The Left Side of the Moon

Li'l Grandma

We lost my grandmother three years ago today. This is the eulogy I gave at her funeral.

When I was a little girl just learning to talk, my grandmother would not allow me to call her grandma. “I’m not old enough to be a grandma,” she told me, in complete defiance of her new role. This posed quite a dilemma for my young mind. What do you call the woman who won’t let you call her grandma? Though I don’t even remember doing it, I named her L’il Grandma, which somehow took the sting out of grandma for her. And L’il Grandma she’s been in our family ever since.

 L’il Grandma was not a woman who let age slow her down. Whether she was volunteering at The Lord’s Provides here at St. Theresa’s Church, working in her yard, shopping and running errands,  or visiting with family and friends, she never seemed to stop for more than a moment. For this reason, I’ve never thought of my grandmother as an old woman. If you were to measure age not in years, but in youth of spirit and exuberance for life, she was still a young and vibrant woman, just one with lots of experience.

Fourth of July weekend, my husband, and I, and our boys spent the day with L’il Grandma and our cousin. We had lunch at Chelo’s, grandma’s favorite restaurant, and spent the afternoon at Slatersville Reservoir. We took grandma out in our little row boat and spent hours sitting with our chairs half in the water, while the boys played and swam. She sat with her pants rolled up and sneakers in the water, saying that now she understood why people actually wore those ugly water shoes. Grandma told us stories of days she spent as a girl at a relative’s small beach shack on the lake. How they had a little motor boat and spent all day on the water, swimming and water skiing. I never knew my grandmother had water skied as a girl. I wonder now how many things I will never get a chance to learn about her.

 It still shocks me to think that this day at the reservoir Fourth of July weekend, is the last day that I spent with my grandmother. We still have plans that she has yet to break. My grandmother, mother, sister and I, along with a friend of ours, have tickets to see The Color Purple in New York this weekend. We leave on Friday and will spend the weekend shopping and site-seeing in New York. It can’t be true that we will be robbed of this trip with my grandmother, that there are no more memories to be made with her.

While this seems cruel and unfair, I force myself to remember that I am blessed to have three decades of wonderful memories with my grandmother. There are so many things that I will always remember about L’il Grandma. She spoiled me as only a grandmother can when I was little. Her kitchen was always stocked with treats for me and my sister and brother. She was the one who gave me my first car the summer before I started college. A quirky ’86 Dodge Colt that wouldn’t run when it rained. She was at my wedding almost seven years ago today. And I’ve never seen her happier than when she was playing with her great-grandsons. For the past five years L’il Grandma has been our official family photographer, chasing after my two little boys with more energy than I can often muster myself. And she always developed two sets of pictures, so she had a set for me.

L’il Grandma hosted many holiday meals and baked countless cakes, pies, cookies and squares. I’ve never met anyone who did more Christmas baking. There were always a dozen types of cookies, expertly decorated for every relative, friend and neighbor. She could have given Martha Stuart a run for her money. Her panucci squares are legendary in our family. They disappear with lightening speed, one person always blaming another for eating more than their share.

It is hard for me to accept that there will be no more panucci squares; no more lunches at Chelo’s, grandma ordering the lite chicken sandwich or dinner; no more summer days at Breezey Acres in Douglas with L’il Grandma in her sun hat, camera in hand; my five-year old won’t be asking what surprise Great Mooma has in her pocket; and hardest of all, I know that my two-year old will only remember her through pictures and the stories we tell him.

But through this sharp sense of pain and loss, I want to remember to celebrate the 75 years of my grandmother’s life; to remember that she was a woman who never let life get her down. I celebrate the more than 40 years she spent teaching generations of kindergarteners and first graders. I applaud the decades she spent volunteering for The Lord Provides. I thank her for the hundreds and possibly thousands of photos she’s taken of generations of our family. And I search in myself for some of her strength to pull me through this overwhelming sorrow and pain.

Over the past week, I’ve found there are reminders of my grandmother everywhere. I still have the pan I need to return to her in my kitchen and a few panucci sqaures in my freezer. When I was feeling sad the other day, I realized the chocolate I was eating she had given me. The perfume I used this morning was a Christmas gift from grandma. I know it is this way for all of us who loved her and were a part of her life.

