Here We Go With the Lobster Again….

Lindsay has a long history with lobster.  It all began just before she was turning three.  Mark and I were celebrating our 7^th wedding anniversary and we decided to make a fancy lobster dinner at home to celebrate.  We had put Lindsay to bed earlier and as we began to “crack into” our meal; she tiptoed down the stairs and tilting her petite curly-topped head with the little ringlets that bounced like echoes, in her sing-song voice, said,  “What are you eating?”   We told her it was lobster and she asked if she could try some.  I think at first, she just wanted to be part of our party.  But the minute she tasted that lobster meat, it became her favorite of all time. 

She wasn’t even three and all of a sudden there was nothing on the kids’ meal menus at restaurants that appealed to her champagne taste.  She became a financial liability when we would go out to eat.  She always wanted lobster. This continued on through her childhood, adolescence and adulthood and even earned her a nickname from the caterer of her wedding.  Lindsay’s main request was that she and Scott have lobster for dinner during the wedding, cracked for them of course.  Hence, they were named- The Lobster Couple.  There are two entries I wrote in my first blog, Mother of the Bride: A Wedding Journey about the lobster couple.* 

So, here we are, at 38 weeks into this pregnancy.  I say “we” because at this point I feel as if I’m pregnant too.  Everything I plan now is based upon the upcoming arrival of my new love.  And while on this journey I also feel like I’m getting a fresh education on pregnancy.  I am learning things I never knew before.  There’s the medical lexicon- like “effacement”.  Effacement is when the cervix thins out and stretches to prepare for the baby to exit the birth canal.  Lindsay is now 80% effaced.  Then there’s the “stations” which describes how far the baby has dropped into the pelvis.  Lindsay’s baby is presently at a “0” station, which means that she’s at the middle of the pelvis.  When the baby is ready to emerge, she will be at +3 station.  It’s like riding the subway.  Right now we’re stuck at Union Square on our way to Whitehall Street.  I speak metaphorically to give some meaning to all this jargon.  I had two children of my own, but that was in a different century when there was no Internet to look things up and all the doctor told you was, “Nope, you’re not ready, see you next week.”

In additional to the medical terminology, there are also the “fad” pregnancy expressions and events for this new generation of mothers- for example- gender reveal parties (see blog entry-The Big Reveal- 1/6/13).  And babymoon- when the expectant couple takes their last trip before the baby arrives (see blog entry- Babymoons and Winter Blues- 2/3/13).  And the push present, which is a gift the father gives to the mother to mark the occasion of the birth of their child.  You want to know what I got for my push present? …The baby.  And hemorrhoids. 

There are also Lindsay’s pregnancy expressions, like my girls-, which refers to her Bouncing Babies group on Facebook.  These are girls from around the country who are either pregnant or just gave birth.  They share their stories, information and advice in a closed forum, which seems to be my daughter’s newfound religion.  Apparently they are her go-to people.  As a matter of fact when she spoke last night about when she goes into labor, she said she would be on her iPhone the whole time, communicating with “my girls”.   (I guess she won’t need me.  What do I know anyway?  I only just gave birth to her and her sister…This is what my alter ego Jewish-guilt mother says). 

The latest information Lindsay has been researching is how to get this baby out of her.  This past Friday night while I was at her house helping her organize to make more room for the baby, she showed me a list of things that help induce labor: for example,

1.    a pedicure,

2.    a cervical sweep,

3.    spicy food,

4.    castor oil,

5.    walking,

6.    lobster

7.    sex (I put that last because that is the last thing any 9-month pregnant woman wants.  However, it’s the first and only thing her obg-gyn suggested.)

She had the pedicure this week- no luck.  Castor oil is out of the question- yuck.  I reluctantly asked her what the cervical sweep was because I kept on having visions of Bert, the chimneysweeper, from Mary Poppins.  At that point Scott came out holding up a Swiffer duster that he was using to clean the house and chuckled “They use something like this.”  Not a pretty picture.  So, the cervical sweep and castor oil go in the “No” column.  We had plenty left in the “Yes” column.

