Like Riding A Bike February 11, 2008
Posted by Michele in Feeding Your Spirit, Living In This Body, My Crazy Family.add a comment
Today I did something that I literally haven’t done in years. I rode a bike. Not the loud pipes Harley kind – I’m talking a good ol’ fashioned ten-speed, pedal-powered bicycle. I was a bit apprehensive to start, but since I have insurance again, I figured what the hell?.
I got off to a wobbly start, but it’s like they say… you never forget how to ride a bike. And I didn’t. As I took off from the house, struggling just slightly to find my footing on the pedals, I sorta felt like a little girl again. A strong tailwind helped me get going, and I was off.
Like most kids who grew up when I did, my bike was the ultimate symbol of pre-teen freedom. We didn’t have Atari’s yet and cartoons only aired on Saturday morning. So on any given day my friends and I could be found circling the neighborhood for hours on end.
We rode so much that our bikes were like extensions of our own bodies. We could turn, stop or weave on the drop of a dime. We knew every shortcut. Hills, potholes and strong headwinds posed no challenge, no danger to our well-trained reflexes. (I can’t quite say the same for my experience today, but at least I didn’t need to use my new insurance card.)
The first day I rode my bike to elementary school, my Mom followed me the whole way in her car. I never saw her, but somehow I knew she was close by. It was a time of great expansion, of growing childhood independence. It was a time before death or divorce had touched my life, when everything was still simple and safe.
I can still remember pedaling back and forth in front of my house when I was a little girl learning to ride. Dad would steady me and give me a little push, then run along side until I built up enough speed to keep going on my own. By the time he finally got up the nerve to let go, I was like a bird on the wind. It was glorious.
Today, when I got back on that bike, for just a second I thought I felt his hand holding me steady one more time. Maybe he figures I could use a little push right now, at least until I get my momentum going. Maybe he just wants me to know that it’s safe to fly again.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM! January 30, 2008
Posted by Michele in My Crazy Family.1 comment so far
I love and miss you so much Mom! You are, and have always been, the most important woman in my life (no really, without you I wouldn’t even be here).
I hope you had a really wonderful day and I wish I could have been there to share it with you. I can’t wait to see your face again.
Hugs and Kisses,
M.
Aging Gracefully January 23, 2008
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Tonight I was blessed enough to share dinner with three generations of my family ranging in age from my five-year-old niece to my 83-year-old grandfather. As my little sister and I watch our kids grow taller than we are and our grandparents grow weaker with age, it is both beautiful and bittersweet.
The lines on our faces and silver in our hair remind us that as time moves on, we move with it. For the most part, getting older really isn’t that bad. Sure, the lack of energy and diminished sex drive can be a bitch, but the maturity and wisdom we gain more than makes up for it (well, kinda).
Still, I’ve always believed that youth is wasted on the young. Can you imagine what we’d all be capable of today if we had the benefit of our life experiences coupled with the energy of a five year old? My book would be done, my house would be clean and I’d be running in the Boston marathon.
But for today I’ll simply sit in gratitude for the blessings I have right now, because I’m fully aware of how transient they are. One day, if I’m very, very lucky, I’ll sit across the table from my own great-grandchildren remembering when my son was just a boy and my grandfather was still alive.
Life is fragile and short and meant to be truly lived at every age. For me, this is the true meaning of aging gracefully – living fully in every moment without regard for wrinkles or regrets.
A Great Movie January 20, 2008
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Yesterday my husband and I were both out of the house for the day. My teenage son, who was home alone and bored, called my father-in-law to see if he was up for a movie. Unfortunately, grandpa was going to a funeral that afternoon and had to give my son a rain check on the movie.
Before the service, my father- and mother-in-law had to make a quick trip to the grocery store, where they were accosted by those damn Girl Scouts pushing their cookie crack. My mother-in-law, being the pragmatists, kept repeating, “Just keep your head down and pretend you don’t see them. They can’t make you buy anything if you don’t see them.”
But, as luck would have it, one of the Scout parents recognized them. There would be no escape. They walked over to the display table stacked with cookie boxes covered in smiles. Reaching for their wallets and feeling somewhat defeated, a young girl – a distant relative of my father-in-laws – greeted them with a smile that rivaled anything on box of thin mints.
“I know you,” she said, “you’re Megan’s grandpa.” Although several years younger than Megan, who left for college last year, the girl remembered how close Megan had been to her grandpa when she was a kid. They reminisced a little – the Girl Scout and the grandfather – about family memories and how much fun Megan and the older grandkids always had with my father-in-law.
