Unchained Melody

"Tenderness awakens within the security of knowing we are thoroughly and sincerely liked by someone. The mere presence of that special someone in a crowded room brings an inward sigh of relief and a strong sense of feeling safe."

Passed along to me from Sunshine Gal via the book Abba's Child

I decided to start with a quote in lieu of a photo this time. I was chatting online with Sunshine Gal, and she shared these words with me. They directly related to what I want to blog about - Mama and Dads.

Their song? Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. I can't help but cry each time I hear it. I think about how they chose that song years ago as their own, and how they had no idea at the time what ups and downs they would go through during their lives together. Throw a crazy daughter in the mix, and their days were complete!

My parents met through letters. I firmly believe my love for the written word stems from this original relationship. My mom wrote to my dad for about two years while he was stationed in Nancy, France, with the US Army.

"He wrote the longest letters," she commented this morning during our daily morning discussion. "The other guy I wrote to was cocky." Score one for Dads!

"Perhaps you need a pen pal," was my mother's comment on my social life. Yes, possibly I do. Seeing as I love to write postcards and scribe all sorts of stories a pen pal would seem an ideal situation for me. However, it would be hard to do the things I love with someone just through letters - experience drives to nowhere, long talks in coffee shops, and sitting on a beach getting sunburned. SPF 70 need not apply. Redheads still burn...in more ways than one.

I love letters. I do get excited each day as I open up my mailbox or post office box to see what arrived for me that day. The experience is somewhat lost with email and text messaging. Two boyfriends have sent me postcards, and that endeared me to them for months. I'm a sucker for the written word. To see the handwriting is like seeing the person's soul. Have I overdone it? I don't think so. I feel like I know them better, can feel them, once I see their handwriting. Sharing words on paper has become an intimate experience in our day and age of electronic media.

But I'm still hooked on letters of any kind - email messages, Facebook exchanges, texts, you name it. Letters flying across the screen get me excited at the possibilities! I have met so many great people through Postcrossing that evolved from postcards into emails, texts, and eventually a visit. There's Sis - my forever friend in The Netherlands. I feel no one in the world may know me better than her. And then there's Baer. With him, the word raisin will never mean the same! And then there's Sakule, my new friend from Germany whom I can't wait to write to three times a week via postcards.

I know what my mother felt. She must have waited for the mailbox to be full, with letters from Dads. Each word brought forth the possibility of a future, of a connection. Who knew when she met him if he would be a total ass? Thank goodness he wasn't! History was set, and along came MausiGal, MustangBro, and Sprout.

Emails. Texts. Letters. Postcards. All the same, yet so different. Perhaps my mom and I have more in common than I thought...

Help Me Rhonda

I'm listening to "The Bold 1960's" on Pandora right now as I write this morning.  This is quite a change from my usual Nicki Minaj and Ke$ha mix.  I've been playing the oldies in the car in the afternoon with my dad as we drive around for errands in the hope that it will jog his memory.  Oh, so I hope.

I think I've come to a conclusion.  This blog isn't going to be about adventures on motorcycles, concoctions in the kitchen, or how I go psycho in my head at the supermarket deli.  I'm going to focus on my father's battle with vascular dementia for the time being.  Of course I won't be able to help but throw in the casual funny that happens here and there, or the odd thing from life in the classroom.  But my main crux in life right now, aside from the kidlets, is Dads.

The picture above with the cat and the flag is because my dad is a veteran.  Yeah, I know.  Lame attempt at including a photo with this entry.  Admit it, it breaks up the heaviness of this post!

Nearly every day I take Dads on an adventure somewhere.  Our adventures include the post office, the supermarket, and sometimes the dry cleaners.  When we have time, we go out for coffee.  I know people who know me aren't surprised, as I'll try to weasel my way in to get additional coffee any way I can.  Our coffee chat sessions will be a whole other blog post, as they include such topics as Men Who Have Treated His Daughter Badly And Are On His List, The State of the Union, Why He Likes Walmart, Your Kids Need to Cut the Lawn, and Are You Doing OK Kiddo?

