Food Family and Friendship #MusicMovesMe

It's almost the middle of November already, and it's time for music!

Let's introduce the Music Moves Me bloggers.

We blog about music each Sunday or Monday and if you have music to share with us, you are most welcome to join! (Music Posts Only-meaning at least one music video, please!)   Our head host is Xmas Dolly, and our co-hosts are Cathy from Curious as a Cathy, joined by the knowledgeable Stacy of Stacy Uncorked and yours truly.

You are welcome to join our Monday music group.  It's so easy. All you have to do is join the linky above but your post must contain at least one music video.  No music video? Your post may be removed, or may be labeled *NO MUSIC*.

This month our guest host is none other than our head host Xmas Dolly and her theme for this week is "Tunes about food, family, or friendship".

What I found out, in my research, is that a lot of food songs are actually about something we all need, but not food.  So how about a couple of songs with sweetness in their titles?

 

Neil Young and 1977's Sugar Mountain.  It's really not that much about food but about life.  Neil wrote this song on his 19th birthday in 1964 and it was recorded a bit later.

Paul McCartney lends a celery vibe to this 1971 song by the Beach Boys:  Vegetables.

Let's switch to family.

Stevie Wonder and Isn't She Lovely, an ode of love to his newborn daughter, Aisha Morris. (I'll have a bonus song with both of them a little later.)

One of my favorite songs, 1982's Our House by Madness, a song about a working class family.

Friendship songs abound.  Here is Randy Newman and You've Got a Friend in Me.  Originally written for the 1995 movie Toy Story, this song was nominated for both an Academy Award and a Golden Globe.  It's since been used in other Toy Story movies.

Weezer and My Best Friend.

And now for the bonus song I mentioned.  Stevie Wonder and Aisha Morris performing The Girl from Ipanema.

And that's a wrap!

Join me again next week for another episode of Music Moves Me.

Those Were The Days

Nostalgia can be a wonderful thing.   The past exists in a rosy glow of memory.  Sometimes, the pain, the tiredness, the drudgery, is forgotten.  Only the good times remain.

Today, I hope to see some people I have not seen since 2018.  We've kept in touch, but there is nothing like seeing someone in person.  It's one of the many lessons the last three years have taught us.

The world has changed.

We have changed.

We will have memories, some of us, of spending the Thanksgiving weekends together, of sometimes being together during the school breaks between Christmas and New Years.

There will be the adult memories, too.

 I am looking forward to it, on this day that would have been my late mother's birthday.

Those were the days....

Join me tomorrow for more music and Music Moves Me.

A Genealogical Adventure Awaits - Am I Ready

Have any of my readers taken a DNA test (Ancestry, or 23 and Me, for example)?  If so, what have your experiences been, if you are willing to share any of those in the comments?

So far I've resisted taking one of these tests, although a cousin I met several years ago after not having been in contact for many years (a long story) encouraged me to, saying "you'll be surprised at what you will find".  He and his wife had both had their DNA tested.

Other people I know have privacy concerns about the data these testing companies collect.  The NY Times article I am linking to explains this further.

One of my first cousins on my father's side has been doing some genealogical research recently after using a 23 and me test. He was matched up to several second cousins of ours.  Eventually, I wonder if any will want to get in touch with me.

I'm excited but, as someone who is extremely introverted, also hesitant.

A part of me wants to know more, and not just about my father's side. I don't have to hand over DNA to find relatives I didn't know I had on my father's side, as this same uncle had done research about twenty years ago on our family. (He's in his late 90's now). But my mother's side is a different story. 

I'm an only child.  My parents died many years ago. 

Because of my particular ethnic and religious heritage, I know I may not be able to go back that far in time, either, thanks to the events of World War II.

A number of bloggers I read have some knowledge of genealogical research (unlike me), and two have helped me in the past.

One helped me find a record of my mother's parents, my mother, and two other siblings still at home in the 1950's census.  I knew the address of my grandparents but there was more needed to find the record.  She gave me what I needed and I've never thanked her publicly.  Let me do that now.  Thank you, Denise.

It was an interesting peek into my mother's life before she was married and had me.

The other blogger helped me find some information about the town where my mother's father grew up.  A record of his I found years ago on Ancestry (again, on a "free use" day) gave the town's name but I couldn't find it online anywhere.  This woman gave me a link. (Apparently the name of the town on my grandfather's record was the German name although it was part of Austria-Hungary, but the town is currently in Poland and goes by a different, Polish name.)  In 2016, using this woman's link, I found enough to suspect its Jewish population had been murdered during World War II but I still couldn't locate the town itself.

Sunday, I revisited the information and found the name that ancestral town is known by today.  I also found out its Jewish residents had been rounded up and eventually sent to the Belzec death camp in Poland.  I had known my mother's oldest brother had not emigrated with the rest of the family in the early 20th century, and I may now know what happened to him and any other relatives I still had back "in the old country".  May they forever rest in peace.   

