"Playground in My Mind..."

So I had some unexpected time this morning and decided to go grocery shopping. I asked my husband if he'd drive "Miss Daisy" so he said only if I make a stop at the dry cleaner. No problem.


We set out on this dreary Spring-like morning ( I say "Spring-like" because it is not  quite official even thought the daffodils and crocuses are sprouting up everywhere!) and he took a route I was hoping he wouldn't. He passes my old house. In order to avert my eyes from too many painful memories, I look around at the surrounding streets. Madonna comes to mind. "This used to be my playground..." 


I saw the places I know like the back of my hand. I don't think there's one bit of my little village that doesn't hold some kind of acute memory for me. The sights, the scents are all there. 


Places I used to play, hide out, make forts, ride my bike. Even the places that  don't even exist anymore I think of as "the vacant lot where we used to play kickball" or where the A&P used to be. There are new facades or completely new buildings but they are all still fresh in my mind!


Where has that time gone? It would seem that the past 30 years are somewhat of a blur to me. And at other times, I feel every memory as if it all just happened. 


My first days of school when we would all pose for pictures with our new book bags and lunch boxes. First grade I had a Bugaloo lunch box and thermos.


The first signs of Spring when the days were longer and the air smelled so sweet and fresh.


The endless summers at the town pool and Robert Moses beaches. 


The hottest days in our apartment complex when the super would turn on the sprinklers and we'd go out in the middle of the grass in our bathing suits! Grass that I am sure hasn't felt the patter of little feet in decades!


Hearing my mother call my name out the kitchen window to get washed up for dinner: "Cyyynnnnnnthiaaaaaaa!" It was the only time she called me Cynthia.


My poodle Guy chasing cars. 


My brother fashioning ramps to do Evel Kenievel-type stunts with his bike with the banana seat.


An abundance of cousins and aunts and uncles and extended family and those who were not blood relatives but were family nonetheless.


Crossing Carll's creek and my library books not quite making it.


Ice skating on the "big" lake and the little ones.


Swimming in the canal. 


Clamming and fishing and crabbing.


Hanging out in a bar drinking root beer and Shirley Temples and having endless quarters for the jukebox. I loved Bad Bad Leroy Brown and Dark Lady. My father loved big blondes.


My first records, friends, crushes, heartbreak.


I am at an age now where most of my life has been spent as an adult yet these are the things that I hold on to. These are the things that come back so brilliantly that I wonder if they actually happened.


 We lived in an apartment complex and there were a lot of families.  First, Sally and her dad lived downstairs then Helen and her husband and the boys. Charlie was my age and my first real crush.  Joanne and Barbara and their "mysterious" (mysterious when you're seven) older brother Bobby, Lori and Lisa, Donna and Dawn.  The fire changed everything. Mr. Palmer and his daughter. There was the blind lady. The super and his  family of boys.(If there were sisters, I don't recall.) Darlene and Vinny and Little Richie. They had a cousin we called Tuna Fish. Betty, the nice lady that lived next to Joyce and Vito and taught me how to crochet and made a fancy crown for my First Holy Communion. Cathy and her sons. She used to cut our hair. The druggie lady across the way who had a kid that I stayed with sometimes while she went out (Until my mother told me I wasn't allowed over there anymore). I was probably in second grade! The lady who had an English setter named Cindy. I think the lady's name was Mabel. Guy and David. Connie. Chris and Danny. The other Joyce with the two boys. The kid who hit me in the head with a rock and my mother had a huge fight with his sister in front of half the complex. Bonnie and her sister who had CP and their creepy brother Kenny who told a story that gave me nightmares well into my twenties. Hemena (think that's her name). The lady that died (at least I think she died). I remember when they took her out she looked green! 


I wonder if this memory is real: I remember summer nights the families would take their lawn chairs and blankets and portable radios and the adults would laugh and talk and we would be outside in our pajamas. Some kids were catching fireflies or doing cartwheels or playing Parcheesi. The adults were most likely drinking.


Those days were magical to me. I can hear the sound track of seventies music playing in my head. I can hear Paul Simon singing "Late in the evening...and the music's seeping through." (The song is not from the seventies but the imagery takes me there.) I remember falling asleep to lilting laughter of adulthood. I longed to be grown up and and stay up late laughing "the way some ladies do..."





It's Springtime! Get out in the world and re-live your childhood!

Absence makes the heart grow...inspired?

So I took a brief hiatus. Not much a fan of that word. Perhaps sabbatical is a better choice. Or a much needed break from cyber-space.

How ever you choose to look at it, I was feeling the pressures of a too-busy life to make the time to sit down and sort out my thoughts.

