Tag: Family

Commence, Beloved.

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry, Reblogs4 Comments

Hi fellow bloggers!

Yesterday my oldest graduated from college. It was a beautiful spring Saturday full of life-long memories. We enjoyed a large party at the house with friends and family after the event. Festivities lasted until late in the night!

While we were waiting for graduation ceremony to start, his lovely girlfriend share a poem that she posted on her blog: JenniferAlyce.wordpress.com. The post, of course is about my son and it is an example of true love and just plain outstanding writing!

Please read it and try not to weep!

Things To Remember

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry6 Comments

photo credit: www.flickr.com

A sunrise on a new day

The way my lover looks at me across the room

Celebrations big and small with friends and family

Eating a good meal every day

The love I feel for my sons

The passion I have for running

The healing that yoga brings me

Nights snuggled under the covers with a good book

The peace I feel in my heart

This week’s post  is inspired by Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday prompt:http://kellieelmore.com/2013/05/17/fwf-free-write-friday-image-prompt-7/

Just Another Day At The Laundromat

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Motherhood, Running4 Comments

photo credit: http://www.hercampus.com

For Mothers Day,  I like to keep things simple. This year, the boys asked me what I wanted to do and I told them: “Landscaping the yard, an easy meal at home and watching Finding Nemo with you guys. ” I wanted the three of us together under one roof without one of us (usually me) falling asleep after twenty minutes.

Springtime up here is in full bloom and we own enough land that it takes a team to resurrect it after the winter has beaten it down. The grass grows long after about fifteen minutes and what isn’t grass looks downright barren and sad without some annuals planted here and there.  The tulips that  I planted 2 years ago in memory of my mother are a ray of sunshine at the top of the driveway but everything else needs trimming and chopping.

So Sunday seemed simple enough. First, I would  go on my 10+ run and my oldest would meet me for the last four miles. Then it was a shower, refueling ( aah a soy latte’!) and back outside. My youngest was to be in charge of mowing our vast expanse (he had repaired the rider and pusher so he was pumped) while my oldest and I raked out  a large area for new top soil and flowers. Laundry for my youngest was on the list as well. He figured he could easily get it going and done when he was mowing. Then we would chow down on burritos while enjoying the show.

Well, I should have known that when I woke up to rain that things would not go exactly as planned!  There are few exceptions that can stop me from lacing up my shoes (blizzards, serious downpours, hurricanes, extreme heat) so I  added  a layer to my skimpy sleeveless running top and headed out the door.  By mile two, I was quite dewy but not uncomfortable. The rain would abate and resume in an unpredictable fashion throughout the course.  I felt unusually pain free and relaxed until… mile 8.5, when my son and I stopped to look at some ducks in the marsh. When I started running again, my left knee locked up and I spent the last two miles shuffling up the hills and cursing the downhills.

By the time my shower was done,  the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds and we agreed to just delay the yard work until…my youngest son got a call from his boss asking him to come in for a meeting to plan for the week ahead ( he works in the trades and business was picking up after a temporary slow down). He had no choice but to go in. My oldest and I threw him a lifeline and said we would take care of his laundry while we cleaned up the basement.

So things were humming along;  3 loads later and the basement and  raking were just starting to look good until…. my oldest noticed that the t-shirts were still damp in the dryer . We added a few minutes to the cycle and then threw the Carhart pants in, pressed the button and..  the dryer dies! In truth, it had been on its way out for a few months. I don’t remember when the noise started in the machine but it sounded possessed!  We got to the point where we would push the button, cover our ears, dash to the door, shut it and run up the stairs. The sound cut right through you but the dryer still worked. I knew that I was on borrowed time but I wanted to put off the expense for a while longer. I was shelling out quite a few dollars on the home renovation and hoped the dryer would last until late June.

No such luck. It was late afternoon and the laundromats around here do not stay open late. The clothes had to get done because we all had long  work days on Monday waiting.  Besides, we ran out of topsoil and no flowers were going to get planted anyway. ( Oh, did I mention that my oldest is graduating from college on Saturday and we are having a party? No pressure to get things done at all-HA!).

So we loaded up my son’s truck with 4 baskets of heavy wet clothes and 2 big baskets of dirty items and headed out to the next town. We decided to go to the big place that we know about and pulled in the lot. We were about to park and get out until… we noticed that it was closed!  UGH!  But there was still hope.  We noticed another one two strip malls down right next to a fitness chain.  And it was open!  We quickly went inside and found ourselves in a pristine laundromat replete with 2 television screens-one broadcasting a PBS cooking show and the other a major league baseball game. It even had a leather couch and a huge and very clean bathroom.

