Grandparent to Parent

It was a Sunday night late in the summer when we caught a rerun of 60 minutes. The featured story that evening focused on two couples raising their grandchildren. I can remember my stomach turning watching these two couples put aside all their retirement dreams to care for the most vulnerable ones in their family. My stomach was uneasy because I knew in my heart and head, just how close we were to assume this same role for our 7 year old grandson.

Fast forward two weeks to when his aunt and I along with our pastor entered a courtroom to seek legal guardianship. For those of you not familiar with the court system, this is a daunting and very emotional experience. As a mom and grandmother, there was a sense of betrayal to my own child in order to provide a safe and stable environment for my grandson. At the end, the judge saw that I was visibly upset and his response, “you did the right thing”, helped me feel better about my choice.

The reason why my daughter or her husband are unable to parent now is complicated, there’s no easy answer or quick fix and I’ve had to learn to embrace patience and the 3 C’s, I didn’t cause it, I can’t control it and I can’t cure it.  All I can do is love her unconditionally and to make sure she knows her son is safe and cared for with us.

I am grateful for a family and community who have embraced this new arrangement.  And, it’s often in the small things I see God’s grace. The strong bond with his aunties, uncles and his cousins, the church members that invite him to sit with them so my husband and I can sing in the choir, his Sunday school teachers and helpers with a kind word and praise for his work, his school teacher praising him for his achievements. It’s in these little things that I see his transformation, his awareness that others really do care about him and appreciate and love his quirky little self. It really does take a village.

I’m most grateful for my husband of almost 11 years who never signed up to be a surrogate father at age 70.  I’m appreciative of his patience, his thoughtfulness and the love he has for me and for this little man. He’s taken it upon himself to be the transportation parent, the one to wait with little man at the bus stop, to answer all his questions about the worms, the squirrels, the bees and our resident fox. And he’s also the parent to greet him at the end of the school day by meeting his bus. I’m also grateful to him for introducing his love of the outdoors, helping gather firewood and starting a fire and for taking little man on his first hike to Mt. Wachusett

Our retirement mode has morphed into full on parent mode, supervising homework, bed time and morning routines, eliminating processed foods as best as we can, and our personal favorite, monitoring the devices. He’s an avid reader, we can hardly keep up with his love of Captain Underpants, Dog Man and Diary of a Wimpy Kid. And we believe he may have inherited the artistic gene from his great papa Gray, as he loves to create his own comic books.

And an added benefit is his new relationship with my husband’s side of the family. Now that he lives with us, he comes with us when we visit my husband’s parents, so he’s gained a new set of great grandparents, Ahma and Great Papa and an uncle and two very special cousins, one with the same name as his, although they are 50+ years apart in age. And I believe he’s mastered how best to navigate the buffet line at their assisted living community.

Meanwhile our retirement travel plans have been put on hold, I’ve stopped looking at the glossy brochures from Viking River Cruises and an occasional night out is a real treat. But just as satisfying is our new Sunday night tradition of popcorn and hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire and maybe, just maybe, we get to eat dinner in the Living Room. And the joy of experiencing the magic of Christmas through the eyes of a sweet little boy.

I hope when he is older and looks back at this time in his life he won’t think of it as the most traumatic time of his childhood, of being taken away from his mother and father. I hope he’ll be able to look back and feel this was a time he was loved and cared for. And I hope my family and friends know just how much I appreciate their support and love for both our little man and his momma, as we all navigate this new journey in our lives.

I don’t have a crystal ball, I don’t know what the future will hold for him, but I do know he’s strong, he’s resilient, he’s incredibly bright and most importantly he’s loved unconditionally by many people and with all that in his favor, how could his future not look bright and wonderful?