We drive around Clemsville and Dads, as always, taps his knee to classics by the Beach Boys and the Beatles.  He has done this as long as I can remember.  He can recall where he was when he heard these songs fifty years ago, but has no idea where we are going.

"Are we going to the post office?"

"Yup, Dads.  And then Demoulas."

"Oh.  Do you need to go to the post office?"

I have the utmost patience with this.  Remember - I teach middle school, where kids lose pencils and cry about it.

The other day my mother sent us on a mission to the drugstore, CVS, to buy a certain type of aspirin.  Both he and I were befuddled.

"This it?  Coated?  Look at my sticky note."  I think Dads and I are the only people who refuse to call it a "post-it" and still call it a "sticky note."

"Um.  Yeah," I look at the box and nod my head in agreement.  Looks good to me.  Of course upon return back home we are both wrong.

Who has the dementia now?

Dads is with me through thick and thin.  One of my cats is sick.  She's drinking too much water, cuddling with me excessively at night, not moving much, and when you look at her you can just tell.  As I write this blog post she's sleeping in a box and I just thought she was dead.  I screamed out, "Lily!" twice and she finally put her head up.  I have been thinking about who will go with me if I do have to put her down.  It will be Dads.

Hopefully he will forget the whole moment...

Memoria

Why the Starbucks cup at the beginning of a post on memory?  You see, once a week, at least, my dad and I have been hanging out at this well-known coffee shop and sharing our thoughts on the world, the past, and the future.  But you see, my dad is losing his memory.  Dads has the beginnings of dementia.  He has suffered small strokes and his short-term memory has been the victim of this.  A few nights ago a friend asked me how he was doing, and my reply was,"I cannot talk to you about this."  It's too much for me to discuss this subject with people, but I'd like to share about it here, through my writing - the humor, the pain, and the sadness.  It affects not only my father, but my children, my siblings, and especially my mom, who deals with it on a daily basis.

Dads walks very slow.  That's the first indication that something is amiss.  Am I used to this?  I'm getting there.  For someone like me who has the East Coast stride, walking slow takes a bit of adapting.  Perhaps slowing me down a bit is a good thing, seeing as most of the time I'm at 0-60.

The first wake up call was when he and I went to get salad. His assignment was to get mushrooms.

"What are those things you put on salad?"

"Mushrooms, Dads."

"You know?  Those things!  Those little things."

"Yes, Dads.  They're called mushrooms."

"Oh yeah.  Mushrooms."

I was in a panic.  Dads had forgotten the name for a simple item.  What scared me even more was the look on his face.  It was one of sadness, and fear.

How could I bridge the abyss? I can't.  I can only be there to help him along.  Dads can remember how to get to churches in Boston which he visited in his teens, yet he cannot remember why we need to buy his niece a card for her engagement.   But he is always, and forever will be, my Dads.  Our talks over coffee still bring forth his wisdom and hope, which I so need in a world which seems to change at lightning's pace.

I take Dads out for coffee and trips to the post office nearly every day.  My mom needs a break.  I know that people on the inside of it all can become tired, trying to cope with the care of someone with dementia.

I admire how she is handling it with humor.  Could I do it?  I don't know.  We are all trying - my mom, me, my brothers, their wives.  It's definitely a family effort.  And we do it because we love Dads so much.  

So the journey continues.  Each and every day is an adventure.  All I know is I'm glad Dads is along for the ride with me.  

xoxo MausiGal

Keep An Open Mind - Ride, She Said!

I eat crow.

Yes, let's start off this post where I confess what I said a year ago to not only my kidlets but my family and friends as I began dating again.  Oh yes...

As I flipped through profiles and emails on online dating sites I dinged people who owned motorcycles and dogs.  "No way will I ever go out with a guy who has a bike or owns a dog!" I would say to my kidlets.  "No flippin' way!"  My kidlets are twelve, and they would love to antagonize me as to who Mr. Date would be.  Would he drive a sports car?  Or a beat-up minivan?  Would he be a cat person?  Or would he be one who owned snakes?  The possibilities were endless.  However, I had my standards.

