Ann Shields on Letting Go

Life in the Age of Eighties

     Being over one hundred isn't what it's cracked up to be.  That quote comes straight from a 102 year old friend of mine.  No kidding.  Being a couple of decades younger is no picnic in the park either.  Take this week, for instance.

     Being the only licensed driver in our family of two people, two cats and possible fleas, I have driven my husband to our cardiologist, primary care doctor, opthalmologist, neurologist and the local lab for vials of blood removed from his reluctant veins. This took up the first three days. 

     In the middle of these adventures I took our cat, Murphi to the vet for tests, and shots, leaving that office $252 poorer.   The above paients are all snoozing today, which is being celebrated as Avoidance of all thing medical Day.  

     Besides, we need to rest up for tomorrow for a trip to an imaging center for a CT scan.  Having looked at most everything else, Des will have his brain scanned.  Hard not to make jokes about brain scans so I have surpressed my usual attempt at dark humor.

      I should mention that at 6 a.m. yesterday morning I experienced rapid heart beats and body vibrations that lasted long enough for a phone call to my son, David.  Took a nitro under the tongue, raced around the house to pick up debris lest I die and may be viewed as a very untidy person, God forbid. 

     Meanwhile, sitting in a chair in the living room that didn't vibrate even though I did, I contemplated what would happen to Des, the cats, their fleas, and cell phone that needed charging.  Not to mention all the undone things plannd like making my blog into a book, reworking my 3 novels and flossingmy teeth with my new water pik.

     Well, my body calmed down, I called David and told him not to come over after all, and i fixed breakfast for Des who woke up so we could head for the neurologist, who by the way, disabused us of the thought that dementia was in our future.  After talking with Des he laughed at him and said, 'what - you are afraid of losing your marbles.  No way.  Don't worry abot that.  You have lots more things to worry about.

     I said to this neurologist in a challening manner, how do you know that?  Because he is looking right at me, answering my questions appropriately and can remember, he said.   We were relieved with his optimistic conclusion and we went off with a prescription to reduce Des' occasional jerks, and an appointment for a scan.  The one about checking the brain.

    Did I mention that next week, Des has laser treatment on one eye?  Oh, and I did manage to go to a meeting of the writers club with week with pal Patricia, and tomorrow night I am going to the symphony with pal Donna.  However, I nearly got kicked out of Chuck's Exodus class until I offered a ton of doctors excuses for my personal Exodus.

     If this is what life is like in the eighties, I can hardly wait for the nineties.  Maybe that won't be what its cracked up to be either.

So Says Sassy

 

 

 

 

Melancholy Baby

The thing about feeling melancholy is that it doesn't rate a prescription from your doctor.  Who doesn't get blue once in a while?  It doesn't flat line your joy like real depression does.  Consider it a cousin to sadness, but more transitory.  That said, it does mess with your happiness quotient.

I get melancholy when the days are shorter and people are hunkering down for a long evening at home, which is cool if you have someone to hunker down with.  Lucky for me, I have that, but he is feeling kind of down himself lately, so it takes a little push to feel perky.  Forget perky.  Just contentment is better.

Melancholy is sneaky.  It creeps up on you in unlikely settings.  Take the other day listening to opera arias performed in an Italian/Catholic Church in Chinatown.  Surrounded by cheerful people, practically sitting in the laps of a full orchestra, gown bedecked performers, men in formal attire. 

Oh, and did I mention the food, a spread of savory Italian food, buffet style that begged for second helpings.  What's not to like in this environment where a total stranger tugged at my Jacket that practically advertised the Italy countryside all over it, while she told me where she came from and how wonderful it was and kissed me on the cheek.  Turned out she was a violinist with the orchestra, but adopted me as family instantly because all my four grandparents were born in Italy.