Thank you Charles Eliot

Thank you Charles Eliot because way back in the late 1800’s you saw a need to preserve special spaces for Massachusetts residents to enjoy. You proposed that special lands should be overseen by a non profit organization and be free from taxes.  Thankfully the Massachusetts Legislature worked together and in 1891 they voted to establish The Trustees of (Public*) Reservations “for the purposes of acquiring, holding, maintaining and opening to the public…beautiful and historic places…within the Commonwealth.”  For the complete history, you can check this out: http://www.thetrustees.org/about-us/history/

Which brings me to our adventure to Worlds End in Hingham, Massachusetts. World’s End is a 244 acre peninsula that juts out into Hingham Bay and it’s one of the special spaces that the Trustees of Reservations purchased in 1967. This parcel of land was originally owned by a Mr. John Brewer and he had big plans to place 163 homes on this pristine piece of paradise.  He even hired the world renowned landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted to lay out the groundwork for the housing project. The acres of tree lined carriage roads Olmsted designed still remain to this day on the property.

And as we read more about this piece of property we found out that not only was it in the running to be the United Nations Headquarters, but the site was also considered to house a nuclear energy facility. Thankfully, the Trustees of Reservations stepped in to preserve the property in perpetuity.

So all of that background to get us to our 5+ mile hike around the peninsula. Just imagine the perfect hiking weather, low 60’s degree temperature, no wind and no bugs,  a combination of wide open carriage roads, with winding trails by the water, beautiful vistas, including a view of the Boston skyline, a healthy dose of history and strategically placed benches. A picture perfect day.

Because we choose to be members of the Trustees of Reservations by paying a membership fee, we get free entry or discounted entry to all the reservations, a wonderful book with a fold out map that describes each of the properties and other great benefits. All of this for or the price of a nice meal out. If I sound like I’m endorsing this organization, it’s because I am, I think everyone who loves the outdoors should become a member.

But back to Charles Eliot and all the forward thinking people in this world who have a dream and don’t back down. I don’t think Charles Eliot knew the impact of his idea would result in the preservation of over 100 properties spanning over 25,000 acres in Massachusetts, so people like me can enjoy the beauty and wonderment of this state I call home.

 

 

 

My Nana, Concetta

In 1946 my grandparents divorced, as you can imagine back in 1946 this was almost unheard of, people of that generation stuck together no matter what the circumstances. Except in this circumstance my dear, sweet grandmother was diagnosed with a form of  postpartum depression after giving birth to her third daughter in 1944. Back in the good old days a diagnosis of severe postpartum depression got you locked up in an institution with experimental medications and a prognosis of spending the remainder of your days in a mental health faculty.

My mother was 14 when her baby sister was born in 1944 and she spent her weekends alternating visits between her mother in the institution and her baby sister in an orphanage because her father was unable to care for his infant daughter. No parties and hanging out with friends for my mother, she went from carefree teen to an adult woman in a matter of days.

Then there was the middle sister caught in between who was 9 years old when her baby sister was born in 1944, she was too old to go to an orphanage, but she was old enough to be shuffled from relative to relative carrying her belongings in a paper bag…constantly losing her belongings along the way…

In spite of their early separation and the hardships they suffered, these three sisters were fiercely close their entire lives. They had a bond, maybe an unspoken pact of somehow surviving a childhood no child should ever endure.

My grandfather was told his wife would never be cured, that she would spend the remainder of her days locked up. So he made a decision to move on with his life and the first step was to divorce his wife, the mother of his three daughters. He didn’t have to look very far to find a new wife as his sister-in-law, also his ex-wife’s best friend, was  recently divorced. So in 1947 they tied the knot combining their new blended family of 5 daughters, first cousins by blood, now step-sisters by marriage into one big family of seven, and my mother and her two younger sisters were forced to choose their allegiance between their aunt, now step-mother, and their mother still locked away in an institution.

