Charmed Memories: One

Through my daughter’s wedding plans, I didn’t worry so much about something going wrong. I expected misfires. Something I could not control: the weather, the timeliness of the limo pick-up, the Italians’ (my side) reaction to butternut squash ravioli in place of a traditional penne marinara entree. (The bride and groom wanted a fall-inspired menu).

I did, however, fret over the possibility of me messing up the wedding works. Me and the dark cloud I’d placed myself under since my husband died, thirteen years earlier. Recalling my holiday backfires and red-letter-day rants, I worried I’d unintentionally zap the joy out of Em’s big day too.

Unlike my past meltdowns, I, at least, owned up to the possibility of this one. Em and I talked about my fear, which led us to our mutual hope that Larry's memory be  present at the wedding - in a joyful way. How could we do this?

 The first idea was her’s –a memorial charm attached to her bouquet. Hidden between the bound stems of her array of fall blossoms and her grasp, this token of remembrance would accompany her every move, from ceremony to celebration. She chose a photo of Larry on our wedding day.

 I was beginning to feel better already . . .

MOTB > Mommy-in-Law

Chaucer would have called me a modyr in lawe.

What’s a MOTB to do – after the wedding?  I’ve been thinking about that – over three months post nups now. The bride and groom have been pronounced  husband and wife, and the MOTB – has become an “in-law.”  According to Wikipedia, this now gives me a “legal affinity” to the groom,  whatever that means.  I haven’t gained a son; I’ve attained a son-in-law.  I wonder if there is an IRS form for that.

Chaucer would have called me a modyr in lawe. He relates a rather malicious modry in lawe story in The Canterbury Tales, told by a guy (it figures!) on route to the shrine of Thomas Becket.  I don’t remember the sordid details, though I do remember – verbatim -- the first fourteen lines of the Tales. Had to memorize them to pass a required college English course over forty years ago. Memorize and recite. A forgotten objective in today's school curriculums.

Practicing for days in my dorm, I found I could best remember the archaic yet mellifluous Middle English when I sang the words to the tune of Leaving on a Jet Plane, a John Denver song (most popularly covered by Peter Paul and Mary). After stumbling through a few Whan that aprill –s at my official recitation (you had to make a one-on-one appointment with the prof ) I asked her if I could get my guitar – which I had left outside the meeting room – just in case (no pun intended!).

Strumming away, I breezed through the fourteen lines.  Still can.

What tune can I rehearse being an M-in law to, I wonder. Certainly not its namesake song, which I wrote about pre-wedding. I want the lyrics to rate at least a 9, American-Bandstand-wise, and be easy to dance to.  

Interview Follows Review of Staying Alive: A Love Story

A lot going on this week! After review of my memoir Staying Alive: A Love Story,  I was interviewed.


Click here for interview.

Click here for  review .

Reviewer Calls STAYING ALIVE: A LOVE STORY a Beautiful Reminder of What Really Matters

OK. It's pretty satisfying getting a memoir published. It's even more satisfying getting a good review.
http://blogcritics.org/books/article/book-review-staying-alive-a-love/

Season's Greeting - Finally!

I like to take on the season gradually, but this year, late autumn took one step forward and two steps back. After Storm Alfred blew Halloween off the calendar,Thanksgiving seemed misplaced, the Macy’s Parade - premature. Thanksgiving Weekend temps rose to 60 degrees. 

Seasonal spirit continued to slip more and more out of reach – until a friend posted a call to help stuff stockings for wounded soldiers at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio TX. as a token of appreciation for what our troops sacrifice everyday: their time, their safety, their well-being.

Together with my friend Lisa and her Facebook friends, join me in gathering  items that make a difference in these brave men and women’s  daily lives. I’ll be bringing filled stockings and stuffing donations to New Haven, CT Thursday, December 8. If you can’t visit me with your contribution before then, visit  WWW.SoHuNewHaven.org to donate towards shipping costs.

Appropriate donations are:

DVDs, CDs, Walmart and Target gift certificates, body lotion, Microwavable popcorn, soap/ body wash, puzzle books, tooth paste, disposable cameras, tooth brushes, decks of cards, Mouthwash, individually wrapped snacks, paperback books, deodorant, pencils, pens, stationary, magazines, hair brushes, chap stick, lip balm, tweezers, shampoo, conditioners, shaving cream, razor blades with a minimum of THREE blades (very important), hand made cards or letters (unsealed), board games, nail polish, boxed tea, wool hats, and baked goods.

What Was I Thinking?

