Friday, December 26, 2008


Here is another of my literary inspiration from PPP. Today's prompt was "snow"...

Soft white petals that gently float from celestial beginnings, all spectacular thumbprints of nature's breathtaking beauty.

After jotting down that thought, I started to reminisce about the white snowy memories in my life and how much I truly do love snow. This year I've picked up a second job working at a ski resort so when the snow begins to trickle from the sky like feathers floating from heaven, I feel joy. Skiers & riders love snow and rejoice when the forecast calls for blizzards or even nor'easters.

Yet today's storms seem to produce much less snow, certainly not the volumes of snow I remember as a child. We would be buried in snow, with mounds of it piled as high as the window sills. The snowfall would often be 10 -12 inches per storm, and we had snow cover throughout the Winter and most years well into Spring. Coincidentally the biggest snowstorms here have come in March... one in that I remember fondly dropped 22 plus inches of snow! Aaaaaaaaaah.... spring skiing!

I admit that I hate to drive when the roads are snowy, but delighting in the pleasures of wintertime activities always revolves around tons of that white stuff. The more the merrier for me! So as I conclude this little perspective, I ask you to Think Snow...

Friday, December 12, 2008

The circle of life

Once again I was inspired by my friend to share a snippet of my life. This time the subject was grief.

My first real sting of grief happened just as I was celebrating a new life. It's ironic how our worlds can collide, how one day you can be filled with such joy that you feel that your skin will burst, then the next you can be brought to your knees with devastation.

It was November 9th, 1998... my very first day home alone with my newborn son. I was nonchalantly rearranging the closet while the baby lay nearby on my bed when I heard someone open the front door. My first thought when I saw my husband was "How sweet! He's come home to have lunch with us." But when he took my shoulders to turn me toward him, I saw something other than joy on his face. Finally, after a stale silence, he said my nephew was gone. "Gone? Where?" I asked. "Lisa, he's dead..."

All I remember is having my knees buckle and screaming in shock. He was only 21.

Realizing that the baby was just a few feet from me, I ran down the hall, as though to hide my pain from him. Once my husband reached me, we melted together in grief, all the while me mumbling "no, no, no, no!"

To this day I will never forget the feel of Michael's hand on my leg the last time we were together. I was in labor, and he had come to the hospital to be with me. Just before midnight he left my beside, promising me he'd be back in the morning to see me & the baby. He whispered his love to me as he softly caressed my leg. He smiled, winked and left my room.

I never saw him again. Yet, ironically, every time I look into my son's eyes, I see Michael. It's crazy how alike they are... they are both dirty blond & blue-eyed with similar body types, personalities and intellects. But the most stunning similarity has to be their eyes, though... the most exquisite, unique mix of ocean blue & green. In fact, I remember what my friend Sue said to me when she heard the news of Michael's death: He had the most beautiful eyes, and you never wanted him to look away once you caught his gaze. Coincidently when most people look into my son's eyes, they've felt that same magical pull.

I never understood the magnificent power of love until I held my son in my arms for the very first time. And I never truly felt grief until I experienced it with my sister. I will forever wonder why the circle of life in 1998 had to include our two sons. Still, every year, on the day before my son's birthday, I sit alone in the dark and rub my leg. Then I wink as I blow a kiss to my son's guardian angel.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Mothering & the opposite sex

There is one thing I know for sure... that there are women in this world who are meant to be mothers. And there are women who are meant to be mothers of boys. The same holds true for mothers of girls, of which I am not... Thank goodness!

I remember a time when I was having lunch with a friend and her daughter, when out of the blue the little girl became upset. Her whines quickly turned to tears. I was baffled, bewildered, and unequivocally puzzled. I could feel panic swelling in my gut. My pulse raced and my eyes darted from side to side in terror. What happened? Did I miss something? What changed this sweet little girl into a sobbing, blubbering mess in the blink of an eye?

You see I have boys, and they don't whine. They seldom cry, unless they are seriously hurt. I mean physically in pain. Like a limb is broken or a finger is caught in the door. Or they've fallen out of a tree or they've taken a ball to the groin. Now don't get me wrong - they throw fits and tantrums, but it doesn't remotely sound like the whining you hear from girls. When I think about being a mother of two boys, I know that it was my destiny. There is no way on earth I would ever be able to function under the pressure of whining.

On the other hand, when I do [or review] homework with my oldest son, I need to remember to take an extra dose of Valium in order to keep my composure. News flash: men & women do not think alike, or perform at the same level. Yet, because I am a detail oriented (okay, okay ... anal) person, I expect him to produce very meticulous, very neat and very accurate work. He, on the other hand, will spend the least amount of time to complete a task. Neatness is not his forte. And if you ask him, directions are for pansies and it's an abdominal waste of time to check over your work. Needless to say, this drives me craaaazy! He could be an exemplary student if he gave it more effort.

But he's a typical boy and no matter how hard I ride him, we will never see eye to eye. It's human nature for the opposite sex to be, well, opposite. I just need to relax, give him some space and pray that he will get superior guidance from his teachers, and his father.

Pursue your dream

Pursue your dream
Never underestimate the power of positive thinking.