As a mother of two little boys, I am not allowed to dwell on my grandmother’s passing for too long without life pulling me back to the busy reality. And for that I am grateful. Life goes on, and it is my job to take care of my children. They are, after all, my grandmother’s legacy. I will tell my boys stories of their Mooma Alice. How she loved them and held them, laughed with them and played with them. How she was loud and funny, and was never afraid to speak her mind. L’il Grandma will continue to live in our hearts and our memories. We will carry her with us always.

Gilles Marini is Seriously Freakin Hot

I'm not big on reality TV, but I'm not exactly a hater either. One show that I am a big fan of is Dancing with the Stars. I've always loved to dance. Took tap, jazz and ballet when I was young. Did the clubs in college. Blackstone and I took ballroom lessons for a few months. Lately, I've been taking Zumba. So this show is right up my alley. I like that it's live too. You see so few shows that are live, with live music and performing these days. It's getting to be a lost art.

Whether you're a fan of DWTS or not, you need to check out Gilles Marini. Now, you may be thinking, "Who the hell is Gilles Marini?" He's only got one claim to fame. He was the naked guy in the Sex and City Movie. Not a bad single claim to fame if you have to choose just one. And holy hell, can this guy move.

Change is Good

I'm trying to remind myself lately that change is good. Truth be told, change kind of scares the hell out of me. As soon as some big change presents itself in my life, I have to analyze all the horrible ramifications this change could bring with it. Change can be incredibly good. I realize this. And if you lose the ability to roll with the changes in your life, then you might as well roll over and die. I'm working on embracing change, encouraging change. I want to like change. I also want to be able to breathe. Remember to breathe. Change is good. In the Anne Rice novels, that's what often kills vampires if memory serves me. If you stop being able to adjust to changing times, new trends, new societies, new lifestyles, new centuries, once a vampire began to shut themselves off from the world - they were barely alive any more, just a shell of a living, or rather undead, thing. Embrace the change. Breathe. Yes, I'm reminding myself. I do not want to be the shell of a living thing.

Life is not always kind. Even many of the good changes in my life just about caused me to lose my mind while I was going through them, or even more precisely, preparing to go through them. Moving out of the home of my childhood, getting married, changing careers, my two pregnancies, buying a home - I lost sleep, cried inconsolably, drank heavily (except over the pregnancies, I'm a bit mental, but not stupid), and eventually was able to breathe again. All of these changes in my life were for the better, and I wanted all of them, at least eventually. I cried an entire day the first time I found out I was pregnant, that was a difficult change to embrace. One I was not ready for and did not want to be ready for. But that's how I roll. I think I needed to get the postpartum depression out of the way early. Other people lose their minds over how unbelievably difficult the effects of the change are. They had no notion it was going to be so hard, so stressful, so draining. I lose my mind over how potentially difficult the change I'm considering might possibly be. Once the effects hit, they're never as bad as what I've already steeled myself against. And if they are, there's generally a contingency plan in place.

Now change when things have not been going well, that's easier to accept and get on board with. The change we need in Washington right now, I'm totally down for that. The only stress I have over that is considering the outside possibility that we won't get it. But change when things at status quo are good, that's a little more difficult. Buying a home when you've been comfortable in your apartment for a few years, that's a big change. One you don't necessarily need to make. But sometimes even change when things are bad, that can be rough too. Teaching left me in not a good state mental health wise, but shelving my degree, going further into financial debt and being unemployed made it worse. Kind of had to walk through fire to get to the clean air on the other side.

When Blackstone decided to quit his state job and go into business for himself, that was quite a big change for us. It was something we weren't quite prepared for when he had to make a choice in the matter. He ended up having to fight even for his right to go into private practice and continue working in his field, which he won luckily, because wouldn't that have put us in a pickle. I remember being at the ethics hearing one morning, sick with worry and also nauseous with morning sickness. The whole ordeal had come to a head in a way no one had seen coming, and before we realized that perhaps the timing of planning to have a second child might not be the best at the moment. All that worked out. Change is good . . . . I also still can't get over how terribly wrong it could have gone.

Any way, it looks like there's more change coming, whether I want it or not. I really know it's going to be for the best, except for all the obsessing over the infinite ways it could be horrible.

