where I believe I was first introduced to so many stories and poems. It is a large book, and I remember when I was growing up, using the book to press flowers between the pages. The strange thing is, some of the pressed flowers from my youth remain in the book today.

For me, the sentimental aspect of the book is not only that my mom read from it to me as a child, but the pencil check marks in the table of contents remind me what stories I read to my children. It is one of my most treasured books.

Our Trip to Narnia

Sure enough, when I woke up this morning, the trees were covered in snow. It looked magical outside. When I picked my youngest son up at school at the end of the day, we were talking about how beautiful the tree branches looked all covered in snow. I laughed, when he said the trees didn't have time to prepare for the snow since the other day it was so warm outside.

But I think my favorite thing, was when he looked at me, and said "Mom, don't you think it looks like Narnia?" I smiled, and agreed with him. As I looked over at him in the car, our eyes met and we both laughed and for just a brief second, I believe he and I visited Narnia.

First Snow of the Season

Tonight is the first snow, and I am thinking tomorrow morning there will be a few inches of snow on the ground.

I love looking out at the forest when the tree branches are all covered in snow. It reminds me of a miniature forest scene with trees made out of chenille stems covered in white cotton!

Any Where. Any Place. Any Time.

"Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.”

- Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Match Girl

I remember my mom reading this story to me, and how sorry I felt for the little girl as she desperately tried to keep warm. I still remember the feeling of sadness at the end of the story, crying and my mom comforting me.

With my imagination, and a good story, I can be any where, at any place, at any time.

Not My Christmas List

This evening, the kids shared their Christmas list ideas.

It is always interesting to hear what gifts they would like for Christmas, and it is fun to laugh with them over some of the items they include on their lists. Madeline and Andrew's lists usually includes many movies, books and CDs. Benjamin traditionally has a difficult time, but always seems to have some type of live animal on his list.

This year, after the presentation of lists, Andrew asked me what I would like for Christmas. Madeline started listing items she believed would be on my Christmas list, as Ben promptly made a written list. The list included work out pants, a zumba skirt, nipple and navel piercings, a tramp stamp and a bible. Andrew and I were laughing so much we both had tears streaming down our cheeks.

Now, I wonder what Santa will bring me for Christmas?

The Great Christmas Tree Hunt

Ever since the kids were little, we have always gone and cut down a fresh Christmas tree, and this year was no different. We have been going to Waldock's Christmas tree farm for quite a few years. Although every year, we have a conversation about if it is the year for an artificial tree.

So far, tradition wins. Many of years, we trod over fresh snow, or at least frozen ground, searching the fields for the perfect Christmas tree. This year was different, for as we ventured out to the tree farm, the weather was unseasonably warm. No need for hats, mittens or even winter coats.

Traditions stayed the same. We found a tree. I gave final approval. I take a photograph of the three kids in front of the tree. Kids and Ben discuss who will cut the tree down. Multiple people lay on the ground, attempting to cut tree with saw. Tree falls. Usually on a person. Tree is dragged to pick up area. We have donuts and hot chocolate. Tree is tied to roof of car.

All the while, I smile and am thankful the kids enjoy the tradition of the search for the perfect Christmas tree.

Madeline, Andrew and Benjamin

Every day my children amaze me, and I am so grateful to be their mom. I have been blessed with wonderful, gifted, talented and beautiful (on the inside and out) children.

I am so thankful.

Thank You Andrew

Today was a successful Thanksgiving. I tried a few new recipes, and I was pleased with all of them. The kids spent time with their grandparents, and everyone seemed to enjoy dinner.

However, I think the best part of the day, was just a few minutes ago, when Andrew said to me "Hey Mom, thanks for making Thanksgiving so special for me."

I gave him a big hug.

Ruth

Today I went to the funeral of my sister-in-law, Ruth. One of her friends read a poem at the cemetery, and I thought it was very beautiful. When I looked it up on line, I found it was the poem read by Gregory Peck at the funeral of Frank Sinatra.

Ruth was always soft-spoken, and I loved talking with her about museums and travel. I will miss her very much, but find comfort knowing she is no longer in pain.

To Those I Love
If I should ever leave you,
Whom I love
To go along the silent way. . .
Grieve not.
Nor speak of me with tears.
But laugh and talk of me
As if I were beside you there.

(I'd come. . .I'd come,
Could I but find a way!
But would not tears and
And grief be barriers?)

And when you hear a song
Or see a bird I loved,
Please do not let the thought of me
Be sad. . .for I am loving you
Just as I always have. . .

You were so good to me!
There are so many things
I wanted still to do. . .
So many things I wanted to say
to you. . . Remember that
I did not fear. . . It was
Just leaving you
That was so hard to face.

We cannot see beyond. . .
But this I know:
I loved you so. . .
'twas heaven here with you!

-Isla Paschal Richardson

Gratitude

I don't think a day goes by in my life, when I am not thankful for my friends and family. It is like celebrating Thanksgiving all year round. I hope I never lose site of gratitude.

Alice's Grand Adventure

One day, I will write the story of how Alice, the cat, came home with Benjamin, but for today, I have to write about her adventure.

She is a small, gray cat, who has the cutest meow and the softest fur. Today, I am not sure how it happened, but sweet Alice, had an adventure.

When Madeline and Andrew came home from school, they decided they wanted to take some photographs of each other outside. Madeline called me and asked where I put my collection of cute winter hats. Our foyer has two separate coat closets, and I told Madeline the hats were in the non-kid coat closet in a basket on the floor.

When I arrived home, Madeline shared the story of how she opened the closet and reached in to get the hats, and found Alice, sound asleep, curled up in the basket. I had noticed earlier in the day, I didn't see Alice much, but thought she must be sleeping somewhere in the house. I tried to remember the last time I was in the closet, and I think it was about five hours before Madeline found her.

This evening, the coat closet was closed, yet Alice was laying in front of the door. She must have wanted to get back in and enjoy the peaceful quiet of her basket nest filled with my winter hats and mittens.

My Dance Partner

My youngest son, Benjamin, recently joined the swing dance club at his middle school. Apparently, swing dance clubs are popular in many college towns, and our high school hosts multiple dances though out the school year.

I was happy when Benjamin decided to pursue the club. My advice to the boys has been simple and straight forward, and I have always teased them that most women really admire a man who can and will dance. (Okay, to be fair, women also admire a man who can cook, but that is another blog post.)

