The first time I met my grandson was at the international arrivals waiting room at Kennedy airport. It was summer and the room was steamy, windows dirty, and the swinging doors hollered at me every time they swung open and closed. We waited, gramps and I, for a couple of hours.
I knew I'd know him from the videos my daughter took on their last trip to the orphanage, his tiny torso trying to sit up at five months' old, sky-blue eyes searching his new mom's face for an answer or instructions. But the videos and pictures were months old now, and five months had turned to eleven, and I was bursting to see how he had grown, if he had hair and whether he'd accept me or turn away.
The heavy double doors swung open with a push, no, more like a kick. My son-in-law barreled through looking travel-tired and wrinkled, from 18 hours on planes and trains, my grandson strapped to his torso in one of those baby-carriers, clinging to his dad's shirt. I flew up the exit ramp to meet them but they kept cruising down at me, so I stepped aside, let them pass and followed back down. My daughter caught up to us, and silently they sped to the airport exit doors, then stopped and turned around to look back at me and Gramps, as though they just realized we were there. Where's the car? my daughter asked. I didn't answer, I was mesmerized by the huge wide open saucers of blue staring at me and I say as softly as I could, "Hi sweetie, it's grandma" My grandson replied with the biggest, cheesiest, dimpliest, knowing smile. As if he wanted to say, course... I know that! What a moment in time I'll never forget. My kids were home and we were a family. Hallelujah!
My son-in-law looked down at his son and said to us, 'he just cried for eleven hours straight' and just shook his head, then kissed the head of his son, smiling back up at him.
" All of us have moments in out lives that test our courage. Taking children into a house with a white carpet is one of them."
Erma Bombeck
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Endings and Beginnings
Someone once said to me, "My biggest fear is that everyone else will be gone and I'll be left alone." I really never thought about it, maybe because I am a grandmother which guarantees that I'll never be left alone, rather I'll be the first to leave... A co-worker and friend said to me, "It's much harder to be left behind than to be the one who leaves." Of course with this I agree, and she speaks from the recent loss of her husband and best friend from pancreatic cancer at the young age of 50.
What I've been thinking about though, isn't the devastating loss of a loved one through illness, old age, or unspeakable acts of violence. No, I speak of our everyday beginnings and endings, losses and gains. I'm talking about how we keep the balance so that the losses don't swallow us up, and the happiness score doesn't make us really uninteresting to others struggling with their own balance.
I'm retiring in a few weeks and have been cataloging the reactions of friends and co-workers when I share the "big" news. This is a move I've been wanting to make for some time, and when I think of retirement, I get this big, silly grin on my face, my auto-happy reaction. But of course, for friends I'm leaving behind at work, they feel naturally feel some sadness. I understand this, having been in the same situation many times.
Concurrently, my sister and best friend is moving from across the lawn (we have apartments in the same cooperative building) to about an hour away in Connecticut. We have almost always been within a short drive or a short walk of each other, and this is a big change, a big loss for me.
So how do we deal with these changes? God, I am really bad at it. I was shamelessly unkind to my sister for awhile, and eventually had to apologize for my bad behavior. Talk to myself in the mirror in the morning, you know... But see, she has that silly auto-happy grin on her face when she talks about the new place, so I suddenly realized I'd have to look at it all a little differently.
Retirement brings the balance for me, the loss/gain balance. It is allowing me to feel happy for her, be supportive and appropriately excited when I see her new apartment for the first time, talk about redecorating with her. At the same time I'm thinking about excursions to the River Park with my dog Toby, sitting with a book in the Sculpture garden at the Met. I'm thinking about getting up before dawn, so that I can walk down to the river with my coffee and watch the orange light fall on the Palisades as it comes over the hills. I'm thinking of spending a Tuesday with my sister in her new world, shopping, walking by the water, gabbing -- something we could not do while I was working full-time.
It all balances out....
Always in motion is the future.
What I've been thinking about though, isn't the devastating loss of a loved one through illness, old age, or unspeakable acts of violence. No, I speak of our everyday beginnings and endings, losses and gains. I'm talking about how we keep the balance so that the losses don't swallow us up, and the happiness score doesn't make us really uninteresting to others struggling with their own balance.
I'm retiring in a few weeks and have been cataloging the reactions of friends and co-workers when I share the "big" news. This is a move I've been wanting to make for some time, and when I think of retirement, I get this big, silly grin on my face, my auto-happy reaction. But of course, for friends I'm leaving behind at work, they feel naturally feel some sadness. I understand this, having been in the same situation many times.
Concurrently, my sister and best friend is moving from across the lawn (we have apartments in the same cooperative building) to about an hour away in Connecticut. We have almost always been within a short drive or a short walk of each other, and this is a big change, a big loss for me.
So how do we deal with these changes? God, I am really bad at it. I was shamelessly unkind to my sister for awhile, and eventually had to apologize for my bad behavior. Talk to myself in the mirror in the morning, you know... But see, she has that silly auto-happy grin on her face when she talks about the new place, so I suddenly realized I'd have to look at it all a little differently.