I was rarely on the social networks. I played a minimal amount of Words on my smart phone but even that  became lackluster after awhile.

I am back and somewhat refreshed.

Two weeks ago, was "Fat Tuesday" and then the season of Lent began. As I have stated before, I am not the best at the "Faith" game. I have been trying to reconcile myself to my Catholic roots. It is very difficult. There are many Church doctrines that I disagree with and I am sure at least half the Catholics out there find it difficult to fully comply with some of the laws. But I am looking at it as a way through to my spirituality.

This quest has been going on since I was a child. I knew people of many faiths, mostly Christian based. I always envied my friends who just knew that there was a God and that all the bible stated was true. To just know like that...without question or doubt. Many had fear. My Evangelist friend read a story to me from the bible about Jesus and how light poured from him and his voice was like a running stream and she was terrified of this image and it made her love Him all the more. I just thought it was a beautiful story and a beautiful image of her savior.

Recently, going through what I have of late, I have come to realize that there is this Higher Power or Consciousness. For me, anyway. There is something out there besides the science of it all. Many will disagree. Many will become angry and many will try to tell me that I am saved. I don't know about that. It's not up to me.

I have read the  Bible. Well, most of it. Deuteronomy and Numbers and Judges  should be skimmed through. They don't really translate completely. There are some discrepancies. There are some stories that are repeated several times with different facts. I suppose this goes back to a time when people translated stories through generations without ever writing them down. By the time they were written down, they had been altered and embellished by the tellers.

But the essential story of Christianity, early Christianity, is so basic and repeated over in so many faiths that I have to wonder what all this fuss was about.

If we believe that Jesus was a man who walked the Earth before he was found to be the Son of God, we realize that all he wanted was for everyone to just get along. No matter what their background, race, social standing, sex, or behavior. He just wanted us to love one another and forgive each other for all our shortcomings.

That sounds like a wonderful concept. Imagine.

What's so terrible about a belief in something that abhors hatred of any kind. I heard something recently that Hate is not the Opposite of Love. Fear is the Opposite of Love. In the case of Jesus, this may be true.

I am reading a book on catechism and I squirm when I get to the parts that make most people, especially Christians, feel uncomfortable. Abortion, birth control, divorce, homosexuality, etc. Some of my closest acquaintances have had abortions, are gay, are divorced and re-married. I, myself, have delved into the reproductive sciences to try to conceive a child. I am staunch supporter of stem cell research and treatments. Many I know have conceived out of wedlock. The catechism will even have us spurn Yoga and other forms of spiritual enlightenment or esotericism. I've gone to psychics. I am not a follower of Satan. I believe that fear has stood in the way of progress in Christianity. If I am to believe what I have learned through my spiritual journey, God loves us no matter what. Jesus loved the leper, the tax collector, the prostitutes, the social outcasts. He abhorred pride and self-righteous zealots.

I hope and pray every day to someone or something. I find comfort in the fact that there is more...that when someone is gone they are not completely gone. It may be faith or wishful thinking. Maybe I am just another example of a sinner putting her own spin on faith so it conforms to her needs.

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one..."

Looking for a Soft Place to Land

It's been awhile. Hard to find my inspiration lately.

I don't even want to turn on the computer. I'm stuck. And my tow truck is out of commission.

I try really hard to stay positive and upbeat but people can really drag you down. So I keep my distance. It's easier that way.

Had a tiny bit of progress in the weight loss department due to a lingering stomach virus. Probably lost close to ten pounds. Probably put it all back on just in water weight by eating Chinese food last night.

Whitney Houston died. It's kinda sad. She wasn't my favorite artist and I am not a fan of her choice of lifestyle but to each their own, I guess. What really gets to me is that she is only a couple of years older than I am. That is always frightening to me. It's sad when old folks die. But it's a little bizarre when it's my contemporaries.

I have my faith and even that can be shaken by all the BS politics and grandstanding I have been seeing lately. It sometimes seems so pointless to me when we know we will all come to the same end one day.

One day people are criticizing and vilifying a celebrity and the next day they are canonizing and glorifying them. I don't know why I let the hypocrisy of man surprise me. Over and over again, I am surprised.

I used to love facebook because it was a fun way to stay connected. But even that has been tainted. I see negativity and politics and judgement. If I wanted all of that, shit, I'd go back to high school.

Why can't we all just get along????

I saw a blurb on the news how there are people doing studies and looking into using social networking as a tool for hiring people. If you are more popular and get a lot of comments on your blogs and social network status updates, you are more likely to get hired by these companies. Seriously? Life has really become high school all over again. It's all a huge popularity contest. Presidential candidates are being chosen by their popularity. How many friggin' Republican Debates do we need??? Maximum-one. There have been like a gajillion. What's the point?