I was so happy when we went to my nephew's wedding reception last night, and Benjamin turned to me, put his hands out and asked me if I would dance with him. He led me to the dance floor with such confidence, smiled at me and took my hands. We giggled as he confidently spun me in circles, as we were the only ones on the dance floor.

Benjamin told me I was doing fine when he noticed I was wearing three inch heels, and I thought about how the next time we go to a wedding reception, he will likely be towering over me. I just hope at that point he still wants to have me as a dance partner!

Another Truth

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

-Maya Angelou

Finding Happiness

"Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times,
if one only remembers to turn on the light."

- Albus Dumbledore in
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Thankful Prayer

When the kids were small, I thought it was important for them to take a moment before dinner and say a prayer. I was familiar with the traditional Catholic prayer said before meals:

Bless us, Oh Lord,
and these thy gifts which
we are about to receive from thy bounty,
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen.

However, as nice as this prayer is, it always struck me as a prayer being said, because that is what you are suppose to say before you eat, and little thought was given as the prayer was recited. I wanted the kids to identify with the words they would say, and understand prayer is also a time to take a moment to reflect and be thankful. I searched for awhile, for the prayer I thought was an easy one to remember, and had meaning to children. The prayer I found is:

Thanks for food that helps us grow,
For family and friends we know.
Thanks for all the world we see.
Thank you God, for loving me.

I am unsure sure who to credit the prayer to, as I have done multiple Internet searches and have been unable to find the prayer on line. Someday I will find the piece of paper where I wrote the prayer down, and give credit where credit is due. However, for some reason, I thought it was written by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

As the kids have grown, this is the prayer we always say when we sit down to dinner. Although, it is sometimes difficult to always eat as a family because of activities, when we do sit down together and hold hands while saying our prayer, it is comforting to know my children are thankful.

Popcorn, Pretzels, Jelly Beans and Buttered Toast

Not sure how it started. Maybe the kids were laughing while watching Snoopy make buttered toast, but something caused us to adopt a rather odd tradition.

Every year we watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving (TV 1973). It is a story about how Peppermint Patty invites herself to Charlie Brown's house for Thanksgiving dinner, and Charlie Brown, unable to cook a meal himself, enables the help of Snoopy, Woodstock and Linus.

Unable to prepare a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings, the group prepares pretzels, jelly beans, popcorn and buttered toast. Of course, Peppermint Patty is outraged and disappointed for the lack of a traditional feast, but after being gently reminded by Marcie they are guests who imposed on Charlie Brown, she apologizes.

Mid-morning on Thanksgiving Day, we celebrate with the same feast. I think the silly things we do together are the traditions they will remember for the rest of their lives. I would like to think someday the unusual common bond they have, will be something they share with their families on Thanksgiving Day. I wonder if it will be Madeline, Andrew or Benjamin who turns to their siblings and asks,"Where did Mom come up with this stuff?"

Forever Young

My blog would be incomplete if I didn't include the lyrics to this song.

Forever Young
May the good Lord be with you
Down every road that you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
Surround you when you're far from home
And may you grow to be proud, dignified and true
And do unto others as you'd have done to you

Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young

May good fortune be with you
May your guiding light be strong
Build a stairway to Heaven
With a prince or a vagabond

And may you never love in vain
And in my heart you will remain
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young, yeah

And when you finally fly away
I'll be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell

But whatever road you choose
I'm right behind you, win or lose
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
For, forever young, forever young

Songwriters: Cregan, Jim; Stewart, Rod; Savigar, Kevin; Dylan, Bob
© WB MUSIC CORP

High School Siblings

Last week, one of Andrew's teachers shared an observation with me.

Madeline and Andrew are two years apart, she is a junior and he is a freshman at the same high school. The teacher told me when she was in high school and her sisters were at the same school, she avoided them and cringed when she saw them in the hallway at school.

The teacher went on to explain that when Madeline was one of her students as a freshman in Honors English, and as a sophomore in American Studies, she noticed how Madeline always spoke very highly of her family and her brothers. When she learned that Andrew would be in her freshman Honors English course this year, she was curious to see how he would speak of his sister and how they would interact with each other in high school.

Now that she sees first hand the relationship between Madeline and Andrew, the teacher wanted me to know she "is to the point of being jealous" and wishes she and her siblings had a similar relationship. She admires how supportive they are of each other, and whenever she has seen them interact together, the genuine relationship they share is touching.

Of course, they have their disagreements, although I admit, there have been only a few of them. I am just proud of the mutual respect they have for each other.

Truth

Things are seldom what they seem, skim milk masquerades as cream.

-W. S. Gilbert

Watching the Fish

I am not exactly sure where this photograph was taken, but based on the date, I think I was around four years old. When I looked at the photograph, I had vivid memories of my parents taking my sister and I fishing.

I remembered my parents talking about how my mom would bait the hook, and my dad would take the fish off the hook, but neither was willing to do the other task.

I had a memory of a wood dock and I was lying on my tummy, peering into the clear water, watching the fish swim amongst the green, wavy weeds.

And then a different memory came to me, I was alone on a dock and I wanted so badly to bait my own hook. I tipped the worm container, and a worm fell out onto the dock. I remember holding the hook and thinking how proud my parents would be of me, if I baited the hook and caught a fish on my own.

I took the hook, and tried without actually touching the worm, to stab the worm and bait the hook. I couldn't do it. I remember feeling torn between wanting to bait the hook, and surprise my parents, and not wanting to hurt the worm.

I scooped the worm back into the container. I couldn't bear to hurt it.

Looking back, it only makes sense that I would rather watch the fish swimming peacefully in the lake.

Fate

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

~Steve Jobs

Ode to Little Teddy

When I was sorting through my box of memories, I came across the following poem I wrote when I was maybe ten years old. It made me smile.

The Teddy Bear

Sitting here waiting for my owner,
Where could she be?
As soon as she leaves in the morning,
I realize how much I miss her.

I really love her,
Even though she chews on my ears.
She's a good owner,
Except one time she pulled my fur.

At night when she cuddles me,
I feel so close.
One time I fell out of bed,
She giggled.
Then she picked me up,
and brushed my fur.

I lost an eye once because of her,
Her mom threw me in the dryer.
They said I needed to be washed,
But my little owner said I was fine.

