Sunday, October 1, 2017

Bittersweet

It’s fall.  My 70th birthday has passed and I am still surviving.  Thriving really.  My hip replacement was a success.  Everyday, I fall a little bit more in love with Buff Honey even with his minor OCD tendencies.  Could I adore my children and grandchildren more?  What more could a girl ask for?

However, fall is nothing if not bittersweet.  I remember living in New England and exalting at the glorious colors and, as beautiful as they were, I hated the season that followed.  Yes, of course, there is nothing more wondrous than a new fallen snow or reading by the roaring fire.  Oh, yeah….roasting chestnuts and all that.  Bah humbug.

This is BH’s favorite time of year. Ahhh….those crisp autumn days….perfect for his daily runs.  I admit I like them, too….until I wake up to 50 degree mornings.  In my New England days, winter was over six months long and I remember thinking 50 degrees on a sunny day in April was warm-ish.

Winter brought on my self-diagnosed seasonal affective disorder.  I am not a depressed person by nature, but how many days can one be cheery without sunshine?  When I first moved north from Florida, I kept wondering where all the people were.  It reminded me of bears hibernating in the woods.  People just stayed in their houses rarely venturing out if they could help it.

Just not a friendly climate for a Florida girl.  It’s October 1st and we’re heading back to our winter home in Venice, Florida in a month.  My last month here in Maryland.  And, even though, I’m leaving winter behind, it’s still bittersweet.

It’s tough leaving my family behind.  What a summer we’ve had!  So many birthday parties…
Brendan turned 2 in May, Reese turned 6 in June, Kevin became 4 in August, I celebrated my 70th and Will turns 10 at the end of this month.  Can you beat how cooperative my daughters have been to bear children in the months we’re in Maryland?

I had my hip surgery in early June and I couldn’t take care of myself without help for several weeks.  When BH went to Florida for his family reunion, my son, came everyday with his homemade quinoa salads and introduced me to Chipotle’s fabulous burrito bowls.  OMG!  Now, I can’t live without them.  What a pleasure….me reading for hours while he researched and planned his soccer drills for the fall varsity season.

My younger two grandsons are here in Baltimore so I’m lucky enough to see them practically every week.  I’ve witnessed Brendan’s speech expand from a few words to actual sentences..he is determined to be a verbal as his older brother, which is saying something!

BH hasn’t thrown a toy away ever, even though his five kids left years ago.  They range in age from mid-40s to almost 30.  So, the first thing Brendan says when he visits is, “Basement.”  Home to hundreds of very used toys and board games.   Okay, I give up.  I have stopped having fantasies about rounding them all up in huge garbage bags and heading to the landfill.

Kevin, the four year old, started public school this September….Federal Hill Prep, where he wears his uniform, navy polo shirt and khaki shorts.  He is very particular about his clothes…he has to wear his socks up pulled up to his knee….just like his idol, Adam Jones, center outfielder for the Orioles.  We face-timed after his first day at school.
Me:  “How was your day?”
Kevin:  “It was the greatest day of my life!”
He is nothing if not expressive.

The older two, Will and Reese, live in Pennsylvania so I don’t get to see them as often, especially, since I couldn’t drive for a few months.  But, they visited here a few times and I’ve gotten up there as well.  We send their parents out to dinner while we dance and act silly.  Going to their soccer, baseball and lacrosse games are a real experience for me.  Deja vu all over again.  I marvel at their talent….but I’m the grammy.  Of course, they’re good!!!

Now, it’s high school soccer season and we’re all gathering on the sidelines cheering 
Centennial High School varsity soccer where my son coaches the team and teaches math.  They were undefeated until last week when they lost in double overtime.  Watching him coach in his reserved but determined manner is very moving in a way.  Never imagined this in a million years….never thought he’d be a teacher much less a coach….and a damn good one at that.  But, I’m the mom.

Naturally, Kevin has to wear his soccer shots jersey to every one of his uncle’s games.  Not to mention his shin guards and knee socks.  It’s his soccer costume, you know.