You'd think that, enveloped in all this warmth, accompanied by wonderful friends, I'd  be protected from a melancholy aura hovering overhead.  Nope, as I listened to an aria from Madame Butterfly, eyes closed to sink into the music, my mother floated into my thoughts.  She had never seen an opera, been to Europe, left alone in her small home in Panaroma City after my father died at age 64, she hardly traveled, worked hard her whole life.  Tears stung my eyes as I thought of her life, wished it had been more joyful, more peaceful. 

Madame Butterfly ended, my eye opened and I shook off the memory of mom, remembering her youthful laugh, her pleasure in her friends,grandchildren, recording songs of Elvis and Sinatra.  Not to mention her joy in cooking, patting herself in the back at Thanksgiving dinners for the feast she put on. I mean literally, she reached across her chest, patted her back and said aloud, 'good job, Gracie.'

Eventually, my melancholy lifted, actually at the precise moment I began to type this blog, after entering the title, 'Melancholy Baby.'  The phone rang, an excited voice of a grandchild, telling me awesome news that was a secret I couldn't share yet.  Interesting how this works, melancholy better than depression or sadness, it can be wiped away in an instant replaced by tears of joy.  Life is like that and don't forget it.

So Says Sassy

Lost Among Losses

Last month I lost my childhood.  My first cousin, Ann, died, taking with her all the memories we shared over the years.  She was 89 and a fiesty, bright, fiercely loyal family member and friend.  Then she tripped coming out of the hair salon and bought a one way ticket to endless medical maladies that come with a broken hip.

Other complications unsued and she was gone.   She was the big sister I never had,9 years older, both of us without siblings.   Until I was 13 we lived a block apart in Chicago, sometimes in the same two story flat that my grandfather owned.  I think about her every day, newly startled that she is gone.

The last time we visited her in Glendora, barely a year ago, she drove Donna and me to a restaurant and later spread out old photos on the kitchen table.  She pushed one over to me to keep. The day of my confirmation in the Catholic church, me in white sitting demurely, her standing next to me, her hand on my shoulder, my Godmother.  Or Sponsor, whatever they called it then.  She filled that role with class.

I was her page girl at her wedding in the mid forties before her sailor groom, Tony, headed  off to the South Pacific.  After the war, they moved to California and I visited them when I was 17, a bit more interested in my navy boyfriend stationed in San Diego.  Tony took on the role of big brother, more like a scary bouncer in a bar looking down at my little sailor swain.  Did his best to scare him off.

During that visit , we celebrated their first born, Al's second birthday.  He called me Ree because he couldn't say Ann Marie.  He is now retired from the Sheriff's Dept., Los Angeles.  Tony is up in heaven chewing Ann out for taking so long to get there.

I was tempted to stay forever but headed back to Chicago where my life took a different turn.  And the rest is history.  But I can't sit over a cup of coffee and reminisce on that history with Ann (we called her Nin).

We were together the night our grandfather committed suicide, and all the drama that went along with that defining moment in our lives.  

I think I'll put that memory to rest, now that Nin is gone.  Instead, I'll flash back on her wedding night, the ballroom full of happy dancing people, my dad letting me dance on his feet. My mom trying a few steps of the Charleston.

Nin was the third loss of special people in my life this year.   Proud, brave, kind and gentle friends, all.  Jan Curran, my writer buddy and lupus pal,  She deserves her own blog of remembering.

Jeannette Simmons, my sole/soul sister.  Never to be forgotten, In my heart.  I see her laughing, cracking corny jokes, witty comebacks, enduring her lot with grace, strength and a stoicism that was awesome through her Wheelchair years, her mission of correspondence that made recipients smile and feel special.

This momentous year when I left my seventies behind, turning 80 of all things.  Married this month for 40 years to the new guy in town who lectured to a group of people, asking if they loved themselves.  Turned out we did, and each other as well.