I spun round and round,
Well my owner cried.
Then I popped out,
Hair in my glass eyes.
Then she hugged me.

Would She Be Happy?

I spent a little while today looking through a box of items I saved from my youth. Almost everything in the box was from when I was younger than twenty years old.

Amongst many diaries, I found one I wrote when I was ten years old. I found my first driver’s license. There were stacks of letters I wrote to people in my life, and never sent. I touched countless journals of poetry I wrote in my youth. I scanned over love letters from people I haven’t thought of in years. I looked through several sketch books with drawings. I found a hall pass from my favorite high school teacher. I read papers I wrote about life, death and dying, and fairy tales.

I noticed how my handwriting has changed over the years, yet I could still see some similarities to my handwriting of today. I noticed the topics I wrote about then, are topics I am still trying to figure out. In the drawings, I could recognize my style, although I like to think it is a bit more refined. In the letters, I could see my compassion and caring of other people. In the poetry, as I read the first line, the words I wrote came back to me and I could recite the poem to the end.

I could see myself as the young girl, but I started to wonder. Did the young girl who packed away the items in the box, see me when she thought of herself as a woman? Would she be happy if she saw who she became?

I wish I could ask her.

Kitten Mittens

I love mittens!

What makes me even happier are mittens with kittens on them. How can you not smile when you look at them?

I am sure the cold winter months will be much brighter when I look at the palms of my hands and Kitten Mitten is smiling at me. We will have many great adventures together!

Andrew's Thanksgiving Menu

Andrew's favorite holiday, without a doubt, is Thanksgiving.

He started reminding me a week or so ago, his annual countdown to Thanksgiving Day. I couldn't help but laugh. About five years ago, we were talking about our favorite holidays and the traditions that go along with them.

When the room was quiet, Andrew, who is usually very soft spoken said aloud, with increasing gusto in his voice, "Turkey.......corn......mashed potatoes....... gravy........YEEEESSSSS!" We all started laughing because it sounded so funny.

Today, Andrew and I were planning the menu for Thanksgiving dinner. He knows how much I like to cook and thinks I make the best, well, everything. I asked what he thought we should make this year.

He looked at me with laughter in his eyes and said, "Turkey....corn....mashed potatoes...." I chimed in and we both said, "gravy.....YEEEESSSSS!"

Being silly, we both started laughing, and I admired his beautiful smile.

I Need to Remind Myself

"No longer forward nor behind,

I look in hope or fear;

But grateful take the good I find,

The best of now and here."

-John Greenleaf Whittier

My Best Friend

Today is my best friend’s birthday.

I met Rochelle almost twenty years ago when I interviewed her for a position at Wayne State University. She was late for the interview because of the weather, but I was working late anyways, and told her it was fine.

Little did I know on that day, her career would begin at the university and I would for the first time in my life, have a best friend.

I had been married less than a year, with no children. She had been married for a while and it turns out was pregnant with her first child. I eventually would leave the department we both worked in and take a position in another building, but we would often meet for lunch. A year later, fate would have it I took a position down the hall from her office. Almost every morning we would meet in my office to eat breakfast together and visit.

She eventually left the university, we both added to our families and we stayed in touch. There were a few years when we did not talk as much as we both would have liked, but I knew if I ever needed anything, she was a phone call away.

As our children grew, they developed a cousin relationship with each other and our families have shared vacations, weekends and birthdays together. She and I have shared many laughs and just as in any great friendship, we have shared our sorrows also.

We laugh because we are different, yet our strengths and weaknesses complement each other. She teases me about my glue, crayon and glitter obsessions, but I know she will keep the promise to sprinkle glitter all over my coffin and grave site if I should die first. The other day, she had me laughing so hard when we were talking about cleaning out my closet, and she looked at me and said “You have a completely different relationship with your clothes than I do.”

She shares with me the books she is reading for her book club, knowing me well enough to know if I would like a particular book, or not. She was patient enough, with Ben’s help, to teach me how to play Euchre. We talk about our children and families, along with the joy and tribulations that come with being a daughter, wife and mom. My children love her as an aunt, and have many wonderful memories of the times they have shared with her.

Although we live much closer to each other now, then when our friendship first began, we still both not so secretly wish we were next door neighbors. A thirty-five minute drive is not that far, but when you need to see your best friend, it may as well be five hours away. We talk about when we are older, we will go to each other's house and sit on the porch. We will talk about all the fun we have had together, and look back on our friendship and smile. Of course, the houses will be right next door to each other.

To my best friend in the world, I wish you the happiest of birthdays! I am so blessed to have you in my life. You are the bestest, and always will be. I love you.

Sleep

I think tonight is one of those nights where I just need a good night sleep to clear my head. I have suffered from insomnia on and off for at least the past ten years. It hasn't been so bad lately, but I am always fearful it will return.

Forever Friends

"Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred."

Pooh thought for a little.

"How old shall I be then?"

"Ninety-nine."

Pooh nodded.

"I promise," he said.

Creative Imagination=Lifetime Scar

Part of my journey has been taking the time to reflect on my childhood. For some reason, I am finding it to be an important part of the puzzle. As I mentioned before, I remember only bits and pieces of it. Some of the memories I do have I think are really either my sister's or my parent's memories of a particular event from their point of view that they have shared with me. Therefore, it is hard to distinguish their memories from my actual memories.

For me, I seem to mostly remember the traumatic memories.

Until I was in fourth grade, my parents moved multiple times. I vaguely remember a house they rented having a very large fenced-in yard. I think this house was before we moved to Pennsylvania, so I must have been younger than three years old.

What I remember was it was warm day and I was playing in the yard. I suppose you could say I had a creative imagination. I was pretending our large dog was my pony.

After trying to climb on the dog multiple times with no success, I had a brainstorm of an idea. I could walk the dog, over to the folding lawn chair, hold him steady while I climbed onto the lawn chair, and easily saddle my pony. Seemed like a great plan.

Things sometimes never work as planned when you are three. I remember convincing the dog to come near the chair. I remember climbing onto the chair. I remember the chair closing as I tried to climb on my pony. I remember the dog moving. I remember falling.

And then I remember tasting blood and crying. I remember getting the stitches.

Today when the light hits the area between my lower lip and chin, I see the scar from the stitches where I bit through the skin when I fell.