No motorcycles.  No dogs.

Why?  I kept stereotyping motorcycle guys to be overly macho, and dog owners to be, well, overly attached to their pets and wimpy.  For those of you who have done the online dating scene before, you know how it can go.  There are all these profiles - just TOO many - and to differentiate between the potential date can be tough.  The whole process is awful.  I hated it, and agonized over it.  How could one possibly know someone from a blurb on the Internet and a few pictures?

So what did I do?  I went to a psychic.  Yes, no logic rules when one is in the dating scene in one's 40-something years.  However, I received the best advice in a long time from the psychic that one could ask for.

Keep an open mind.

Creepy?  She said I would meet someone in October who worked with children.  I did.  But above all, she kept telling me that hot, August night, (gosh, sounds like some sort of Harlequin novel), "Keep an open mind."  What happened?  I met someone who adored motorcycles and had a dog.  My boys rolled their eyes and said, "Nice going, mom."

Keep an open mind.

I went for my first ride on a motorcycle since college a few years ago.

It was on a 1970 Harley.  How cool is that?  Even I was impressed, the girl who had refused to consider someone because they rode a bike and owned a dog.  For about six months I had spent hours with Breadman, the person who not only had a dog but loved bikes, and off we drove for over two hours through the countryside of New Hamsphire.

Today's trip took us off to Peterborough, New Hampshire.  Our original destination on the Kawasaki Z11 (I think I got that righ!) was King Arthur Flour Cafe and Bakery in Vermont.  Upon rethinking, we decided upon Burdick's Chocolates in Walpole, New Hampshire.  However, spring in New England can be a finicky beast.  It was cold!  For the ride up I kept thinking to myself, "Your hands will hold dark hot chocolate.  Your hands will hold dark hot chocolate"  as my fingers became more and more nimble, despite the gloves protecting them.  Instead we stopped at a cute little shop, Ava Marie Chocolates, and then had diner food, in Peterborough.  Perfect!  

Wow!  I notice so much more when on a motorcycle versus in a car.  Granted, while on a motorcycle I am a passenger, and have the opportunity to observe.  When I'm a passenger in a car I usually sleep, I result of being carsick so much when I was younger.  Today I saw so much that I wanted to whip out my iPhone and photograph.  I saw a store that bore the name of one of the kidlets - both first and last name. 

There was the religious bumper sticker worn off that was so telling.  It was suppose to read, "Got eternal life?"  Instead, it now read, "Got eternal li e?" Oh, how to photograph that would have been a gem!  

There are the mom and pop stores throughout the New Hampshire countryside that make me realize that all is well with the world.  Why? The small, the familiar, where one can enter and know that they will be greeted as if they were a local, even if they drove seventy-five miles from Boston.   Breadman and I talked this weekend about where we'd eventually like to be when we retire.  I think I'd like to be in a small, Vermont town, as long as it has a good library.  But upon discovering New Hampshire today, I was surprised.  I always thought of New Hampshire as being the Pheasant Lane Mall.  Oh, does my suburban upbringing ring loud and true.  

Keep an open mind.

From motorcycles to guys with dogs to small towns in New Hamsphire, never stop learning.  Keep an open mind. 

Ride on!

xoxo MausiGal

A Tale of Two Twins

Thirteen years ago on April 19th at 4:25 and 4:26 my life changed forever.  Into my world entered twelve pounds of babies - two to be exact.  Kidlet A and Kidlet B  arrived on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, of which I had been denied a latte just hours before by my doctor, as I was going in for an emergency C-section.

That's how I knew they were going to be born.  After months of being disgusted by coffee, I had this intense craving for the bean on the morning of April 19th.  And at Sally Ann's Bakery in Concord, I ordered up that latte and was ready for my weekly visit to the hospital.  As Dads drove to the hospital with me for my weekly twin checkup, I got ready for yet another day of lying in bed and being checked.

