Here, There, Everywhere

In February at my fathers visitation a wizened elderly man stood in front of me, stooped over with his skin the color of ill health, his friendly eyes met mine as I smiled at him, he took my hand and introduced himself. My face went from a smile to one of shock and disbelief. I searched his face for some reassurance that it really was him and sadly I stepped into his open arms for the hug he was offering.

My God. I had not seen Jim since Joe and I left Mayberry to move to Hoosier Land three years ago. The cancer he had been valiantly fighting for 15 years was finally winning. The strong, friendly, tall, lawyer, who knew everyone in Mayberry, born, raised, went to school here, left to attend college, returned here to teach, left again to get an advanced degree, returned here to practice law, married, raised his own family here,coached the youth leagues here, was a surrogate father figure to many here, adopted a child from the orphanage here, became a pillar of the community here, opened his heart and wallet to many here, and last week died here.

This is the type of man he was...

From the Funeral Home guest book.

".......Peggy, we have never met but I own Neighborhood Grocery on Clifton Road. Just wanted you to know how good Jimmy was to Wajeeh and I. When we first bought the store and were having a hard time, Jimmy would come in the summer carrying fresh tomatoes and other things we could sell in the deli just to help us out. He would come in hot and tired, carrying produce and other items and tell us, "just hang in there. I was thinking about you all and brought these for you'll to use in the deli and sell on your sandwiches." Your husband's kindness and wishing good for everyone will be greatly missed. If there is ever anything Wajeeh and I can do don't hesitate to ask us."

It's good to know that people like him do exist. The greatest gift about living in a small community is this, we all know each other. Even as our little Mayberry town grows and embraces all the new blood from places far and wide (as my family entered over 50 years ago)there will be people like Jim to meet them and make them feel welcome and at home.

Unfortunately, there will never be another one quite like him.

Tardy Thursday - again

c. 1936

Like book-ends, my Aunt and Uncle sit on this fence with friends a long time ago. I would speculate that both are teenagers, at least Aunt Maureen. She passed away in the spring of this year, so she is no longer available to quiz.

She has been on my mind a lot in the past several weeks. My S-I-L brought a small plastic shoe box filled with the last of Aunt Maureen's effects (the story of my SIL and Aunt Maureen is long and complicated. SIL opened her home to Maureen in Maureen's last months. She and my daughter nursed her to the end).

That small box has bothered me ever since. How can ones whole life be reduced to one small box? No one wanted anything from the box, so I took it home with me. Inside is a set of silver wear, her PhD, her dissertation, her published work, and a pearl ring she bought in Japan, on one of her numerous sojourns into places wild and unknown.

I miss her. I miss the way she had such an honest and at times intense interest in what you were doing, how your life was progressing, and her wonderful inquiry, "What fabulous things have you been doing lately?"

The Day the World Changed

It was the first day of summer vacation, 1983. Two little girls, aged 12, rode their bikes to a mall in one of the suburbs in Louisville called Bashford Manor. What happened after that has been a mystery for the past 25 years. The image of a 12 year old's bike, leaned up against the entrance to the Mall has been burned into the minds of every single person who lived here during that time. The face of a beautiful red haired little girl, with blue eyes and freckles was on television for an eternity. Her parents, with their halting Russian accents, begged for her safe return.

That face eventually was featured on milk cartons so that her features were known to many more outside of the Louisville area. The search turned cold, the face began to appear less often. In time only on the anniversary of her disappearance the story was resurrected and speculation once again was the subject of conversations.

I was stunned along with the rest of our community. My daughter was only two years old the beginning of that summer. I would look at her and understand the horror that the Gotlib family was feeling for their lost daughter, Ann. Abductions and kidnapping happened SOMEWHERE ELSE. Not here, not to us. Not to one of our children!

Could it be that abductions and murder of random children was not reported to us? Or was the plight of Ann Gotlieb the first national "mystery" that gripped our nation?

Because they had no leads, there was no ransom note, there was nothing...nothing! that it was thought she had run away. Her parents vehemently refused to believe that their 12 year old child had left her beloved bike behind. They refused to give up.