The scar reminds me it is not a good idea to stand on a lawn chair to try and climb on the dog’s back. However, even with the scar, I still think it was a good idea to pretend he was a pony.

11:11

Years ago, one of Madeline's friends was with us for a weekend trip. The young girl was very quiet, and almost whispered when she spoke. Imagine my surprise when she yelled out "11:11!" We all looked at her, she smiled and sheepishly explained the concept of 11:11.

She told us we needed to make sure our feet were not touching the ground, and as long as the clock said 11:11 you could make as many wishes as you want until the clock changes to 11:12.

Wow. As many wishes as I want just for keeping my feet off the ground for one minute? Sure seems like a deal to me considering I only get one wish while blowing out birthday candles. I'm in!

Whenever the clock says 11:11, my usually bare feet leave the ground, I smile and start wishing.

Happy 11-1-11. (Gosh, I can't wait for 11-11-11!)

His Stories Are Timeless

I was so pleased when my youngest son, Benjamin, came home from school today, reciting the opening lines to The Raven. I turned and said to him, "Hey, that is The Raven!"

He told me they read two "interesting" (his choice of words) stories in school today by Edgar Allen Poe. I asked what the other one was.

He said he couldn't remember the name of the other story, but "It was really creepy. It had to do with this guy and how he didn't like another guy's eye, so he killed him. But he kept hearing his heart beat even after he killed him and I think he went crazy."

I said, "That story is The Tell-Tale Heart. What did you think?"

He looked at me with those big blue eyes, and said, "It was creepy!"

I think Poe would be please to know, 162 years after his death, a twelve year old boy thinks his stories are creepy. Talk about timeless.

Happy Halloween!

Afraid of the Dark

With Halloween upon us, it is time for me to reveal my fears. I am afraid of noises in the middle of the night. As an adult, I avoid reading scary books or watching horror movies. And you know what really scares me? Top two fears. Being trapped in the dark and haunted houses.

When I was growing up, I don't remember not being afraid of the dark. When I was about four years old, my family lived in Pennsylvania. It was a coal mining town, Pittson, and the streets were very hilly. We lived in an apartment above a building on the main street. The main floor was a store front, and it was mentioned a few years ago that my parents intended on opening a day care center, but never did. I do remember the basement of the building. The basement was dug out, the walls were actually black coal, cold to the touch and it was very dark. I would never go down there by myself.

My mom's brothers came to visit and the grown-ups decided to play a prank on an unsuspecting uncle of mine. He was the youngest brother in the family, who was closer in age to my sister than his siblings, so I think he was around eight years old.

Somehow, the grown-ups convinced us we needed to go down in the basement. With my young uncle in the lead, we descended the stairs into the dark, chilly basement. I remember being so scared, and huddled with my young uncle and sister as we went down the stairs. When we reached the bottom of the staircase, out stepped a person, flashed a light and revealed a skeleton face.

We all screamed, and stumbled over each other to climb the staircase. I was so scared, fell, and we all tumbled over each other. I remember the pounding of my heart, and the fear I would never leave the dark basement, and I would have to stay with the skeleton.

In all fairness to my parents, to this day they attest they warned my sister and I about what was going to happen. I don't doubt that they did, but maybe my four year old brain was too young to handle the concept. Maybe this was the first time I was ever scared.

Later in life, when I was about eight years old, my dad convinced me to go in a haunted house with him. Not sure why I ever agreed to go inside since haunted houses are traditionally dark, and everyone knew I was afraid of the dark.

I remember clinging to my dad. He walked in front of me, I held tight onto his back and buried my head in his jacket. I knew I would be okay since my dad would take care of me, but I was really scared. My face stayed buried until we walked into the last room. It was dark and lightening flashed. There were skeletons hanging down from the ceiling and you had to walk though them to get to the door.

My dad kept assuring me it would be okay, and I am sure by this time he fully regretted encouraging me to go through the haunted house with him. As we worked our way across the room, the people in front of us closed the exit door. The room was dark and then the lightening flashed. I remember my dad's voice, with a hint of panic, asking aloud to anyone who would listen, "How do we get out?"

His voice became angry as he reached the wall and started searching for the door. I clung onto his jacket with my heart beating. The door eventually opened, but the damage was done. Now, not only was I afraid of the dark, but haunted houses were also added to my list of fears.

Entwined into A Beautiful Melody

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."

-The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Oh, how I love Edgar Allen Poe! I love the way he takes words, and entwines them into a beautiful melody when you read them aloud. And when you think about it, it is some pretty scary stuff!

Color Outside the Lines

"To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong.”

-Joseph Chilton Pearce

I was very fortunate to be raised by a woman who let me color outside the lines.

She raised her daughters singing and playing the guitar to us, and always made the time to read aloud. She has a beautiful range to her voice. Her artistic talents and tastes are different than my own, but she always praises and complements every thing I do.

I remember once my daughter was coloring a coloring book picture at my father-in-law's house. As he watched her, he kept pointing out that she needed to color inside the lines. Unable to bite my lip any longer, I smiled and gently told my daughter "It is okay to color outside the lines."

I learned that from my mom.

Alliance with Patience

I continue on my journey.

I see my life as a series of paths, and I am faced with many choices. When I speak of this journey, it is not as if I am ignoring my family and friends, but it is more of a journey within myself. A journey for me to determine who I am, who I want to be and who I will be remembered as.

What I have learned, thus far, is it isn't going to be easy, and my journey would be better served by entering into an alliance with patience.

I now need to find the path where patience resides.

Stories to Tell

I have so many stories I want to tell, but like most writers, I think it would help if I organized my thoughts. But for someone who doesn't want to make lists, this is almost impossible!

Life

Like, Love or In Love

Yesterday, I was so compelled to write about how much I miss my priest who is on a six month sabbatical. What made me realize how much I miss him, was going to church yesterday morning and sitting through a Mass listening to the priest filling in for him.

I listened as the replacement priest talked about his theory of “love” and “in love.” He stated that when people get married they are making a commitment to “love,” but not to be “in love.” So basically, too bad. If you are not “in love” any longer, regardless of your situation, you need to stay in the marriage because you made the commitment to “love.” No exceptions.

Wow.