There are polls based on whether something has been liked on Twitter and Facebook. Why even have elections? Each candidate put up their page and we like or not and whoever gets "liked" the most wins.

I'm really not very good at controversy and I don't want to fight with people about what they think is right or wrong but, even I, in my limited sight, can see that the right is wrong. And the left isn't doing so hot either!

I'm just trying to stay hopeful and keep my head above water like the rest of the world. We're all looking OK on the surface but underneath we are paddling like mad.

When I was home sick last week (two days in bed with aforementioned stomach virus), I was feeling really awful, body aches, vomiting, headache, and I just wanted to know I was taken care of. My husband was home and he was there for me. Kissing my brow. Bringing me water and ginger ale. Covering and uncovering me depending on if I was in a sweat or if I was freezing.

I don't usually like to be fussed over or taken care of but it was nice to know he was there for me. That's what life is about. Having a soft place to land when you need it. Politics and popularity be damned.

Untitled (This is an actual title)

So, it's January twenty something or other in the year 2012.

I'm still waiting for my inspiration.

I am completely sick of the sight of Jennifer Hudson singing that she is me!

The thing that kills me is people are buying into the hype. The hype that you could be just like she is. Except I'm not a twenty-something, Oscar-winning, unlimited-resources type of gal. Who is?

I had hoped that, by this time, I'd be ready to start...something. Weight-loss program. Bills up to date. Learn how to manage my time. De-clutter my apartment.

As I sit here writing this blog, nothing like that has occurred.

I am two weeks or more behind on my bills. I have yet to even consider joining or starting a weight loss program. I added something to my schedule when I had no time already. And my Christmas tree is still standing in my living room, fully decorated.

I have been fantasizing again about a mild bout of appendicitis or food poisoning that puts me in the hospital  and causes rapid weight loss but doesn't threaten my life. I could use the rest and someone else taking care of me for a change. And I could use a head start on my diet. But that would totally not help my situation at all because I have no health insurance and would end up way worse off than I am right now by adding a huge hospital bill to the mix. Plus, I'd gain the all the weight back in a week anyway.

So what else? I could say no to the people demanding my time. Nah. That's not an option. They need me! (You may not be reading it that way but I wrote it with a very sarcastic tone.)

I could start with small steps. Cutting down on eating crap and maybe taking a walk once in awhile. Saying no every couple of months. Yeah. I don't see that happening any time soon, either. Too much like work.

Another fantasy I have is going somewhere not too vacationy and staying at a nice hotel. I could pretend I'm there on business. Or something. I sleep very well at hotels. I could do room service breakfast. Take a walk to whatever downtown area I am staying in and sit on a bench and read. Grab a light lunch in a decent eatery. Go back to my room and order a chick flick and maybe go to the spa for massage or an overpriced manicure.

Here's where the sound of the needle scraping across a record comes in to break me out of my dreamworld! I don't have the money to even stay at a crappy motel let alone spa services and room service! And what would I tell my husband. "Sorry dear, but, I need some me time because I am sick of the sight of you holding down the couch and scratching your butt and making your manly noises!"

I could go full throttle and have my lotto fantasy but I like to keep my feet on the ground and try not get all lottery-eyed during my fantasies. It just makes coming back to reality that much harder!

I guess I'll just go to bed and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow I will work a full day and come home and dust my Christmas tree and most likely have something I shouldn't for dinner like a pizza.

Then I'll go buy a lottery ticket.

And Now, I Digress...

So, after spending nearly twelve hours in a hospital emergency room with my sister yesterday, I am counting my blessings.

She was having chest pains which only turned out to be pneumonia and when the doctor (with some crazy-ass eyebrows!) finally came to tell us the diagnosis, I realized how jaded we have become about medical conditions.

I remember, many years ago, my mother was in the hospital and a family in the next curtain was sobbing and wailing after finding out their father was in congestive heart failure. Diuretics and bed rest and he'd, most likely be good as new. It's not like he had a stroke or end stage cancer. I couldn't understand what they were so worked up about. I mean, what's a little heart failure in the grand scheme of things, right?

There have been so many terrible illnesses and diagnoses in my life and in my family that I have turned cynical and over-informed. Most people, upon hearing that their sister has pneumonia, would not express relief as one of their reactions! Would they?