Last week, 25 years later, the police broke the news that they had a suspect. And that the suspect had died in 2002 after being released from prison on a medical release. His crime had been assault against a 13 year old girl, also in the Louisville area. They were confident now, with the addition of some new information. Actually some very old information that had never delivered to them but held in the silence for 25 years.

Finally the missing piece of the puzzle. Finally the missing girl, which had gripped Louisville for so long, was explained, if not found.

I double they will ever find her tiny 12 year old body after all these years. The monster that killed her has left this world to meet his fate with God. Maybe all his victims will be standing along side as his eternal judgement is handed down to him.

As for Ann Gotlib's parents? They were offered an apology from the police force and the detecives that were working on the case. Maybe if they had tried harder.....

When I heard the news Thursday night I cried for Ann Gotlib. I cried for her family and I cried for the world that had changed so quickly and without warning that first summer night in 1983.

Tardy Thursday

Once again a Wistful Wednesday thanks to Far Side of Fifty who came up with this idea of posting old photo's that tell a story. This pic is circa 1955. My grandmother is next to my blond half German/half Irish cousin E. Grandma did not problems with M. marrying a German but refused to attend J's (the blond seated on the couch holding my bro N.) when he married an Italian girl in the late 1960's. Therefore, she could attend no weddings afterwards. I wonder why she backed herself into such a cold corner. When J. was 12 she took him to Ireland for three months to show him off.

I am next to E. and K. looking towards something in the wings.

This is all the women on my mothers side of the family. The three sisters and the sister in law, the Grandmother and all the kids born so far.

Most of us are still here. Grandma went on in the early 1970's and my one of my cousins was killed in a freak accident in the early 1980's.

And...there are quite a few more than are in this picture. My Mom had three more and the Sister in Law had two more.

Here is a picture of most the women from that side of the family 50 years later! Some Grand kids added and some missing. But, once again, the women.

This is for your own good

The true joy of a really great Thanksgiving morning is one that consists of nothing more than to go outside and pick up the paper then turning on the TV to enjoy the Macy Day Parade. As I was thumbing through the section of the paper that highlights amateur regional cooks I came across a recipe for yeast cinnamon rolls.

It made my mouth water.

I ran to the kitchen to locate the package of yeast that I purchased some time ago under the delusional assumption that I would make some bread. It was still in date! I quickly re-read the recipe and knew there was no way I could follow these instructions. It involved one of those very expensive mixers. I have an old hand held mixer that has a mind of its own.

So, I pulled out my cook books and using two of them , I began my venture into uncharted territory.

I am a visual type of learner. I love to read, but I am kind of thick headed. Show me how to do it!! I had to have two books to get the job done!! How long does it take for the dough to rise? One book says, "...until it doubles in size." I have to know how long! The other book provided the answer, about one hour. One book said, "...add the flour until it will knead with out sticking". Okay good, it is not sticking, I put it in the oven, with the setting in warm, because there is no "warm" place in my house! None!! The dough appears to rise, but in one hour, it did not double.

I referred to both cook books again.

Knead? The first one did not say, "knead the dough" it said, "until it does not stick..."

Doh! (pun intended).

So, I took it out and kneaded it and divided it, and rolled it out, applied the brown sugar and butter mix, rolled it up into a roll, and cut it up and brushed it with butter and laid in on a glass pie pan. Covered and back in the over, on warm.

They rose! I baked them.

They were divine. Sweet cinnamon heaven, they were wonderful!

The next morning I woke up and my first thought was, "Cinnamon roll for breakfast!" When I saw the plate that housed the rolls lying in the sink I began to have a bad feeling. My husband was standing there trying to look innocent.

"Where are they?" I questioned him. He shrugged and threw his head towards the outside. "In the garbage. I ate all the tops off of them and tossed the rest. It's for your own good."

Five hours down the drain! I was shocked he would do such a thing!! I thought about killing him, but then on second thought I shrugged it off.

It more than likely was for my own good.