Silly me, thinking life would calm down after Em and Ry’s wedding. Slow its pace a bit. Dish out more expectation than surprise.

How could I have forgotten what I learned years ago? "Normal" is an over-rated myth. The road to everyday, as in paths common and ordinary, is more of a slippery slope. I mean, really – just three weeks after the wedding, (a time frame within which I had fooled myself into believing life would begin to follow a predictable path) storm Alfred blew in through one overnight, reminding little ol’ Mommy-of-the bride me, NOT to take Mother Earth for granted. The she-god’s point, via stormin’ Al, could not be taken lightly, not after the snowy intruder ushered in over a week of no heat, no electricity, and no work (since the community college where I teach was shut down from Monday right through Friday).

I was one of the lucky ones. I had hot water through the powerless week. I could handle the debris in my yard as opposed to not-so-fortunate neighbors who required tree removal services – some  before the electric company could reattach their power lines. I did have one casualty, though, my favorite tree out back below the kitchen window. A dull stump the thickness of two fists now sits where a hundred-year-old wisteria stood three weeks ago. It's sawed just below  the bough that broke from the weight of the single-night’s storm, a break that continued to split into the twisted trunk. The damage would have rotted the tree to death, for sure. This way there’s hope, according to my good neighbor, the one with a chain saw.

Come to think of it, during that short time between Em and Ry's brilliant wedding day (the second week in October) and the wintry October anomaly (the last)  my sought-after normal got interrupted by capricious highs and lows: a surprise letter (snail-mail even) from a long-absent pal, two cancer diagnoses of close friends - both of whom had surgery in that time, news of two engagements, a perfectly healthy woman's passing followed by the surprising recovery of an elderly neighbor, the rise and fall of three presidential nominees, record-breaking volatility in the stock market, and one European crisis after the other. Reminds me of a poster I had on my college dorm room forty-plus years ago: Not to Decide is to Decide. Today’s equivalent would be  Expect the Unexpected.

Mother Nature's Trick: No Treat

Been  just over three weeks since Em and Ry’s “ I-dos.” Thank goodness  the date is that far behind us because, had  the wedding  taken place three weeks later, Mother Nature would have wrecked havoc on the event. I’m not talking about just dampening the spirit of the day with rain, or a bit of inconvenient snow. I’m talking  about how, if the wedding was the last weekend in October, Mother Nature would have crushed the party with a freak October blast of a foot of heavy snow. The party would have turned into a non-party because the conditions would have been too much for mid-autumn’s foliage to manage.

Three weekends  after the Hayden/Mullen wedding, an unseasonal storm did arrive and trees throughout  most of the state cracked, split, and fell upon power lines so forcefully that, not only were lines downed, but transmission stations blew  and substations malfunctioned. Just short of 850,000 households in CT lost power for more than seven days.  Some, including 25% of my town, along with more than 80,000 homes in the state, still haven’t had power restored. Since the power went out  Saturday, October 29 and, in over half the state, continued to be out Saturday, November  5, two weekends of weddings, sporting events, and get-aways from the work week in Connecticut were impacted by the  freak storm and its aftermath.  Massachusetts had a similar toll. Halloween was virtually cancelled, along with  more than a week of school and some workplaces.

 These photograph were taken on a walk around my neighborhood the day after the storm, The landscaped remained unchanged for five days. Now, 10 days laters, 25% of the town still does not have power.

My first real shocker on the walk - just around the corner.

This branch dangled amid power line for days

Common front yard sight

Close up, a scary sight

Power lines scattered on every sidewalk

Cars skirt under wires for days.




Vehicles drive onto sidewalks to avoid felled lines.

An almost entire shut down of life-as-we-Nutmeggers-know-it ensued. Thankfully, mild daytime temperatures kept  pipes from freezing. My home averaged 45 degrees through each heatless night.

Yet, we were lucky  and we know it. We of the wedding and we who  -- just over a week after the quirky storm --  are starting to get back to normal. Other wedding planners  weren’t.  The press hasn’t even had a chance to cover the "fluffier" inconveniences of the storm – like rescheduled ceremonies and parties – as opposed to the  critical scoops of the day: restoring power, removing brush, branches, and limbs from major roads and neighborhoods, CO2 poisonings, storm-related car accidents, smashed roofs and porches, emergency housing, and power politics.  The state population has, basically, been camping indoors or seeking shelter elsewhere for about as long as a family vacation. The anti-family-vacation.

May we all move closer and closer to our wonderfully ordinary days and eventually, rescheduled red- letter days, through this second week of post-storm recovery.