So Says Sassy

 

Italian Grandmothers

I got to be a traditional Italian grandmother last week for a couple of days  and I still feel the glow.  Turned out, through some  serendipitous blend of events, my family up north blended with my local family for one grand dinner at my humble abode where the menu was Spaghetti and meatballs.  What else?  Well, add green salad, sauteed zuchinni with onions and tomatoes, and black olives, garlic bread, frozen red grapes and various cold beverages.  Everything gluten free and non alcoholic. 

The gathering included my grown-up kids--David and Judith,, their mates--Babara and Joe, my grandkids--Suzanne and Elle and  and their mates Ryan and Kevin plus three single grandsons---Andy, Matt and Sam,  and 3 great grandkids--Lucas, Nathan and Gracie.  It wasn't even a holiday either.  3 yr old Lucas and soon to be 2 Nathan got to meet 14 month old Gracie..the northern tyke.  Loved watching Luke be ever so courtly and gentle with Gracie.

People spilled all over the house into the back yard and out the front lawn where kids nestled in a wild limbed jacaranda tree made for tree climbing.  In the master bedroom - out of bounds - Des and the two cats hid out.  Feeling poorly, unsociable and wary, they hung out together.

The next night we went to dinner at China Palace where some of them were adept at chopsticks.    Joe, flies regularly back and forth between home and China for his company.   Matthew just returned from a 6 months foreigh travel adventure where he couch surfed his way through  places like India, Pakistan, Malaysia and other 3rd world sites.  

In the  afternoon, Judith, my pal Donna and I took in, The Help and sniffled our way through the ending.  Wonderful movie by the way.  All in all, a satisfying mini reunion with family. 

I flashed back to my own Chicago family where cousins and siblings mixed it up and Grandmother reigned over all.  Well, actually, my "Aunt Jennie did the reigning because my fraternal grandmother died at 49 when I was a toddler.  My maternal grandmother stuck around until she was 92, shy and retiring and content to be in the background.

So here I was, the matriarch of the brood, enjoying everyone up close and personal.  Snippets of conversation revolved around Ipads, electronic games, Smart Phones and the technology world.    Now you can Skype with your IPad.   How cool is that!

When I was a child among cousins, we just played cards and rolled dice, snuck sips of my grandfather's wine, with the musical background of Sinatra wannabe uncles who sang That's Amore.  We ate pasta to the urges of grandma to manga, manga--eat, eat.   Little did we know how content was grandma just to bask in our presence, how happy we made her simply by being.  That's the melody of family.  And it sings silently in my heart.

So says Sassy

Highs And Lows

I blog because I find out what I have been thinking.  The reason I haven't blogged lately is because my thinking is scattered.  So many highs and lows the past two months  just when I begin to write about my first trip to the Chumash Casino, I begin to worry about a grandson traveling the world couchsurfing in foreboding countries. 

We have had visits from family members who turned a bramble brush of weeds into a pristine garden with tomatoes and green beans ready to grace our kitchen any week now.  Not only that, but they made Des cinnamon rolls to die for and a gluten free pecan pie I am still salivating in memory.

I won't detail health challenges in our household.  Hint--it isn't the cats.  Hopefully things will get better. If not,my husband loves to say cheerfully, 'sudden death, sudden glory.'  It doesn't amuse me.

This week's low was the realization that my hoped for trip to Italy is relegated to wishful thinking.  After watching the video presentation of the scheduled trip in November, pal Donna and I felt hearts sinking slowly at all the walking in the little towns of narrow streets and hilly terrain. Not doable, we conceded.  I guess, cruising is my speed.  So back to the drawing board,.   Gotta work on what might be.  I hear Obama saying, yes we can, but I could too in Air Force One.  I did vote for him, after all.  Think I'll put him on my blog list.

The biggest Low was the loss of my sole/soul sister, Jeannette.  Still processing that.  She went so peacefuly with her fading breaths that I had to be glad for her.  Another of life's double edge swords.  Wishing her back, happy she has shed the wheelchair for wings.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.  I will see son David and wife Barbara, granddaughter Suzanne and husband Ryan and the two greats-grandsons Lucas and Nathan for a time together mid morning.  But first,  I am a greeter at church so hope I can find my name tag.  I could always pin my drivers License to my lapel, you think?