My oldest and I are a well-oiled organization team. We always try to go the most efficient and least expensive route whenever possible no matter what the task.  We figured we would be in and out in about 80-90 minutes. We settled down on the comfy couch, put our feet up and started reading our book and magazine until… we realized we had no game plan for dinner now. And would we be able to watch the movie? And when would his brother get home?  A stop at the nearest grocery store solved the problem. We bought 3 Newman’s frozen pizzas, called my youngest to preheat the oven and headed back home with the cleaned goods and some sustenance.

At this point, it was 7pm. The movie went in and we inhaled the pizza. And before we knew it, it was time to settle in for the night. The irony of the day was not lost on my oldest. Here I was doing my 20 year old’s laundry on Mothers Day! (Both boys have been doing their own laundry since 2005).  It goes to show that even the simplest plans can go awry.

So here it is Tuesday and the lawn still needs to be done before Saturday and soil still needs to be purchased for the flowers.  Party supplies and groceries are on the to-do list. Never mind the filthy kitchen floor. Plus my dad  is due in on Friday.  But we have developed a Plan B and that should go well until…

Mothers: Past, Present, Future

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn MotherhoodLeave a comment

Greetings to my followers:

Poet Kellie Elmore posts a weekly Free Write Friday and this weeks challenge is “M is For Mom” (see link here if you want to check it out or participate: ( http://kellieelmore.com/2013/05/10/fwf-free-write-friday-m-is-for-mom/).  Here you can read entries from other bloggers about their moms.

This week I entered an older posting from October (with some edits ) entitled : Remembering My Mother.

I hope that you will read it here with this link:

Remembering My Mother

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!

Two Good Men

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Brothers, Motherhood, poetryLeave a comment

brothers

Eyes once full of innocence and mischief

Smiles that lit up like the noon day sun:

               Momma’s boys

Kicking and screaming their way through

the rocky years of teenage sullenness and rebellion:

                Nobody’s boys

Growing, changing, emerging and becoming

 solid, well-grounded, caring, respectful and focused:

                Momma’s men

Warp Speed

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Uncategorized2 Comments

warp speed

I’ve been aware of the time going by

they say in the end it’s the blink of an eye~ Jackson Browne (The Pretender)

I have lived in the same town for twenty-four years now. I still find it hard to fathom that so much time has passed and that my sons are no longer little boys.  I do not long for those days; although I did enjoy them. I appreciate the challenges and intensity of raising my sons. The days zoomed by and I was never once bored when I was home full-time. At times, I would hear other parents say that they could not wait until their kids were grown. I was quite puzzled and even dismayed at their train of thought. Why were they rushing time?

Now that my sons are young men, I appreciate the time that I spent with them (as do they).  But most importantly, I am so very grateful for the time that we spend together now. So much is happening in our lives presently. Each of us is on the cusp of new beginnings and I feel as if we are in the midst of sharing one another’ s nearly constant curves in the road. My oldest is graduating college in just over 4 weeks and will be making his way into the real world-although for all intents and purposes he really has had about one and half feet in it for many years.

The shift from childhood and adolescence to the responsibilities of adulthood was swift. When a father departs, life has a way of knocking a young man off track  and swiftly into manhood.  Because his father was never truly present, my oldest made his way into maturity through fits and starts and a few mistakes and bad choices (though none were life-threatening).  In a few respects, it is obvious that there is a some sort of gap in his growth toward manhood. After all, his dad left when he was 14-prime time for a boy to know how to become a man. But in the last two years, I have seen a growth spurt of sorts within him. Much of it is due to him making peace with who is father is and his limitations. The other is a willingness to be the best man he can possibly be. Today I see him as a rocket ready to be launched. Watch out world: he is ready to fly!

For my youngest, his journey was, is and will be different. He experienced his father on more of a first hand basis as a teenager. This helped my youngest truly understand the kind of person his father is without any of my input, perspective or bias. At times (who am I kidding-all the time!), I worried about what he was seeing under his father’s roof. But I learned that  letting go was the quickest and healthiest way for my son to reach his own conclusions. He returned home eventually-disappointed and broken hearted.  He’s got his power and confidence back; each day I have seen him grow by leaps and bounds as he makes his way in his chosen career and into the great wide and scary world.

As for me, I have finally grown into the woman I have always been. I am at peace with my place on this earth- creative, athletic, joyful and madly in love with the man that I dreamed of finding someday.  Like my sons, I am ready to be launched and I am making my way in this world on my own terms.

So here we are the three of us, riding this crazy train of change and growth. We are moving quickly but our focus is unwavering. The ride is at once nerve racking and exhilarating and we love every minute of it!

Where I’m From

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetryLeave a comment

I am from Barbie dolls,

from wooden blocks and Monopoly

I am from the sand pit in the back yard.

(Blond, gritty- it was filled with Tonka trucks.)