So I owe this blogger thanks, too.  Thank you, Holly.

Would DNA testing even help me find out more about my roots on my mother's side?  Is it worth the money and the possible loss of personal data?

I'm really curious to have facts that would help me make up my mind as to going ahead with it.   I hope some of my blog readers can, again, help.

I thank you in advance.

Another Fall Another Sunday

I hate writing these posts.  I hate writing these posts on any day but especially at a time of year which is supposed to be merry and bright.

In the last week (one on Sunday), two people I know had elderly loved ones fall and injure themselves - in both cases, their mothers.

As I blogged recently, a co worker's aunt (age 98) fell, and the story did not have a happy ending.

Of course, you don't have to be elderly to fall.  It's a concern for all of us, no matter what our age.  I concentrate on the elderly because the people I know either are seniors (as I am) or caring for family members in their 80's/90's.

I've written so many of these posts over the years.  Here are some of them.

Walking a tightrope
Attending the wake of a beloved woman who died due to a fall.
Kindness and vision
Can We Turn the Tide?

My mother in law fell several times, starting in her 60's.  Her last few years were hard for her, no thanks to those falls she suffered.  She had other health issues, too, but those falls may have impacted her life more than just about anything else.  Pain was her constant companion until her passing three years ago.

 
When she was at an age when the falling started, there weren't classes on falls prevention.  Doctors didn't screen for it (they do that now at one of the major health practices for any patient over age 80.)

You Tube is full of videos demonstrating exercises. When I googled "fall prevention exercises You Tube" in 2016, I got about 260,000 results back.  Today, it was 33,000,000.

I still do the exercises (well, most of them, let's be honest) I learned in a falls prevention class I took in 2015, but I haven't progressed past a certain point.  I need to go back to the texts we were given and see what else I can do.  I promised I would in 2016, and I didn't.

I've also discovered I am on the edge of osteoporosis in my hips, and my doctor has told me to do strength training.  I haven't.  I only have myself to blame.

So, why am I blogging about this topic again so soon after the last time?  Perhaps it's because of it being the holiday season.  I know what it's like to have great sadness (more than once) during that season.  I don't want it to happen to anyone else.

I think we still have a long way to go to help the seniors needing the help of exercise programs and exercise classes.  COVID hasn't helped with this, either.

The words "he or she fell" are some of the saddest words family members can hear.  And the fear that comes with falling (I saw that with my spouse's aunt who lived until age 107) destroys a person's remaining quality of life.

Let's all be careful this holiday season.  Let's care for one another.

Some Things Can Not Be Explained

Today is the birthday of one of my spouse's cousins, what would have been the birthday of another cousin who died two weeks after my mother in law, and the third anniversary of my mother in law's passing, at the age of 90.  She was a little over a month away from what would have been her 91st birthday.

I want to devote today's post to the day of my mother in law's passing, the day after Thanksgiving, 2018.

Her last year was hard, most of all on her, but also the family (including my spouse and I) who had been cast into the roles, those last few years, of family caregivers.

Today, I am thinking again of the day she died.  Before I launch into this story, which I've told a couple of times, I want to add that, since my first posting, I've heard of many different experiences surrounding death of loved ones from a number of my readers.

We have no way of knowing why these things happen, but they happen, and it isn't just to us.

To you, is this spooky, comforting, or both?

Here's our story.

We had spent some of Thanksgiving Day - my spouse, his autistic brother, and I - sitting at the bedside of my mother in law at the nursing home she spent her last few months in.  She was unresponsive.  We knew death was near.   

We finally said our goodbyes and left, wondering if this would be the last time we would see her.

The day of her death, November 23, was "Black Friday", a day of shopping.  As per our tradition, spouse and I had gotten up before dawn and had already visited a couple of stores.  We had decided to treat ourselves to a "Black Friday" breakfast out, something we used to do a lot but stopped doing several years before, except for special occasions. We would then head right to the nursing home.

We went to a small neighborhood restaurant.

The "Greek House" (which serves a lot more than Greek food), was in its 25th year. (It has survived a flood and COVID and is still open). It is owned by "Sam", an Egyptian.  I don't know his actual name, but everyone calls him Sam, and he always had a smile on his face.

Now, when we have eaten here, the plates the food was served on were normal restaurant plates.

Not that morning, November 23, 2018, around 7:15 AM.  In fact, the normally fast service wasn't there.  We waited and waited.

When our food was served, each of our plates was decorated on the rim, in big bold script, with the word MOTHER.

In faint lettering, there were various traits of the ideal mother listed.  Loving.  Patient. Kind.  Compassionate.  And so forth.

MOTHER....

It was so strange that I almost took a picture of the plate and my food, but decided not to.  Now I wish I had. Maybe you don't believe me but this is 100% true.

We finished our breakfast and went home.

And, not five minutes after entering our house, we got the phone call from the nursing home.

I'm still wondering in 2021: 

How did Sam know?