Another year without my own mother, although she still reminds me to walk straight and cream my face to avoid wrinkles.  Too late, mom.   Even my daughter Judith can hear my mother tell her to put her shoes on.  I guess Italian mothers never truly fade away.  I sure would love just one more phone call from her, though, as long as I have on slippers.

So Says Sassy 

 

Life Cycles

We  were on the way to Camp Pendleton, fifty-eight years ago today.  Sunday evening traffic had picked up and the drive from Santa Ana was a nail biter.  Clutching my medical file, given to me at the last month of my pregnancy at El Toro Marine Base, I wondered  if I would be delivering my first baby on the side of the road.

No such luck.  We made it with time to spare.  Lots of time.  The hospital, 12miles beyond the gate, was overflowing with infant deliveries on tap.  In fact, there were seven of us hanging out in the lobby because there was no more room in the Inn.  Loooking the status of my impending birth, the doctor sent the father in waiting back to Santa Ana.  No baby before tomorrow, the doctor predicted

Easy for him to say, I thought, while I huddled on my gurney among 6 other Marine wives, not a familiar face in sight.   We didn't bond, each of us wrapped up in our own world of discomfort (a euphemism for pain).  Some were more vocal than others. Not a reassuring scenario for a novice.

Born the next morning, no family around, yet so thrilled at this miracle.  Long, skinny, 22 1/2 inchs long, with coal black hair.   Parted in the middle by a playful nurse, he looked like a member of a barbershop quartet.

Back to the future, that baby is a tall man with a salt and pepper beard and soft brown eyes.  David is a grandfather now which makes me a great granny.  He was so thoughtful that he arranged to have his first child, Suzanne,  arrive in this world on my birthday, which comes later this month.

 David's middle name is John, after my father.  When David met met the love of his life, Barbara, my father's health was failing.  They  were married in Ojai  on an August day in 1973.   We buried my father three days earlier. I choose to believe he was at the wedding right next to my mother.  A bittersweet day.

Back to the future once more:    Happy birthday to David John Malmin, born at Oceanside, California on October 6, 1952.  You have been a joy to behold.

So Says Sassy  

 

Geneology 1A

Now that I want to know more about my ancestors, there is almost no one left to ask.  All my grandparents are long gone, including all my mother's and father's siblings.  Wish I had paid better attention when I had access to the source of my beginnings.

Rummaging through closet clutter, I hope to find the papers documenting my grandparents arrival at Ellis Island.

Lately, my daughter has quizzed me about the family tree on both sides.  Thankfully, she is revving up interest earlier than I ever did. Maybe she will be the family historian.  She had to wade through a bunch of Vincents, Anthonys, Franks, Anns, and a host of us destined to carry on the famiy names.  No one feels the need to do this anymore.  Case in point, my newest great grandaughter...named Grace Aurora.  Okay, my mom was Grace but Aurora is unique and so so this little one.

Finding distant relatives is a cake walk now.    The other day, someone named Michelle asked to 'friend' me on Facebook.  I recognized the last name of her father, who happened to be my first cousin Anthony.  I have never met Michelle, but her photo shows someone with long curly hair and a resemblance to my Aunt Sadie, her grandmother. 

Michelle found me through Google.  Seems that she was looking to find the grave site of her great grandfather (my grandfather) who lived in Willisville, Illlinois, the place my where my mother lived as a child.  Google sent Michelle to the town, and there I was, listed with my blog on typepad.   I guess I wrote a blog mentioning Willisville once.  Seems you can run but there is nowhere to hide in this worldwide community of 'friends' and others.

I messaged Michelle that she resembled my aunt, and she messaged back that she thought my photo did, too.  Turns out she has lupus, too.  We truly are related.

