Robert's Grave Revisited

Well, the cemetery has promised to move Robert to a nicer location. They said to give them two weeks. That was a month ago. These people work at a snail's pace. Note to self: never use this place again.

I will feel better when the transfer has actually taken place.

Summertime Blues

I am not particularly fond of the heat and humidity that comes with the month of August, and this year it started early-about mid June. I find it draining, physically and emotionally, and so I try to stay indoors as much as possible.

Unfortunately, the flower beds do not weed themselves, the lawn doesn't mow itself, and so I have to venture outdoors even when my body screams for me to stay where it is cool. I drink large quantities of water and I take a lot of breaks, But that means that it takes significantly longer for me to accomplish the things I want to do.

And that makes me cranky.

Making Memories

Years ago, my husband and I stopped buying presents on special occasions just for the sake of presenting a gift. Instead, we decided that we would take a nice vacation each year and make memories. In a few weeks we will be leaving for a cruise tour of the UK - visiting England, Ireland, Scotland and a day in France. I will get to see Blarney Castle, Roslyn Chapel, the Guinness factory and Loch Ness, among other things. I will get to visit the land of my ancestors. We have a very full schedule of activities planned, yet have left time to relax and roam the countryside.
Some people find it a bit strange when they ask me what my husband bought me for Valentine's Day and I have nothing in small jeweler's box to show them. Don't get me wrong-I love the shiny stuff as much as the next gal-but we have made a commitment to do things on our own schedule and not to wait for artificially created occasions to get what we want for each other. Hey, it works for us.
For me, making memories is the best gift of all. I carry them with me wherever I go and they make me smile.

Following Yout Inner Voice

I recently accepted an assignment for a temp job working in the customer service department of a company that distributes herbal detox foot pads. At first, it was just an adventure to get me out of the house more often, and to put aside some money for a future vacation adventure.

The work environment was dismal, a small cubical in a less than clean office. But the hours and the pay were decent, and it was ten minutes from home. And, it was temporary.

At 9AM, the phone would begin ringing and I was pounded all day by folks who were angry and aggressive. Occasionally I would get someone who just wanted to reorder the product and they would tell me how wonderful it was and how it had improved their lives. I found myself yearning for more of those calls. And yet, easily 97% of the people that I spoke to were verbally abusive, spewing foul language....just plain angry.

I was hard pressed to understand why people would get so worked up over a product that cost $19.99. Perhaps they were looking for a miracle to change their lives and were disappointed that they hadn't found it in a little paper wrapped packet of herbs. Maybe that was their last 20 bucks, and they felt they had been duped if the product didn't work for them. I don't know.

Many of the people that I spoke to were intoxicated by 10AM. Maybe they were looking for rehab in a box. Whatever it was, I was tired of being assaulted. I easily spoke to 100 people a day.

I was beginning to come home drained rather than energized. This job was not giving me the outlet that I was looking for. And then, one morning, the supervisor called me to her desk and in front of the entire staff pointed out that I was clocking in late every morning-9:02, 9:01... I advised her that I had to wait for one of the permanent employees to unlock the door before I could get into the building, and that if she checked, NONE of the employees had logged in at 9:00 because the building wasn't open yet. She said that she wasn't interested in excuses, just results, and that if i did not clock in by 9AM I would be fired.

The next day, I called the temp agency and asked to be released from the job.

My inner voice had been telling me that I was not honoring myself by continuing to work in an environment that was so denigrating and draining. I felt as though a weight had been lifted off my shoulders when I walked out the door for the last time.

Finding Jane

I was a sophmore in high school when Jane's family moved into town. Her family lived about 2 miles from mine, and we became fast friends. Jane and I shared a commonality - we were both "big boned" having battled with weight for all of our lives. We both loved jewelry and we were into arts & crafts.


Her family moved away, and she went with them. We kept in touch by letter and an occasional phone call. This was before e mail, cell phones and unlimited long distance calling that we enjoy today. Eventually, the letters and calls became less frequent and trickled to a halt. I had heard that she moved south, but I never knew where.

As often happens, I went on with my life, got married, widowed, married again. My life has settled into a nice cozy place and sometimes I look back and wonder whatever happened to Jane. Whenever I visit my brother Cliff, I pass the home she lived in all those years ago.

One day not so long ago, I was fiddling around on the computer and decided that it was time to look for Jane. It was really quite easy - I just googled her, and there she was. At least, I thought it could be her. Ad so I sat down and wrote a letter and asked if she was indeed the Jane that I knew in high school, filled in a few details, dropped the letter into the mail and waited.

I didn't hear anything for a few weeks and finally stopped waiting for a response when lo and behold a thick envelope was delivered to me with Jane's return address on it. I was really quite excited. She gave me a brief overview of her life for the past 35 years - a long time span to cover - and expressed her desire to continue to communicate with me. And so, our letter writing began.

From my point of view, I enjoyed writing and receiving the letters via snail mail. It was like being a kid again and having a pen pal. But it seems that jane really did not enjoy writing and so her letters were few and far between. Although she had gven me her phone number, I was reluctant to call her. I guess there was some sort of anonymity or mystery about the letter writing that I liked. But there is something else. Jane did not have a computer, so emailing or IMing was out of the question. She also did not have long distance phone service, so she was unable to call me.