Yesterday, we had a plan.  We were going to tackle #s 3,5 and 6.  So I picked up lobster, coincidently on sale for $7.99/lb at Best Yet, for dinner that night, explaining my scheme to the fishmonger and cashier– they wished me luck.  Then Lindsay, my mom and I went to Chipotle for a spicy Mexican lunch, followed by Tums for our indigestion.  We did a lot of walking around Babies R Us, then a little bit more at the mall.   We returned home to steam our lobster, of which Lindsay had two along with champagne, which apparently also is supposed to help.  A full moon was in the forecast- another good sign for giving birth.  We believed we had the right formula.  After all, wouldn’t it make sense for Lindsay, our ardent lobster lover, not to mention, ‘The Lobster Couple’ to have their first child after having a lobster dinner?  Wouldn’t it?

Apparently, Mother Nature, who also decided to bring back winter during Memorial Day weekend with wind and rain and temperatures in the low 50s, along with my granddaughter had a good laugh at our stratagem.  

And you know what my mother said, the wise 89 year-old Sylvia Waltzer-Berman, who gave birth to four children?  'You know when she’ll be born.  I’ll tell you.  When she’s good and ready.  That’s when.'

Well at least we got to eat lobster…  On to week 39 and the wait continues….

*Here are links to the other blogs mentioned. 

http://motherofthebrideaweddingjourney.blogspot.com/2009/08/right-place.html

http://motherofthebrideaweddingjourney.blogspot.com/2009/09/lobster-couple-cooks-lobster.html

Letter to My Daughter, the Mother to Be, on Mother’s Day

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh

Dear Lindsay, 

Yesterday (Saturday) you were officially 36 weeks or 9 months pregnant.  Today we will celebrate Mother’s Day- your unofficial “first” Mother’s Day as “Mommy to Be”.   And soon, very, very soon, you will become a mother for the first time.  So, I am writing this letter to you to tell you what it was like for me when I became a mother because of you.   

This past week you began “nesting”.  My friend Roselee told me that when she called to find out how you were doing.  I told her you were busy, busy, busy­­–– washing and folding all the baby’s clothes and packing and preparing your bag for the hospital.  “She’s nesting,” chuckled Roselee, “preparing for the baby.”  I looked it up online.  It’s an instinct all mothers go through to get ready for their soon-to-be-born baby.  They reorganize, clean, sort, cook, etc.  Coincidently, Aunt Claire came in from Arizona to visit and taught you how to make tomato sauce.  You put this sauce into containers to store in your freezer, so you’d have dinners already prepared while you are adjusting to everything else that comes with motherhood. 

I don’t remember nesting until the night before the morning you were born.  I had sat down in my kitchen and had a sudden urge to wash the floor.  It was after 11pm.  I had a sinking suspicion that I was getting that surge of energy I heard about that women get before they give birth.  That terrified me.  Then I realized I still had over two weeks, so I decided to go to bed, instead.  And then, my world changed forever.  I was trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, which is next to impossible when you’re 9 months pregnant and as I turned over I felt a strange trickle of liquid run down my leg.  I jumped up and the rest came gushing out of me as if a dam exploded.  My water broke. 

I woke your father up from a sound sleep.  It was pandemonium from then on.  We called Dr. Kliot, my ob-gyn, and he said I probably would not go into labor for a while.  He was wrong.  I started contractions 30 minutes afterwards that were five minutes apart.  We called Dr. Kliot back.  He told us to go to the hospital, but that I probably wouldn’t give birth so soon.  He was wrong about that too.

  

I remember your father asking me to get the suitcase I packed.  I looked at him and admitted meekly, I didn’t pack one yet.  Then he asked me if I could remember what goes in that suitcase and I couldn’t answer because he was making me so nervous.  Truth be told, I totally forgot what goes in the suitcase.  “Washcloths!  And lollypops!” he shouted, “That’s what I remember.”  I watched him run to the linen closet to get washcloths and then he asked me if I had lollypops.  Of course I had no lollypops. He started yelling at me because there were no lollypops.  I told him that I think I could give birth without the lollypops. 