This month I will visit another first cousin, Ann,better known in as Nin, who is 9 years older than I am, and holds many family secrets.  I will be quizzing her about things like why  our grandfather made our grandmother sleep sideways at the foot of his bed.  That is the family story, anyway.   Poor woman died in her late forties of a stroke, leaving the bed all to himself.  But that's another story and was the catalyst of his suicide years later.  Intrigued?

Meanwhile, in a website about classmates, I now find that my high school year book is on line.    Roosevelt High School's, The Log.  I    I found myself there along with classmates and proof that Shel Silverstein was indeed one of them.  My claim to fame, vicariously.

What is so fascinating about delving into the past once the future seems to be narrowing?   Knowing why my grandparents left their famiies back in Italy to cross the ocean and find...what?  Didn't they feel a tug at their heartstrings at leaving their own parents behind?  How brave was that?  Emotions are beyond knowing.  Statistics about dates and ships  tell nothing about the real drama.

I better get busy on my own memoir and quit spending so much time on the lives of strangers.    Just bought a new one though.  Who could resist  "Weekends at Bellevue," by Julie Holland, M.D.?    I hear it is intense.  On second thought, I think I'll re-read, "Eat, Pray, Love," by Elizabeth Gilbert. I like her style.- and the recipes were great.

So Says Sassy

Road Trip to Gracie

In case you are living on another planet and haven't heard, I have a new great granddaughter.  Her name is Grace Aurora Koleckar.  My mother's name was Grace Marie Pinelli.  I am Ann Marie Shields.  Note the connections?

Grace has long fingers, like mine, and two crooked little fingers, a family trait going way back to my maternal grandmother. 

Before little Gracie arrived, she managed to keep us waiting, in no hurry burst forth from  my granddaughter, Elle aka  Beth.  But I was in a hurry to meet her, thus the planned road trip with my best friend Donna up the coast of California.  Donna heading further north to visit a friend in Folsom, no-not someone with a number on a picture.  Truly.  

 Gracie had the good grace to arrive the day before we hit the road, making her dad, Kevin, an authentic father, it being Father's Day and all.

Donna and I meandered up the coast, enjoying the rolling hills and open road, stopping at Apple Farm in San Luis Obispo for lunch.  A touristy place with great food, easy on and off access from highway 101.

By the time I got to daughter Judith's house, her first grandchild was already in a back bedroom, ready for her debut.  Of course, she was perfect in every way.  But who can believe a love struck great grandmother.

The next five days flew by.  I put in lots of bonding time with Grace, cuddling her as I whispered to her about the other Gracie in my life, my mom.  Mom was independent I told little Gracie, and she responded by flailing her arms out of the swaddlng blanket.  She wanted to be free already.  Just like my Mom.  At three days old, Grace wrapped her hands around my finger and held on.  At the same time, she wrapped her life around my heart. 

When she was four days old, she came along to Jason's Cafe in Menlo Park.  She was bundled in her mother's wraparound, as four generations ate.   Well, Judith, Elle and I ate.  Grace just tried to stretch her neck to check out the place, probably trying to figure out how to get her arms of that contraption that bound her.

What more can I say other than an observation about men and women when it comes to babies.  Women can stare for hours in endless fascination at an infant, especially if there is a genetic tie.  Men can handle the bonding for may be ten minutes max, while reaching for the remote.  They truly are from Mars, after all.  Long live the difference.

So says Sassy

 

 

 

Mother In Absentia

The last Mother's Day card I bought for my mother was 20 years ago.    I miss the privilege of honoring her tomorrow.  It seems more intense these past few years, that of missing her.  After she died, relief was the major emotion.  Cancer, that thief of joy and longevity, stole her away.  She had to be in a better place now, I believed.  So, my life went on.

Lately, like that Volcano in Iceland, an eruption has burst through the surface and I so long to see her again.  I find myself looking for her in supermarkets or at our local senior center.   Not really looking for her, but noticing the white haired women, who could have been her, especially those with a slightly rounded back. 

