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October 2005 - Posts
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As I mentioned the other day, it was my brother�s birthday. Well, yesterday, we got to celebrate. We had lots to eat and drink, opened gifts, sang �Happy Birthday� and then it was time to cut the cake. Let�s back up just a minute while I tell you about the cake cutting. A few years ago, my grandson Chris told us that his good friend�s family has a tradition when they cut their birthday cakes. The person celebrating their birthday puts the knife in the cake and makes a wish. The person who is there that has the next birthday, pulls the knife out of the cake and also gets to make a wish. So with each birthday cake, there are two wishes. Well, our family thought this was just the best idea and now it has become our family tradition also. Occasionally, there is someone there who is not aware of this tradition, so we have to give the explanation and everyone thinks it is a great idea. Even the little ones get involved. Well, that�s the story behind our birthday cake cutting. This birthday belonged to my brother Dan and my nephew Chuck Jr. got to pull the knife out of the cake and make a wish too. Thanks Chris for bringing about a new family tradition.
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Today is my brother�s birthday. He is 13 months younger than me, so it was like growing up with a twin. As a child playing games, he was always very competitive and he still is. He liked to win. I�m not saying he was a bad sport, but he really liked to win. He also likes most kind of music. He not only enjoys rock and roll which was the music of our day, but even likes opera and country in addition to the music of today (not Rap). You can tell you are close to his house as he likes to play his music very loud. I wonder how many speakers he has blown out. When he was a little boy, he liked to listen to the �Buckaroos� on the radio. That station played what we called cowboy music. There was always a radio on top of our refrigerator and in the evening, we would listen to the radio. As the radio played, my sister and I took turns dancing with our Dad and my brother danced with Mom. He�s still a pretty good dancer. Speaking of the radio, on Saturday mornings, my brother and I would have a difference of opinion as to what to listen to � �Let�s Pretend� (my favorite), or �Buster Brown� (his favorite). He won out most of the time. Keep in mind; television was not as common as today with a set in nearly every room and at that time, there were still lots of good things to listen to on the radio. I cannot write about my brother without mentioning sports. He is a big time sports fan; SU basketball and football, and of course, the Yankees. These are his favorites, but growing up it seemed like all the teams were his favorites. If more than one game was playing at one time, he would have all the radios and televisions going so that he could listen to them all at the same time. On holidays, he likes to sit at the table where he can see whatever game is playing. At family weddings, he always goes back and forth from the reception to where a game is being televised to make sure he hasn�t missed anything. When a special occasion is planned in our family, the first thing he does is check to see what game is being played that day and the time. This included right down to when his grandchildren were due to be born. Another thing about my brother is that he is a sharp dresser. His shirts are always perfectly pressed and everything has to match. He wouldn�t think of arriving at a holiday dinner without a jacket. Everything has to be just so. I have yet to meet a man with so many clothes. He shops constantly adding to his wardrobe. A few years ago, we helped him moved into his new home. I counted 37 sport coats along with suits, slacks, etc. That was a few years ago, God know how many he now owns. There are so many things that I could have written about my brother, but I have tried to touch on just a few. He�s been a good brother to my sister and me and I consider him to be a friend as well as my brother. A few years ago, I wrote a poem for him on his birthday. I entitled it �Dapper Dan�. The definition of dapper is: neat and trim in appearance, excessively spruce and stylist, alert and lively in movement and manners. Sure fits my brother Dan to a T. You�re 62, how can that be You still look like Dapper Dan to me Your hair is gray, but it�s still there And for some men, that is rare Your closets are full of jackets galore With shoes and boots lined up on the floor You wear starched shirts and matching ties You sure show up lots of guys When you step out it�s easy to see You�re just as sharp as sharp can be But then there are those other days When SU or the Yankees will play Your big TV is waiting for you To watch the game and commercials too You turn on the fireplace and get a snack The game is starting; so get right back Off with the tie and the fancy boots Just plop on that couch and don�t give a hoot It�s time to relax; you�ve had a rough day It�s Dapper Dan�s time to play Your perfect appearance has taken on a new face Your old robe and slippers now have taken their place Your hair�s no longer perfect; your beard now has grown But who cares now, you�re there at home Tomorrow will come and you�ll be off again With those fancy shirts and those ties with pins You�ll jump in that Caddy, that big blue car Because you�re Dapper Dan; that�s who you are
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Yesterday I attended a baby shower for the daughter of a friend of mine. Another friend was there whose daughter had just had a baby last week. I told them I was jealous that I did not have any little ones to cuddle and hug. It�s just wonderful to have a baby in your arms. Sadly, these little people grow up and before you know it, they become adults. I remember so vividly each day that our three children were born. I remember also the pride and love that my husband and I felt and still do. Our first child was a girl; she was named after her paternal grandmother. Our second child, a girl also, was named for all my dolls (they all had the same name). Our third child was a boy. He, we named after my husband, but has carried a nickname all of his life. His nickname is one that my husband always called all little boys before he came along. Funny, he does not do that any more; probably because we now have our own son.