Damn it.

Wistful Wednesday - 1964

And then in 1964 I got my wish and my parents finally handed over a baby sister for me and my three brothers!

Kitsyboo was my Nana's favorite because they both arrived around the same time, Kitsy as an addition to the family and Nana as a transplanted New Yorker to tiny Mayberry. I guess they bonded immediately.

She grew up to be a holy terror. A real prissy princess.

Only I can say these things!

(As you can see, another Kit!)

Wistful Wednesday - 1959

I am really looking forward to Wednesday these days thanks to Far From Fifty and her idea of posting old photo's that tell a story.

For my birthday many years ago, I got a new baby brother! All 11 pouunds of him. He was the biggest baby born in the local Mayberry hospital at the time! He was a chunk as is evident in this photo!

Now, looking at the picture I realize it is Palm Sunday because of the small crosses on the T's shirt. T is the one mugging for the camera. Every picture we ever took, T is mugging and playing the camera.

I had two brothers, I truly wanted a sister and look what I got! Another brother. Mom told me he was my birthday present! Not only did I not get a sister, I now had to share my birthday! Well, almost, he was born the day before my birthday.

The picture is taken in my parents bedroom with the baby bassinet behind T's shoulder. Mom hired a lady, Mrs. Cassidy, to come help her out for a month or so, because three children, all at home at the time, and an infant...well, who couldn't use the help! Behind Mrs. C is Mom's dresser. It is loaded to the ceiling with her "stuff". Nothing ever changes, my Mom's house to this day is piled sky high with her stuff, stamps, rare books, newspapers about stamps, the Irish Echo, the Messanger, her begging mail (pls. send us money for the missions) ....well, the list is endless.

So the gang of Three is now the gang of Four and I now have Three Brothers.

Two Birthdays and a Funeral

A friend of mine, one I have not seen for 15 or so years, died in October. His family cremated his remains and had a service to celebrate his life on his birthday this past Saturday. He would have been 57.

The reason it had been so long since I had seen him is he was a No Show in 2002 when I went to Churchill Downs to meet up with him and my buddy from Florida who was in town for a visit.

My friend from Florida could not make the service and I assured him I would represent us both. I recognized no one at the funeral. I commented to the woman siting next to me, who knew the Departed from working with him during the 1980's, that everyone needed to strip off 20 years and then I might know a face or two.

I called my Florida friend afterwards and described the service, what was said, and described the people who were there. "I didn't see So and So" I said, "but, I did see this guy who looked familiar and he had salt and pepper hair......blah blah blah......" and he would know who that person was. I did it several times and he would say, "That was So & So's daughter."

I was really hard on myself afterwards, that I could not recognize anyone and then I had a revelation of sorts. I was raising a small child at the time! I was not running with that crowd every week-end and every chance I got. It was every so often at the Butchertown Pub that I would run into the crowd. And the Departed was the boy friend of my room mate at that time, so it would make more sense that she would know the people at the service. That made me feel a little better about my lack of face recognition and fuzziness of memories that my Florida friend was reminiscing with me. And I without a clue.

But my lack of memories made me sad.

The next day was the grand babies birthday and I was, as always behind the camera instead of in front of it. When I came home and powered up the chip and began to crop and remove red eye I had a second revelation. These are memories that I will never forget and if my rapidly shrinking brain needs stimulus, I am able to whip out the photo album and have the day return to me in a warm fuzzy rush.

I picked up a camera in the early 1990's when I found a Nikon Series F in a pawn shop with several lens and a beat up soft leather butter color bag for $150. Big bucks back then, but it gave me my own memory catcher that was certainly more reliable than my flesh and blood personal CPU.

Still, I have my memories of the 1980's, being a single parent with one of my best friends as a room mate and the struggle of working, going to school in the evenings, and trying to raise a child.

Is it any wonder my brain is fried?