What about the poor dude next to us yesterday? This guy's situation was absolutely pathetic. I felt so bad for him. I wanted to hug the guy and I couldn't even see him behind the curtain that divided us. His wife came home drunk at 4 in the morning and started pounding on him. Then she proceeded to bite his ear off. The cops were already on their way and they arrived just as he was trying to retrieve said ear "piece" from his hopefully, soon-to-be ex-wife's mouth and they thought he was assaulting her! The only family member he could get in touch with was his sister who has stage four cancer! And this poor schmuck, when the nurses asked if he would press charges, said he didn't want his kids to see their mother get arrested!

I mean, COME ON!  

There's a story that goes around the Internet and the gist of it is: if God came to you and said you could trade in all your troubles for someone else's and you picked the person you thought had the most charmed life, you'd discover some deep dark thing about them and you'd want your own life back. Or something like that.

I think that, in my forties, I have been more pragmatic in my philosophies on the ways of fate. God or life or the powers that be have handed me this life and, like it or not, I'm stuck with it. There's no point in wishing I had someone else's life because, well, I don't!

OK, sometimes, I admit, I wouldn't mind being Oprah or Barbara Walters, or British royalty. (Living British royalty!)

I have the kind of life where pneumonia is a silver lining of sorts. And I don't think that's such a bad thing.

Now, being jaded does not mean that I don't freak out when I get a raspy, nearly inaudible call from my sister at six in the morning croaking the words "chest pains" into the phone. And it also doesn't mean that I don't over think what the problem could be. It also doesn't mean that I am not worried sick even though the hospital sent her home with a bunch of meds and instructions to call her doctor on Monday.

Medical emergencies always tend to leave me on the edge of my seat and not in a good way.

They also make me re-assess how I take care of myself. Today, at church, part of the reading was the old "your body is a temple" passage. After yesterday, I realized that, if it's true, I'm in big trouble.

Watching my sister struggle to breathe and seeing her on that gurney all day made me think that I am not taking care of myself the way I should. The weight is one thing. But my stress level and not exercising and not going to the doctor for check ups is not helping my health or the length of my life one, tiny bit!

There was also a part of the service that was about listening to God. I pray regularly. I'm not an overly religious person, but I have always been on a journey to find my faith. Lately, I have had some success in that department. I still have my issues and am conflicted at some of the teachings but, as a whole, I am a Catholic Christian. So, the story about Samuel hearing God calling his name, spoke to me. He didn't recognize that it was God. He needed Eli to tell him that he had to listen...to tell God he is listening.

So I pray. I pray for the good health of my loved ones even though they are already not in good health. I pray for guidance. I pray that I will be open to hear what God has in store for me. I pray that there's no one parked in the spot in front of my apartment.

I will pray for my sister and that poor man who lost part of his ear. I will pray for my client's daughter who just had a miscarriage. I will pray for all the people this past week who had tragedy touch their lives. And I will pray that my sister will be breathing easier tomorrow.

And I will pray for the ability to listen. I will try to listen so I can hear what God wants from me. And I will try to hear and act on what God says. And I will listen so I can have empathy for the human condition and I will listen to my body telling me it's time.

"I Wanna Go Back..."

OK. So I started this whole thing, this blogging, as a journey to find my inspiration for returning to the world of weight loss. So far, I have barely skimmed that surface!

My, bad.

I am not one for resolutions or goals. Setting things in stone is never a good idea because I have been there and you only set yourself up for failure.

I had a boss that trained me in my profession (hairdressing, if you didn't know) and she always said if I got lost in the middle of the haircut all I had to do was "go back to when it was going right".

Such a simple solution to so many things.

So when I am contemplating getting back into the world of weight loss, I always try to go back to the beginning of the several times I have lost 50+ pounds.

Where did my inspiration come from? Where did I get my motivation? Where did they both go?

Each time I have fallen off the food truck, it's usually because there is something huge going on in my life. Sometimes, it's a bunch of tiny things building up into something huge.

I think, many times, the motivation and inspiration also come from events in my life. When things are going well on all fronts or if major events are approaching, I seem to have more control. Well, in the past, that has been the case. Weddings, reunions, etc. are excellent motivations to get you on the weight loss wagon. And other times, I am just sick of feeling.....well.....obese.

So today, I am going to try to go back to the beginning. Just like Inigo Montoya did in Princess Bride.

I cannot turn back time, but I can look back and learn from the past mistakes instead of repeating them.

I can't help but hearing my cynical inner voice saying "Well, DUH!"

I am making a, dare I use the word, a commitment to examining my previous attempts at weight loss. The loss part was usually much easier than the keeping it off part. Maybe, if I see it in writing, it will click and suddenly make sense.

But I don't want this just to be about "dieting", so, from time to time, I promise you, I will digress and talk about my life or my family or some other boring non-inspirational subject.

I hope this post is the beginning of something instead of just a bunch of words on a screen.