The next best thing to having children of your own is, of course, having grandchildren. We have been blessed with six of them. I also remember each day they were born and the circumstances. They range from 24 to 10 years of age and each is special in his or her own way. My husband and I spoil them all just like grandparents are supposed to. Guess you can tell by now that I just love babies; especially when they are your own children and grandchildren. A few years ago, I wrote a poem about babies. I would like to share it with you. Babies are wonderful, babies are great So much better than ice cream and cake
They make you smile and sometimes cry And they're not really happy when you wave them bye bye
To see their mommies and daddys go Just breaks their little hearts so To be close by that's where they want you to be To feel their arms around you, that's easy to see They give you baby hugs and baby kisses From little boys and little misses Their kisses make your heart beat and their hugs give you a thrill Like nothing else on earth ever will But then they turn into toddlers and eventually grown And then into adulthood and off on their own But those baby hugs and baby kisses From those little boys and little misses Will remain in your heart forever more Long after they've gone out the door You'll keep that memory close in your heat Just as you did from the very start Because it doesn't matter how old their age How tall they have grown and can now earn their own wage To you, your baby they will always be I know for a fact, that's how it is for me
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Today I thought I would write about my maternal Grandmother. I did not know my paternal Grandmother as she passed when I was one month old, so all my love went to this grandmother. Grandma was so very special and there is a lot to say about her. First of all, she was very short. When I say short, I mean short. I am 5�1� and I towered over her. When I was growing up, she was pretty chunky, but as she grew older, she was quite tiny. When we used to tease her about her height, she always said �You still have to eat lots of bread to be as big as me�. Not exactly sure what that meant, but that was usually her response. Grandma almost always wore an apron or what they used to call a house dress. These outfits always had a pocket and the pocket always had candy in it for visiting grandchildren and probably herself. Grandma loved candy, so she just assumed everyone else did. Also, there would usually be a row of safety pins that would be pinned to the pocket just in case you needed one. English was not her first language so her English was pretty broken. When she started talking sometimes she would forget and start speaking Italian. You would have to remind her to go back to English. She always said �Why don�t you learn to speak Italian like me?� I certainly wish I had. I understood her okay, but could not speak to her in her foreign language. As I mentioned, she loved her sweets. When we would take her to get Frozen Custard in the summer months, my Dad would always buy her two. She would eat both without a problem. She did a lot of cooking in the home and rarely went out to eat. I remember one time when we took her out to dinner, she ordered �Roast beast and smash the potatoes�. Whenever I see Roast Beef on a menu, I think of my Grandma. My Grandparents had 14 children; so needless to say, there was a lot of cooking to be done. There was always chicken soup, meatballs and sauce, and orange soda in the refrigerator that she would put sliced oranges in. That was another thing, she loved fruit. There was always lots of bananas, apples, grapes, etc. You name it. If it was in season, she had it. If there wasn�t room in the refrigerator, it would be in a bag in her room. There was always lots of fresh fruit when we went to visit. Grandma also loves her plants. When I was a little girl, they lived in an older home that had a huge window seat in the dining room. I always imagined that it probably had red velvet cushions on it at one time. Well that certainly wasn�t the case with Grandma. The window seat was loaded with plants. She could make anything grow. I said to her one day that she had a Green Thumb. She replied �No Dolly, it�s okay�. Obviously, she did not understand what I meant. Their home was on two lots; one had the house on it and the other was her garden. She had every vegetable you could imagine growing there. She even had small fig trees that she would dig up every Fall and re-plant in the Spring. She would bury her �garbage� in her garden under her plants. She did not know anything about compost. Grandma said that she thanked God every