We called Nanny and Poppy to come meet us at the hospital and to bring lollypops if they had them.  Meanwhile, your father told me to go stay in the bathroom because I was still leaking.  He went out and lined the passenger seat of our car- a 1980 Toyota Celica Black Package- with towels to protect it from the amniotic fluid.  When he finished, he took me and the bag with the washcloths out to the car. 

When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses in the maternity ward would not admit me because they said I was able to smile too easily.  Yes. They actually said that.  I tried not to smile, but they still wouldn’t let me in.  Instead, they instructed me to walk up and down the lobby of the hospital to make my labor progress a little faster.  So your father, Nanny and I walked back and forth for about three hours in the lobby of Brookdale Hospital while your Poppy read the Newspaper.  Nanny did bring the lollypops and says I was sucking them as I walked.  I don’t remember this at all, but she swears by it and your father corroborates her story. 

Finally, the nurses put me in an examination room.  I was about 8 centimeters dilated by then and Dr. Kliot had not arrived yet.  Every person who walked in the room examined me, I think even the janitor, but at that point I didn’t care.  One doctor told me that Dr. Kliot would probably not make it in time for the birth.  I was determined not to let that happen.

Everything progressed so quickly after that.  They wheeled me into a labor room and told me to push.  I told them I didn’t know how to push because I didn’t finish my Lamaze classes and we hadn’t gone over “pushing” yet.  This started an argument between me and your father, who insisted I could push anyway.  I told him he’s welcome to take my place and push if he thinks it’s so easy.  At last, Dr. Kliot, showed up, literally a half-hour before you were born.  He took one look at me (and I don’t mean my face) and he said, “Oh this is a small baby.  I can pull it out myself.”  And in the next second, he just reached inside and pulled you right out, all five pounds of you and a second later announced you were a girl.  I asked your father if he was upset because he had referred to you as his son while I was pregnant.  He looked at me through happy tears and said, “No, not at all.  She’s perfect.  Thank you.” 

You let out several screams, then stopped, and then screamed again and stopped.  I remember hearing you before I actually got a chance to see you.  It was more of a bellow than a cry– a beautiful, melodious bellow, which filled the room and tugged on my heart as if there was an invisible string attached, forever.

It was a while before I got to hold you.  They wanted to check you out first because you were a bit early and weighed only five pounds.  When they saw that you were fine, they put you in my arms.  In that moment, I understood love like never before– in its most purest and complete form. 

But also in that same moment I was overwhelmed with a feeling of absolute responsibility I had never felt before.  Actually, it was more a dichotomy of inexplicable joy mixed with a bit of terror and the clear knowledge that life would never be the same again.  That’s what it’s like when you suddenly enter motherhood– a conglomeration of sensations.

From the moment your child is born, it is as if you stepped out of one world into another.  You will have instinctive urges of trying to control the uncontrollable.  From the moment you put that infant down in the crib, then check five more times in all of five minutes to make sure she’s breathing- that’s what it means to be a mother. To be jubilant over a burp, a first step, a smile, a laugh and one milestone after another.  Along with that comes the uncertainty of caring for that fussy baby, that curious toddler, that unpredictable child, that insolent adolescent and that delightful young woman.  It’s the most demanding, most unpredictable, most difficult, most wonderful job I have had in my lifetime.   

Your father always says to me, “I thought I cut the umbilical cord, but I guess I didn’t.”  He literally did cut the umbilical cord that attached us.  But that invisible string that holds fast to my heart could never be severed.  It will connect us forever. 

Happy Mother’s Day to the one who made me a mother.

I love you.

Always,  

Mom  

Spring. Finally.

Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own; and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.”  