Family or Sibling Songs #MusicMovesMe

Once again, we've reached Monday, and it's time for Music Moves Me.  

Who are the members of Music Moves Me ?  We are bloggers who blog about music each Monday. If you have music to share with us, you are most welcome to join!  Just remember our simple rule:  you must include at least one You Tube or Vimeo video or your post may be subject to removal or labeling "NO MUSIC". You are welcome to write about music. too but there must be at least one music video.

So let's get started.

Each month, we have a guest co-host.  The guest co-host for August is Stacy from Stacy Uncorked, Her theme for today is "Family or Sibling songs."

Before I begin to present my selections, I want to pay tribute to singer Trini Lopez, who passed away last week from COVID-19 at the age of 83.  Two songs immediately leapt to my mind.

If I Had a Hammer, co-written by Pete Seeger, was a hit for Lopez, reaching #3 in 1963.

Lemon Tree was a cover of a Will Holt song.  Besides Trini Lopez, this song has been covered by many artists.

I remember both of these songs from my child.  Trini Lopez, RIP.

And now, to our theme.

I don't want to pick any of the "obvious" songs but there are some really good ones out there.  Because I am an only child, and someone who lost her mother not long before I turned 13, I am also going to include a couple of tributes to parents.  My father raised me after my mother died suddenly, and had to put up with my teenaged years on his own.

I am going to start with a song I've had on my blog, but it isso good, it is going to be repeated. 

First, from Mike and the Mechanics, 1989's "The Living Years", about a son's conflicted relationship with his late father, and what he regrets now that he, himself is a father.

Elton John's 1973 hit Daniel is sung by Daniel's younger brother. There seem to be differing interpretations of the song - I would just sit back and watch the reaction at the end of the performance.

Night Ranger and 1983's "Sister Christian".  I saw them in concert several years ago, and this was one of the last songs of their set.  It was worth the wait.  This song is about the songwriter's younger sister Christy, and his feelings that she is growing up too fast.

Finally, as a (maybe strange) change of pace is a song that maybe is more about vampires than a rejected boy's longing for family.  From The Lost Boys soundtrack, performed by co-author Gerald McMahon, is 1987's Cry Little Sister.  I happen to love this song.

And that's a family wrap!

Join me again next Monday for another episode of Music Moves Me - same time, same place.

By Our Works

For a number of years, spouse and  I spent every Christmas in Yonkers, New York, with some of my husband's family, hosted by one of my spouse's cousins "B".

Now, my mother in law is gone, a cousin who came every year is gone, and his 107 year old mother are gone. 

A tradition ended?  Yes.

A tradition begun?  Maybe.

When old traditions end, I like to think new traditions begin. Everything eventually changes.

Sometime in November, B gave us a call.  She wanted to come up here for Christmas - there was little reason for her to stay at home (she lives by herself).  She promised to bring her signature dish that we all loved.  And, she would even stay in a motel (her preference, as she enjoys her alone time).

Several days later, she called again.  Could she also come for Christmas Eve?

So, we hosted both Christmas Eve and Christmas dinners, complete with the cousin's signature dish.

We shared a lot of memories, but memories are more than things that exist in our memories.

In a way, we live on in our works.

My spouse's 107 year old aunt (when she was younger) and the cousin who visited us were sisters.  One thing they both did was beadwork.  This is one example, one that I was given as a gift years ago. 

It was an honor to display, on my tree, a needlework ornament made by a work friend who died from cancer 21 years ago.  Every year I bring this out, and other ornaments she gave me (she loved to craft), and I remember her through my Christmas trees.

More memories, and I remember the year I made the doilies underneath some of the knickknacks.

The days of 2019 are dwindling, and so are the days of our lives.

I don't know how many more holiday seasons my spouse's cousin will be with us.  Or others I love.
I do know that we are gone, our works will remain.
Will your works be remembered?  Will mine?

I never thought about that when I was young.  But now, in my 60's, I think about it a lot.

Do you?

Don't Let Time Slip Away The Conclusion

Back in February, I blogged about how, in 2015, after many years, a cousin on my mother's side found me online.  I had lost contact with my mother's side of the family back in the 1970's.

It turned out that a first cousin on my mother's side, who is nearly 90 years ago, had been trying to find me.   The cousin who found me was his daughter, who has been building a family tree.

After some emails, I lost touch again, and it was totally my fault due to caregiving taking up all my mental time and energy.  But then, it was over.

In February, I took a deep breath, hoping against hope that my first cousin was still alive.  He was.  He still wanted to meet me.

We thought the spring would be a good time, but a couple of weeks ago, we decided it was now or never.  The time was good for them, too.

On Sunday, my spouse and  I met my first cousin, his wife, and the cousin who had found me, along with her husband, and their teen aged daughter, in their downstate New York suburban home.

We had lunch together after looking through a photo album.

I was so nervous, so incredibly nervous.  What if they didn't like me?  What if?  It had been over forty years, after all, since I had talked to any of my mother's side.