After they paid for their two boxes of cookies wrapped in cuteness, my father-in-law looked at my mother-in-law and said, “I think I’d rather go to a movie with my grandson today than to a funeral.” My son called me a few minutes later, thrilled to inform me that grandpa changed his mind and would be picking him up for a matinee.
As it turns out, the movie was awful. But the intention, the time together and the love were amazing.
Top Three Reasons I Love Blogging January 15, 2008
Posted by Michele in Miscellaneous Musings, My Crazy Family.add a comment
3. More blogging means less time on the phone retelling the funny, scary and mundane stories of my life ad nauseam to my friends and family. Since I’m not a big fan of the phone, and try to avoid using it unless absolutely necessary, this works for me. It also frees up both my hands while I’m driving, so everybody wins – at least until I figure out how to drive while typing.
2. I’m getting my writing groove on. Well, except for last night. Last night was decidedly uninspired. A lame cop out by some standards. Buy hey, everyone has an off night every once in awhile. Don’t judge me dammit.
1. My family is on their best behavior now because they’re all afraid I’ll write about them in my blog. I probably will.
Happy Birthday Grandmom January 13, 2008
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Today is my Grandmother’s birthday. I’m not sure how old she is, but she’s old. Eighty something and blind as a bat. Growing up, Grandmom was my absolute favorite person in the world – full of patience and compassion, and lots of fun. She wore funky hats, made me hot tea and homemade pancakes for breakfast when I spent the night, and taught me how to talk (and listen) to plants so I’d know when they were thirsty or needed food. She was just the best. But as she (we?) got older, as life shifted, so did she.
Living apart from my grandfather for over 30 years, Grandmom learned to do most everything for herself. She lived independently with neither the freedom of a divorcee nor the grief of a widow to comfort her. While my grandfather created a new life for himself in another country, Grandmom devoted all of her love and energy to her kids and grandkids. No friends, no hobbies, no lovers that I know of. So at times, as we all grew up with husbands and wives and children of our own, Grandmom was very much alone.
When she grew too old to do many things for herself, her dependency on others, and her fear of their ultimate abandonment, frightened her and made her harsh, even paranoid at times. I was angry with my Grandmother for some time for letting the years change her so much. But these years have changed me too. And there were times when I didn’t like who they made me out to be either.
So I guess all that’s left form me to do now is to have compassion for us both and learn from our mistakes. Happy Birthday Grandmom.
It’s A Girl! (Oh, Thank God) January 9, 2008
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Today’s my birthday, so I called my Mom to thank her for all that pushing. And to apologize for the stretch marks. We talked and laughed for a long time and reminisced about the 35 years we’ve spent together. Then, she told me the story I’d been waiting to hear, the story I love, about the day I was born.
When she gave birth to me my Mom was only 17 and, by her own account, very stupid. As she was filling out the hospital intake forms she prayed that I’d be a girl. Not so much because she wanted a daughter, but because she had no idea what circumcision was and was afraid she’d look as dumb as she felt if she asked someone.
Not only was Mom young, and perhaps more than a little naïve, she was (and still is) very, very stubborn. In her prime, my Mom was a brown-belted, bad-ass bitch with a mouth like a sailor – and believe me when I tell you that she’d consider that the highest of complements.
As she tells the story, after several hours of labor Mom grew weary of the sniveling, whiny women sharing the maternity ward with her. She was young and scared and wanted what all girls her age (even the bad-ass ones) wanted when they knew they were in over their heads. She wanted her mother.
Unfortunately, hospital policy in the early 70s wouldn’t allow for such things. So the nurses dismissed her requests and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she could see her own mother “after the baby comes.” Obviously, they didn’t know Mom very well. But they were about to.
Within minutes of being told what she could not do, my Mother ripped every cord, wire and IV off of her obscenely pregnant body, put her bell bottoms back on, and headed for the door. When the charge nurse stopped her, things got ugly. No real record exists documenting exactly what Mom said to that poor, foolish woman, but knowing Mom I’d say it probably went something like this…
“Look b*#!%, I’m going to see my mother and there’s not a f#%@ing thing you can do to stop me. And if you try I’ll knock your god-d@*!ed teeth out of your mouth. Got it? Good. Now get the h#@% out of my way before I move you my d*%! self.”
Mom always did have a way with words, and with people. Needless to say, a few minutes later she was sitting in the waiting room sucking on ice chips holding my grandmother’s hand. So that’s the story of how I can into this crazy world, and this crazy family that I love. And you wondered where I got it from. You rock Mom!