I am from the big pine tree

in the woods behind the house

where we played Lost in Space

and Kick the Can.

 

I am from banana curls

and frilly dresses at Easter.

I am from long bike rides to Walden Pond

with my brother and the twins.

I am from macaroni and cheese on Friday nights,

 hot dogs and beans on Saturdays

and dinners at grandparents on Sundays.

 

I am from Pat and Ben and Nana

with her funny laugh.

I am from “Wait until your father gets home”

 “Be a leader, not a follower”

“You Are My Sunshine” and “Goodnight Irene”.

 

I am from the trunk in the attic filled with trophies,

love letters and Ms. Magazines.

 

I am these memories-they live inside my soul.

We Three

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn poetry2 Comments

The absence of sound in the landscape was deafening

                Before them lay a vast desert

      dotted with low lying deep green brush,

      trees contrasted by rust colored plateaus

and tall rock formations reaching for the bright blue sky

         In the distance lay purple-shaded mountains

Yet, at the front and center of this wide open space

                    there were three people

       A mother and her two young sons

     arms wrapped around each other

  The boys holding on tight to mom in the middle

  Their laughter and love roaring into the silence

A Fragile Keepsake

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Family10 Comments

In every conceivable manner, the family is a link to our past, a bridge to our future ~Alex Haley

When I graduated from college thirty years ago in May, my mother presented me with a family heirloom. The opal ring-set in twenty karat gold- was given to her by her mother, who in turn, received from her mother. I became the fourth generation to wear this precious piece.

The ring, for me, is a vehicle for family stories-most especially about my late great-grandmother who received the gift from her husband. She was a native of Genoa,Italy ( a red head no less!) who married a Siscilian and then came to America.  She bore 16 children (two of whom died in World War II) and had two kitchens in her home.  The second was in the third floor attic where she prepared her ravioli and other delectable treats. My mother remembered Sunday dinners at her grandparents house where her grandfather commanded the head of the table and her grandmother stayed in the kitchen waiting for him to order his next course. He would often say, “Old lady get me this.. old lady get me that…”, according to my mother. In fact, my mother told me that her grandmother’s dresses often had black grease marks on the back from leaning against the stove!  She had no memory of her grandmother ever sitting down to eat with the family. So, I guess somewhere along the way he must have expressed his appreciation for her dedication and gave her the ring.

I don’t know when my grandmother received the ring; perhaps it was given to her when her mother died. She was definitely the favored child of  her father so I can only assume that is how she came to have it given the numbers of sisters she had. My grandmother was a feisty, sometimes ill-tempered woman who often got her way. She enjoyed her whiskey and loved to gamble.  In fact, it was during a card game that the ring met its current physical state. My grandmother was having a bad night and was dealt a particularly poor hand. In her frustration, she slammed her hand down, palm side up, chipping a corner of the opal stone. The stone-fragile in nature- could not be reset for risk of shattering it completely.

I believe that my mother was given the ring when she graduated from high school. Or maybe when she married my father; I am not sure. She did not wear it as often as she would have liked for fear of losing the stone.  When it became my turn to have it, I too, wore it sporadically for a while. But then, in my mid-twenties I started wearing it daily. I had heard that the oils from your skin kept the ring from drying out and breaking apart. It was then that the ring story took an unusual turn. One night I took it off so I could exercise before leaving for a vacation with my boyfriend and friends. It was a busy time, packing etc. and in my rush I misplaced the ring. I looked all over my apartment but could not find it. I was quite distraught; so much so that I never told my mother.

Fast forward to a year later. I am on my honeymoon in the British Virgin Islands. We arrive at our seaside cottage and begin unpacking. As I take out the last of the items from my very large suitcase, I hear the sound of something rolling across the floor. It was the ring! Apparently it had been stuck in a corner of the suitcase the entire time. From then on, I wore the ring quite regularly and when I didn’t I was careful to place it so as not to lose it again. I don’t think that I ever told my mother about losing it. I wish that I did; she would have gotten a kick out of that story for sure.

For a lot of my married life, I wore the ring on my right hand. When my marriage was going south, I took off my wedding bands more regularly and place the opal there instead.  Then I stopped wearing my bands completely and put the ring back on my right hand. I suppose this was a way for me to physically accept my single state. When I became seriously involved with my fiance’, I put the ring back on my left ring finger. It was a perfect way to prevent men from pursuing me and a way for me to show my committment to my new relationship.  When I became engaged, the ring was once again resting on my right ring finger.

Today the ring sits on my dresser. Last month, I noticed a new piece had broken off making the already precarious setting even looser. I am quite afraid that it will come off altogether. My hope is that I can find a way to preserve it without shattering the rest of the stone. It is very important to me that I pass it on to a future granddaughter. I want to share the stories of not only the ring but of the women who wore it.