You see, the never married Jane had finally moved into her own apartment at almost 50 years old. I so applaud her courage to make it on her own after all those years of living in the comfort of her family. It was long overdue, and she realizes that now. But it has created a financial strain for her, and I sense that each day is a struggle. I had to decide how much to tell her about my life and the comfort that I enjoy. I did not want her to feel awkward about her situation.

But finally, I picked up the phone and called her. We talked for 2 hours, and it was as though no time at all had elapsed since our last conversation all those years ago. And I needn't have worried, because this lovely, kind hearted woman was just so pleased for me and for how my life has turned out, in spite of all the obstacles and tragedies. I am so glad that I made that call.

The sad part is that Jane is going though some health issues right now and is still in the testing stages. Each day that she takes off from her job for doctor's appointments is a day that she doesn't get paid. Each co-pay that she has to lay out is another $10.00 less that she has to by food or put gas in her car. So, on top of her health worries, she has financial worries. Yet she handles it with dignity and grace, grateful each day that she gets up and puts one foot in front of the other.

Having Jane back in my life has really helped me to put things into perspective. I know that I, and so many of my friends and family, take those day-to-day comforts for granted. I know that if I have an important doctor's appointment to go to, I have many people here who will go with me if I choose. I can pick up the phone without concern for the cost because of my unlimited long distance plan, or I can turn on the computer and shoot off an email to a friend.

It's all about the little things.

So please keep Jane in your thoughts as she worries and waits for the results of the seemingly never ending tests. Now that I have found her again, I am not ready to lose her.

Robert's Grave

Today I went to my brother Robert's grave to clean it up and plant some hyacinths that I picked up at Easter time. We chose this particular resting place for a number of reasons. it was one of the few non denominational cemeteries in the area that offered cremains plots - smaller than the regular plots. And it needed to be in a location that was reasonably accessible to both his biological family and his widow & children.

It has always bothered me that it is not a nice place. It is run down, poorly maintained, and has no restrictions on how many plastic poinsettias a family can cram onto the plot at any given time, where they are left indefinitely until they finally blow away.

Today was the final straw. The cemetery folks had strategically placed brilliant blue rubber trash cans throughout the grounds, on resting right alongside my brother's headstone. Grrrrr.

As I began digging around the stone to clean up the overgrown weeds, I began to wonder if I could just keep digging and pull the whole thing out. I could bring it home and replant him in my garden where I could keep a better eye on him. his widow has long since remarried and moved away. She wouldn't even know the difference.

Then I decided that I should probably get permission from the cemetery, and from my other siblings. I'm still undecided. I just know that it made me sad to walk away and leave him in a place where it looks like no one ever cared for him. Although he wasn't the easiest guy to love, we really did- love him, I mean.

What a conundrum!

Easter Sunday and Dead Tony's Cheesecake

Whne I was a teenager, my dad came hom from work one evening carrying a cheesecake topped with cling peaches and maraschino cherries that was given to him by a little old Italian gentleman named Tony who worked part time in his office.. It was the best, creamiest cheesecake I had ever eaten. Of course, I asked if I could have the recipe.

My father returned with the sad news that Tony didn't share this secret family recipe, but that he would make a cheesecake for me whenever I wanted him to. I never did ask for one, believing that it would be rude, but occasionally dad would bring one home and we all enjoyed it.

Years later, my father came home with the news that Tony had passed away, which brought a double dose of sadness - the demise of a sweet old man and the loss of the cheesecake recipe that died with him.

A few weeks later, I received an envelope in the mail which - lo and behold - contained the famous recipe. There was a note attached in Tony's handwriting saying that the recipe was being passed on to me with the request that it remain in the family.

And so, we have named it, "Dead Tony's Cheesecake" in honor of the kindly gentleman who chose to make arrangement to have it sent to me upon his death.

As each of my brothers married, I gave their new brides a copy of the recipe as a part of their wedding gift with the proviso that they hold true to the request to keep it in the family. Unfortunately, I found out that the promise has been broken, and that caused me great sadness, and I have learned a valuable lesson from that experience.

So how, you ask, does Dead Tony's Cheesecake tie in with Easter Sunday? Well, six years ago I was preparing to celebrate the first Easter after I began dating a certain guy named Mike. We had been seeing each other for about 5 months and it looked like it might be getting serious. Over dinner one evening, he asked me to join him at his home where he would be preparing Easter dinner for his daughter and his father. I knew that this was a huge step for him, and of course I accepted.

I arrived with a huge Easter basket filled with jelly beans and marshmallow peeps, Cadbury eggs and assorted Easter goodies. Nested in the center of the basket was a peach and maraschino topped Dead Tony's Cheesecake.

Mike's face was crestfallen as I explained the legend of the cheesecake. It seems that he has never eaten a homemade cheesecake that he really enjoyed - that he has always found them to be lacking - and he didn't want to hurt my feelings. Of course, he didn't tell me this until AFTER dinner was concluded.

But the reality is that he LOVED the cheesecake and it has become an Easter tradition in our household to prepare one for dessert. Oh, I forgot to mention that Mike and I are now married.

The cheesecake is cooling as we speak, as it needs to age overnight before it is topped with the peaches and cherries. I am beginning to salivate just thinking about it. An I am so please to be sharing this treat with my husband as we celebrate another Easter as a family.


o