A Sweet Childhood Memory

Things certainly have changed over the years. Especially when I was a kid and my Mom was the stay at home kind. We lived on a shoe string. I realize that now. We never felt deprived of anything. Our Christmas was just like everyone else. Our parents were the Depression Era Kids, so we were never lavished with gifts. Under the tree always looked plentiful because there were so many of us! Usually each of us received two gifts from our parents and several more from Aunts and Uncles. Christmas was wonderful and I remember each Madam Alexander doll,my first bike, the year I got the Barbie (!),the Beatle albums, the Chatty Cathy doll! Each one was very special. Even that small itty bitty sewing machine. The clothes were quickly forgotten though when I see the Christmas pictures from those long ago days, I realize I am wearing some brand new clothes and remember those were part of my Christmas loot.

Birthday's were the same. One or two gifts and a great birthday party where you received gifts from your friends. Usually coloring books and junk like that. Still, highly anticipated and oh so sweet.

Remember the Christmas when the favorite toy was the large box it came in?

I recall with vivid clarity how I loved to play with my Mothers "costume jewelry". That was what she called it, not to be confused with the real jewelry...which I don't think she ever had! I would sit on the floor and take each piece out, examine it then lay it next to the box. Everything out, put on, taken off, respectfully put back in the box in the proper place and returned to the top of the dresser where I would beg to play with it again on any given day.

One day Joe came home with a bunch of costume jewelry that had been blown into the front yard. (I kid you not!). As I sifted through it all those cheap baubles I recalled that lovely memory. I remembered how thrilled I was when I hung all those necklaces around my small neck and attached all those fake gem brooches to my blouse and had the heavy bracelet's sliding down my arm.

The seed of an idea began to grow.

This is what I am going to give the Grand baby for her Third Birthday! A box of jewelry! She always is wanting to wear whatever I have on and...it's just perfect.

Above is a jar of colorful bits of glass and beads I found at the Goodwill.

Look at that Indian Beading!! To die for when I was a kid. And three rosary's in there too!!

All for $6.00.

Now all I need is to find one of those jewelry boxes with the little ballerina that twirls around to Lara's theme.

I hope she likes it. I have a strong feeling her ten month old brother will.

Wistful Wednesday - 1947

Thanks to Far Side of Fifty I am continuing with posting old family photo's and telling the stories!

This is how I remember my Mothers Mother! A no nonsense get to work kind of lady. Mom was 19 when she graduated from college and Grandma thought she was too young to go on to graduate school so she took her to Ireland for six months.

So, there is about 15 - 16 years between the pic last week and this one. Man, did she ever age bringing up three girls and my wild Uncle!

Here she is, getting ready to toss the hay I think.

Here is the a story told to me by my Aunt Kitty from Ireland, who is around my Mom's age and her first cousin. Kit is also my Grandma's name (lots of Catherine's in my family...to this day even, still Kit's too)

Sitting around the table, having a spot of tea and talking, Aunt Kit's mother says, "Kitty is first in her class this year!"

My Grandma Kit responds, "My Tess was first in the school!" (Tess is my Mom).

Undeterred, Aunt Kitty's mother says, "My Kit has a boyfriend this year who is taking her to the dance!"

Grandma Kit responds, "My Tess had three boyfriends."

Undaunted, (since they are sister in law's and in great competition and Aunt Kit's mother is beginning to realize she may be in over her head), "My Kit was the goalie for the winning team of the Ashbourne Trophy this year!" (how could Kit trump this!)

"My Tess won the city wide Irish dance contest in all of New York! Five years running!"

Aunt Kitty's mother had to give up in defeat.

My Mom, Tess, and my Aunt Kitty sat at the table, sipping their tea, not daring to utter a word under the glare of the clashing titans.

"Everyone was in awe of your Mother", Aunt Kitty confided to me with a rolling of her eyes!

And I thought, "They probably In awe of my Grandmother too!"

(it looks like she is wearing some kind of plastic apron! Maybe leather? Maybe she is getting ready to slaughter a sheep or a chicken. Also, what does she have in her hands? Looks dark and ominous.......)

Moon Mouse?

(The astronaut looks like he is carrying a rodent!)