-Charles Dickens

Finally.  Any signs of winter have disappeared.  Blue permeates the skies now for the last several days and the heat of the sun is warming the lingering chill of the morning air.  Instead of the clacking of the heat traveling through the baseboards, each morning I am awoken by the sounds of busy chirping birds and the smell of fresh cut grass.  My neighbors' gardens are filled with tulips or daffodils or brightly colored azaleas announcing the beginning of spring.  I have even spotted a few bushy tailed bunnies on the lawns, taunting Sonny with their freedom.  They make it official.  Finally.

Nature is such a resplendent presence in our lives, if we just take time to pay attention.  Its simplicity is so profound, yet perhaps because its course is so predictable we forget to pay homage.  Instead we fill our days with preparation only because we must and then we’re sorry because we haven’t stopped to enjoy it enough before we notice it’s gone.    

Mark, my handyman husband, is out in the backyard now, opening our pool.  He has already re-stained the deck, put out the fire-pit and patio sets and hung the awning on the gazebo.  He is only halfway done.  He still has planting to do both in the front and back yards and needs to replace two lampposts and broken window screens.  I’m sure the list is much longer than that, which adds to Mark’s anxiety.  We are hosting the annual 4^th of July celebration this year with my friends and then we are hosting the baby naming, scheduled for September 8^th.  The yard must look pristine. 

Lindsay has admitted that she waddles now.  Her belly is ripening.  Nature’s course tells us 4 weeks 6 days are left to the countdown of the arrival of our spring sweetheart.  Scott is working on her room.  It was gutted and re-insulated.  New sheetrock was hung and new windows and carpeting will be installed.  I hope all this gets done before Lindsay gives birth.  She was 17 days early and her room was not ready when she was born; Mark and my brother had to paint it while Lindsay and I were in the hospital. 

This week my sister, Claire, is here to visit from Arizona and got a chance to see Lindsay pregnant with her first great niece and even got to feel a few kicks.  She bought her a battery operated Gund bear that plays peek-a-boo with a blanket that entertained us for a while.  It’s hard to believe how fast our own children have grown and that we’re at this milestone now of ushering in the next generation. 

While I was making space in the closet of my guest room for my sister, coincidently, a picture of the three of us, my two sisters and me, fell to the floor.  It was from the day of my brother’s bar mitzvah.  We were standing in front of the mirror in my parent’s bedroom- that same mirror that resides in my mother’s room in my house today.  We were lovely- my older sister, Margie was 21 at the time, I was 19 and Claire was 17.  Our skin was flawless, looking as smooth as glass, my sister Margie’s neck like a swan as she stood between us.  Such pretty young girls we were.  Long ago.  It’s coincidental that this photo is a mirror reflection of us, as if it was meant for me to stumble upon it in my late 50s and reflect on time passing– how those three young ladies have become three middle-aged women. 

When Lindsay was little, one of her favorite books was a Golden Book, titled, Where Did the Baby Go? 

It was about a little girl who found a photograph of a baby wearing a big floppy hat.  She asked her mother who this baby was and where did the baby go?  Her mother didn’t tell her; she just kept giving her clues, which led her in a search throughout her house looking for the baby.  Finally with the last clue- “the baby used to like to play dress-up with her mother’s clothes”- the little girl finds the same floppy hat in her mother’s closet and when she puts the hat on, she realizes that she was that baby. 

I used to read that book to Lindsay over and over again.  I have searched for it in my house to give it to Lindsay to read to my granddaughter, but to no avail.  I gave up looking in the house and in the stores and was able to find a very old, weathered copy on the Internet, which just arrived in the mail. 

The night I stumbled upon the photo of me and my sisters in the closet, I also found a small container with all of Lindsay’s and Kimberly’s favorite children’s books.  I opened it to find the Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes books and many others.  As I went through them, the memories of years past came flooding back and filled me with an ache I could never describe in words.  And then, in the midst of all this emotion, there it was, serendipitously– the book, Where Did the Baby Go?, in almost perfect condition, like an old friend I haven’t seen in years, but still looking the same as I’ve always remembered. 