I disagree, but I started thinking about “like,” “love” and “in love” and the difference between the three. I read an article with a good analogy. The article compared how a person would feel if someone they knew died.

If they “liked” the person they would be sad, and maybe cry once or twice.

If they “loved” the person, they would be devastated; the death would leave a lasting impression, impacting their life. They would cry a lot more.

If they were “in love” with someone, they would want their own life to end. I think when you are “in love” it means you can’t see yourself living without the other person by your side.

I don't think anyone explained the difference between "like," "love" and "in love" to the priest. And based on what he said, I don't think it would matter anyways.

How Did He Know?

The priest at my church is on a six month sabbatical leave traveling in Europe, spending the time learning to listen. I miss him very much.

I have to say, I really like my priest.

He is different than any other priest I have ever encountered. He has a hearty laugh, angelic voice and a peaceful calmness about him. He sings the Eucharistic prayers and when he stands on the alter and gives his homily, he speaks with grace and passion.

He is a tall man, somewhere in his upper 50s and smiles all the time. He lives in a house on the church property, along with his ailing sister, and has a golden retriever dog who spends her dog days with the priest. He holds a blessing of the pets ceremony every year, and the area where we live is rural enough where people have brought horses for the blessing. The priest walks around with the holy water making sure to bless all the creatures, big and small. Once, we took a gerbil, so we qualified for the smallest pet.

My children are not intimidated by him and he always welcomes them with open arms, cups their faces in his hands and teases them. One time my children were talking to the priest at a church function and they found out he is a Harry Potter fan. Because some churches have made the series out to be about witchcraft they looked at him with curious eyes as he talked about how the series is just about good vs. evil. He won them over.

I remember one time a few years ago, after mass I was standing in the atrium of the church, and the look in my eyes must have been one of being lost. He walked up to me, placed his hands on my cheeks, told me it would be okay, he kindly kissed my forehead and hugged me.

I was actually standing there, watching my children in the distance, wishing that time could stand still a little bit longer, so they wouldn't grow up so fast. How did he know all I needed was someone to tell me it was going to be okay?

I miss my priest.

Embracing Death

Death. No one ever wants to talk about it. I guess I can understand why. It all depends on your view of what happens after this life to determine if you are ready to talk about what might happen at the moment of death.

Over the years, I have had friends who are agnostic, atheist, and to sum it up, pretty much every religion. But one of the most interesting, intelligent people I know, signed an agreement about 20 years ago with a cyronics company to have his head suspended in liquid nitrogen after his death.

I have thought about it over the years because it is such a unique belief. He is an atheist so he doesn't believe there is anything after death, so his logic is why not take a chance that he can come back in the future?

Not me. I hope at the moment of my death, I embrace it. I hope I live a long life, can look back on it with happiness and die smiling. That works for me.

Truth

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

-Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh

It Really Did Splat

For most of my childhood, I grew up in a suburban home. About nine years ago, we moved our family to what some consider to be a more rural environment. When we moved here, I felt we would not be so displaced from the urban environment since there was a Panera Bread, Barnes & Noble and Costco.

Little did I know, my children would be going to school with a mixture of kids. They go to school with families who still run dairy farms and the children work after school starting at a very young age. The school has an equestrian team and many children have farm homes. However, there are also kids who come from very wealthy families living in countryside estates.

However, what opened my eyes to how rural of an area we live in is the number of animals we have encountered in our own backyard. We live in a rolling subdivision on just under two acres, in a beautiful neighborhood. Not at all what I would consider farmland.

The most shocking, and eye opening experience was within the first year of living here. First thing in the morning, I would let our dog Carson outside, and he would return to the door wall at the walk out basement when he was ready to come back. One morning, he greeted me at the door with something in his mouth. Having no idea what it was, I tried to get him to drop it on the cement. He wouldn't drop whatever it was. Finally, my husband brought some treats out, and Carson, dropped the item on the cement. The object made a splatting sound on the concrete, and I can only imagine the expression on my face when I realized what Carson had been holding in his mouth.

A raccoon head stared back up at me from the ground.

This was only the beginning. Many years ago, there was the chipmunk in the garage that Linus, our indoor cat, chased around as a toy. This summer, the chipmunk population has increased since Carson is no longer here to chase them away. Just a few weeks ago, I was standing in the garage and one came running in. He didn't see me and it was so funny, when I said hello aloud. I swear, I scared him half to death.

There was the baby bunny found in the yard with injuries that was taken to a local nature center, and he later died. The nature center also helped us out when we found three baby mice in a bucket with their dead mother by their side. They were named the "three blind mice" and promptly taken to the nature center with a cash donation to nurse them back to health.

Once I walked in the garage and a snake slithered past me. The first summer in the house I remember looking out the office window, swearing the giant box turtle walking across the lawn looked like a prehistoric dinosaur. He stayed in a box with us for a few days.

And of course there are the critters who made it to the attic. Once I kept hearing noises in the ceiling and thought there must be mice in the attic. No, those lovely field mice never made it into the attic. Turns out it was a bat. Sadly, he ended up getting caught in a mouse trap, and didn't die right away. I will never forget the awful hissing sound he made as he was dying. Another time, we heard something bigger in the attic, and set a live trap. Turns out it was a baby squirrel who we relocated to a park 25 miles away.

We have our share of deer in the forest, and many fawns. The kids love to throw apples from the deck into the forest, knowing the deer will come and eat them. It is so beautiful to see them looking up at the house.

Toads, frogs and salamanders are always around in the warmer months. Occasionally, they will make it into the house with my youngest son, Benjamin. Many of tree frogs have jumped at me, and have been chased around the house. When Benjamin was younger, he collected as many toads as he could find and built them houses in the garage. He called the game "Extreme Home Make-Over - Toad Edition." I swear, those toads had the nicest houses in all of toad world.

Of course, the house has been invaded by bees twice and the Bee Lady had to come out and remove the nests. This summer the chimney swifts invaded the fireplace and sadly some of the babies didn't live. Another call to the nature center.

The dead possum in the garden box was kind of creepy. I could never plant vegetables in that area of the garden again. And don't get me started about voles - I had no idea what they were until we moved here.

Yes, I realized I live in a rural area, when the raccoon head splat on the sidewalk, and I now know to call the nature center for critter questions. However, I still believe I have the best of both worlds, urban and rural.