Last year I stumbled across a blog that was artistic in nature. I really enjoyed it and when she announced a postcard exchange I jumped at the challenge. It was only after I had committed that I realized you were suppose to create the post card!! Horrors! It took me forever to come up with a workable, passable, presentable end product.

I did it again this year! And once again, it was like giving birth to a creation. The above is the result after weeks of prototypes and luckily a chance encounter with a National Geographic from the walking on the Moon era.

I have to hand it to people who create for a living, it is a tough job. Like writing or even keeping up this blog. I wanted to participate in the National Writing thing that is going on right now, but I know it is too hard and I take my hat off to those who are dedicated enough to finish it!

Like I said, I can barely keep up with this blog.

Second Old Photo Thursday

My Mom and her Mom and Her two sisters

This old photo blows me away for the number one MONSTER reason, my Grandmother is smiling. In all the pictures we have of her, this must be only one of at the most three, where she is smiling.

And she is so pretty!! I now see where the high apple cheeks come from, and I see why my Grandfather defied his family and married her. You see, they came from different sides of the tracks. Too much to go into right now, maybe later when I check the facts and get it straight in my mind.

My Mom is the one in the front, her Irish twin, Aunt Pat is behind her with the boyish looking mop of hair. She always was a Tomboy and at one time could could name all the players of the Brooklyn Dodgers, their stats and out talk anyone about her team. Aunt Mary is the blond, AKA the Blond Bomb. At one time the boys in the neighborhood went door to door and sold a paper they had written. There was a whole column dedicated to her, called the Blond Bomb, which kept all the males abreast on what she was up to, who she was going out with and how long she would be in "jug", which is what they called detention. I think she spent a lot of time in "jug".

I love this old photo thing, thanks to Far Side of Fifty!

My Vote Counted!

Late last week I took my husband to the Court House in downtown Jeffesonville Indiana to cast his vote. The hallway was packed with people waiting their turn to do the same thing. Early voting is allowed in this state without having to give a reason. Just show up with the correct and proper identification and you can do it.

I had voted earlier in the week. As I sat and waited (approx. 45 min.) I was surrounded with the hum and buzz concerning the pending appearance of Sarah Palin in our community. The women sitting next to me, more than likely in her 70's, with her eyes bright with anticipation talked of sending her husband to stand in line to secure tickets so that she could be one of throngs chanting.

The gentleman to the right of me was practically giddy talking about Palin and how she was going to clean up Washington the way she cleaned up Alaska. I made eye contact with a gentleman of color who was sitting in between us, he smiled slightly.

Last night as I watched the election results I was surprised by the emotion that overcame me when CNN announced, with the closing of the polls in California, that Barack Obama was being declared the next President of the United States. I became choked up and tears began to stream down my face.

I was transported back to my Civics Class in 1968, with Mrs Tibbs, when the door to our classroom flew open and startled us. We were more started by the news, Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot in Tennessee.

What a far way we have traveled in the 40 years since that moment in time to this moment.

As I voted for Obama I prayed that my vote would mean something.

As the next president of the United States carried my state of Indiana by a mere 20,000 votes, I know it did.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

I was just reading Cynthia's post on the election in Tennessee and it saddened me. Actually it made my face flush with shame at my fellow southerners.

We were visiting with my Sister-In-Law this past week-end and she related this story to us.

She has some property that she rents to a friend who was visiting her with his family, which included his wife and two daughters, ages 6 and 15.

The six year old asked S-I-L, "Who you voting for President?"

S-I-L replied, "Baby, I'm not sure but I think I am leaning towards Obama."

"You a "N word" lover?" she asked.

S-I-L looked at her father, who would not meet her eye. "Where did you hear that?"

"At school."

"Well, you should not call people that not matter what they say at school. It's a bad thing to say, Baby."

"You should vote for McCain." the six year old continued.

"And why is that?"

"Because when he dies then a lady would be President!"

S-I-L just looked at her Dad again and shook her head, "That is not a good reason to vote for someone."

"Better a woman than a 'N-word'", she resumed playing and lost interest in her political conversation with S-I-L.

