Letter to Tallulah After an Exciting Night Out at a Wedding

April 28, 2013

Dear Tallulah,

First of all, I know your name is not Tallulah.  I don’t know what your name is because your parents have decided to keep that a secret before you decide when you will be born.  I don’t remember when we first began calling you Tallulah, but it kind of became a habit. 

So now that we got that out of the way, let me introduce myself.  I am your maternal grandma.  I don’t know yet what you are going to call me.  I think I should let you decide.  My real name is Jeannie.  Well, actually, my real name is Jean Alice, but nobody calls me that, except for occasionally, your great grandma.  Your great grandma knows what she wants you to call her- “G-G”­– that’s short for Great Grandma.  You will like her a lot.  She’s very interesting and very funny, and also very short.  G-G is going to be turning 90 years old in November and you will be at her very special birthday party. 

I have been writing a blog about my journey to becoming your grandma ever since you were the size of a bell pepper in your mommy's belly.  A blog is short for Web Log.  It’s where writers, some famous and some not famous- like me, write narratives about anything and publish them on the Internet.  Anyone in the world can read a blog if they go on the Internet. 

Even though you are my first granddaughter, this is not my first blog.  My first blog is finished- it was about my journey as the mother of the bride.  It was all about the year leading up to your parent’s wedding.  One day, we will read it together. I hope you like it. 

Anyway, I try to write an entry in my blog every Sunday.  However, this Sunday I am so tired because I went to a beautiful wedding last night and I danced in very uncomfortable platform shoes all through the night with all my friends.  I didn’t get home until one o’clock in the morning.  I had a wonderful time, though.  The bride’s name was Jennifer and I know her since she was a little girl.  Her parents, Barbara and Eric, are your Grandpa’s and my very close friends. 

Jennifer was such a beautiful bride- her wedding gown was so elegant; it was made of lace and had rhinestones around the waist- just enough “bling” as your mother would say.  She also wore a beautiful silk flower in her hair.  You will be wearing a lot of flowers like that in your hair because your mother loves them.  The groom was very handsome and his name was Eric, too- just like Jennifer’s father.

This wedding was so special because Jennifer’s grandmother and great grandmother were there to celebrate her special day.  I hope I will be at your wedding some day.  That would make all my dreams come true.  Jennifer’s great grandmother is 106 years old.  If G-G makes it to your wedding and you get married when you’re about 25, she would be 115 years old.  That would make the news. 

Weddings are so delightful, but they are exhausting too.  My feet still hurt from the shoes I was wearing.  They were silver shoes with a lot of bling that looked very pretty, but by the end of the night they felt like I was walking on wooden blocks strapped to my feet with tight rubber bands.  When you’re a girl, and you will learn this one day- dressing up might look good, but it doesn’t always feel good.  I learned this at a very young age, when my mother would dress me up in dresses with itchy crinoline slips underneath and stiff patent leather Mary–Jane shoes.  Ugh! – I hated that, especially if the dress had frilly lace on it that would chafe my neck. 

Most of the time, getting dressed up ends in some minor disaster for me.  Last night I wore a beaded plum cocktail dress and something got caught on it.  I think it might have been the chain from my evening purse, which broke, too.  Just before we were going in to the wedding ceremony, I looked down and there was a very long piece of thread hanging off my dress and beads falling on the floor.  I asked my friends if they had a scissor.  They just looked at their teeny tiny evening purses and then at me as if to say- are you kidding me?  I did finally get a scissor in the ladies room, because at weddings and other fancy affairs, there will always be a basket of stuff for those lady calamities– filled with all the things that ladies need like tampons, which you’re still too young to know about, extra stockings, hairspray, hairbrushes, bobby pins, and sewing kits with scissors.  I don’t think the men’s room has any baskets because getting dressed up for men is not as complicated.  Everything is more complicated when you’re a girl- you’ll see.  But, in retrospect, these complications end up as funny stories, although, we're not laughing at the time they're happening to us.   

I can still hear the music in my head that I was dancing to.  And I ate much too much food because there was so much of it and it was all too delicious not to eat.  This is why I couldn’t think of anything to write except a letter to you.  All I think about lately is you.  I wake up every morning, knowing that I’m one day closer to finally seeing your perfect face, holding your delicate hands and kissing those precious little feet.  I have felt those tiny hands and teeny feet poke out through your mommy’s big belly.  I have also seen your darling face, hands and feet in sonograms, but that doesn’t come close to the real thing.  My two friends, Roselee and Janet, kept showing the real thing last night at the wedding– they had pictures and videos of their grandchildren on their iPhones.  Every time they showed them, we all oohed and ahhed and kvelled like middle-aged grandmas do (in between the oohing and ahhing and kvetching from our evening shoes and uncomfortable spanx).  And then they would look at me and say, “Soon it will be you!” with their voices sounding 10 octaves higher. 

Soon doesn’t feel soon enough.  We still have about six weeks left of this journey- the waiting journey, until you decide when you will be born.  That's when the best journey will begin.  Then, I will not call you Tallulah any more; I will finally be able to say your name. 