There’s the annual local bluegrass festival we attend every September followed by pizza and beer at our house with its big backyard and adjoining park for the kids to play in.

Our last family event is always Will’s birthday on October 27th. It’s usually a raucous event with all of us playing baseball…or at least, some version of it.  We have to accommodate for very young kids and very old kids!

And, then, we leave.  Yep….nothing, if not bittersweet.





Thursday, August 24, 2017

Obsession

I guess everybody has one.  Mine is reading.  If I’m in a good book, I’ve been known to read twelve hours straight.  This has been going on since my first grade Alice and Jerry primer.  I think you have to be my age to remember that series.

I absolutely cannot get into bed at night without my current read.  When I was raising a family and working, I read for about 10 minutes then passed out.  Now, I can read for hours.  Why not?  No schedule.  Just sleep in.

Even as a kid, I kept a flashlight under my mattress to take out after “lights out,”  cover my head with a blanket and keep reading.

My youngest didn’t get a good night’s sleep for the first four years of her life….of course, that meant her parents didn’t get much sleep either.  I was beside myself….what to do??  I am not a fan of crying it out.  That was my mother’s advice then I read Primal Scream and had visions of my kids going into therapy screaming because I didn’t attend to their needs….even in the middle of the night.

Four years into this delirium, a light bulb hit me.  I got her cassette tapes and little paperbacks that she could follow.  It was her quiet time and she was free to read and listen to the books until she relaxed and fell asleep.  It was a miracle!  Of course, now there are noise machines.  Maybe, that would’ve done the trick.  But, she still reads….just like me….when she gets in bed.

This has been some summer….pretty much out of commission for two months.  What to do??
READ!  I’ve been devouring a book every other day since we landed back in Maryland in May.  Mostly on my Kindle, which means it’s on my phone and iPad, as well.  Easy access.

I wish I had the discipline so many of my friends do.  They check out library books or download them onto their Kindles.  Unfortunately, I’m an instant gratification girl.  Want to read it now, which means buying them through Amazon.  And, is anyone every going to read it again on my Kindle?  Of course not.

Of course, I think I’m saving the environment because I don’t read hard covers or paperbacks anymore.  After donating, 5,000 used books to the Howard County Library four years ago, I’m never going to buy another one unless I want to reread it….which I almost never do.

When I think about this, I think I’m nuts.  Even in retirement, I’m constantly trying to save money and cut corners.  I’m sure I could’ve taken a Caribbean cruise on what I’ve spent on books this summer.

Where do I get book recommendations?  The Washington Post book reviews have inspired my choices….many hits, some real misses.  I always ask my youngest what she’s reading….I trust her more than the Post, actually.  Goodreads.  Yep, I check out what my friends are reading or their personalized reading suggestions based on what I’ve liked in the past.  I try to rate and write reviews for the books I read but I can’t keep up.  Too busy with the next read.

What do I read?  Basically, the New York Times Top Ten or FLUFF.    I love fluff.  I got so immersed in two fluff series this summer , I read all nine books in 10 days.  JoAnn Demaio writes from the beach on Long Island Sound, and Mary Alice Monroe whisks me off to Sullivan’s Island in South Carolina.  It’s all about the beach and romance.  I’m hooked!

There are genres that just don't do it for me….sci-fi is one.  I don’t think I could read a Stephen King book without having nightmares all night long.  Not a fan of fantasy.  Never really got into James Patterson.

The best?  A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles.  Didn’t want to read it.  Thought it would be too depressing.  I was totally wrong.  It’s a book about hope and that’s exactly what I need right now!

Britt-Marie Was Here by Fredrik Backman, who wrote A Man Called Ove.  If you liked Ove, you’ll love Britt-Marie.  Yes, she’s a bit dull, but turns out to be absolutely charming.

The Identicals by Elin Hilderbrand.  It ended up on the New York Times best seller list for 2016.  Set in Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard, the beach and romance.  Is there a better combo?  Fluff and good lit.

Then, there was The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid.  Think Liz Taylor but 100 times more fun!