morning when she woke for another day. There were many religious statues, rosary beads and pictures that decorated her room. She even had a statue of Baby Jesus on her dresser that she brought with her from Italy when she was 16 years old. That�s another thing; my Grandparents were married in Italy and came here on their honeymoon. When they arrived here, they lived with my Grandfather�s parents. Just imagine leaving your family at that young age and traveling across the ocean to another country. That must have taken a lot of courage. She very often told me stories of her life in Italy and when she came to America. Many times, it was the same story, but that was okay with me. As you can see by now, that I could go on and on. There is so much to tell about her that I would be writing for hours. She was a special lady and memories of her will remain in my heart forever.
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As I was lying in bed last night not being able to get to sleep (so what�s new), I starting thinking about my friends. I believe I am very fortunate to have the friends that I do. Most of my close friends are long time �old� friends. There are two friends that I meet once a month for lunch. One of these friends, I have known for 44 years; the other for well over 25 years. There is another group that I also meet for lunch every month or so. With this group, I have known all of them over 25 years. All of these people were met at places of employment. There is yet another friend that I communicate with via e-mail who I have known since I was a young girl in grade school. I had not seen her for a while after school and one day she appeared where I was employed. We once again became acquainted. Then, she moved away and we did not see each other for several years. My long-time friend of 44 years and I became reacquainted with her a few years ago after making some phone calls and checking addresses on the computer. Early this year, the three of us met in Florida where she now lives. It was a wonderful reunion as we had not seen each other for well over 25 years.
The above are not family-related friends. I have some special people in my family that I also consider to be my friends. My husband, of course, is my best friend and has been for many years. I cannot forget my sister and my brother, along with my daughters and son and my grandchildren. There are others too; like my daughter-in-law, favorite cousins, and other special relatives. My Mother was a favorite friend. I talked to her every day if only for a short time. There are many times that I wish that she was still here so I could share a confidence or maybe just visit for a few minutes. There was also my Dad who would make me laugh with all his stories and my Grandmother who in between switching from broken English to Italian would tell me stories of her young life and when she came to America. The dictionary�s first definition of a friend is: A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts. That�s a pretty good definition, but I think that a friend is also someone you can pour your heart out to, if needed, or maybe just share a good laugh. I did or can do this with all of the above people; therefore, I consider myself to be very fortunate as I am surrounded each day with my many good friends.
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Today would have been my parents' 72nd anniversary. I remember so well attending their 25th anniversary party. Sadly, they did not get to celebrate their 50th. Last year at this time, I was reminiscing and decided to write a poem as a tribute to my parents and their anniversary. I entitled my poem, "Faces". As I look at the clouds, I try to see faces Faces of people who have gone to distant places Perhaps my Mother whose heart was always so true A Mother who would do most anything for you Or perhaps my Father whose laughter still rings in my ears A Father I wish still would be here There are so many who have left this place Some so slowly and others in haste I try to remember the good times we had There were so many with my Mom and Dad Today is their Anniversary and as I sit here and write To them I wish I could say "Happy Anniversary" "I love you both and you will remain in my heart forever And to forget either of you would surely be never"
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Anyone who knows me knows how much I like scarves. I have scarves in different shapes, colors, patterns, etc. They range from florals to paisleys to plain black.
I always wear a scarf with a jacket, coat, etc. In the winter months, I wear a cotton one and in the warmer weather (spring and fall), I usually wear a silk one.