Little did I know April 19th would be the day that Kidlet A and Kidlet B would arrive.  At that point I didn't know if they were boys, girls, or one of each.  We didn't even have two girls names picked out.  Should they have been girls, one would have definitely been Dagney, after the character in Ayn Rand's book.  Gosh, how I loved the name Dagney!  But I also adored the names I had chosen for Kidlet A and Kidlet B.

And so thirteen years have passed.  With twins, life is different.  Yes, parenting is a pleasure and a pain, we'll all admit that.  But I'm going to be full of myself and say being a mom to a dynamic duo brings situations like no other.  The kidlets are fraternal twins which look nothing alike.  Over the years we've had bizarre encounters.  I've been asked such things as, "Are you sure they're twins?"  There was also the time in the supermarket checkout line when a foreign person's son began to lick one of the kidlet's cheeks upon hearing they were twins.  Why?  I don't know.  All I do know is the minute I got to the almighty Volvo I smeared Kidlet (I won't reveal to them which one was affected) with cleansing wipes.  Weirdness.

We celebrated their birthday with a family party on Sunday, the day before the horrific attack in Boston.  When I received the call from Mama about the Boston bombing the kidlets and I were in Old Navy.  My first reaction was to go on with normalcy - keep shopping then onto Barnes and Noble and not tell them their beautiful city had been marred.  But I didn't chose that option.  I told them there had been a terrorist attack, that we needed to stay informed, and life needed to go on.

My sons were to visit Washington, D.C. later in the week, and I'll admit I was nervous.  But what do I want for my kidlets?  I want the world to be a place that they can explore, learn, and meet people who expand their minds.  I want them to see the things that I have seen - the Andes mountains at sunset, the stars from the Amazon jungle, Lapland in the summertime.  And yes, I want them to go back to downtown Boston with me on a summer day and stroll those very same streets we have walked prior to April 15th, relaxing afterwards on Boston Common with a ride in the Swan Boats.  Life is meant to be lived.

I remember reading Richard Rohr a few years ago about how we live in a culture of hate.  We can no longer do this.  We need to live in a culture of love and acceptance, and this must be built for our children.  In order to do that, we cannot live behind closed walls, behind computers, and texting on iPhones.  To see humanity, interact with one another, and gather the human experience is essential.

Define yourself by what you love, not what you hate.  A promise to my twins.

Poet's Statement

(This was an assignment for my Poetry Workshop.  I really enjoyed writing it, and thought I would publish it here.  Enjoy.  -xoxo MausiGal)

I saw myself as a poet long before I envisioned myself a writer of fiction.  In high school and college I was well-known for crafting verse rather than my literary works.  So, when the opportunity arose this semester to return to the writing of poetry, I welcomed the opportunity.  For years the busy-ness business of life has left me without the time to think about poetry - both in writing and reading, other than those wonderful poems that appear in The New Yorker each week, which leave me pondering for the few moments I have before I drift off to sleep.

I found it difficult to write on demand - I’ll be honest about that.  In the past I could compose poetry on a whim: by Lake Champlain in Vermont, at my desk in school in between classes, and in the checkout line at the supermarket on the back on an old receipt.  But this semester?  I was forced to go beyond my limits and explore topics which I would not necessarily consider on my own.  I missed the freedom of being able to compose when I wanted to, and to which subject I wanted to address.  But what did this do for me?

It became the catalyst for the writing of more poetry...outside of the assignments.

This morning as I drove through the public library parking lot at 6:30 am an idea struck me, and I whipped out the iPhone and began to write a poem.  I was inspired by my hometown local diner at such an early hour.  The rush of getting that idea out in a unique manner through words was alive!  