The Illusion Feels Real

"The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world. And he must hold to this illusion even when he knows it is not true."

-John Steinbeck

Both Madeline and Andrew, upon selecting classes for their freshman year in high school were chosen by the teachers to be placed in Honors English. One of the required readings over the summer was The Pearl by John Steinbeck.

Although this is a relatively short book, I have found that people either love or hate Steinbeck's descriptive writing.

I love it.

As an author, he has the ability to write in such way that when you are reading the words, you close your eyes and look around you, and can visualize everything Steinbeck has created. You can taste the food, feel the warmth of the sun, touch the sand and brush the cheek of the characters. And even though they were all created in Steinbeck's imagination, the illusion feels real.

Because Steinbeck's style of writing is so different than anything she had ever read, Madeline was having a difficult time reading the story. I agreed to read it aloud to her and anyone else who wanted to listen. My children have grown up listening to the written word read aloud to them because I do believe some stories are meant to be heard, and I think anything written by Steinbeck falls into that category.

As we sat near the marina on a blanket at Metro Beach, Madeline and I took turns reading aloud the sad story of The Pearl. My youngest son, Benjamin, only nine years old at the time was fascinated by the story. It quickly became his favorite book, reading it many times over the past three years.

He is now is seventh grade and last week, he took The Pearl with him to school to read during silent reading time. His English teacher saw it and asked him how he liked it. After some discussion and the acknowledgement of his advanced reading level, she suggested he read Of Mice and Men.

First thing in the morning, I went to the bookstore, purchased a copy Of Mice and Men, and left it for him to find after school. He was so excited and started reading it right away.

That is what Steinbeck's style does to you. You want to read the story, so you can feel yourself in his illusion, and just for a few moments be someplace else, glimpsing in another's imagination.

A Purging of Fashion

Even though technically autumn began a few weeks ago, today, I finally ventured into my closet, and committed myself to start the process of cleaning it out. As I stood there, surrounded by hangers and hangers of clothes, I smiled.

This year is different for me. This is a year of change, and I will not stand with a heavy heart, as I try to decide what is worthy of keeping. I am happy when I look in my closet because I am guessing seventy percent of my clothes will be heading to the donate bin.

And even though some of my favorite sweaters that are too large will remain (because how can you bear to part with an old friend?) I am ready to purge all of the clothes that no longer fit either my body or personality.

A purging of fashion. I am so ready for it.

You see, I really love clothes. I love the feel, the smell and don't get me started on the fabric. Of course, I have a list of new items I either need to replace or add to my collection.

Some things are just classic, and I bear no sadness, getting rid of the pieces that don't fit any longer and replacing them with ones that do. Time to shop for a new denim jacket, white button down shirt, pencil straight skirt and a black dress. That is just the beginning.

This time I won't be sad purging my closet. I am ready to move on.

Can We Buy It?

I worked for many years in downtown Detroit. My favorite office I occupied was on the 12th floor of Mackenzie Hall, a hotel built in the early 1900s, that was later converted to office space.

I had french doors where I could walk out onto a beautiful balcony and look over the city buildings. It was a very unique office, and I appreciated so much being able to open the french doors when the weather was nice.

The best part of the view was the ability to see the Detroit Institute of Arts. It seemed like at least once a week, I would walk over to the museum, for lunch with co-workers. However, my favorite visits to the museum were ones I took alone.

Early on in my explorations of the exhibits, I found the painting that has remained my favorite in the museum's collection. An 1882 oil painting by William Adolphe Bouguereau titled The Nut Gatherers.

The painting is fairly large, I think about three feet by four feet, and is one of the museums most popular paintings. From whatever angle you look at the piece, the girls look so real - almost like a photograph. Their faces are so innocent and relaxed, and you just want reach out and brush the soil from their feet.

When my daughter was five, I took her to the museum to see a Van Gogh exhibit. She walked around the museum, and carried a drawing pad with her. She would sit on the floor in front of a piece of art, and diligently draw it in her notebook. I remember telling her I wanted to show her my favorite painting.

As she stood in front of The Nut Gatherers, I smiled as she noticed the dirt on the young girl's feet. Standing there looking at my daughter and the two girls who had mesmerized me for years, I saw the similarities in their faces. What struck me was the beauty of my favorite painting, and my beautiful daughter gazing at the faces of the young girls.

Madeline turned to me and asked if we could buy the painting and take it home. The nearby security guard and I shared a smile, and I told Madeline, "We need to leave the painting in the museum so everyone could enjoy it."

Madeline and I walked out of the museum. My priceless work of art, was holding my hand.

Freeing Up Precious Brain Space

One of the most challenging things about writing a blog, is thinking about who is my audience. Who is taking the time to read my random thoughts, and are they worthy of being read?

I am conscience when I write, reminding myself I don't want to hurt anyone I love or care about. That would never be my intent, it is just not who I am.

I write what comes to mind, and writing the words sets them free from consuming my thoughts. Maybe in a weird way, it frees up precious brain space. Unfortunately, as much as I try not to sanitize the words I write, I know it can't be avoided if I am putting it out there for the world to see. Oddly, it is easier to think of strangers reading my blog, than my friends and family.

Imagine, someone you have never met finding and reading your journal. Now imagine, someone you know, finding and reading your journal, and reading your private thoughts about them. Big difference.

It is never my intent to hurt anyone, these are just my random thoughts, nothing more. Just freeing up some precious brain space.

Love is Love

Why am I so fascinated with romantic books and movies set in another time period?

It arouses my curiosity to another time and place, but what I always come back to the is idea that love is love.

No matter the time, the place, the characters or the setting.

Love is constant.

Unrequited love. Passionate love. Romantic love.

Love is love.

Fear of the Playground

I had two horrible playground accidents as a child. I am not sure how old I was when the first one happened, but I think I was maybe 5 or 6 years old. My family was visiting my mom's cousins and all the kids walked to the local school playground for the afternoon. There was one of the old-fashioned, really tall slides made completely of metal. I remember climbing really, really slow up the ladder portion of the slide. When I got to the top of the slide, I remember just standing there thinking about being up so high. I wasn't afraid of the height, I just remember feeling emptiness and space around me.

And I remember falling. Falling, backwards towards the ground. Not sure what happened when I stood at the top of the slide, maybe I closed my eyes to feel the wind on my face, I don't know. I still remember the feeling of falling, and how the air rushed around me, and I felt breathless. I don't remember hitting the ground.