So, those were my best reads for this summer but I admit I did order a paperback.  The Most by Nora Ephron….my absolute favorite author ever!  I wept when she passed away five years ago at the age of 71, which I think is way too young!  The Most was published in 2013….it’s a combo of her best work.

Every evening, I select an essay to read.  She was one in a million….literally laugh out loud hilarious.
Nothing like smiling at the end of the day!!  Happy reading!







Monday, August 14, 2017

Step Up

I’m a cinephile.  Pure and simple.  Not just any cinephile.  I’m an elitist cinephile.  Proud of it.  I grew up on movies.  Every Saturday trekking to the Beacham Theatre in downtown Orlando.  Of course, that was a looong time ago…way before cineplexes.  Back when there was only one theatre, showing one movie.  Back when there were news shorts before the showing.

Basically, high school date night was a movie, followed by a visit to Steak n’ Shake checking out who was there.  Back then, there was only one Steak ’n Shake on good ole Orange Blossom Trail.  Now, there are eight.

Forgive me.  I digress.  Buff Honey shares my love of film, although he’s not so elitist.  We used to go weekly, sometimes twice weekly to see a movie.  Tuesday’s the cheap senior day…Tightwad Tuesdays.  We’re regulars.

This summer has been the worst.  I am sick of Marvel comics, Superheroes, Apes acting more human than humans, stupid horror movies, omnipresent gratuitous violence. Done and done.  Every week, it’s basically the same conversation.  “Sugar, I think I’m going to see a movie but I don’t think you’d like it.”

Fine.  I’ll read a book.  Then, he comes home, swearing he’ll never go to another superhero/ape/horror movie again.  Duh….

I have seen two worthwhile movies this summer and one beautiful one.  The Big Sick was great fun; Maudie was less fun but much more substantive.  When my kids asked me about Maudie, I hesitated for a moment trying to explain it.  The immediately asked in stereo, “Is it about old love?”  What do I say to that?  Yes…but….so much more.

And, then, Step, hit the screen.  The Washington Post gave it four stars.  That happens about twice a year, usually late in the year when the Oscar hopefuls finally debut.

So, yesterday, I went with my two kids, Justin and Chelsea, after my grandson’s fourth birthday party.  In Baltimore, the setting for the movie, at The Charles Theatre.  Basically, I knew it was a documentary that highlighted the senior year of three teenage girls who attended the charter, Baltimore School of Leadership for Young Women.

All three young women were members of the step dance team that had never won a competition despite hours of commitment.  All three were striving to be the first person in their families to attend college.  All three were determined to get out of the inner city.  They were dogged by their principal, their step team coach, and by their guidance counselor who, against all odds, did whatever she could to get these girls into higher ed institutions.

The authenticity of this movie defies credulity.  The viewer is in their homes, witnessing how tough it can be to stay on course when your mom suffers from depression, your stepfather loses his job, the bills pile up, there’s no food in the house.  

And, yet, there’s this spark that keeps them going.  There’s this tremendous effort to stay on track and not succumb to easy sex or fly into a rage when you feel dissed by another member of the dance team.  It’s a movie about hope.  And, boy, does it deliver.

About mid way, tears were streaming down my face…like they are right now.  My kids got pretty emotional, as well.  At the end of the movie, the audience erupted into applause.  My daughter declared, “I feel these girls are my friends.”  Yeah, it’s that good.

I pray these girls make it.  Having taught in the inner city, I know there are thousands more just like them.  Most of them without the support of the amazing leaders at BSLYW.  I remember how talented, how expressive, how smart so many of my urban high school students were.  They were fighting overwhelming odds.

After this horrific weekend, I think every person in this country, especially, the President, would  benefit from watching this astounding and uplifting movie.  Kudos to the documentarian and more kudos to the families for inviting us into their homes.  This one will stay with me for a long time.

It could be me.  It could be you.