With love and hugs and kisses to infinity and back times 1 zillion,

Grandma Jeannie or whatever you will call me. 

Love Conquers All

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always.”

― Mahatma Gandhi

It has been a heartbreakingly sad week in the world.  At the Boston Marathon, two home-made bombs went off, seriously injuring almost two hundred people and killing an 8 year old little boy, a 29 year old young woman and a 23 year old international student from China- who recently had praised the virtues of American life as blueberry waffles, Godiva dark chocolate, and ice cream on her Chinese equivalent to Twitter.  Ironically, Martin, the 8 year old, had just gotten some ice cream with his family before he went back to cheer on the runners.

It was Monday, April 15^th, 2013.  I had just come down from my office and my mother was sitting in the kitchen watching television in the same spot she was in when the devastating news about the Newtown, Connecticut massacre came on.  She turned around and looked at me, shaking her head in disbelief.  The rest of the day we just continued to watch the news reports, the scenes repeating over and over again- runners reaching the finish line as two white and fiery blasts filled the air, knocking some to the ground as others turned in confusion- an instant of bliss and triumph becoming an instant of terror and dread. 

The week became harder to bear as we came to know the victims and their families, as we learned how poor Martin’s younger sister lost her leg and his mother suffered a serious brain injury.  We watched another tearful mother, through heart-wrenching sobs describe how wonderful her daughter was.  And then heard of a father who had to travel from China to bring back his daughter’s body, a daughter he had been so proud of for earning a degree abroad.   

As the news events unfolded we witnessed families reuniting, succumbing to tears of relief and we learned of the heroes who displayed the goodness of the human spirit, while the media monopolized our now more cautious lives, displaying FBI photographs of the two men suspected of committing this horrific act.  We spent most of Friday night in front of that same TV in the kitchen as we and millions of others watched a house on Franklin Street in a Boston suburb where bombing suspect #2 hid inside a boat kept in the backyard until we got word that the suspect was apprehended.   Suspect #1, the older brother, had been killed earlier after he fatally shot a young police officer and seriously wounded another.  Suspect #1 was younger than 30, suspect #2 was younger than 20; yet they managed to destroy so many lives and cause the whole country to go on high alert, something, unfortunately, we’ve become all too used to since 9/11. 

Some wonder what the world is coming to- that it’s getting crazier and crazier.  I consider that and possibly because I’m currently reading a novel about the Holocaust and recently finished one about the Masada, I say, no, the world is the same- unfortunately, there have always been those who do evil, who have hurt innocent people just to serve their own irrational purposes.  I even mention this when I work with a group of HS History teachers on Thursday and they all agree with me; after all, they are the experts on History.  

Meanwhile the media, which has become a ubiquitous force in our lives continued to say, until the perpetrators were exposed, “We don’t know who is behind this or WHY they have done it”­­––as if there could really be an explanation to the WHY other than they had the power and ability to hurt people and chose to use it.  In the middle of all this, a photo emerged of a sweet, smiling Martin Richard, the 8-year old victim, holding a poster he had created with the simple, yet profound statement, “No More hurting people. Peace”, illustrated with two hearts and a peace sign.  At my first glance at this iconic picture, I began to sob. 

Amidst all this sorrow, I try to find the strength to smile, reminding myself that the promise of spring is here along with the pink and white blossoming trees and emerging daffodils.  This is the season of hope, when the dormant seeds begin to germinate- when life begins- certainly not when it ends and so tragically, especially for four people who had their whole lives before them. 

I think of the mothers of the victims- the 29-year old girl, Krystle Campbell’s mother standing on her porch, her chest heaving with sobs barely able to express her heartbreak in a single breath.  It reminds me of my Grandma Fanny when her youngest son, my Uncle Fintz, passed away.  I was only ten but I remember that same vision of her chest looking like it might break in two from her weeping.  And even though she knew he was going to die from an insidious brain tumor, knowing still did not prepare her for it. It was a pain more horrible than I had ever seen.  My uncle is gone almost 47 years now…but he still lives on.  I see him in his wife who loves him just as much as ever, in his three children, his five grandchildren and four great grandchildren.  And his memory continues to brighten my mother’s eyes whenever she speaks of him.  

I know that all those who have perished in this senseless tragedy will continue to live on in some way for the people who lost them.  Martin’s iconic photo should serve as a reminder to us all; it should grace every public place there is- every airport terminal, every train station and every sporting event.  In the meantime to honor his message and promote the goodness that I know still exists in this world; I decided to make sure I do good things this week.  An opportunity came when I was on the 1 train going to my NYC office on Friday and I had just managed to grab the last empty seat.  Then I noticed a pregnant woman to the left of me.  I caught her attention and said, “Here, take my seat.”  At first, she said no, because there were people standing in the way.  But I persisted.  I stood up and the person next to me on the seat slid over so the pregnant woman could sit.  She thanked me and I said, “No problem, I have a pregnant daughter and I would want someone to do that for her.”  We began to talk.  Coincidently, her due date was exactly the same as Lindsay’s­– June 8^th.   We chatted until she got off the train, and then wished each other good luck. 

