Happy Birthday, Brad

Thirty years ago today was Mother's Day. I went to the Mall. I walked the entire length of the Mall. And back again. Then I went home.

Sitting at the dinner table, I felt a little twinge. I didn't say anything. Until much later. And then it was time to go to the hospital and very early the next morning, Brad was born. All 9 pounds 11 ounces of him.

We didn't know his name until we saw him. There were a couple choices, but when we saw him we knew it was Brad.

By the way, did I mention he was crying before he was even completely born?

Grandpa Lunger was the first to come and see him in the hospital, aside from his dad and I that is. He snuck in at the beginning of his work day to meet his grandson. I won't ever forget how totally in love he was with his grandchildren.

His big sister came to see him in the hospital too. She couldn't wait to have him at home. That stopped somewhere around the first time he took a toy from her.

And now, that baby boy is on the verge of becoming a daddy himself. In just a few days, he will understand how such a small little creature can totally steal your heart. And how looking at that little one, the idea that he (or, in Brad's case, she) is totally dependent on you.

In my case, that was a very happy Mother's day. And I'm sure that this will be a very happy Father's day for Brad.

Happy Birthday Braddy. I love you.

A Few More of My Favorite...

These are entirely random -- which you will be able to tell by the lack of anything at all to do with each other. Still, they fit into the favorite photos classification--


Don was taking a little nap when I snuck up on him. I'm sure he hates this photo, but I love it


I doubt if I have to explain this one --a toothy baby smile, c'mon....

It's great when you can see your kids with such a happy loving face. I have a similar one of Mel and Kyle, unfortunately not digital -- when I scan it (one of these days) I'll add it. I have them both hanging in my office. They make me feel good about life.


It was a sunset cruise in Cozumel. It was beautiful in every direction, including up.


This is definitely one of my all time favorite photos. Maybe Michelle Obama should check it out.


And finally, a sunny vacation day a few years ago. The cruise ship stopped in St Maartin and we stopped at a little beach right in the town...with a tiki bar and $1.00 Heinekens. This is a shot of what it was like to be me right then

Sisters

While I was in Hawaii, when I was way too busy doing fun stuff to blog, I kept thinking of things that need to be examined in web print. So, in an effort to make it through the list, here goes topic number two.

I grew up a kid of the 50's, a teen of the 60's with an older sister who called me "the Brat". Why? I can't imagine, I am sure I was sweet and pink and rosy. I do remember someone quoting a little verse:

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very very good
And when she was bad
She was horrid.

I don't think I was the inspiration, but some might say I could have been.

Seriously, how could anyone say that about this little angel?

Oh wait... wrong angel...
But do you see any curls there? I rest my case.


My sister loved being with me. She couldn't wait to spend time with me...I can hear it now. "Here, hold the baby" "Oh boy, can I, can I? So much more fun than playing with my friends!"


"Hold her hand" "Hmm...How much trouble will I get into if I let go and she falls on her face in the snow?"


My sister loved me so much that she even gave me her favorite dress
"Look, she has your dress on. Doesn't she look cute?" OK, this might have brought out some sympathy. "How absolutely stupid to take pictures of us in the same dress. Come on Mom, get a life"


Oh yeah. That's Mel. She insisted on getting her picture taken with her little brother, because, just like her Aunt, she'd rather do that than anything. Except maybe wear the same dress...

But time goes by and life goes on and things change. Pretty soon I wasn't just the Brat (at least, I think that's true). Eventually, somewhere along the line, we found that we had something in common. Then, it was even more than that. She became my friend. No, not just that. She became what she always was...my sisterYeah, I guess I do have a curl...

Mrs. Mike and How Life Goes On

About a week ago I was reading Oprah magazine and I found some pretty interesting letters to the editor about something that made me think that after vacation I definitely need to blog on this. Then in another one of those 'like mother, like daughter' moments, Mel blogged about her favorite books. Well, here I go anyway... Mrs. Mike, by Ben and Nancy Freedman. Where do I start? On the surface, its a love story. A girl, a big strong Canadian Mounty. But in my life...so much more. I remember that my mom had a copy of the book. I was in 6th grade and one of those kids who would read anything and everything (I never wanted to go anywhere without a book..in case there was time to read a page or two. In fact, occasionally, I have to smile when I see a girl around that age at a restaurant with the whole family, but totally oblivious to anything going on around her, living in some other world between the pages of a book.). I can clearly remember being at a point that I couldn't put the book down (which has proven to be almost anywhere in that book) and taking it everywhere just in case there was a free moment.