Friday, August 4, 2017

Hobbling Into the Next Decade

In just a few weeks, I will be SEVENTY!!!  Of course, I will be having a little celebration with family, extended family and a few steadfast friends.  There will be lots of grandkids playing baseball, soccer and water games, while the adults get their fill of barbecue and preferred beverages.  I remember most every milestone.

I don’t remember turning 20, no doubt because of my state of mind or lack thereof.  Thirty, I was in the throes of disco, under flashing lights wearing a strapless white top that at one point accidentally exposed my right boob.  I would say sexy top, but I only weighed 95 and hardly qualified as sexy.  Boyish would be more in the ballpark.

Forty was one of my fondest memories.  Kevin and I moved to Columbia from Hartford a year or two earlier.  I had just started teaching again and had a few local friends.  We had one teenager, and two toddlers.  “We’re going to celebrate at Tio Pepe’s,” he announced.  Wow, I’m shocked….very high end restaurant for us who had about two nickels to rub together.  We leave the house to go out for a drink first then return to the house for ‘something’ he had forgotten.  We go in and my best friends from Hartford jump out along with my best new teacher friends.  Thrilled!  He pulled it off.  I had no idea.  But, we never got to Tio Pepe’s.

Fifty was just sad.  I had lost him to AIDS the year before.  My closest friends feted me.  They were wonderful but I, unfortunately, was bereft.

King’s Contrivance Restaurant was the ideal setting for my sixtieth.  A colonial home renovated into a fabulous dining place.  Our party of 10 had our own private dining room upstairs, formerly one of the bedrooms fit for royalty.  Of course, my children were there.  The oldest was about six weeks from birthing my first grandchild.  The toasts from them were poignant and, of course, they evoked many tears of joy.

For some reason, none of these milestones never unnerved me.  I was fine with turning 40 then 50 then 60.  But, SEVENTY?!!  Nope.  Not okay with it.  Seventy is old.  Of course, 80 is older but many of us don’t make it to eighty or ninety much less.

Plus, I’m really pissed that I’m having to go through rehab this summer AGAIN!  This is my third hip replacement.  This one is a replacement of the replacement done 17 years ago.  I bounced right back.  Of course, I did….I was only 52 years old!  I was in great shape!  Now, I feel like I’m losing muscle mass by the minute!

I remember my mother complaining a couple of decades ago that all her friends wanted to talk about were their incessant aches and pains.  She had nothing to add to the conversation.  She was the picture of perfect health.  Most of them are gone now, but she’s here and claims to still have NO aches and pains!  She is 91 years old!!

Her biggest complaint is her house has been infested with fleas twice.  Yes, she has a cat that she is head over heels in love with, but she swears the cat does not have fleas.  My solution is to get rid of the carpet and put down wood or tile.  I don’t care how many times the fumigators come, the fleas are winning the battle.  This is just further proof of why I abhor carpet.

Labor Day weekend I will be hitting that big milestone.  Yes, I’m hobbling, but I’ve got some pretty good genes.  My fraternal grandparents lived to be 87 and 88.  My maternal grandfather made it to 92, my father to 90 and my mother to probably over 100.  The only outlier was my mother's mother who died at 69 of cancer….probably due to secondhand smoke that permeated the house since my grandfather (yep, the one lived to be 92) smoked 3 packs a day.

Now….if I can just keep my mind in tact!!!

Friday, July 28, 2017

FRENCH IRISH CONNECTION

l gotta hand it to Tom, one of my fellow Oak Ridge High School class of ’65 pioneers…he is a pro on ancestry.com and Find A Grave and all the other sites to uncover family history.  And, he  started researching mine after my post on my great grandfather, Maximo Suck, who passed in 1953 at the age of 86.

It’s an unusual name, in my humble opinion, so one would not think there were a glut of them out there.  He left Hamburg, Germany, in 1885 at the age of 18 to travel to Venezuela.  Seven years later, he immigrated to the United States, landing at the port of Mobile.  A year later, he married Grace Dominique, age 19.  On subsequent census records, he is listed as a broker and family lore has it that he was successful in the importing business.

