Ann Shields on Letting Go

Birthdays R'Us

My husband asked what I wanted for my birthday this year and I flashed on that Kindle I saw on a cruise to Alaska.  The tour director was fiddling with it and  I fell in love.   Imagine toting around gazillion books on an electron gadget that took up less space than a notebook. 

Last week we went off to Frye's to check out the E-books they had in stock.  Up close and personal, I fell out of love.  I held one in my hands and it felt clunky, not like a real book.  Not soothing, it seemed to have sharp edges.  I began to consider the flaws.  That is how it is when you fall out of love.

Anyway, I left the store with an MP3 Player with 8GB flash storage, fm radio, voice recorder, built in usb connector, lcd display with aluminum body, 3 5 mm headphone jacks, and I have no idea what to do with it.  But it is smaller than the provervial breadbox.  Actually,  I could hide it in the palm of my hand.  I just need help from an e-geek to get me up and running with this little guy. I just need to practice the virtue of waiting until someone is on the scene.

This is birthday eve and I have been looking at an unwrapped gift from my daughter Judith that arrived two weeks ago.   Since she knows I usually tear open packages upon arrival I promised not to it open until my birthday.  She phoned tonight and was shocked I still had not opened it.   Ididn't tell her that I am practicing the virtue of waiting, delayed pleasure and all that boring stuff.

Anyway, with permission, I ripped open the package and have Lisa See's latest novel, Shanghai Girls.  It was on my 'want' list and here it.  How cool is that.

Tomorrow, we were to celebrated birthdays, mine and granddaughter Suzanne's.  It was to be at  her place because her 20 month old Lucas and 3 week old Nathan are not easily transportable away from home and toys.  But alas it is not to be.

Seems the caterers of this event in the form of son David and daughter-in-law Barbara were bringing all the food and goodies.  David was hit by this awful flu last night and is feverish, ill and germy.  Thus, tomorrow, we will go our separate ways, and celebrate the dual birthdays another time.

Meanwhile, I will be lunching severday days next week with friends, stretching out the birthday gig until we have wrung  celebrating dry.  Before long we will all have chased away the germy critters interrupting our fun.  Hopefully, David will be better and I will have surpressed this motherly urge to bring chicken soup or, lasagna as the case may be.  Your kids never get too old to add more worry lines to us oldsters.

Did  I mention that my huband has informed me of some germy sounding symptoms tonight?    Guess I'll wait a while before my MP3 player will be soothing me with Sinatra's sultry voice.  At least,  I passed my written test to renew my driver's license. It says I am good for another 5 years.   What more can I want? 

So says Sassy

I

Labor Room Miracles

I witnessed my first delivery last night in the labor room of our local hospital.  Great grandson Nathan James Jaeger left the comfort of his mother's nesting place at 11:30 p.m. to the awe and amazement of loving family members.

Miracle of birth is a cliche, but that's because it is so true.  This little stranger's appearance on the world scene stole our hearts from the first moment of life.  Suddenly all attention shifted from his mother, Suzanne, to Nathan as we waited for the first sounds.  In what seemed like hours of breathtaking silence, there came the vocal orchestra.  Wow, he was loud.

Once he was cleaned up and bundled with a stocking cap covering dark hair, he flailed around and clutched the top of the stocking cap and held on tight. Was he trying to yank it off? I laughed inwardly.  I hate hats, too, Nathan.

Up to the moment of his arrival, hours were spent, encouraging Suzanne, talking among ourselves, betting when he might show up.    The maternal grandparents, the paternal grandmother and Ryan, the soon to be dad, all circulated around this small room.  Oh, right, me the great grandmother watched wide-eyed, as if a total novice at this homecoming for the new baby.

Well, considering I had my two children eons ago, one, David, in a Marine Corps hospital in Oceanside, California without benefit of family, friends or even a doctor I knew, this setup last night was like going from Motel 6 to The Biltmore.  Judith, my second child's birth was at no military hospital, but one in Oak Park, Illinois with my Sunday School teacher as the physician who delivered her.  A friendlier setting at least.  Both were my very own miracles, but not shared by a cloud of witnesses as there were in Suzanne's room.  Love thickened the room in a blanket of warmth.

Son David arrived around 8 in his hospital scrubs from the lab at County General and was mistaken for the doctor come to deliver Nathan.  Later a family friend showed up in his work clothes, a cop from the local police department, and had no problem breaching the rules to  join the gathering. Ryan's brother also arrived,  having been through this twice in the last two years with his two sons.  Seems the Jaegers are awash in males.