Retirement brings the balance for me, the loss/gain balance. It is allowing me to feel happy for her, be supportive and appropriately excited when I see her new apartment for the first time, talk about redecorating with her. At the same time I'm thinking about excursions to the River Park with my dog Toby, sitting with a book in the Sculpture garden at the Met. I'm thinking about getting up before dawn, so that I can walk down to the river with my coffee and watch the orange light fall on the Palisades as it comes over the hills. I'm thinking of spending a Tuesday with my sister in her new world, shopping, walking by the water, gabbing -- something we could not do while I was working full-time.
It all balances out....
Always in motion is the future.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
What are you wearing?
What are you wearing? What color? Heels or flats? Oh, you have to wear heels with a skirt! Hat or no hat? Are you bringing a big bag or small? What's the weather? Will I need a coat? If you're wearing pink, I'm not wearing cranberry-- I'll try for a blue or something. DOES THIS MAKE ME LOOK FAT?
Can you wear pants to a wedding over there? You have to have something on your head. Ever heard of a fascinator? Look it up, you'll be surprised. Yes, let's go hat shopping. We'll have to ship our hats over to the hotel, can't take big boxes on the plane. omg omg.
I have spent so much time in my life talking about what I am wearing... to work, to weddings, to Christmas dinner, on a hike, to the beach, to vacation, and so on.... do men do this? Agonize over what they are wearing, or do they just go to the closet, choose a suit, or pants and a matching shirt and polish their shoes. They are set and they look great without the angst, without the endless consultations. It is no wonder we women have such complexes over how we look, how everyone else will view us, and our comfort level in our own skin, much less our clothes.
Many women would say, I love shopping, thinking about what to wear, dressing up, talking to friends about it. Sometimes I say that too. Right now I'm not. If I had the seconds, minutes and hours back, what would I do? Train for a marathon.... or maybe sail around the world.
I base most of my fashion sense on what doesn't itch.
~Gilda Radner
Can you wear pants to a wedding over there? You have to have something on your head. Ever heard of a fascinator? Look it up, you'll be surprised. Yes, let's go hat shopping. We'll have to ship our hats over to the hotel, can't take big boxes on the plane. omg omg.
I have spent so much time in my life talking about what I am wearing... to work, to weddings, to Christmas dinner, on a hike, to the beach, to vacation, and so on.... do men do this? Agonize over what they are wearing, or do they just go to the closet, choose a suit, or pants and a matching shirt and polish their shoes. They are set and they look great without the angst, without the endless consultations. It is no wonder we women have such complexes over how we look, how everyone else will view us, and our comfort level in our own skin, much less our clothes.
Many women would say, I love shopping, thinking about what to wear, dressing up, talking to friends about it. Sometimes I say that too. Right now I'm not. If I had the seconds, minutes and hours back, what would I do? Train for a marathon.... or maybe sail around the world.
I base most of my fashion sense on what doesn't itch.
~Gilda Radner
Monday, April 11, 2011
Spring Rains
Raining for the third day in a row, and except for some chilly wind and messed up hair, I can't complain. After all, people in the corn belt are flooded beyond repair from these spring rains. Fields looking like lakes, furniture ruined, televisions and computers made to be recycling fill.
I remember stories of Viet Nam flooded rice paddies, my cousin sleeping in ankle deep sludge with the rains pouring on his helmet. Desperate to sleep, being soaked to the skin and caked with mud wasn't a deal breaker. Sleep had to come. I remember a summer not too long ago when rain was scarce, and we were rationing baths and only flushing when REALLY needed to try to keep the reservoirs above critical lows.
The Japan earthquake and tsunami have filled our eyes and ignited our fears. Thousands in the path of a murderous wall of water, cars, buildings, trees, concrete and all forms of debris never had a chance to even look back. The tragedy is overwhelming, surreal, even horror-movie like. Yet we cling to the hopeful videos of a dog lost for three weeks found a little skinny, but ok; the photo of the three month old baby alive and well under a tent of fallen lumber found in the same town where her parents grieved at their presumed loss. We hang onto daily measurements of radioactivity in the cooling water of the damaged nuclear power plant, and the myriad of experts telling us it is nothing to worry about, could be something to worry about, is critical and we should worry about it.
Once again, I'm stunned by how small the earth, how far the stretch of what we choose to learn, what information we accept, what we keep and what we decide to dispose of. Information overload, fear of the real possibilities of century 21, desire for the happy ending? I think it simply hopefulness and determination. We hope we will overcome.... we are determined to get back on track.
I remember stories of Viet Nam flooded rice paddies, my cousin sleeping in ankle deep sludge with the rains pouring on his helmet. Desperate to sleep, being soaked to the skin and caked with mud wasn't a deal breaker. Sleep had to come. I remember a summer not too long ago when rain was scarce, and we were rationing baths and only flushing when REALLY needed to try to keep the reservoirs above critical lows.