My parents were also married in 1947, my mother was a 17 year old bride…..and the newly weds continued to spend their weekends visiting mother in “the home”. When I was very little in the early 1950’s, I have vague memories of playing near a car with my brother and dad while my mother visited her mother in “the home”

So fast forward about 12 years to 1959 and with new medications, lo and behold, Nana is well enough to be released from the mental health facility. The decision is made for Nana to alternate her time between her two oldest daughters homes, now bursting with the combined addition of five small grandchildren. We lived in a very small post WWII Cape Cod style home, so when Nana stayed with our family she shared a room with me and my younger sister.

As a kid, I had a sense that there was something about my Nana that was different, I don’t recall having conversations with her or playing cards with her like I did with my dad’s mother, but I do remember she loved to cook for our family and she was the happiest when she could venture out to the local 5 and Dime store and pick up small toys and trinkets.

My Nana was about 57 when she was released from the facility. .I think about what must have gone through her mind…what happened to her life? Her home, children, husband and best friend gone, a faint recollection of her baby daughter, vague remembrance of her older two children. I regret not asking my mother while she was still alive who was the one who told Nana that her husband married her sister in law?

Once Nana moved in with us, it was an awkward situation for my grandfather and his wife to visit, that was until someone in the family came up with the idea to remove Nana from her home and take her to a relatives house so my grandfather and his new wife wouldn’t feel uncomfortable in her presence.  As a child, I didn’t give this a thought, it was a decision made by grown ups, so it must be right. But now, as a grandmother who has been through a divorce, to this day, I cringe when I remember how my Nana was treated.

Somehow my mother and aunts knew this charade couldn’t go on forever, that at some point, both women and my grandfather would be destined to be in the same place at the same time. That time came in 1971 at my brother’s wedding when during the reception, my mother went into the ladies room and found her mother and her step mother engaged in conversation. I don’t know what was said….but there wasn’t shouting, or fainting or wailing or anything terrible…all things that had been predicted for years to happen.

I often think about my beautiful Nana Concetta and her life, how after experiencing the incredible high of giving birth to her third daughter, her life completely changed. Everything that was near and dear to her gone and then to reemerge on the scene to find the ultimate betrayal of your husband and best friend.

In spite of all the challenges, Nana survived and in her later years she shared an apartment with her dear sister Mary where they both thrived.

My Nana was an inspiration to me several times in my life when I went through some difficult challenges, any time when I felt particularly tested I would think that my difficulties paled to what Nana Concetta went through. I know my mother inherited her strong willed tenacity, her love of books and music. And through our bloodline I know I have a bit of Nana Concetta coursing through my veins, and for that I am grateful.

 

Nana Concetta on her wedding day with her husband. The other people in this photo are Concetta’s brother and his wife, her best friend and the women who would eventually marry her husband….I like to name this photo “It’s Complicated”0195e272263888f8f5f248af6b1847fc1a31859d1d.jpg

Sitting on the Sand

It was March of 2005, I was in Costa Rica with my then husband, our daughter and Costa Rican son in law. It was my first visit to this paradise country and my daughter was anxious to take us to a secluded beach where they had spent part of their honeymoon several years back. As our rented Jeep wound around a sharp curve in the road, there it was, a pristine marvel of white sand dotted with amazing palm trees with large branches that would provide a shady respite from the glaring sun.

As we unloaded the car I began to panic, I didn’t see any beach chairs or benches on this deserted beach and I knew we didn’t have any in the rental car.  I turned to my daughter and said “where will we sit”, she replied, “on the sand”, oh crap….I knew if I sat on the sand, I didn’t have the core strength to get myself back up again. My daughter sensed my panic and asked her husband and father to run back to town and find a couple of beach chairs. They returned a short time later with chairs in hand and we were able to enjoy some time on that beautiful beach in Costa Rica,

For many years I blamed my fitness limitations on my bilateral hip replacements and carrying around way too many pounds.  And as I aged, I had a new excuse to throw into the mix, I was getting old….old people don’t sit on beaches, old people aren’t expected to be fit and beautiful and on and on…and in many ways I had just given up on myself, my self esteem had left the house with the door slamming in it’s wake.