Well, I shouldn't have worried.

I found out some things about my mother's family, both good and bad - just like in any other family.  Here's a story about that (not my family)  As it turns out, my first cousin and his wife have both had their DNA tested.  So now, there's that thought - should I?

Perhaps after the April Blogging From A to Z Challenge, I'll blog more.  But one thing that doesn't surprise me - my cousins are readers.  Avid, avid readers.

Why am I not surprised?

We had to leave to go home (about a three and a half hour drive) finally, but we could have stayed and laughed for hours.  They told me "come back anytime!"

But I know so well that the clock is ticking.   Ticking, ticking and we live three and a half hours from each other.  It reminds me of this song, Driftwood, by the Moody Blues, and this portion of the lyrics:

"Time waits for no one at all/No, not even you...."

Don't Let Time Get Away Part 2

Yesterday, I started to blog about my mother's side of the family and how I lost contact with them for many years.  In 2015, after I started to create a profile on Ancestry.com, I was contacted by someone who turned out to be a first cousin once removed on my mother's side.  We friended each other on Facebook.

It turned out that her father, my first cousin, had wanted to contact me for years but he had never found me. We exchanged a few emails.

I never pursued the contact, though, as a lot of my time and energy was consumed in caregiving for my mother in law and related issues. 

The day after Thanksgiving, my mother in law died and one of my spouse's cousins celerated his birthday.  He was also a caregiver.  He lived with his 106 year old mother.

Two weeks later, he was dead.  Unexpectedly dead.

Around the time my mother in law started her final decline, I found out that a cousin's wife had brain cancer. She took chemo but it did not help.  Her condition deteriorated rapidly.  She passed away about 10 days ago.

All of this, and having a former co-worker diagnosed with cancer (plus other assorted bad news concerning some people I knew or knew of), made me think. Time gets away from all of us.  I was so guilty of letting time pass.  In being consumed with one part of family, I had totally neglected others.  This had to stop.

Yesterday morning, there was suddenly a post from my first cousin once removed on Facebook. It was a video of the bookstore in her home town and a feature about it on the local TV station.   The last I knew she was working there.

So I DM'd her, telling her we no longer had an independent bookstore where I live (sad but true) and asking if she still worked there (she wasn't in the video).  Within seconds she responded.

I had a brief attack of the "shies" but I fought back.  I had to do this.

I briefly explained why I had not been in touch. I held my breath.  Her father should be close to 90 by now.  If he was still alive, that is.

Had I waited too long?

The responding message came back.

"I know Mom and Dad would love to see you."

It wasn't too late.

Now I have to make it happen.

Don't Let Time Get Away Part 1

In 2015, I blogged about how,  for the second time in my life, I found lost family (or, rather, they  found me).

In February of 2015, I explained that I had not been in touch with anyone on my mother's side of the family in many years (by my count, it must be over 30 years).  

At about the same time, the genealogy website Ancestry.com offered a free weekend.  I took advantage of it, and I started to build a family tree of my mother's side of the family, the ____s.  Of course, my memory being limited, I didn't get that far.  After the weekend ended, I decided I didn't have the time to pursue this (as Ancestry is not a free website, I didn't want to waste my money).

Then I received a generic message in an email from Ancestry.com, with a family name I did not recognize but a message saying that she was working on a family tree of the ____s and thought we might be related.  I clicked to respond, and found I had to join Ancestry even to send a message.
 

A bit later, I received another email:

" Hi, I just spoke to my father (let's call him "N"), who told me that you are first cousins. My mom was thrilled that I had found you. Seems like they had been looking to contact you for years and could not find out where you were. They would love to be able to write or call you."

Her father "N" is vague in my memory.  I did some quick research (what I could get for free, because I could not remember his first name), but I sure knew the last name well. It was the last name of one of my Mom's sisters.  Could I truly have been found by my mother's family by someone, after years of searching?

I discovered that Ancestry was having another free weekend for  Memorial Day weekend, and I had limited access to the site again! I messaged back, with some more information.  And then I heard back.

The answer is yes.  I have been found by someone on my mother's side of the family.

The woman who sent me the message is my first cousin once removed on my mother's side (her grandmother and my mother were sisters).  Her mother, an aunt who had continued contact with me for a few years after I married, passed away (my newly found cousin told me) in 1998.  And now we have each other's email addresses.

I told my spouse and I think he was just as, if even more, excited than I am.

So let me backtrack a little.

When I was 17 years old, I started dating a boy who was in one of my college classes. We were of different religions.  I am Jewish.  My husband is Catholic.  In 1970, that mattered.  It mattered a lot.

Some members of my family were less than thrilled. That sister of my mother's did keep in touch for a few years but then she passed away.   I had no contact with my mother's side of my family for many, many years. 

Times have changed tremendously. 

 

Well....I had a couple of email exchanges with my cousin "N", who sent me family pictures.  In November of 2015, he sent me an email ending "Let's keep in touch".