Looking back at pictures of myself, I noticed that I wore what they called neckerchiefs when in Junior High and High School. This was just a small colorful square tied around your neck that was worn with an open collared blouse (shirt).
What does this have to do with anything? Well, my mother told me that my grandmother who passed away when I was a month old always, always wore a scarf. I have seen just a few pictures of her, but there is the scarf.
I find this to be interesting in that we tend to like or dislike sometimes the same things that our family/ancestors do even though we may not have even known them. Also, actions may be similar. Using a member of my family as an example, a young cousin whose father left the home and disappeared when he was just a very small boy looks exactly like his father (red hair and all) which is not unusual. However, he has his father�s personality and many of his mannerisms. His father was not there as an example, but yet he still has all his traits.
When we see people who resemble their parent, grandparent, etc., it is noticeable, but usually they live together, see each other, etc. Again, just another observation on my part.
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Yesterday, while visiting my daughter, I called her a fuss-budget because she was rearranging something in her freezer that someone else had put in there. My grandson asked �What is a fuss-budget?� My husband and I gave him our explanation, but I also decided to look it up in the dictionary. The first meaning was pretty much what I thought � a person who fusses over trifles. The second meaning was a little surprising in that it is someone who thinks about unfortunate things that might happen � a worry wart. I did not know that a fuss-budget could also be a worry wart. Well, I chuckled to myself because that sure fits a few people in my family. The first meaning applies to all three of our children, to at least two of our grandchildren and both of my siblings. Both definitions apply to my mother and me. The worry wart definition also applies to one of our grandchildren (and you know who you are). Guess we are just a bunch of fuss-budgets. Not especially interesting reading, but just an observation that I made.
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To begin with, as you know, I like to write poems and stories. Well, one of the nicest gifts that I have ever received was a poem that was written for me by my grandson Christopher. He wrote this poem ten years ago for my birthday. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me. I would like to share it with you. Grandma This is a story about Diana Smith And this piece of paper is her birthday gift I've only known her a few fourteen years To remember everything I must look in the mirror She always has taught me so much Typing, cooking, mortgages, and such Our trip to Florida I must ponder I believe she earned the name "Arcadian Wanderer" She has always supported me in things that I do That's to commend for there's been quite a few She's taught me of God, fun, and laughter Heck-She's taught me since birth and thereafter If there's one thing she's taught and taught well It is to love, and I do want to tell....... I Love You Grandma!
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I was trying to think of what to write about today and there wasn't anything special that seemed to strike my interest. Therefore, I decided to once again share one of my stories with you. A while ago, I wrote a short story that I called "The Good Samaritan". It is not much like any other "Good Samaritan" story that you may have read before, but none the less, it's just another version of what being a Good Samaritan is all about. The Good Samaritan The cardboard box that Freddie was dragging didn�t look strong enough to hold anything that heavy. The road home was dark and the only sounds came from within. He still remembered the consequences of the last time he brought one home. Freddie couldn�t very well leave the wounded possum lying in the road. Because it was dark, he did not see the animal right away. Apparently, the possum had wandered out into the road and a car had hit him. Freddie checked to see if the possum was still breathing then looked around for something to put him in. A few feet away was a beat-up, partially broken cardboard box. Freddie picked the possum up and laid him in the box. This was not the first time that Freddie had rescued an animal. There was the bird with the broken wing, a cat that appeared to have been in a fight, and, of course, the bullfrog. Freddie�s mother would not be happy. He would have to sneak the possum into the house. He remembered the last time he brought home a wounded animal. That was the bullfrog. Once it was healed, Freddie wanted to keep it. Its croaking kept everyone awake at night not to mention the deposits that were left on the floor, the bed, or any other place it happened to light. Freddie�s mother insisted that he get rid of the frog. It belonged in a pond, not a house. Freddie had grown attached to the frog and disobeyed his mother by hiding it under his bed. That, of course, did not work. The frog had to go, plus Freddie was grounded for two weeks for disobeying. Maybe this time would be different. Keeping a possum would have to be a whole lot better than keeping a frog; or would it?
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