Good luck- I wish I could package it and keep it in my pocket.  I wish I could cover my children with it to shield them and protect them always.  Even better, I wish I could use its force to turn any weapon or bomb into fairy dust before it hurts or destroys any other innocent being, leaving its perpetrator powerless instead of taking another victim. 

I look at my daughter’s growing pregnant belly and think how wonderful it is that my granddaughter is encased in there before she enters this sometimes unpredictable, frightening world.  But them I’m overwhelmed by the miracle of what she is- a symbol that love always conquers all. 

 “If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you.”

― A.A. Milne

Dedicated to Boston, Massachusetts and Newtown, Connecticut

Safari April Shower

Today is anything but a shower day– rain showers, I mean.  The sun sits high and bold in a light blue sky amidst scattered non-threatening clouds that occasionally block its brilliance.  Sonny is sunbathing on the kitchen window seat.  It’s hard to believe that only a week ago I was scurrying about the house rushing to get ready for Lindsay’s baby shower, an event that I barely remember as if it were a fading dream.  I’m relieved that it went very well and a little melancholy that it’s over, though every time I see Lindsay’s blossoming belly, it gives me a reason to be cheerful again. 

The weeks leading up to the shower were a bit hectic.  This part I don’t miss at all.  Lindsay could not find a dress that she wanted to wear to flatter her very pregnant body.  I said to her at one point after she had tried on several dresses, you know, it was easier finding your wedding dress.  She even called me while I was in Providence, Rhode Island on a business trip and “face-timed” me while she was trying on dresses in a dressing room in Sears.  For anyone out there who doesn’t know what face-time is (which I doubt), it’s an option on your iPhone that allows you to talk and see the person on the other end.  To me, face-time brings back memories of the 1964 World’s Fair, specifically, the exhibit where you talked on the phone and saw the person you were talking to.  I never imagined I would actually be doing that some day with my own daughter especially with a wireless phone, but at that point in my life, I couldn’t really imagine anything past the third grade.    

Shopping for Lindsay’s baby shower dress was a whole different experience than shopping for any other dress. Her bridal shower was supposed to be a surprise, so there was no shopping for that.  With her wedding dress- it had to be off-white and strapless.  There was no theme.  Her baby shower was a safari theme­– so the plan was- wear an animal print.  I actually had a choice from what was in my closet- either a leopard print dress or a black dress with a zebra print sweater.  Kim also had found a zebra print dress when we went shopping one day.  Lindsay did not want us to wear animal print if she wasn’t wearing animal print; hence we began our hunt for animal print dresses.

There is a limit to the amount of maternity animal print dresses.  Lindsay managed to find three dresses.  One was a pink maternity dress that had a flower design that sort of looked like a white leopard print if you squinted.

The other dresses were a Kim Kardashian brown leopard stretchy tank dress and a maxi halter dress with a combination of tie-dye and animal print.  And even though she had a selection, Lindsay was not thrilled with any of them. 

Serendipitously, the Monday before the shower, I had to run to the bank for my mom and the bank I decided to go to happened to be in a shopping center that has a boutique that we shop in occasionally.  When I drove by I noticed a brown leopard dress in the window.  That was also the day I was going to the ob-gyn with Lindsay.  So, after her doctor’s appointment, at the end of the day, we went to the boutique.  There was not only the leopard dress in the window, but also several other safari print dresses that she tried on.  The one Lindsay picked, after she sent several pictures to her “Bouncing Babies” Facebook group of friends for their opinions, was a rainbow colored animal print- it was sort of like Lisa Frank meets the jungle.  Our safari hunt was over.  And I even got a new pair of patent leather shoes there to wear to the shower. 

Shopping for my mom the day before the shower was much quicker.  We went into Century 21 department store and immediately saw a sparkly silvery black animal print jacket which mom tried on right there.  Perfect.  If Lindsay’s baby is our safari princess, her great grandmother looked like the Queen-mother of the safari.

The room in the restaurant looked fabulous thanks to the decorations from one of my teacher friends, Jackie and her Couture Creations side business.  We had a leopard print diaper cake and boxes of popcorn for favors with a leopard and pink label that said “Ready to Pop” They were tied with a leopard bow that had a crystal in the middle, naturally.  There were mannequin centerpieces on the tables dressed in baby clothes that were mostly animal print.  And the cake and cupcakes continued the safari theme that matched the baby’s bedding, with animals on it as well.  At the end of the day, I was sure I was seeing leopard spots and zebra stripes everywhere I looked. 

The shower was a success- delicious food, fun games (thanks to Aunties-Kim and Michele and Great Aunt to be-Barbara) and perfect restaurant; my friends and family kept telling me days after how beautiful everything was.  I just wish I could remember.  It’s a blur.  Thankfully, Scott chronicled everything with his expert photography (http://www.bluemelon.com/kalmusphotography/lindsaysbabyshower-1/#init).

And here we are a week after and halfway through April.  The one thing left to plan for is the actual birth.  But for that, all I have to do is wait.  Although, I did find a zebra print hospital gown adorned with a pink ribbon on one of my searches for the baby shower dress…hmm…