In the words of the late, great John Belushi in Animal House, "Let's do iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

"If It's Not One Thing It's Your Mother..."

So, January 11. Not one of my favorite days of the year. It's a day that I'd love to just stay home and pull the covers over my head and let it pass right by. Kind of like how hotels skip the 13th floor.

Fifteen years ago...can it be fifteen?...Yep...literally just did the math...fifteen years ago, January 11, 1997, my mother died.

In an ironic twist of fate, I will be going to a wake for the mother of two old friends and beloved clients on my mother's anniversary. So much for crawling under the covers!

Most people will say things like "She's always with you." Or "She's at peace, now." Then there's my all time favorite, "She looks so beauty-ful." (Always the elderly relatives.) All I think is, "She looks deceased."All I will say to this woman's family will be "I know." Because I do.

These are nice sentiments but they don't make the survivors feel any better as time passes. No words can make the loss of a loved one, especially a parent, any easier.

My husband always says that it doesn't really get better, that feeling of loss, but it does get easier. Sometimes it's easier and sometimes not.

There are days and times and situations where she doesn't even enter my mind. But I'll smell someone cooking or hear an old song or take out one of her bowls and it all comes flooding back. Or as in the case of the aforementioned, we talk about the care giving. All the smells and sights of that part can hit you like a minivan falling from the sky.

It was a long time before I started seeing her and dreaming about her as she was before she got really sick. Then one night I had a dream and we were in the kitchen in the old house and I could smell her and feel her warmth and we were dancing to one of our many songs, "Old Cape Cod" only we were singing the words the way I heard them as a child, "Old King Kong," and she was smiling and it was wonderful!

It's hard to get past those awful memories of how it all ended. It's hard to see our loved ones as whole, well human beings once we've watched them wasting before our eyes. It's amazing to me how these big, strong personalities can be reduced to something so small and frail and helpless.

I had some tough times with my mother and our relationship was not always perfect. But my memories are. I have memories that are filled with tastes and scents and sounds and light and laughter and love.

I remember, as a small child, when I would have trouble sleeping, I would sneak out into the living room to watch old movies. She'd send me back to bed and sit by me and rub my back and tell me to think of the happiest times and places I could remember and go there. She always tried to make me go to a flower-filled meadow but I always wanted to go to the beach or have a tea party.

There are times when I am walking to my apartment during dinner time and I just know someone is frying meatballs or chicken cutlets and I know she's near me. In the winter, I buy Cream of Wheat and make it the way she used to and I am transported to the kitchen of our apartment at 5 Friendly Ct. I have so many great memories of that kitchen! And one that involves a not-quite-dead mouse.

I remember the huge parties with tons of food and tons of people and everyone laughing. She made even the most mundane leftovers into a fancy presentation.

And there was always music playing. The soundtrack of my childhood is mottled with show tunes, Enrico Caruso, Jim Neighbors (did you know Gomer Pyle sang opera?), Jerry Vale, Perry Como, Dolly Parton, The Platters, Tammy Wynette, Barbara Streisand, The King Family and Guy Lombardo and Lawrence Welk. On Sundays she would blast Italian music while she was cleaning the house.

I have many memories of being terrified of my mother and wondering when we...OK when I was going to screw up and inspire her wrath.

But I prefer to look back on the good times. The times when she made New Year's Eve special by making little hot dogs and letting us drink egg nog and go outside at midnight to bang pots and pans and scream "Happy New Year" at the tops of our lungs. Or the time when we all rented bikes in Atlantic City and took a ride on the boardwalk and Steff and I had a head on collision and my mother didn't know how to stop the bike so she rode right past us! Or the times she got down on the floor with us and played with our games and barbies. As we grew up there were endless card games at the dining table. And always laughter.

She ruled with an iron hand but she had the soul of a child and a heart of gold.

I like to think that the sheer "motherliness" of her rubbed off on me a little bit. That's why I was always type-cast in the school plays. It makes for the bones of a good caregiver.

She was always a "second" or "other" mother to friends and family. Always willing to take someone in for a year or a week or a month. One bathroom and three bedrooms and there was always room.

The house always seemed bigger when she was in it. The world always seemed bigger too. I miss that bigness. I miss her big, broad smile and her more than ample embraces and her deep, throaty laugh and that low, booming voice.


I miss her scrawly, chicken scratch handwriting and the smell of her perfume and the sound of her voice.

I do think of her and miss her every day. Just not every minute of every day. Sometimes I feel her with me and sometimes I wonder where the hell she is.

So tonight, I pray that I will see her in my dreams and we will be dancing and singing and laughing. Heaven.