Apparently, I passed out when I landed. The children in the group walked me back to my great-aunt's house, and I played inside the rest of the day.

The second accident occurred when I was about ten years old. On the school playground, during recess, I was sitting on the parallel bars when I lost balance and hit the back of my head, just above the nape of my neck on the other parallel bar. I don't remember the actual accident, but I do remember the pain. I was taken to a hospital and observed for a concussion. I distinctly remember reaching around to touch the back of my head and it felt, the best, but yet the grossest way to describe it, spongy. Apparently, it was filled with blood. Even today when I touch the back of my head, I can imagine the pain I felt as a fourth grader.

So how did my two playground accidents affect me as an adult?

I have very few vivid memories of my childhood and I suspect it is partially as a result of these two accidents. I can look at pictures and my sister will tell me stories of our childhood, but I can't honestly say I remember the actual event.

The other impact it had is my fear of my children getting injured on playground equipment. Although they are all older now, when they were younger, it was very hard for me to watch them play at the playground. There was a park we use to go to once a year up north that still had an old, large metal slide and I still remember Madeline climbing up the ladder, and how I felt dizzy watching her.

But I kept my fear inside, because I do remember how fun it was to slide towards the ground on the shiny metal. To let them enjoy the fun of slides, swings and monkey bars, and not to let my fears spoil their fun, Ben willingly took them to the playground.

I Love Andy Warhol

A year ago, our family took a trip to Indianapolis to see a Titanic exhibit at the Indiana State Museum. And although the exhibit was touching, I was so excited when we visited the Indiana Museum of Art, and the staff was preparing for the Andy Warhol exhibit opening the next day.

Although everyone in the family did not want to see the exhibit, I convinced enough members of the family, to stay an extra day so we could go.

You see, I love Andy Warhol.

His art. His quotes. His hair. He was a master at marketing his art.

Not that I would surround myself with the art of his world, I just appreciate it. I don't think I stopped smiling throughout the entire exhibit. I think I was just in awe to be near his work.

I think some people are surprised that I do love Andy Warhol because his work is so extreme compared to my taste. But how can you not smile when you are standing in front of a silk-screened Marilyn Monroe?

Yes, I love Andy Warhol.

Did She Have Passion?

"You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died. Did he have passion?"

- Jeremy Piven, in the movie, Serendipity

Passion. Does everyone have it? Or, do some spend their entire life trying to find it? Or, is even more likely that we go through phases in life, and our passions fluctuate with the years?

I think most people, if asked, will adamantly say they have passion. Some may define it in their passion for their career they have chosen in life. For another, it is the children they have brought into the world, or their family life. For someone else, it may be their talents.

So going seriously against the mainstream, at a risk of shocking the conformists of the world, I am prepared to share what could be perceived as a negative opinion.

I can honestly say, deep breath here, at this stage in my life, I don't really know anymore what my passion, in the sense of personal passion, really is. Would I be considered a unpassionate person? I don't think so. Just honest.

You see, maybe I don't think of just one thing as my passion. I would like to think I am passionate about everything I do. I often tell family and friends that I can't multitask since I like to give 100% to what I am doing at at given time.

Maybe your passion can only be defined after death. Someone else will look back at my life, and they will define what I was passionate about. They get to pick.

I like that idea.

The Smell of Fall

Although people who live in Michigan have a tendency to complain about the weather all the time, I for one, appreciate the changes of the seasons. The autumn months are beautiful with the changing color of the trees, and considering my olfactory senses are strong, the smell of the air. Although there are still many green trees, some are already starting to drop their leaves. The leaves on the ground just adds to the sensory experience of being outside, and the crunching sound reminds us that Fall is here.

Temperatures are a bit unpredictable, as for the last few days the thermometer is reading close to 80 degrees. The end of this week is suppose to be in the low 60s. Sunrises and sunsets are phenomenal - and the moon at night and in the early morning hours is beautiful. This morning when I was taking the boys to school, we walked out to the driveway, and the sky was clear. The stars were bright and I pointed out to Benjamin the belt of Orion over our roof top.

Although I sympathize with the people who only like the summer in Michigan, I choose to embrace the change, maybe because I love the smell of Fall.

Growing Pains

It is always so exciting to me to hear my children's point of view. Having three teenagers at different stages in life, gives me the unique opportunity to share their exposure to different forms of literature, opinions, movies, current events and politics.

My daughter took center stage at the dinner table today, sharing her thoughts on Martin Luther, history of the Catholic Church and leadership, along with her opinions of President Obama.

My middle son shared his reading of the short story "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson, the symbolism in the story along with his opinion of teaching of health at school.

My youngest son was quiet at the table this evening. I was standing in the kitchen yesterday morning and when he walked by I noticed a change in his height. Could he already be almost as tall as I?

Every birthday, the height of each child is recorded on a board and they sign their name next to their height. Yesterday, when we measured his height, I realized he has grown close to two inches in three months.

I guess when your body is busy growing, you don't have the extra energy to share your thoughts. Or maybe, his sister's chattering was non-stop at the table and he couldn't get a word in. Either way, I missed hearing about his day.

He Loved Me More Than Food

I have always loved animals. Growing up, it seemed like there was always a furry friend living in our house, so it seemed natural when I was older to have pets. My first dog was a Golden Retriever who I promptly named Clifford, after one of my favorite children's books, Clifford the Big Red Dog. He was a college graduation gift from my husband, Ben, and I was faced with the responsibility of taking care of a new puppy. He was the biggest puppy in the litter and was a deep, dark red. When he was older, many of times people would ask if he was an Irish Setter.

Little did I know the responsibility I would be faced with! Ben and I worked with him taking him to puppy classes to socialize him, always trying to do the right thing so we would have a well-behaved dog.

After having Clifford for a year, we went to the local anti-cruelly society to drop off some donations. Since I wear my heart on my sleeve, I decided to wait in the car. Within minutes, Ben returned and informed me that he couldn't resist the temptation of looking at the adoptable dogs. He told me about a light-color golden retriever named Buster, who was being fed hot dogs since it would be his last day before he would be euthanized, due to lack of space at the shelter. Of course, we headed back in and promptly adopted the affectionate dog, who we renamed Biscuit.