 

But we didn't.  It was all my fault.  When "N" (who was in his 80's) sent me that email, my mother in law was having a major health crisis.  One thing led to another and I thought of my family from time to time in the resulting haze of caregiving, working full time, and various family dramas, but I never did respond to my lost-then-found family.

 

Until today.

 

Tomorrow....the story continues.

The Next Journey

Around 11pm on February 7, my cousin's wife took her last breath.

I like to think that she is on a new journey.  But she left family and friends who mourned her, including a husband and son who loved her very much.

Another life cut short by cancer.

Something that gives me comfort in bad times are sunrises and sunsets. Perhaps, even now, she rides towards the sunrise, free from the paralysis her brain tumor inflicted on her, marveling at the sights unfolding before her.

At least, I hope so.

Inevitable

I got the call right after lunch yesterday. It was from my husband.

"Please call your cousin P. immediately.  There's been a death in your family."

My Dad was one of six children.  Between the six of them, there were twelve of us, first cousins.  Until yesterday, that is.  Now there are eleven.

The death was unexpected. 

I was towards the middle of the pack, at age 64.  Six of us older than me.  Five of us younger than me.  I am waiting to find out the the final arrangements.

Death is inevitable.  I know a number of people who have lost a brother or sister already.  My cousin P. has joined that group. I will never suffer that pain, as an only child.

As we age, we lose those we love.  It's a fact of life.  If we live long enough, we will lose everyone - parents, siblings, our friends, possibly children.

But this death has made me thoughtful.  Sad.  Wistful.  My thoughts fly in many directions.

What happened to my cousin could happen to any of us.  One day, in some way, it will.

Day 4 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge #blogboost

Mother and Son Journey

I rarely blog about my son (his request), but today I want to make an exception.

My spouse and I took our first vacation with our grown son in 10 years.  We traveled from upstate New York to Columbia South Carolina (in two cars because he had to get back before we did) to see the total eclipse of the sun. 

It was a voyage of  discovery.

Pride, in seeing the young man my son has become. 

Happiness, in listening to his experiences.  Taking back roads in Virginia due to extensive traffic jams on the Interstate, he experienced kindness when he was flagged down to be told his gas cap wasn't on right. 


Total joy, in watching the eclipse together, and watching his reactions.

The contentment of knowing that our roles are changed, and that we can be adult friends.

And, in a way, sadness, in seeing the coming reversal of our roles.  I compare the ways he thinks and I think, and I see how set in my thoughts I can be.  His nimbleness helped us complete the trip in a way I never expected.

And there was even a dash of getting on each other's nerves, as we found ourselves together in a small motel room in Columbia, a bit overwhelmed by the unusual (for us) heat.  But we worked through it.

I don't know if we will ever take a joint trip again, but a part of me hopes the answer is "yes".

I won't post our picture, as my son values his privacy (as do I) but I want to thank him for an amazing journey.

Not Bad For An Old Man

Yesterday, I participated in a "cousins" family reunion on my father's side.   I don't know if there will be another one.  It gets harder and harder to fit things in.

Things were different last time (the reunion I blogged about yesterday, which took place five years ago next week).  It seemed like a lot less work.  My spouse cooked on the grill.  We stayed up, laughing, until almost 11 pm.

Now, the planning was almost like climbing a mountain.  All of us had less energy. We all had aches and pains.  One cousin was recovering from surgery.  One had a painful problem that going to various doctors hadn't diagnosed.  The wife of still another cousin had obvious problems with her balance.

No BBQ this time. Cousins chipped in for platters prepared by a local supermarket.  

By 9:15, when the last people left, there were more yawns and bleary looks than laughs.

I haven't mathematically figured this out, but I think I am past halfway in the age range of the cousins on my father's side.  There are twelve of us cousins in all, ranging in age from mid 50's to 70 (or perhaps slightly older than that).  Not all of us were able to come. We talked by phone with one, and by Skype with another. Still others had too much going in in their lives.

I was grateful for this:  All of us are alive.  We have memories.  All of us are "here" mentally.

After eating, we talked on the phone with the last living biological uncle, who is in his early 90's. His wife, who is younger, is our last aunt.  They live about 850 miles from us.

When asking him how he was doing, he said "not bad for an old man".

I flashed back to when I visited him as a teenager, when he was an energetic man in his 40's, raising three children (my youngest cousins).  Now, those young children are in their 50's.

If we wait for another five years, Uncle may well be gone.

Not only him.  Some of us may well be gone. 

We are blessed - all of us are alive. Our spouses (save for one of us, and she could not come) are alive. All of our children are alive.  The same can't be said for other people my age I know, people who have lost spouses, lost children, lost siblings.

We are fortunate, but we know it's only a matter of time.  The clock is ticking.  That next reunion can not wait another five years but will we have the energy to put it together?

One day, I can only hope, we will be saying "not bad for an old man" or "not bad for an old woman" to the children of the next generation.  Somewhere.  Somehow.