Fall is in the Air

I do love the summer - going to the beach, feeling the warmth of the sun on my body, the way the sun doesn't set until eight o'clock, cookouts, a cold beer on a hot day, fireworks. Yes, I am a huge fan of summer. I try to take as much advantage as possible. I even got married in the dead heat of the summer, and it was fabulous. We even had one of those heat thunderstorms during the reception. You could see it out over the ocean from the veranda of the golf club we were married at. But summer is not my favorite time of year. No, my favorite time of year is fall.

You've been able to smell fall in the air all week in NE. It's still warm, hot even, during the day. But the nights now are blissfully cool. If you leave the windows open at night, you can feel a slight chill in the air that finds you burrowing a little deeper under the blankets. There's something about that cool fall air that's a sweet relief after a hot and humid summer. And it's cool enough that soon the mosquitoes will all be dead. I always look forward to that. Soon the leaves will be turning, and my half hour commute in a few more weeks will no longer be hellish trek around beach traffic, and in another month or so will be filled with the beauty of the foliage.

I enjoy the familiar rhythm of fall - the kids going back to school, cub scouts starting up again, homework in the evenings. And my favorite holiday (Halloween) is in the fall, not to mention my birthday. It's specifically September and October that are my favorite. Once we start to hit the beginning of winter in November, and all the stress of Thanksgiving and Christmas, that's when the joy kind of dies for me. That's when I start dreaming of spring again. It's all about holding on and keeping warm through December, January, February, and even March. Sometimes March is the absolute worst of them all. I prefer snow to the freezing rain of March. It's such a cold, dreary, dirty and dead month.

I actually just signed us up for a budget plan for our oil bill too. Getting hit with those $800 oil bills right around Christmas is enough to land me in Butler. So instead we'll be paying $350/month for ten months. Much more manageable, but still, that's $3500 a year in oil (it does include a maintenance plan, though). And some of our heat is actually electric. And I keep the thermostat set at 66 during the day and 62 at night. That's pretty darn expensive.

But enough about the stress and cold of winter. I don't have to worry about that yet. Well, I could, but damn it, I'm going to stop. Instead I'm going to go walk on the beach with my family and enjoy this glorious weather before it's gone.

Dude, It's 4:20

You have to be basically living under a rock to be unfamiliar with the term 420. You hear it on the radio, movies, television. Everyone knows it's a drug reference, more specifically, a marijuana reference, but few of us know where it comes from. It came up in conversation recently when Blackstone and were at a concert sitting on the lawn. No where is it more apparent how common pot smoking is, than when you're sitting at a concert on the lawn on a glorious summer evening and the sun sets. You can almost get high off the fumes.

I've never known exactly where the 420 reference came from. I'd heard that it might be a police code for drug usage or that it might have something to do with when Bob Marley died. None of that is actually true. It actually began with a small group of high school students in CA in 1971. You can read all about it here.

Now Blackstone just assumes I know the origin of such things from my party days. I don't. I was practically a girl scout when it came to putting illegal substances in my body. Well, not entirely, but almost. And my party days were practically over by the time I graduated high school. I didn't learn about 420 until I moved there, literally. For four years my address was 420 High Street, in a little village with peace in the name of it, no less. I learned the significance shortly after we moved in. Not everyone understood the hilarity of my address, but every once in a while I'd give my address to someone and they'd look at me and laugh. "No really, what's your address?" they'd ask, like I'd just told them my name was Seymour Butts. "No, really, that's my address. I can show you my driver's license if you want." My students got a real kick out of that when somehow my address became common knowledge. They all wanted to make sure I got it. It was very thoughtful of them, really.

Now my address is much more boring, but I'll always have those . . . um, what was I talking about? Never mind. Anybody got any chips?

Biotene

I'm going to put this out there, because any product that makes my life a little easier, is worth talking about. Trouble has suffered with canker sores since forever. He almost always had at least one. He'd actually learned to deal with the hydrogen peroxide treatment, because even though it hurts like hell, it works. Our dentist recently suggested we try using Biotene toothpaste, and the boys have been using it for over a month now. And what do you know, no more cold sores. The toothpaste is expensive $7-$8 a tube, but well worth not having to deal with a child with chronic sores in his mouth.