I am looking forward now to a spring that will bring new joys and new memories.  And even though I sometimes yearn for the past, it wouldn’t be there if I had never yearned for the future.   

  

“Time it was

And what a time it was, it was

A time of innocence

A time of confidences

Long ago it must be

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories

They're all that's left you”

― Paul Simon, lyrics

The Berman Sisters: Claire, Margie and Jeannie (me),  [1975]

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…

The Tide Always Turns…Easter 2013

In my office, which is located in the far left corner of my house, my desk sits facing the window which looks out to my Leland Cyprus trees that never change.   On my desk is a small silver box in the shape of a shell; it is engraved with the epigram ‘the tide always turns’.  My friend, Dorothea, whom I met at work, gave me this box as a gift.  It was during one of the many transitions we were going through and was meant to lift my spirits. 

I am blessed with many friends in my life.  Each friend knows different sides of me, except for my best friend of 36 years, Meryl, who knows every side to me. She is the muse to my emotional self.  But Dorothea- she is the muse to my intellectual self.  She has always been my cheerleader and makes me believe in me.  If it were up to Dorothea, I would be the CEO of the company.  Of course I think she has an inflated sense of confidence in my abilities, nevertheless, it is always good to know someone out there has faith in you.  She is also very much like me, as well, and even though we were raised in different religions- she a Catholic and I a Jew, we both have very similar spiritual beliefs. 

I look at my box now and think of the one person whom I miss so much, always, but especially during this time of year- my brother-in-law, Scott.  And I can’t help but picture him sitting on his beach chair watching the tide turning on the seashore next to his home.  I can almost hear the peaceful cadence of the waves if I close my eyes.  That seashore was obliterated during Hurricane Sandy this past October. 

The tide always turns….I googled the expression and found that it is a metaphorical statement of the nature of life. It signifies that good or bad, things change.  It reminds us that when things are going well, appreciate it while it’s happening, because at any moment this can be altered.  Conversely, when things are bad, endure, because eventually the tides will turn and good things will come.

I remember the good times of Passover and Easter, the times when we had our Seders, when my dad would slice the brisket, the way he would read the Haggadah, in that false deep voice, trying to be funny.  I remember when my mom used to dress us up for Easter, even though we were Jewish, Easter bonnets and all.  Both holidays represent a paradox of persecution and redemption, of oppression and hope, of the nature of life.  Both have eggs to symbolize new life. They both come at the onset of spring when nature begins to bloom. 

We resumed our Passover celebration this year, without my brother-in-law, Scott, but thankfully with my sister-in-law Maryanne and my two nieces- Pinot and Sancerre- her dogs.  We recalled a past Seder that Scott was at when I had a mouse in the house and he called it Mickey Mousekewitz and said that he replaced Elijah that year.  It was bittersweet.  This year, Lindsay had to drink the grape juice instead of wine because she is pregnant. 

Today, we will celebrate Easter with Maryanne and our extended Kolenovsky family.  We will eat the traditional dish that Barbara makes of eggs, ricotta cheese, oranges and lemons, from their Italian tradition that represents the good and the bad, the sweet and the sour.  Before we start to eat, Barbara will lead us in prayer and remember the ones from our families who are not with us anymore.  Last year we tearfully added Scott, my brother-in-law, to the list and Lindsay and Scott’s first baby, a boy, whom she lost at 12 weeks of pregnancy.  This year we will add an aunt and Barbara’s dog, Pepper. 

This Easter, Lindsay is full with child- my granddaughter, due towards the end of spring.  I look at my box now, with its inscription.  It is empty inside, revealing nothing except the mystery of life.  I will one day leave this box to my granddaughter, along with the pearls my grandmother left to me.  I hope that it will serve as a reminder to her to always enjoy the good times and when the sad times occur, to know that the tide always turns. 

Happy Passover and Happy Easter to all.