Whispering Determination

Welcome to 2017, and a new Ultimate Blog Challenge. 

The Challenge requires 31 posts in 31 days. It's a discipline all bloggers need at least one time in their blogging lives.

For 2017, I chose a word - determination - as the word that will guide me this year.  This coming year will demand a lot from us. Today, as the beginning of my year of determination,  I remember someone from years ago who showed me determination from a deep place inside her.

On my Christmas tree each year is a simple ornament.  But the story behind it is less simple.

Many years ago, the company I was working for was bought by a new owner, along with a couple of other local businesses.  Two offices were combined into the office where I worked, and Pat came into my life.

Pat was many things - an experienced worker, a loving mother and grandmother, and a woman who love crafts - needlepoint, tole, and more.

Her and her husband, a building contractor, restored a house in Maine, New York, and had a loving marriage. 

Every year, at work, we would have a small gift exchange at Christmastime. Pat's contribution was always a Christmas ornament - usually made by her, or one made by another craftsperson.

One December day, Pat called her co workers together.

A couple of months ago, she said, she had found a lump on her neck.  She went to the doctor, who immediately ran tests.  It was cancer.  Not only that, they found cancer all through her body.  Doctors ran more tests, trying to find where the cancer had originated.  It turned out to be lung cancer. She had perhaps 18 months to live.

Pat was only able to work a couple of more months.   We all kept in touch after she went out on permanent disability.  It was a small office, and we were close to each other.  We knew each other, our spouses, our children.  Pat had to prepare her children and grandchildren. 

Pat always conducted herself with dignity and determination, and the months after the diagnosis were no exception.  By her example, she showed us how to face death with dignity.

Our office, in the next months, fell apart due to poor management.  One by one, we left.  By the next Christmas, several of us were unemployed.  As each co workers quit the job,  they started to spend time with Pat every Tuesday when she felt up to it.  When I left, I joined them in the Tuesday outings.

The Tuesday before Christmas in 1997, Pat gave us our final gift - the gift of her presence.  We took her out to a local restaurant, and she gave us a tour of her house - something that took great effort.

By January of 1998, we suspected the end was near.  She could not walk more than a few steps without losing her breath.

Pat died on February 13, 1998, a day short of Valentine's Day, a week after suffering a stroke and lapsing into a coma.  In my last visit to her, five days before her death, she lay on a bed, under home hospice care.  Her favorite country music playing.  I held her hand and whispered in her ear.  I don't know if it was my imagination, but I am positive she gently squeezed my hand.

In September of 2011, my neighborhood was flooded and we had several feet of water in our basement.  We were so fortunate, compared to many of our neighbors.  The next months were hard for us and many other in our community.

When we cleaned out our basement, I found that several of the homemade ornaments Pat had given me were ruined.  There was no way to salvage them.  But the ornament you see above, a needlework Pat made, had survived in a box above the water level.  Yes, Pat was watching over me.

Every year the ornament goes on our tree, a sign of survival, caring and love.


Time marches on, and things change for us all.  But Pat lives on in my heart, even after all these years.  Every year, I gaze upon the ornament she gave me, the ornament she stitched with her own hands.  It whispers determination.

One day, my time will come, and I hope I can face it with the same dignity that Pat did.  For now, I will be content to face 2017 with courage, dignity, and determination, through all 2017 will demand of us.

I am Determined to complete the challenges of 2017 and the Ultimate Blog Challenge.  Are you?

Raisins and Almonds

On Sunday, a blogger started a series of posts about songs of her childhood.   

It inspired me.

I remember a lullaby my father used to sing to me.  I can still hear his voice singing the refrain from the lullaby, in the language of his parents (a language I, in turn, never learned).  I said to myself, "After all these years, I wonder if I can use You Tube and a search engine to find the song?"

And, since today would have been his birthday, what a wonderful way to celebrate a man who meant so much to me.

I have many childhood memories of my Dad.  I remember, especially, walks he would take me on some Sunday afternoons (no doubt, to give my stay at home Mom a break).  He would love to watch houses under construction, and we would walk to the construction sites. He would look at the houses-to-be.  I would listen to baseball games on a tinny sounding transistor radio.

Then, after my mother died, Dad raised me as a single father.  Things got rather stormy as I traveled through my teenage years, but he hung in there.

Anyway, about that lullaby.  It took about 20 minutes, but I found it. 

The English name is Raisins and Almonds, and this is the English version.

And this is the original Yiddish version, as sung by actress Jane Seymour.

Jane Seymour, (not her birth name) by the way, had a Jewish father.  Who knows, maybe her father sung this song to her.

Thank heavens for the Internet.  And, happy birthday in heaven, Dad.

This is Day Five of Write Tribe's Festival of Word #5. Why don't you visit some of the bloggers participating in this from all over the world?

