Returning from Fla.

We're en route from Fla. to the Burgh, stopping overnight in Charlotte to see the Jags. Such a long drive from Fla. yesterday. Nine gazillion people, all of them driving north on 75. North of Tampa traffic came to a complete standstill in the northbound lane, where we were, and there was not one single car in the southbound lane. Don't know what happened but whatever it was it cleared all north & southbound lanes. So we exited & took the scenic route north, through a thunderstorm of course. That was fun (said with a note of sarcasm). Took almost 13 hours to get to Charlotte but today we vegged & ate & napped & we'll be all rejuvenated for our trip home in the a.m. Must pick up the mutt before 5; young ones must prepare for school on Tues. But Naples was fun. Kids swam constantly. The beach now resembles Jersey it's so crowded. At this moment the boys are playing grand theft auto on PS2, which I have always said is strictly verboten. Watching them I see the prohibition is justified. So they can play it here (relaxed rules while on vacation, that's my lame explanation) but we won't get it at home. I'm tough aren't I. OK so I'm a pushover, I admit it.

Contemplating Gramma

Diane says I must delve deeper into Gramma. After all, she is the grandparent we knew best. I've been contemplating her a lot the past few days. If I recall correctly, yesterday was the 19th anniversary of her death. The Ides of March. How appropriate, since Gramma could be as bossy as Caesar. When people recall Gramma, it's usually how bossy she was, how critical she was, how stubborn she was, how she fought with everyone. But these recollections are usually made with great fondness. I was reading some of her letters recently, which I saved from college. She liked to ponder life and give advice. She liked to remind me that I was named after her but couldn't resist adding "even if it is only the middle name." She wanted to be a writer. She used to say Grampa was a saint. Not a saint in a religious sense, but a saint because he tolerated her so well. Though I never knew him, I always imagined him as a perfect compliant husband. She made the best lemon meringue pie in the world. She had dinner with us almost every Sunday. I picture her in her pink suit sitting at the table in the dining room, everyone else long finished with dessert, Gramma still working on her meal. She said she ate slowly because she had so much to talk about. Then we'd play Categories. Everyone picked a category, Gramma would always pick Flowers and she always won in that category. Half the time I wasn't sure if she was making up some of the names of those flowers. It was never a simple "Daisy" or "Rose" but instead "Delphinium" or "Rudbeckia". "Yeah sure Gramma, whatever you say." But now that I actually know what a delphinium and rudbeckia look like, I wish she was here to help me cultivate my garden. And teach me how to make that meringue. I'm quite sure she would have loved my boys, though she she would no doubt be disappointed that they don't play bridge. She used to ask "What do you young people talk about?" She thought we should be talking about esoteric things, like philosphy. Did she think that in her day young people didn't talk about inane things, like who liked whom, what music was good, what clothes were in style? She had high expectations, as well she should. Overall I think she'd be pretty happy about how her many grandchildren, and great grandchildren, turned out. Though it was sad when she died, I've never really felt like she left us. Yesterday around 5:30 I saw great beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds, casting glory onto an otherwise gray winter day. Was that you Gramma, reminding us that it was the Ides of March?

Am I Aging?

Here's what I hate. Aging. I hate the word. I hate the idea. Sounds like a really unpleasant prolonged stretch that's pulling you toward that place no one wants to go. The wrinkly decayed future. I read somewhere 60 is the new 30. If that's true then I'm around 20, or 18 even! How nice! But then how do you explain the fact that some nights I have so many aches & pains I can't sleep without my ibuprofen? Did I just us the word "my" before a medicine? God that's a sign of aging for sure. At this rate I'll be an advil junkie by the age of....um...25? I chalk the aches up to childbirth times 4. I mean really. How is a person supposed to carry another human being around inside for 9 months, with raging hormones making one's bones all mushy so they can be flexible when the moment for birth is ripe (not to mention what the hormones do to the neurons....half of mine are still fried), push the little human out of the body through a tiny orifice, and have no lingering effects? No not lingering, they're permanent. And by the way, a 9 plus pound baby is not a little human. It's practically ready to drive a car. A lady in my exercise class (who's about 32 if you use the 60/30 theory) said it's arthritis. That word is hereby banned in my presence. I much prefer the hormone theory. When Dad turned 60, I asked him how it felt to be 60. He replied mysteriously "Time....the implacable enemy." Well, not so mysterious if you know Dad. Actually I have no desire to go back in time. I liked being in my teens and 20's. I drove a really nice Mustang. I graduated from college & law school, got married, bought a house, had a bambino. All good stuff. But life was not without, shall we say, missteps (I'll leave the rest to your imagination). 30's were good too but life was still in flux, family still being fashioned, scary challenges had to be faced down. Now I want to freeze time. Joyful family around me. Hugs and kisses. New creative paths abound. Fun vacations. Confidence. Completeness. Giddy anticipation of kids' futures. To use a cliche, my cup runneth over. As good as it gets. If life is a box of chocolates, mine is all dark chocolate coconut filled truffle caramel pecan. Nary an orange cream in sight. So I guess I shouldn't care too much about aging. All that chocolate in my life is probably better than botox anyway. I wonder if it would make a good facial.....

Bush Vindicated?

I'm no expert but things must be going a helluva lot better in the mideast than most news reports would suggest. The New York Times, not exactly prone to sing Bush's praises, no matter how well deserved, has a sizable article today (page A10) captioned "For Bush, No Boasts, but a Taste of Vindication." Says he "seems" entitled to claim that a thaw has begun in the broader middle east; "seems just possible" that Bush and Wolfowitz were not wrong to argue that staus quo in mideast "cannot be ignored or appeased, kept in a box or cut off." They had to throw in "seems", to make us think maybe it's not really true. But you've got new Palestinian leadership that "seems" determined to make peace with Israel; you've got wildly successful Iraqi elections; even Egypt is moving to multiparty elections. Top it off with Lebanese demands to get Syria out of there, and well, Bush is looking pretty damn good. When the New York Times can't ignore it, something big is happening. So kudos to Bush and company....keep up the good work! So all you liberals out there who are still whining about Kerry, at least give credit where credit is due. You may hate Bush because he's born again, or because he believes in an ownership society, or just because he's not Kerry, but even you have to admit there's good news out there, news that will benefit generations to come. Oh and pay attention. The Dow is poised to cap 11,000 this week.

Writing Class Day #3

I'm really enjoying this writing class. So it's only at the community college, so what? My objective was to write on a regular basis, and even though this is a memoirs focused class, I can write creatively about my life. Every week we have a topic to write about and it's fun and interesting to hear what other people have to say. Seems like the majority of people in the class went to Catholic school and that's always good fodder for storytelling. Cruel nuns, questionable priests, diocese control over where people sent their kids to school. Some people's parents actually had to get permission from their bishop if they wanted to send their kids to public school. Some people's priests told them they had to choose different names for their babies because they had to use saint's names. Weird. I guess it's kind of surprising we have no "Mary" in our family (although there is a "Marie" and a "Maria".) Next topic: Write about a childhood friend. Easy! My friend Kim whose mother was paralyzed with MS and living at home. Wonder where Kim is now? Haven't seen her since the 70s.