And we wonder why the world is going to hell. Ignorance is taught, not inbred.

Old Picture Thursday

Circa 1965

Thanks to the inspiration from the Far Side of Fifty I am going include an old picture from my archives that I have been scanning into my computer. I may do it on another day than Thursday, it depends on how I feel.

I love this picture for many reasons. First, it's my Dad holding my Sister in the back yard of the "old family homestead", the first house my parents ever owned and I grew up in.

Secondly, I love the expression on my sis's face. She always has had a serious side to her, which hides her sinister side. More on that later.

I love the background (and wish I had the newer version of Blogger so that I could enlarge this) and the upside down bicycle on the driveway, probably a flat tire being repaired or oil applied to the chain, or the chain being reattached, or maybe baseball cards being added to the spokes for that sweet rat-a-tat-tat sound.

The car in the driveway is my Nana's Ford which she was having trouble with and the service department could not fix it so Nan wrote Mr. Ford and complained. Needless to say, it got repaired! She became so feeble she could not drive any more, so Dad inherited the car and it was wrecked off Clays Mill's Rd one morning.

Also, Herself is on the back porch watching Dad to make sure he does not drop the baby! (My sis was always Nana's favorite, she had a tea party with Nana every day).

And I just love the feel of the black and white and how this little photo holds so many memories of life in the 1960's.

Wild Again

A long time ago, like maybe 15 years ago, I had this cat that Bridget brought (dragged) home as a kitten. She had fallen in love with this kitten at her friends house. Her friend lived on a farm and this was the product of a barn cat. He was black and white. We named him something, but I can't remember what it was. I called him "Cat". Several weeks went by and I added "Wild Thing". Wild Thing stuck.

I could write a thousand stories about Wild Thing. I have always had cats thrust upon me, not by choice. Once I have them, I fall in love with them and can not imagine life with out them.

Enter, Wild Again. My daughters cat. Once I stop calling the cat "Cat" and tag it with a name, I'm a goner.

Wild Again is a three legged cat. He lost his leg in an accident several years ago and somehow managed to live through the operation that saved his life. he is a blessed cat. And real purdy.

So, he has been hanging out at my house while Bridget gets her life back in order and I have been feeding this Wild Again thing and ever so gingerly been allowing it to go outside. I did follow the cat around, but he usually did okay and ran back when he got tired of hiding from me and I suppose it was just no longer any fun hearing me plead, "Kitty come back!!"

So finally I am comfortable with just letting him out and leaving the back screen open enough where he can run in.

Something must have happened out there yesterday. He is laying in the patch of sunshine that engulfs the back patio doors, but does not whine to go out.

He has eaten, but not like normal, which is his weight in dry food and a daily dose of the good stuff. He has laid around on the couch in the same spot for hours!!

He finally went outside and stayed for a few minutes,not nosing around, or running off to scare me.....

I guess I will let it go another day and if Wild Again is not acting Wild enough for me, I guess its vet time.

Phew.....I had forgotten about all this angst.

So blame it on your lying, cheating, cold deadbeating,

....Two-timing, double dealing
Mean mistreating, loving heart

Or how I've saved at least $127.92 + tax

Or...how I have nothing....so this insane post will have to do.

Have you ever found yourself loving a song that you heard in the midst of a movie. Did you ever find yourself sitting through the credits to the very end just so you could look over the music list and try and pick out the song you fell in love with? Have you ever stood in front of your TV and slowed down the DVD so that you could read the song list?

Well, I have and it is a hard thing to do. Made more so when you realize you have no idea which one (out of the 20 - 30 songs listed) just might be the one!

Then, I discovered imdb. And praise the lord, they list the sound tracks on their site when you research a movie!! And if there is not sound track I have found they have a message board where you can ask!

Since I am in control of the NetFlix queue these days, I have had lots of chick flick movies that have superb soundtracks that I have been able to track down through imbd.

Has anyone seen "Bonneville" with Jessica Lange, Kathy Bates and Joan Allen? If you have (wonderful movie about friendship) then I bet you will remember the song "Cha Cha" by Chello.