Wake Me Up Before I No-Go

Yesterday, several of my mother in law's relatives and a former neighbor drove about 150 miles (255 km) to visit the area where I live.  Until last August, my mother in law had lived her entire life in the suburbs of New York City.  Now, she is some 150 miles away from her lifetime home, and a lot of people downstate miss her.

Yesterday's visitors range in age from 70 to 83.  My mother in law is in her late 80's.  My spouse and I haven't quite hit 65, but we are heading towards those mid 60's.  So we were the young ones of the group, except for when our grown son joined us for dinner.

I could see the differences even five or ten years could make.  I don't usually like to make generalizations, but there were differences - not in attitude, not in the ability to enjoy life with a great attitude, but with energy level and health.  One person who was supposed to come had to cancel out earlier in the week, because it wasn't going to happen for her.  And then a second person cancelled because the first person cancelled.  The rest of us were a mixed group - cancer survivors, people with other health conditions, people of varying physical abilities.  For one person, getting out of a chair without assistance was an accomplishment.  She couldn't have done it a year ago.

It reminded me of something I read recently in an article about retirement planning.  There were stages of retirement, this article claimed, and spending patterns would change the older you got.

It seems that some retirement planners divide the retirement years into three "eras":
Go-go (on the go all or most of the time) lots of travel, activities, and so forth.
Slow-go (slowing down)
No-go (self explanatory) not only not traveling, but needing assistance to do what you could once do yourself.

There is some truth to this, but I think it is different for everyone.  For example, the 83 year old in the group lives by herself in her home of over 50 years.  She flies out from her home in a New York City suburb to visit a daughter and her family in California several times a year.  In fact, she's making that trip in August, despite having had some surgery earlier in the year.

Meanwhile, I can't tell you the last time I was on a plane.  Oh wait, yes I can.  It was in July of 1996.

**Ahem**.

While we make car trips each year, the maximum hours in transit we will tolerate without a lot of discomfort seems to shrink yearly.  And it isn't just long trips of hundreds of miles. Other trips we would have considered in our 20's on a day trip (mileage wise) now have morphed into overnights.

In the go-go years, the planners say, you should plan financially for a lot of travel and/or activities.  And then those expenses trend down as you age, while health expenses trend up.  And up.  And, you lose the ability to do things you once could without assistance.  And that assistance costs money.  A lot of money.

Again, this fade away may or may not happen to either me or my spouse.   But, we really don't want to assume that we are going to fade away in the sunset, going through go-go, slow go and no-go, just because a financial planner tells us that is how we should plan our Golden Years.

But, there is some need to try to plan for the unexpected.  I've, sadly, known too many people with cancer diagnoses in the recent past. I doubt that was in their plans.  But perhaps it is better not to try to plan for that, and take it as it comes.

All the more reason why we should go-go (in my humble opinion) while we can, for as long as we can, and enjoy every day of the ride.  And wake up with gratitude that another day of still go-going has been granted us.

What do you think?  Or, have you thought about it yet?

Days of Their Lives

People come into your life.  People pass out of your life.

Sometimes, you find out how the story ends.  Sometimes you are left wondering.  Sometimes you find out.  Sometimes, I don't know what is worse.

Yesterday, I read a story about a teacher and a student, a true story that made me, so much, want to know how the story of this young man's childhood ended.  Did the young man grow up and find stability in his life?  Was he a wonderful husband or father? Or, did he go down a wrong, bad path?

I am 63 now.  Many people have entered and exited my life in many ways.  We grew apart.  We moved apart. We changed jobs.  Some of us...well, entered the ultimate separation.

I have a little story of my own to share today.

When I was a young adult, I lived, with my spouse, in several places. A couple of the moves were due to my spouse being in the military.

In one of those places, I met her.

She worked at the company where I found one of my first full time jobs.  In fact, she trained me into a profession I followed for most of the next 20 years.  She was not always a pleasant person - in fact, at times, I found her to be rather arrogant.  Of course, I was a bit rough around the edges when I was in my 20's, too.  But she did a good job of training me, and for that I am grateful.  She gave me a career, whether she knew it or not.

Her name was a little bit unusual (for names I had heard up to then), and I remembered it, too.  I remembered her husband's name.  We worked in a small office, and many of the husbands had that same first name. 


At the time, she was childless.  But, one day, that changed.

She worked all through her pregnancy.  She gave birth to a boy, and I loved the name she gave him. 
Once she came back to work, though, it was clear she didn't want to be there.  Her heart's desire was to be with her baby boy, and, eventually, she quit her job to stay home full time.

Then, my spouse and I left the area.  We have never returned.

Recently, an impulse caused me to look her up.  I get those impulses from time to time - wanting to know the rest of the stories of the people of my youth.  From time to time, a person enters my mind, and I am driven to find out the days of their lives.  Enough times, I find that the people I want to find never left the community where I knew them. Facebook sometimes aids me.

In this case, it didn't take long.

I found her.  She was mentioned in an obituary.  No, it isn't what you think. It wasn't her obituary.