Amazed at the cheerful tolerance of the delivery room nurse, I wondered if she wished some of us would leave.  Her only restriction was to put our cameras away during the actual deliver. But before and after, digital cameras were snapping away like ruanaway paparazzies,  along with  with texting messages and every other possible form of communication.  What a a new age world we are in.

My cell phone rang during all this activity to hear from my daughter in Portola Valley who knew the delivery was going to happen  from her husband who happened to read  the Facebook entry Suzanne made before leaving for the hospital.

To make the evening more surreal, I noticed my cell phone recorded a voice message and I struggled to remember my password number.  Retrieved the message, startled to hear my friend Jan saying she had pneumonia and was in St. John's Hospital and would be there a while for feeding tube insertion and tests.  The message was documented at 4 p.m on the 18th.

Yikes, just that afternoon.  How could this be. We had lunch 3 days ago, her first outing in 5months.  I felt saddened.  This story has a happy ending though.  In a bizarre twist of fate, the message was from May 18th, not September  18th,  and I never retrieved it. So when I sent her an email note to see if I could phone to see how was she was dealing with all the nuns  (reference to St. John's), she called me in a hale and hearty voice to wonder if I was crazy.  I have never been so relieved.  We will have  lunch soon to laugh over this.

At the end of this fateful evening, David and Barbara walked me to my car.  It was midnight and the streets were deserted with a fine overcast mist, eerie.  David helped me find my dashboard lights, noting that I musn't drive much in the dark and alone. No kidding, I wanted to say,not letting on how weird this felt for me.  I knew Des woul be asleep, the cats would be waiting and  I turned on my radio for company on the way home.  I notice a car following me at a discreet distance for a while with no other cars on the road.  Hmmm.  Let's see, should I run through all the serial killers roamin the airwaves lately.  My fiction writer brain concocted a fascinating scene, but then the car turned on the Bryn Mawr to leave me  alone again on the deserted streets.  The car was son David, making sure I was okay,so far.

Talk about a metaphor for the Christian life, as I know it to be in my perspective.  There is always the sense that I am being watched in a loving way, never out of the range or depth of God's love.  Whether I feel it or not.    What a blessed day.

So Says Sassy

Happy Birthday, Dad

My father would have been 100 years old today.  Sadly, he never made it past 64.  I think about all he missed in those intervening years.  Most shocking to him would have been to get a birthday greeting from President Obama.  He would wonder how come an Italian never got to be president when an African American made it.  He was pacified that JFK made it though, a good Irish Catholic guy.   He did gripe that I never brought home a nice Italian boy as a suitor.  Sorry dad.  I was partial to blue eyed blonds in those days.

He would have loved to meet his granddaughters, partial to the girls in the family.  He would always tell my daughter that someday she would be queen of the Rose Parade.  He was the male figure in her life who built her up, cherished her.    Well, at the same time, he would slip her some money not to tell my mother  that he sat in the car when they came to visit in order to listen to the race results coming from Santa Anita. A flawed guy. 

He was proud of his grandson, the first grandchild.  But he liked to tease him and sometimes his teasing could be on the mean side.  He wasn't good with boys, never had one, and happened to hate his father.  Good , meaty stuff for a psychiatrists couch.

On to the family tree, he missed knowing great grandkids.  Two girls, 3 boys.  And going into the next generation.

I am sure he would have gone crazy over Lucas who would have been his great, great grandson.  Luke would have won him over in a heart beat.  One happy grin and he'd be putty.  Lots to miss up on, Dad.

Too bad you didn't live to learn that you weren't a weak guy after all, not the no good SOB you you labeled youself in the aftermath and remose of a gambling fallout.  Addiction is what you had, like so many other 12 steppers, you might have learned about it, overcome it.  You were a great guy when not trapped in the secret life and frenzy of gambling.  Everybody loved you.  Good time Johnny.  How you loved to hear Bonnie Baker croon O' Johnny, O'Johnny, how you can love......"  My mother usually made a tart quip about that.

And, all in all, I know how much you loved my mother.  Your last words in the hospital in San Fernando Valley were about her.  You said you were worried about her, and I, in glib fashion, didn't comfort you with words like, Don't worry dad, I'll take care of her.  Instead, I said, 'she is strong, she'll be fine.'

Too often, we regret the words we never said.  Life is like that.  Lots of regrets.  But this one thing I know.  You loved us, you were kind to us and you wished you had done better.  But, don't we all.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  Your soft brown eyes always could melt my heart.

So Says Sassy