Or, "Bella" (a sweet movie about redemption)that had a song called "Sway with me" (I naturally had to look that up!!) by Rosemary Clooney!! Who knew I would fall in love with Rosemary's music! She is great!

Then there was Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, a movie I normally never would have rented but I can't remember why I did and when it arrived I just struck it in thinking I would give it 10 minutes and then send it back...but something happened!! Not the greatest movie, but I found myself drawn in by the Cinderella like quality. And I found "If I didn't Care" which made me cry when performed. I found it on MP3 by the Ink Spots and it still chokes me up when I hear it.

I was on a roll by then and found tons of songs from movies that over the years I kept in the back of my mind.

Such as, "Ain't got no Home" by Clarence "Frogman" Henry from The Lost Boys.

And "Cry to Me", Solomon Burke from Dirty Dancing that I once had on the Second Dirty Dancing album that I purchased (on vinyl!) in the height of the DD craze and could never find again! Thank you imbd.

The Full Monty gave me the bring you to your knees version of "You can leave your hat on" by Tom Jones.

Finally, because this insane post is becoming too long and too revealing, there is The Thing Called Love, which featured the gone way too soon River Phoenix singing Blame it on your heart. Took me awhile to find this tune on MP3, but when I hear it I recall how much I liked River and how this song always made me run into the room to watch it performed.....(my daughter was young and watched this movie over and over. Much like she watched Dirty Dancing over and over and I would run into the room when I heard, "No body puts Baby in a corner" because I knew what was coming).

I'm Mary and I reluctantly approved this post.

Travels with my Mother

I accompanied my Mom to Florida. In the beginning, my sister was going to fly down with her out of Louisville on Southwest because it was a direct flight to Tampa. But nooooooooo. Mom wanted to use her frequent flyer miles and so it was to be that I go to Lex and take to the skies with Delta as Mom's side kick.

It began innocently enough with our flight leaving at 715am. Still sipping coffee at 635am she announces that we should leave in six minutes. (I have no idea why six minutes was used, not five, not three...but six minutes). The airport is a mere 10 minutes away and so I did not think much of it.

I drop her off at the front and then, glancing at the clock and seeing it is now approximately 645, I step on it to find a parking place in long term parking. As I enter the lot I see it is packed!! WTH is going on? Why are there so many cars in this damn lot!! Where are all these people going? Why are they making my life complicated!

I finally find a spot on three floors up, against the far wall in front of a trash can, obviously a spot rejected many times before but there is no time for being choosy...it is now about five till seven.

I grab my suitcase, which I need to check and take off running. I have not checked in yet!!

As I hit the lobby and run towards the check in counter a young clerk reaches for my baggage and throws it on the scale and tags it in one grand swoop. The lady says, "Are you Mary?" as she hands off my ticket as if we are in a relay race in Beijing "Hurry, they are boarding!" she advises me and points towards the security line, which mercifully is empty except for a bored looking officer who makes me take my sandals off and then I have to return to take off my watch, and then I glance at the clock and it's now after 7am!

I'm in a cold sweat thinking I may miss the plane if they will not allow me to board!

I run up the moving escalator and round the corner to the gate at a fast clip, my purse and carry on bumping furiously against my thigh and I am on the move with my ticket clutched in my outstretched hand.

I pass a steward, "Your Mama is waiting for you" and he points to a wheel chair that is sitting in wait for boarding on the plane. "Hello dear, you made it! I was beginning to get worried!" she says as she clutches her carry on to her chest and has the death grip on her cane.

We are loaded immediately and I breath a sigh of relief except I only have my boarding pass, she has put hers somewhere in her luggage and is unable to lay a hand on it. I put her in my seat and head to the back of the plane and tell the attendant my take of woe. After everyone is seated (the plane is packed and not an extra seat anywhere, except my Mom's) I am seated in a row of three seats with a handsome couple from Bermuda with an 11 month old daughter, who slept from the moment her mother returned from the bathroom till we landed in Atlanta. And then she still was asleep as we left the plane!