It was her granddaughter's, who died last year.  A two year old granddaughter, her first, the daughter of the son she had quit work for to raise.

Several days later, I found my former co worker on Facebook.  Her profile was public, and I gazed upon her face for the first time in 35 years.  I wouldn't have recognized this middle aged woman, and who knows if she would have recognized me.  I saw her young baby boy from 35 years ago and what he looked like as a man in his 30's.

There weren't too many photos on her timeline, but most all the photos were of her small granddaughter.  It was obvious she was born medically fragile and had eventually succumbed.  Tubes.  A puffed up face.

A family full of love.

I found her husband's obituary, too.  He had died two years years before their granddaughter was born.

I gazed at the computer screen, wistful.

Sometimes, we just don't know the directions our lives will take.  Perhaps, that is why we aren't given any peeks into the future. 

Perhaps the moral of these stories is that I should not spend too much time in the past.  There is a saying - the rear view mirror is small.  The windshield is large.  That teaches us we must look ahead.

Not behind.

So go the days of our lives.

Have you ever done research and found something you rather would not have known?

For All Veterans

Today is Veterans Day in the United States and Armistice Day in many other countries,

This holiday was originally to mark the end of World War I (the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month) but, now, we honor veterans of all wars. 

Normally, on Wednesdays, I blog about something seasonable.  But today, as I do on all Veterans Days, I think of my late father.

My late father suffered a traumatic brain injury during his World War II (non-combat) service, and lived with seizures and other side effects for the rest of his life.  After he came back from war he found it near impossible to find employment, a fate that too many veterans of our modern wars suffer.  For a time, he ran a newsstand with another veteran.  Finally, he found a civil service job but was never able to rise too high in the ranks, due to his disability.

When I visit a city or town, I tend to gravitate to the war memorials.  For example, back in September I visited the small village of Skaneateles, New York, on the shores of Skaneateles Lake.  They have memorials on the lakefront for their dead of all wars, from the American Revolutionary War forward.  I always scan the lists of the dead when I visit these monuments.  For some reason, I feel like I am in touch with my father, although his eventual death was not service related.

Today, I repeat my Veterans Day post of November 11, 2013, for my 11th post of NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month. 

Veterans Day

Yesterday was the 48th anniversary of the untimely death of my mother.  I was raised after that point by my father, a single Dad who had to cope all the rest of his life with the aftermath of a head injury suffered (not in combat but in support) in his service in the U.S. Army Air Force during World War II.  I've always been aware of how badly we sometimes (well, too many times) treat our veterans here in the United States.

Today, let us all take a moment out of our busy schedules to think of those who made this day possible for us.

Our veterans, past and present, deserve our thanks, and so much more.

As you look at these monuments, please take a moment to ponder the poem at the end of this post.

These are some memorials in our area of upstate New York.  I took the Endicott photos this past August - I wish things were that green here now!

 Endicott, New York, just down Main Street from where I live.

Veterans Memorial statue.

Plaques commemorating the war dead.  An American flag is kept,fresh, on each one.

The war memorials - World War II, which my father served in (in the Army Air Force) as did one of his brothers, and one of his sisters.

The Korean War. When I grew up it wasn't a "war", it was a "police action". But the people were just as dead.

The forgotten war, Vietnam, where our dead were dishonored and our veterans were mocked - a sad thing I will never forget. Both of my next door neighbor boys (growing up in the Bronx) served in 'Nam, as did other young men I grew up with.

Binghamton - part of the Korean War monument on the Broome County courthouse lawn.

And the Revolutionary War monument, also on the Courthouse lawn.

I am not a "poetry person" (although there are a couple of poets I do enjoy) but this poem always touches my heart. Written by a Canadian soldier in 1915 upon the battle death of his friend in Flanders, Belgium, during World War I.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

A Birthday Wish

Today, if my father had been alive, he would have turned 101.

What would have happened on his birthday today?

He may have seen this peace lily blooming in my mother in law's front yard yesterday. (That's just my way of sneaking a flower picture into my post.)

He would have seen the publication of Go Set a Watchman, the long-awaited sequel...uh, prequel...uh, whatever, of To Kill a Mockingbird.

To Kill a Mockingbird - the book that was so perfect, the author somehow knew that nothing she wrote could ever surpass it - so she decided to be satisfied with the one book.  Until now, at the age of 89.

I've read part of the first chapter - and I never finished it.

No, it wasn't because of the surprises revealed in the first chapter (no spoilers here).

It was because....I really don't know.  Perhaps I will return to the book once I can concentrate on it - something that, with my caregiving responsibilities right now, I can't do.

And third - the beloved comic strip Bloom County is back.  Well, it was back yesterday.  But it is back.  It ceased publication on August 6, 1989.  25 long years.  But it is back.

Happy 101st birthday, Dad, whereever you are.  You loved history.  You loved reading.  You loved to read newspapers.  You loved the comics.

You helped make me what I am today.