Three daughters enhanced this household:  Eulalie in 1895, Grace in 1897 and Lucille, my grandmother, in 1900.  I don’t think this was a very boisterous brood.  Their lives centered on music, reading and writing.  The parents closed the door to the parlor at 1 o’clock every Saturday to listen to opera on the radio … not to be disturbed under any circumstances.

Maximo never claimed his German heritage nor did his parents.  On subsequent census documents, he claimed to be born in Venezuela and his parents were English.  Who knows where the truth lies?  His parents exited his life after his marriage.  We have no idea what their names were or if there were siblings.  Why?  Not sure.  Some say it was because his wife, Grace, taught business subjects at a nearby college,….such a radical woman back then!  Maybe it was because she was Catholic and he was Jewish, although we’re not sure even of that.  But, maybe that explains the need to drop the German heritage.

Then, about five years ago, my mother and her siblings heard from a German lawyer who claimed that they may be heirs to to some serious money through the Maximo Suck connection.  Of course, no one ever had any real idea about what kind of money we were talking about here.  I assumed the worst.  There wasn’t all that much money and that we’d have to pony up and go to Germany to see it through, which was NOT going to happen.  Then, the lawyer mysteriously disappeared and the new lawyer determined that we were out of the money loop.  The money belonged to another Maximo Suck family.  Really?!  We were all aghast!  Who could have that name?

Well….Tom determined that there were a myriad of Maximo Sucks but ours was the one that immigrated to South America and settled in Mobile.  That’s my great grandpa!

My great grandmother, Grace, is the first Grace, which is now in its fourth generation.  She was the French-Irish connection.  Hence, the Mediterranean skin and the feisty personalities.   She was a Kelly.  Yep!  Our Grace Kelly!

Actually, she was only a half-Kelly.  Her mom, Mary Kelly, immigrated as a young child, from Ireland during the height of the Great Potato Famine, along with several sisters, into the port of New Orleans.  I don’t know what happened to all the Kelly sisters….how I wish I had recorded my gossipy Great Aunt Eulalie, regaling us youngsters with the family stories.

Two things I do remember, however.  The first is that one of the Kelly sisters never married and was a well known men’s tailor in New Orleans with her own shop, no less!  The second one is that Mary, was a servant in the house of Pique Dominique, a French native, who resided in Mobile.

Now, I don’t know if he was married or a widower, but he did marry Mary, my great great grandmother, when she was around the age of 23 and he was 39.  I presume they were devout Catholics since they succeeded in having six children:  Rosa, Jeannette, Grace, Francois, Isabelle and Thomas.  He was 41 when the first child was born and 51 when the youngest came along.  Census records list him as being a grocer but we also find documentation that he
 had four slaves, a father, mother and two children.  I’m certainly not thrilled to find that out, but I guess the grocery business was doing quite well.  The 1880 Census lists him as being retired at age 59.

He passed two years later, leaving his children, ages 9 to 20 for Mary to finish raising.  I would find that rather daunting.  Mary lived to the age of 66.  Sadly, she had to commit her son, Frank, to the Bryce Hospital for the Insane three years before she died.  I cannot imagine how heartbreaking that would’ve been.

For years, during my childhood, we travelled to Mobile to catch up with my great aunts, Grace and Eulalie, eating steamed shrimp and picnicking at Dauphin Island.  Eulalie was none too pleased with having little kids around.  Grace was far more tolerant.  They never married.  Only my grandmother dared to leave the Mobile homestead for that Georgia dirt farmer she adored.  So naive.  What did she know?

I remember them talking about all the Dominique cousins.  Isabelle had married a Sullivan and they had six kids, too.  There were way too many families for me to get it straight.  So, how I have to look at birth, death, marriage and census records to figure it out.

But, how I’d love to find a diary or two from way back then to answer all my burning questions.  How did Grace and Dominique meet?  Why did she drop the Kelly name and go by Grace Pique Dominique?  Where were Maximo’s parents born?  Did they leave Venezuela and start over in Chicago?  Why was there a falling out between Maximo and his parents?

Guess I’ll have to wait until I meet them again!!!