The Japan earthquake and tsunami have filled our eyes and ignited our fears. Thousands in the path of a murderous wall of water, cars, buildings, trees, concrete and all forms of debris never had a chance to even look back. The tragedy is overwhelming, surreal, even horror-movie like. Yet we cling to the hopeful videos of a dog lost for three weeks found a little skinny, but ok; the photo of the three month old baby alive and well under a tent of fallen lumber found in the same town where her parents grieved at their presumed loss. We hang onto daily measurements of radioactivity in the cooling water of the damaged nuclear power plant, and the myriad of experts telling us it is nothing to worry about, could be something to worry about, is critical and we should worry about it.
Once again, I'm stunned by how small the earth, how far the stretch of what we choose to learn, what information we accept, what we keep and what we decide to dispose of. Information overload, fear of the real possibilities of century 21, desire for the happy ending? I think it simply hopefulness and determination. We hope we will overcome.... we are determined to get back on track.
“It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily. "So it is." "And freezing." "Is it?" "Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately.”
Friday, April 1, 2011
Time and time again
The Cross County Expressway is a parking lot. Traffic stands still, and wrenching my neck to see beyond the lineup of cars and SUV's ahead, I see no flashing lights, hear no sirens. I wonder, is it the rain, flooding, that slowed me down? We all inch closer and closer, advancing a foot or two at a time, till slowly, steadily, I start to move a little faster, the space between cars widening with every minute. Suddenly the two lanes on my right, taking the Hutchinson Parkway south, are stopped, and I'm flying. So it is the merging highway, I'm good.
But I've lost some time sitting on that mess of a roadway. Count it up, once a week, twenty minutes each time, sitting, listening to the news, traffic and weather on the radio repeated over and over. Even with the same sound bites, so that after a few times, I can recite the news like dialogue in a play or an old Seinfeld episode.
Then the tables turn...... tonight I leash up my dog, Toby, and head out the front walk with her It is around 9:30, and I am expecting the cold damp windy air we've had for the last two or three days. Instead, it is calm, warm, bright. Almost a full moon, and gigantic puffy white clouds reflect like street lights on the grass. I can even still see blue sky even though it is nighttime. We saunter towards the river -- I live on the Hudson -- and the water is like a lake. I've gotten into the habit of calling the Hudson River the Hudson Lake or the Hudson Ocean, based on the calmness or white caps it takes on. Tonight definitely the Hudson Lake. A lone tug is pushing a barge north. It is close to my side of the river, where the shipping channel lies, and it is all lit up with golden lights. The engine is not very loud, but I still hear its chug chug chug. I am cemented to my spot on the grass near the fence looking out at the river and the Palisades cliffs on the other side. The moon, the sky, the river, the tug surround me in a peaceful hug. I could stand here forever letting time go by and never miss an instant of it. I want to understand why there are times when every second standing still feels like a second lost and other times when the stillness is perfect, wonderful and sadly fleeting.
Toby poops so it is time to pick up and go to the trash. We take the long way back though, to pass again by the river in time to see the tug way has made its way north -- just a speck of light in the dark water. What a remarkable way to spend twenty minutes.
“Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin
Into the future …”
- Fly Like an Eagle, Steve Miller Band
But I've lost some time sitting on that mess of a roadway. Count it up, once a week, twenty minutes each time, sitting, listening to the news, traffic and weather on the radio repeated over and over. Even with the same sound bites, so that after a few times, I can recite the news like dialogue in a play or an old Seinfeld episode.
Then the tables turn...... tonight I leash up my dog, Toby, and head out the front walk with her It is around 9:30, and I am expecting the cold damp windy air we've had for the last two or three days. Instead, it is calm, warm, bright. Almost a full moon, and gigantic puffy white clouds reflect like street lights on the grass. I can even still see blue sky even though it is nighttime. We saunter towards the river -- I live on the Hudson -- and the water is like a lake. I've gotten into the habit of calling the Hudson River the Hudson Lake or the Hudson Ocean, based on the calmness or white caps it takes on. Tonight definitely the Hudson Lake. A lone tug is pushing a barge north. It is close to my side of the river, where the shipping channel lies, and it is all lit up with golden lights. The engine is not very loud, but I still hear its chug chug chug. I am cemented to my spot on the grass near the fence looking out at the river and the Palisades cliffs on the other side. The moon, the sky, the river, the tug surround me in a peaceful hug. I could stand here forever letting time go by and never miss an instant of it. I want to understand why there are times when every second standing still feels like a second lost and other times when the stillness is perfect, wonderful and sadly fleeting.
Toby poops so it is time to pick up and go to the trash. We take the long way back though, to pass again by the river in time to see the tug way has made its way north -- just a speck of light in the dark water. What a remarkable way to spend twenty minutes.
“Time keeps on slippin, slippin, slippin
Into the future …”
- Fly Like an Eagle, Steve Miller Band
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