At Atlanta they were waiting for Mom with a new fangled wheel chair! Race car Red and with fancy brakes that were applied the moment you took your hands off the back.

Of course all my worries were for nothing. Mom was treated like royalty with wheel chairs waiting for her at each leg of the trip down and back. On the last hop to Lex from Cincinnati we had to board the plane from the tarmac.




This was not a problem for the airline, as they rolled out a lift and Mom was raised to the door as I watched from the ground, with a worried expression on my face! But, I should not have worked myself up because she was treated with such respect and so gently that I was pleasantly surprised and very appreciative.

We boarded first, left last, got to sit up in the front section on most flights and they even let Mom have double treats!

I have to travel with her more often!

Only the Good Die Young

(Uncle Barney and My Dad in the back) (I am the in the dress second from the left)

My people are Irish. My fathers people came over through Ellis Island in the early 1900's. My mothers people arrived in Canada first, and then NYC where my mother is the only sibling to have been born on American soil. Both my families are solid New Yorkers as far as I am concerned.

Mom and Pop were married for several years when her brother informed them that IBM was hiring and that Dad should go apply for employment since they needed chemists. The story of Dad landing the job is legendary, where his soon to be boss came into the waiting area and unbeknowenst to Dad he was the head honcho, conducted the interview that subsequently landed Dad a job.

Everyone who has ever worked for IBM knows that the it does not stand for International Business Machines, but I've Been Moved.

And our (at that time) little family was moved from idyllic New York State to the Bluegrass. We left our entire families behind. All my Aunts and Uncles, Grandparents, cousins, and tons and tons of relatives that form the spider web of relations that had fled Ireland in the late 1800's and early 1900's for the promised land.

We became Kentuckians in no time, immersed in the culture. I am certain made my Mother's hair curl when we would use the term "ain't" and our northern accents suddenly took on elongated vowels. Our memories of New York faded. The land of our origin may as well have been a million miles away.

Every where around me were the families of my friends that included Aunts and Uncles, cousins and Grandparents. Mine were a million miles away. And somewhere in the heart of a little girl I missed my family that engulfed me and surrounded me as a much younger little child.

And so began the anticipation of every summer either we would load up the family station wagon and head up North or Up North would come to visit us! And the most reliable, the one that you knew you would see every year no matter what was Aunt Pat's family.

Mom and Aunt Pat had a special bond. Mom was Pat's first birthday gift, born exactlly one year apart they shared a birthday.
(Pat on the left, Mom with the more beat up leg)

And you can tell for the multitude of photo's that the angels were inseparable. That bond ensured that we would see Pat and her family every year. Aunt Pat and her husband Barney and our three cousins would make the trek in their variety of recreational vehicles which varied wildly over the years.

This one is my favorite.... (I am the girl on the left) (in the dress)

I refer to this camper as the Silver Bullit, but I think it actually is called something else.

To make a long story short, Aunt Pat passed away in 2003 and Uncle Barney passed away last week. My sister and I along with her husband made the trip to Florida (where pat and Barney had retired to during the 1980's) with my Mother for the funeral. We joined the shrinking members of my extended New York Irish family on my Mom's side.

This is the second time this year we have gathered to mourn and celebrate the life of one of our own.

And it is two times too many.....

As one of the grandsons said in his eulogy, "They say only the good die young, and he died 89 years young".

Round Robin Challenge

The Round Robin Challenge this time is to photograph your Home Town. At times I feel I have no home town. I live in Indiana and claim Louisville because it's easier to say to people, they all have heard of L-ville, but not the Indiana town I live in across the river.

And when I think of Home I think of Mayberry (my fictitious name for the Hometown), So, I have this picture of a flour mill that is not exactly in town, and actually not exactly in the county, but it is on the border on the Elkhorn Creek (which is lots bigger than two of the "rivers" in FW).

I happened to be in Mayberry today and made an effort to get a pic and compare it to one I took several years ago on a foggy day in winter.

I like the contrast.

Go here to see all the entries!