She got that from hunched over a power sewing machine in a sweat shop in the valley where she put linings in winter coats in the dead heat of summer, no air conditioner insight.  She hated the work, but enjoyed the camaraderie of her fellow workers.  My mom had pithy comments about unions and bosses, had an acerbic tongue and quick wit. 

Last week, as I worked behind the counter of a thrift shop where I volunteer once a month, a mother and daughter entered the store.  The  family resemblance seemed likely and I told them so.  The mother laughed and said, "Oh poor girl,"to her daughter.  The daughter said that was a compliment, to look like her mother.  They laughed together, and my heart felt a tug of wistful thinking.

I've been told I look like my mother, same roundish face, dark brown eyes, and white hair, her own crowning glory.  Little Gracie, a family member called me, seeing me again after many years.  I do see her in my mirror from time to time, sometimes startled by the image.

How I wish she could have lived longer, got to see my great grandchildren, Lucas and Nathan.  She made clothes for their mother, Suzanne and now Suzanne is making clothes for her little guys.  The lifeline goes on into infinity.  Next month there will be another great granddaughter in our family.  Can't wait to see her.  Wonder if she will have two crooked little fingers on each hand, like mine, handed down from my mom. 

Happy mother's day, mom.  Thanks for the memories.  This is my card to you.

So Says Sassy

 

 

Only Child Regrets

One is a lonely number.  An only child, in our household of three, my parents outnumbered me.   I was a minority before I knew what the word meant.  No furry four legged creatures lived in our house either.  Mom forbid it.  She waged a relentless war against dirt and germs.    

I longed for brothers and sisters, but all I had were cousins, mostly boy cousins at that.  My friends all had siblings though.   I liked to spend the night at a friend's house with her 5 siblings.  Gloriously noisy and lots of laughter. 

My husband, unlike my family of three, was the youngest of seven.  With his parents, that made nine, plus assorted cousins the family took in from time to time.   Fun was not the way he describes his growing up years.   Work was the operative word in his family.

But I have to believe there was some teasing and laughter and even some fun in that large household.  Probably there was some of that in my home, too.   Memories overshadow reality though.  And memories can be tricky.

I remember my grandfather as the old man who gave me a quarter to keep me from crying.  My mother's recollections were harsher.  My best pal from grade school thought my parents were a handsome pair.  They married young, at 20 and 21 years of age.  Had me 11 months later.  My dad hadn't yet graduated from the neighborhood pool hall where he hung out.

Friends envied me because I had my very own room, hand made clothes, no one to share anything with.  I was lucky they would tell me.  Didn't know I was lucky.  But, I probably was, come to think of it. 

I always felt loved.  I just wasn't sure if my parents  loved each other.  No one could tell me, so I would read their moods.  When doors got slammed and dad drove off  with tires squealing, I figured they were mad at each other.  When dad would sneak up behind mom and kissed her neck, I relaxed.

Someone has said it isnever too late to have a happy childhood.  But it is too late to have siblings, so I birthed my own.  My best friend Donna is the sister I never had.  She was an only child,too.  After 45 years of friendship, she is someone who knew me when.  Knew my mom, rode with me to the hospital as my dad lay dying, helped me sort through my mother's belongings after she died.  Things a sister would surely have done. 

We have seen each other through divorce,  losses through death, children married, grandchildren born, poor health, better health and everything in between.  We worship together and have mourned together.

I also have another acquired a sibling in Jeannette, who never had a sister either.  We sometimes play on words and call each other soul/sole sisters.  Our husbands happen to be ministers, and we four have bonded through health challenges and our faith.    Come to think of it, that makes her husband, Chuck,  my brother-in-law.  I wonder if he know that.

See how my family has grown.  Another time I will mention my adopted brother Bob, who now lives in Oregon.  We adopted each other with my husband's approval.  So that completes my selected siblings.  

If I can't reproduce a happy childhood, I certainly am blessed with a happy adulthood.  Care to join my family?