Sadly, Clifford developed kidney disease around the time he turned three. Our veterinarian tried for a few weeks to save him, but the most humane thing to do would be to end his short life. I was sad to let him go, and returning home to see Biscuit without his companion in tow, was difficult, but I knew it was for the best.

Biscuit was a wonderful dog to have with three small children. I still remember when my youngest was teething and decided to climb upon Biscuit who was sleeping and chew on his ear. As I turned around and saw what was happening, I was fearful Biscuit might snap at my small toddler. Biscuit looked at me with his big brown eyes, whimpered a small sound and didn't move. He was the most gentle dog I have ever seen.

Of course, it was heartbreaking to see him age. I would help him up the stairs when he could no longer walk, and spent many nights sleeping on the living room floor by his side. Eventually, I was faced with the decision of ending his life humanely.

About a year after Biscuit died, even in a house surrounded by three children, I was lonely for a dog. I searched for a new puppy to join our family and I applied to a Golden Retriever rescue society and because of my experience with Goldens, I was fortunate to be moved to the top of the list to adopt a puppy. Although we had to drive to the other side of the state, with three small children, we all immediately fell in love with the last puppy remaining. Of course, like my first dog, this dog was the largest in the litter and his foster family named him Fatty.

I always liked the name Carson, after the author Carson McCullers, and since I wasn't brave enough to give the name to one of my children, bestowed the name upon our new puppy.

Carson was such a sweet dog. As he aged, he mellowed out like all Golden Retrievers do, and spent many hours curled up in a chair in my foyer. Once I proclaimed that Carson loved me more than food. Of course, my husband put it to the test and my friend, Carson, didn't let me down. He turned to me and did what I loved about him.

He hugged me.

He would push himself as close as he could to me, and look up at me with his knowing eyes. Yes, Carson loved me more than food.

I could sense his time with me was getting shorter over the past year. The look in his eyes changed and once he was diagnosed with bone cancer, I knew the time we had together would soon end. Although I loved my first dog, Clifford, and his companion,Biscuit, Carson was the most special dog to me.

As I was by his side at the end of his life, I whispered to him that we would see each other again. He looked up at me with his amber eyes, and I believe he understood. At that point I knew, Carson would hug me again someday.

Something to Think About

"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone."

Heart Stone Park

My youngest son, Benjamin, and I share a love of walking the beach for hours collecting rocks and shells. He and I have spent countless hours scouring the shoreline for bits of nature worthy of taking home. One thought both he and I share, is to to be very selective of the pieces we chose.

We both agree not every rock or shell is worthy of bringing home just because it catches your eye on the shore. Although over the years we both have collected buckets and pocketfuls of rocks and shells, we always take the time to evaluate the collection, only selecting ones we truly want to bring home.

Even then, few rocks and shells actually make it into the house. Of course, we have our share of petosky stones and bits of blue slag from Lake Michigan, along with a decent sea shell collection including starfish and sand dollars from the Outer Banks. We love the bottles of sand we have scooped up from the many beaches we have visited together. However, nothing compares to the find he made one day along the shores of Lake Michigan.

We were scouring the beach at a park when he was so excited to show me his find for the day - a beautiful rock in the shape of a heart. Proudly, he brought the rock home and we framed it in a shadow box placing it on the mantel. Every time I look at it, I remember the small boy who brought the rock to me. To this day, when we are up north, he still refers to the park as Heart Stone Park.

We both laugh because somewhere along the way, we agreed that we like to think if we throw the mediocre rocks and shells back to the water, we will be rewarded with an even better find. I think the best reward is the the memories he and I share of our walks on the beach.

Romeo and Juliet

Today, my middle child, Andrew, told me he would be reading Romeo and Juliet in his freshman honor's English class. We talked about how the play is one of the most quoted of Shakespeare's plays. Because his older sister had the same class with the same teacher two years ago, he is pretty familiar with the curriculum.

Andrew and I laughed when we talked about how he and his siblings took me to Gnomeo and Juliet on my birthday. After the movie was over, they looked at me and said "Why did you want to see this? It was awful!" My daughter and I have watched the 1968 and 1996 versions of Romeo and Juliet multiple times, and as tragic as the story, how can you not get light-headed thinking of the love they shared?

Yes, references to Romeo and Juliet are so abound in popular culture, and I would like to make a CD with all the songs referring to the star-crossed lovers. Quite a few songs are already on my IPod with references to the tragic lovers.

Of course, like many romantics, my favorite scene in the play is Capulet's Orchard, but for now, I can only reflect on my one of my favorite quotes:

Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Sigh. How can that not make your heart pitter-patter?

My Forever Friend

Little Teddy has been with me forever. I inherited him from my uncle when I was maybe five years old. He is about eight inches tall and has experienced many grand adventures. Little Teddy is certainly my velveteen rabbit.

Once in our youth, Little Teddy and I went swimming in the ocean. I lost him, and my sister found him washed up on the shore. Tragedy struck when I was much older, and Little Teddy was enjoying the companionship of my daughter. She left him on the floor and our new puppy, Carson, decided to have a playdate with Little Teddy. When the date was over, Little Teddy required major surgery with an ear and foot transplant. Of course, a few years later, my youngest son was sad that Little Teddy didn't have any eyes, and an online search for the perfect pair resulted in a new pair of brown eyes.

Yes, Little Teddy, you are my forever friend, flaws and all.

My Caterpillar Tree

When I was very young, my mom always took my sister and I to the library. For some reason, I have very few vivid memories from my childhood, but I do remember going to the library.

I remember the wood furniture and the card catalogs filled with the secret location of the books. I remember the musty smell of the room, and the stillness, and the quiet I love so much. I remember Charlotte's Web was high on the shelf, but my most vivid memory is the location of one book.

I would walk straight ahead and there was a covered bench. On the low book shelves I would search for my favorite book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. I remember the happy feeling when I found the book on the shelf, and I would huddle on the floor next to the bench mesmerized by the bright collages, and the way the caterpillar worked his way through the book.

When my children were born, I wrote to Eric Carle and shared with him my story. He was kind enough to sign the books I sent to him for my children, and sign my copy of the The Art of Eric Carle. He even drew me a caterpillar.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that the library is a haven for me. When I die, I would love a tree planted for me outside a library, and I would hope caterpillars would build cocoons in the branches.