I’ll admit I’ve had my frustrations as a poet this semester.  I prefer free verse.  I am an over-achiever, and so fear that the use of free verse makes me appear lazy.  I have so tried to write in iambic pentameter.  Oh, how I fail!  For the life of me I cannot do syllables in English.  Give me Spanish - no hay problema.  ¿Pero inglés?  Hay problema.  I so hate making my poems into cutesy pictures as well.  Who wants to see a poem in the shape of something?  My snarky side comes out and scoffs.  Sorry, but I find it so kitsch.  I wrote a poem about a pinup girl.  Would anyone really want to see boobs and hips in a poetic form?  (Well, probably, dare I ask!)  For me free verse is accessible to all.  It is unpretentious.  When formed correctly, with the right breaks among lines and stanzas it has amazing impact upon the reader.  

The poem which had the greatest impact on me this semester was One Art by Elizabeth Bishop (Vendler, p. 175).  I have this poem photocopied and posted in my office next to my computer.  In addition, I have highlighted the lines, “Write it!”  Every now and then we, as readers, find a poem which speaks directly to us.  This was my poem.  I have dealt with huge loss over the past few years, primarily my divorce after fifteen years of marriage.  I worry about the loss of my father, who suffers from CLL (chronic lymphocytic leukemia).  He was given three years to live six years ago.  I have yet to compose a poem about him.  But when I do write, I try to make him proud.

Like Elizabeth Bishop, I see myself writing about everyday emotions in the future, perhaps even loss.  However, as she does with keys, a house, and continents, I also wish to combine everyday items into my works so that the reader may view the ordinary into the extraordinary.  I want my readers to be taken to new emotional heights with my poems, to undergo a paradigm shift in their way of thinking.  Hours, days, months, maybe even years after reading my works I want them to have a moment where they exclaim, “Wow!  I need those words by my computer!”  For the reader to grow, transform from my words would be the ultimate honor.  

Poetry is a glimpse, for me, into the madness and wonders of the world.  A poem can capture you up in a matter of minutes with just words, then stay with you and never leave.  This semester I’ve tried to explore such topics as mania, alcoholism, and self-identity.  Where will my fountain pen go next?  One can never know.  I’ll have to go take a drive and see...

Procrastination Liberation

I've blogged again and again about what a busy person I am, to the point where people may think I'm bragging.  But upon thinking this morning, I wonder how much of it I just bring upon myself with procrastination.  Truly, could I do a lot more if I budgeted my time differently? 

Ah, the Type A overachiever in me!  If I stop eating and found a more efficient way to shower could I possibly have time to blog every day and write out more postcards?

So not logical.  But is there any logic when a mania sets in?  Definitely not.  Unfortunately I'm not in a manic state right now to get through the projects I need to get through - a huge lesson plan for Spanish class, the need to view "Death in Granada" for Saturday (sounds so upbeat), type a reflection for Tuesday for my mentor class, create a poet's statement (yeah, about my life as a poet) for Tuesday, and redo my poetry portfolio for Tuesday.

All this pretty much on the Hotbox computer which dies on a whim from overheating, and has a keyboard that sticks and doesn't like to type A, Y, and refuses to do Spanish accents so I have to cut and paste them.  Oh, and let's add that I can no longer cut and paste - I have to go up to the tool bar and do it from there.

/scene.  Enough kvetching for one blog post.  I'm done in twenty-seven days with this madness that I've imposed upon myself.  Then I'm sure I'll find another madness.  That's MausiGal.  I need to have activity in my life - whether that be just reading a book on a Friday night.  I am never bored. 

But instead of working on my lesson plan, right now I'm blogging, and listening to music on Pandora.  I want to bake cookies.  I want to catch up on scanning postcards.  I want to organize my lingerie drawer.  I want to chat with Sis in the Netherlands.  I want, I want, I want!  But I can't. 

I suppose to put out a quality product I do need these breaks of thought.  This past weekend I went for my first motorcyle ride since college and had an amazing time. Could I have been working on my projects?  Of course.  But I was so relaxed and happy after this weekend that I feel like I am ready to get these next twenty seven days conquered. 

For the next twenty minutes I will write out postcards instead of about immigration and how seventh graders may view it.  The fountain pen is mightier than the sticky keyboard.  Music playing, cat sitting right next to the HotBox (for the heat, of course), I am ready to be rejuveniated before digging in for the final stretch.