A few weeks after returning from Costa Rica my husband and I parted ways and after 33 years of marriage began divorce proceedings. To everyone who has ever been through the whirlwind or the more accurate description, shit storm, of divorce, one of the offsetting benefits can be the loss of weight, and in my case my divorce diet netted me a 40 pound loss. With the weight loss and the new found freedom for the first time in my life I put myself first. Like that George Strait song “She Let herself Go”, I went to NYC, to Las Vegas, and even to the beaches in Mexico and began to live life through a new lens.

Part of the new lens was regaining my physical strength, I knew I’d never run a marathon like one of my daughters, but perhaps I could ride my bike for a few miles or walk for an hour on the rail trail, or utilize the hotel gym when I traveled for business. all small steps toward a healthier lifestyle.

Eventually I married an awesome guy who is the healthiest person I’ve ever met. While dating,  we spent lots of time biking and hiking together and he introduced me to the concept of gentle yoga. After retirement I began yoga classes, beginning with one class a week and now 3 weekly classes. There are so many healthy benefits of yoga, the core work, the balancing flows and the peace of shavasana, the restful, mindful, delicious part of just being at the end of each yoga session.

So this past week on vacation on South Carolina during a 6 mile walk out to a breakfront on the beach I managed to sit in the sand to take a break and on my way back up to standing managed a few downward facing dogs and a plank. Life is good and being healthy is the best gift we can give ourselves even if we’re old..

Searching My Roots

For Christmas 2016 my dear husband bought me Ancestry.com DNA test, so a few days after Christmas I spit in a plastic tube and sent my saliva to some lab somewhere and then I waited and waited and waited.

My moms parents were both born in Sicily and immigrated to the US in the 1920’s, my dad’s mom was from Canada and his dad was born in England, so I assumed I was half Italian, at least a quarter English and that other quarter would be a combination of Canadian, Irish and Scottish. Imagine my surprise when I reviewed the results and found out that I was only a quarter Italian, half English and a full quarter a combination of  DNA from France, Scotland, Switzerland, Portugal, Spain, Serbia, Hungary, Bulgaria, Austria, Croatia, Bosnia, Romania, Turkey, Slovenia, Algeria, Tunisia, Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, Kosovo and Greece. It was a very interesting exercise and I highly recommend using this service to analyze your DNA.

In the course of building out my family tree, I found many very interesting stories about my ancestors.  The most fascinating began with my 15th great-grandfather Ralph, who was on the wrong side of the War of the Roses and at the age of 29, was beheaded for treason. He was a Knight and his wife, my 15th great-grandmother was a Baroness, thankfully his son, my 14th great grandfather Edward was born before his untimely demise. That’s just one of many stories I have uncovered, just on my father’s side.

When your DNA results come back you have an opportunity to connect with other members on Ancestry.com that match to a certain degree to your DNA. This by far has been the most interesting part of the journey. I have discovered at least one new relative and it’s been wonderful learning about this part of my family.

I have almost 200 matches with people as close as 1st cousin to distant 4th-6th cousins that match my DNA. Through some of these matches I’ve found some pretty fascinating stories about my ancestors.

What strikes me most about learning about my DNA matches is the fact the world is a very small place and that we’re all connected to one another. We may live in different places, or look different, or speak a different language,  and there’s the Kevin Bacon six degrees of separation..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter Solstice

Today is the shortest day of the year with the sun rising at 7:13 AM and setting at 4:17 PM. And if that’s not exciting enough for you, there’s some funky stuff going on with Saturn, which is the reason one astrologer thinks that anything you try to do today will be more difficult, take more time and be more frustrating …..you can check Google for all the celestial details..

If you add together Winter Solstice, 4 days before Christmas and everyone and their brother out and about today trying to get some last minute shopping done, common sense would tell us today could be more difficult, very frustrating and take more time…as a matter of fact I had to wait 30 minutes today to get a mani pedi…so that was both frustrating and difficult for me today.