It was my first 'grown up' book, a story about Kathy, a girl who became part of my life as she grew up from a 16 year old city girl to a strong woman of the rugged Canadian wilderness of the early 1900's (the original Pioneer Woman, for sure). Kathy's life is full of big and small things, and no matter whether the first time I met her or the 10th, I became a part of all of them. There were smiles and laughter (when she bakes a pie for Mike but doesn't soak the currents first), haunting sadness that comes from true pictures of life in the wilderness, and unforgetable scenes (the dinner table where they passed the water cup and when it came to Kathy, her reaction to the bean floating in the water).

I fell in love with Kathy like she was part of my family and I think she taught me a lot about how each life is touched by time and people and how one life can make a difference to other lives. Kathy was so important to me that I could hardly wait to introduce Mel to her. It touched my heart when she shared Mrs. Mike with the girls in her classroom and now we both look forward to when Kaela reaches the right age. How does a family legacy start? By a 12 year old bookworm turning a page...

Sniff....

It's funny how sometimes you will see something, or more often hear a song or smell a smell, and you are suddenly in another place at another time. Music does that for me often, but more than anything..smells. And more than any other smell -- dill.

One little sniff of dill and I am immediately standing in my grandmother's kitchen at the cottage. She is wearing a cotton dress and an apron over it. Sometimes the aunts are there too, and my mom. They are rattling dishes and moving around putting together all sorts of things to go with the hot dogs that are being cooked outside.

The trees in Canada made a sound unlike any other trees. They were huge and the leaves at the very top would move in the breeze and make that sound. Every now and again I'll hear that sound, usually when there is a storm working up, and again, I'm immediately transported. Now I'm watching my Uncle John mowing the lawn. My grandfather had a beautiful flower garden far on the side yard and the grass was always beautifully mowed. Uncle John took care of that as far as I know, and I remember a huge sweeper that followed the mower picking up the freshly cut grass.

When I see piles of leaves in the fall, I remember the huge pile of leaves one fall Sunday. There weren't any cousins at the cottage that day, just me. But there was a huge pile of freshly raked leaves (not only was the yard always mowed, but they raked it too!). I remember jumping and running and jumping. And then begging to be able to go home... the new fall shows were on tv and there was some show or another coming up on TV that I just couldn't miss.

The best thing about the cottage? It was family. The cottage was our family. Many of us were there every summer Sunday, others only on the 'must show' days... Father's Day and Grandpa's birthday, the official beginning and ending of the summer season. Whichever it was, the cottage was the place that Grandma and Grandpa surrounded themselves with their children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. One sniff of dill and there I am, right there again.

Merry Christmas

This is a very different Christmas for me. I'm thinking of the family all together for the morning's festivities. Every year since my oldest nephew was born, the whole family gets together very early Christmas morning and we open all of our gifts together. I remember Christmases when we traveled from Pittsburgh to my sisters house in Grand Island and all of the gifts for all of the family members where placed "under" the tree late Christmas eve. There were times that no one could walk into the room because the packages covered the entire floor! Once we all settled into our usual seats (Grandpa in the corner) the kids handed out the gifts until each of us had a stack next to us. Then, one by one we opened a gift, held it up for all to see and giver and receiver alike received complements on their good taste or how well they'd use the gift. And then, on to the next. Oh... with one short tradition between. A ball of wrapping paper tossed at the youngest to deposit in the garbage bag (Brad won that honor for most of his life). About halfway through, we would take a break for more coffee and Christmas cookies (yes, cookies are an acceptable Christmas breakfast). On average? Three hours to open gifts.

Don and I were talking this morning and reliving memories. He remembers his 8 year younger sister Penny coming into his room while it was still dark one Christmas morning and giving an account of everything he and Eric received for Christmas that year. Seems that she decided to get a head start on the unwrapping. I remember opening gifts in the basement rec room in our house on Elmwood Avenue. I was probably in 4th or 5th grade and all I wanted was a chemistry set. We opened all the gifts and I came to the end of my pile and still no chemistry set. I remember the feeling when I was excited about all I had received, but sad because I really wanted that chemistry set (apparently looking at fly legs through a microscope held some appeal during those days). Then...surprise... it seems that a package with my name on it had "mistakenly" been placed in Chris' pile. Life was so good again, and the fly legs were within sight!

This morning we are at home, just Don, Chelsea and I. I was thinking that it wouldn't be Christmas without all the hustle and people. But surprise... it's still Christmas, just different. We slowly opened and ooh-ed and ahh-ed and enjoyed the receiving and giving. I miss everyone and can't wait until tomorrow to be with them. This year I get to have Christmas twice. Different, but both very good.