Musings From an “Old” Mom January 4, 2008
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Last night I visited a friend who’s a new mom. Her little one, just three weeks old, was absolutely adorable, even when he pooped what could only be described as green Elmer’s glue. Fifteen wipes and one warm washcloth later, he was curled up in my lap half asleep, cooing.
You always hear women saying that being around babies makes them want another one of their own. Well, not me. Don’t get me wrong, I love babies – I enjoy holding them, playing with them, even baby-sitting them. And I understand how easy it could be to get lured in by those cute little toes and that new baby smell. But at 14, my own son is now on the very verge of self-sufficiency, and I like it.
I no longer have dress him, or bathe him, or pack a freakin’ suitcase just to leave the house with him. Now I can make him clean the bathroom, fix me coffee in the morning, and run up the stairs a thousand times a day to bring me all the little things I’ve forgotten. Sure, it can be bittersweet when your kids grow up, and there are always things about their younger years you’ll miss. But I’ve learned that each year, each stage of his life, has its own rewards and special memories.
Today, for instance, we went to see the movie I Am Legend together. After all the years I struggled through re-runs of Barney and Blue’s Clues, it was really nice to share a “grown up” viewing experience we both enjoyed. Also, to my son’s credit, he’s got great taste in music, which is a big boon to my own i-pod playlist. He likes old school stuff like Bob Marley and Led Zeppelin, mixed in with newer artists, like Finger Eleven and Nonpoint, that help me stay hip (or so I like to think). Last month, my husband and I even took him to his first concert. So as tempting as it might be for some, I’ll take Guitar Hero and Monte Python over Baby Einstein and Sesame Street any day.
Cold is Not My Friend January 3, 2008
Posted by Michele in Living In This Body, My Crazy Family.2 comments
Cold and anxiety creep into my bones as I lay in bed with no desire to move. It’s the coldest day of winter here in South Florida, with nearly freezing temperatures, and I don’t want to leave my house.
For the past three years the cold has been my enemy. It’s not a matter of “not liking” the cold, it goes way beyond that. I’m actually “allergic” to it. It’s a real live medical condition called cold urticaria that causes my body to break out in painful, ugly hives when exposed to cold temperatures.
Living in the south helps, since we rarely see days as cold as today. But right now, outside my house it’s in the 30s, which for me is brutally cold (literally). To top things off, my heater’s broken and for three cold weather days a year it’s hardly worth spending the money to fix it. So, I’m curled up in bed with two blankets, two dogs, two cats and a warm cup of coffee. The very idea of leaving this warm haven is overwhelmingly unpleasant, but I know I have to do it.
All my life I’ve watched the women in my family use poor health as their excuse not to participate in the things they really didn’t want to do. My mom had migraines until her weight became so excessive that she can barely walk from the house to the car without grimacing in pain. For years, my aunt never worked because she was busy transitioning from a sickly child to a sickly adult. And my younger sister, whom I love dearly, recently blew me off by not going to a concert with me because she had cramps (ever heard of Midol?).
Until this cold thing hit, that wasn’t me. But this Thanksgiving I had my opportunity to play the “health card” to get out of spending 12 hours – each way – in a car with my two nieces (ages 6 and 12), my son (14), my sister and brother-in-law, and my husband. A trip that would have inevitably landed me in Dysfunctionville, North Carolina, temperature 20 something. I’m not proud of this fact, and I would have much rather told my family I wasn’t visiting them because they’re all crazy (oh, and they are). But, with the convenience of burning, itching hives, the possibility of anaphylactic shock, and weeks worth of steroid treatments to recover, the excuse was just too convenient to pass up.
But the condition also keeps me from going on snow skiing trips with my son, something he loves. And, on days like today, it’s keeping me from wanting to leave my house, or even get out of bed. I’ve already cancelled my cardio workout today because (oh, it gets better) even though I have a treadmill, sweat actually exacerbates the condition, and with no heat, that’s just not how I want to start my day. I’m also going through every conceivable excuse in my head to get out of having to go into the office today, which is probably as much about the cold as the office.
Still, what happened to me that I’m afraid to walk from my car to the office building? Like my mom, I’m dreading the pain of even that short walk. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but I don’t want to be like my mom. I don’t want my body to keep me from experiencing the things in life that I want to do, so I guess sometimes I have to do the things I don’t want to do – like getting up and going to work in the damn cold.