While the shortest day of the year seems depressing, our ancestors celebrated this day in so many ways knowing that in the days to come the days would be longer. Did you know that Yule logs are a leftover from the Pagan celebration of Yule?  People would celebrate with song and dance and burn a real log as an offering to the Solstice. Who knew the large chocolate log shape cakes we buy at Costco originated from a real log offering to the Solstice? The internet is a wonderful thing…

So how do we in the 21st century celebrate the Winter Solstice? I don’t think we do….perhaps one of our Facebook friends posted something today, perhaps we heard it on the radio or TV, but consciously celebrating this day I don’t think is on anyone’s radar. What with the shopping, wrapping, cooking, cleaning and moving the Elf around, we barely have time to breathe, let alone celebrate the shortest day of the year.

So tonight I’d like to find a reason to celebrate, just because it is the shortest day. We’ll screw on the Christmas lights in the windows, light the Christmas tree, switch on the twinkling lights on the garland over the fireplace, light up the little village and flip the switch on the floodlight outside the front door, then relax in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine. And then maybe, just maybe, we’ll crack open the Spring 2018 seed catalog we received in the mail today to pay homage to the longer days to come. And then top off the evening with an episode of The Crown to honor the Stonehenge Winter Solstice gatherings. That will be our Winter Solstice 2017 celebration…hopefully Saturn won’t mess things up..

Happy Winter Solstice everyone!

 

Santa vs The Wisemen

I’m a baby boomer who grew up in a neighborhood built for the returning veterans of WWII. The homes were all pretty much identical, cape styles with a small kitchen and living room, one bathroom, two small bedrooms and an unfinished attic where the dads with handyman skills could expand the little house to include two additional bedrooms to accommodate the growing families.

It was the type of neighborhood where all the kids knew one another and hung out until the street lights came on at dusk.  We organized our own basketball and kickball games, and we even managed to choreograph shows that we would perform for our moms in the finished or sometimes unfinished basements of the little houses.  It was a fun childhood.

At Christmas time the little neighborhood would come alive with Santa and his reindeer on the front lawns and roofs, lots of big bright colorful lights covering every shrub and tree and various renditions of  large wrapped gifts on the front lawns. That was every house, except ours….my mom and dad weren’t like the other moms and dads in the neighborhood. My folks were a little different, they enjoyed the theater, the arts and my mom especially enjoyed her opera and show tunes.  It wasn’t unusual for me to come home from school to mom singing along to her favorite music.

But, back to Christmas, our house had no outward signs of Santa and bright lights, instead, my artistic dad painted a beautiful mural of the Three Wisemen which he put on the front door and illuminated with a single spotlight.  As a kid, I was embarrassed, we were the only ones in the subdivision without a Santa and we were the only ones probably in the entire town with the Three Wisemen on the front door…kids would ask us, what’s that, and where is Santa and how come you don’t have any lights? We were confused…which led to the anxiety…what if Santa gets mad…what if he skips our house because we don’t have bright colorful lights and an image of him on our front lawn? How could our parents do this to us?

Many years later I was able to reflect that this was an early lesson about the importance of being just a bit different. Whether it was the Christmas decorations, or being the only Protestant family in the neighborhood, or the parents that weren’t like the rest…at the time, when you’re little and you just want to fit in, it seemed a bit unnerving,  but as an adult and looking back, my folks were mavericks, they were ahead of their time. And if my dad could market his artistic interpretation of the Three Wiseman today he’d probably be a rich guy!

Thankfully, I’ve managed to get over the trauma of not having a Santa and flashing bright lights at my childhood home. I’ve found that in the scheme of things, it’s not such a big deal. What’s important is the love that’s in your house and not the flashing lights and decorations outside…and looking back, I can never think of a time when I didn’t feel unconditional love from my parents, and that was always the best present of all.