As a child, my mother used to make a great coffee cake. It was the standby for every occasion and everyone liked it. That was breakfast in Boiling Springs this morning. Here's the recipe:

Sour Cream Coffee Cake

3/4 c butter or margarine, softened
1 1/2 c sugar
3 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
3 c flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp soda
1/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 c sour cream
Filling (below)

Heat oven to 350. Grease tube pan, 10 x 4 inches or two loaf pans, 9x5x3. Combine butter, sugar,eggs and vanilla in large mixer bowl. Beat on medium speed 2 minutes or 300 vigorous strokes by hand. Mix in flour, baking powder, soda and salt, alternately with sour cream. Spread half of batter and sprinkle with half of filling. Repeat.

Bake about 60 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out cleann. Cool slightly in pan before removing.

Filling:Mix 1/2 c brown sugar(packed), 1/2 c finely chopped nuts and 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon (I didn't have nuts, so I increased the brown sugar and cinnamon in the same ratio)

Hint: I used low fat sour cream and only 1/4 c butter. Not quite the moisture I remember, but the flavor is still good.

By the way... it's especially good with a glass of milk, just like I remember it

Christmas is music

Is there a song that IS Christmas? For me, there have always been songs that just are the holiday. Especially amazing when you consider that I could not be more tone deaf!! When I was a little girl, I would watch those old Christmas movies... White Christmas and especially, The Bells of St. Mary's. In case you don't remember that far back, Bing Crosby is the common theme. I always thought of Bing Crosby as a fatherly figure...my movie star father. It was kinda tough when I found out he was ornery and even abusive. Oh well, for that. Still White Christmas and the Little Drummer Boy are never better than when sung by Bing-o.

Later I remember Amy Grant. I'm pretty sure that my family was saturated and then some with "Another Tender Tennessee Christmas". In spite of the hundreds of times I've listened to that song, I can almost always put myself into my sister Chris's kitchen. Its warm, the way all good and busy kitchens are on Christmas Eve day. There are all kinds of pots boiling and the smell is mouth watering. Family is everywhere. Bob comes in, sneaks a little taste of whatever there is and disappears again. A young Melanie decides on a black olive and maybe even replaces the cover on the relish tray. Brad walks by the cookie tray and finds a treat to take with him. No replacing the cover there... Grampie is probably right behind him. This is what Christmas is. Family. Good food. Warmth. Anticipation of the next two days. Above those things... it is the fact of being with people that you know better than anyone. The comfort of being free to be yourself. And the fact that we can all feel more because we get to be together. Every year it is worth the effort to be there. We all have Christmas traditions. My family is my Christmas tradition and no matter how the participants have changed over the years... somehow they all merge into one big Christmas get together in my mind.

Now I'm listening to "Joy to the World" and realizing again that in my mind and in my memory Christmas is music.

Do I have anything to say?

Everyone is blogging these days. I've become quite the blog reader, thanks to Mel, my daughter. First it was just her blog... what a great way to catch a glimpse of her life -- and those of my amazing grandchildren. It's so hard to be far away and feel like I don't know them... but the blog gives me insight I would never have had. So I've been loving it since she started blogging; her posts don't ever come often enough (twice a day with pictures might do it, Mel). Then I started reading other blogs. Following links from her blog. And links from those blogs. And so on. There are some pretty amazing people doing pretty amazing things while living every day lives.

I have no illusion that I am anywhere near amazing, or doing anything other than living an every day life, but I still have lots of reasons for starting this new effort. For a couple of years I kept a memory journal. Not recording the current day so that I could remember it, but recording memories... whatever happened to come to mind on any day when I had a minute or two to write it down. That notebook is probably still around here somewhere, but it's been very very long since I've written in it. Sitting down with a pen and notebook and taking all the time needed to scribble out some thoughts just doesn't fit with my life today. But grabbing my laptop and typing up a storm does. And there are so many memories that should be preserved. My dad and mom (aka Gram and Grampie), my big sis Chris, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and the cottage, glamorous Aunt Honey, little nephews and niece and a daughter and a son, snowy days and sunny days and... well, you get the picture.

Another thing? Many of those memories come along with a recipe. Seriously, I was raised by the best (and most detail oriented, perfecting and dedicated) baker in the universe and surrounded by perfect Polish delights from birth. Where are those recipes? There never were any written to start with. But through the years, some got written down. Maybe there are cousins or cousins-cousins with some of them to share -- I'll put 'em out there as I think of them or as I'm reminded by someone else.

And? Just now... at 6:03 pm, I got an email -- This is what it said:

"God determines who walks into your life....it's up to you to decide who you let walk away, who you let stay, and who you refuse to let go. "

How 'bout that. Here's to not letting go!