Tomorrow Is Another Day...

So Glad You Were Born!

October is a big month for my mom.  Not only is today her birthday, but this is also the month that we celebrate her victory over breast cancer six years ago.

Over the past couple of years, I feel like my relationship with my mom has gotten much richer and deeper.  It's not that we ever didn't get along (well, aside from a few moments when I was between the ages of twelve to eighteen), but I think the older I get, the more I relate to her as a person and a friend and not just as a daughter.  We've been so fortunate that we've been able to spend time together on multiple vacations over the past year, and we've had so much fun exploring the world.  From our time in Europe last winter to her visit to Charleston this spring to our family vacation in Disney World in the summer, I've treasured every minute that we can spend in the same place.

It is a terrible feeling to have a parent seem to be slipping away, whether emotionally or physically.  When mama was sick, there were absolutely times where I thought we were going to lose her--and I think my sister and I were actually sheltered from the worst of it.  Even once the cancer was gone, she was still so weak and had to recover from neurological and physical damage that left her an echo of her former self for quite some time.  That year of cancer diagnosis, treatment, and their repercussions changed us all.  

Breast cancer has gained a reputation of being something of a cupcake cancer.  It is fantastic that so many women catch it early--as was the case with my mom--and that it is very treatable, so subsequently, the survival rate is much higher than many other cancers.  But the heartbreaking fact is that many women, and men, do not survive and their diagnosis is a death sentence.  I always remember that, and never, ever take for granted the fact that we still have our Annie with us.

Each day I see things in myself that remind me of her.  I say things that, in turn, make me smile because it was such a "Mom" thing to say.  She taught me to laugh at myself and find the humor in any situation.  She taught me the importance of being thoughtful and considerate.  She taught me to always, always be exactly who I am instead of who other people want me to be.  She taught me to finish my dinner before I eat dessert--but to always eat dessert!  Those little pieces of her will always be with me.

I look forward to spending many more years with her in my life, and hope to someday soon learn from her in a new way as I embark on my own journey of motherhood.  I got incredibly lucky in this life when they were doling out parents.  I can say with certainty that without the guidance, wisdom, support and love of my mom and dad, I wouldn't be who I am today. 

Happy Birthday, Momsie!  I hope you have some sort of pink beverage in celebration!  I love you!

(PS Ladies, please don't forget to squish your boobies once a month--it only takes a minute to potentially save your life.  Worth it!)

Hello! Goodbye!!

Ugh, what kind of lame blogger writes a super depressing, whiny post and then disappears for a week?

One whose mother and aunt are coming to town to visit for a week!

For the past four days, I've been in full on OH MY GOD HOUSEGUESTS freak out mode.  I cleaned the baseboards, donated a garage-full of various thingamabobs to the Kidney Foundation, painted two rooms, washed the pollen off of the porch and outside furniture, replaced most of our ratty old aluminum blinds with wood blinds, got the dogs groomed, and did about 18 tons of laundry.  I still have a mountain of cleaning ahead of me, as well as putting together the guest room and bathroom after tearing them apart for painting purposes.  I say "I", but my dashing husband also helped out a good deal this weekend, as well as pulling off a pretty fantastic Air Expo for the Charleston public.

Tomorrow, the royalty touches down in Charleston, my house will once again revert to a disaster area, and we will have so much fun over the next seven days.

I just need that one day for my mom to look around my house, and see what a grown up I am.  One with cleaning schedules and a fairly steady hand with the paint roller.  I don't guess I'll ever grow out of that "Look!  Look!  See what I can do!" phase.

Anyway, all of this to say that I have not pitched my sad, barren womb off of the Ravenel Bridge, but probably won't be around to blog-world too much over the next week.  I am optimistic that maybe if I eat enough, my food baby may actually evolve into a real baby.  There's nothing to do but try, right?

Adieu!  Adieu!  To you and you and you!

This Weekend I...

... Went to a wine tasting at a friend's house.  We had a great evening, sampling six different California zinfandels ranging from $7 to $23.50, and to our surprise, the wine that we rated as number one turned out to be on the low end of the price scale: Gnarly Head.  Also rated fairly highly, taking the third place position was the good old supermarket standby, Barefoot.  I got pleasantly tipsy, probably drinking the equivalent of a full bottle of wine and had a great night talking babies, husbands, traveling, and education with some fabulous ladies.

...Hit the books all day on Sunday, finishing my reading, discussion questions, and writing a paper.  Fortunately, I didn't have a whole lot planned for Sunday, so I was able to get it all done with just a couple of breaks wedged in for Taco Bell and Starbucks runs.  I feel like I totally earned every calorie in that Crunchwrap Supreme and Salted Caramel hot chocolate!

...Watched one of my very favorite childhood movies, the 1985 version of Alice in Wonderland.  Last week, a friend and I got to talking about the upcoming Tim Burton version, and I mentioned how much I had loved an old live action version of the book where Alice wore an orange dress and there was a really terrifying Jabberwocky.  It turns out that she loved it as a kid as well, so I looked it up online, found the DVD on Amazon for $10 and received it on my doorstep a couple of days later.  When we finished our homework last night, we decided to put it on and took a three hour trip down memory lane.  I'll admit there was a high degree of cheesiness, but I also still totally loved the movie!  Alice is adorable, the gigantic cast of 80s stars is both impressive and hilarious (Ringo Starr!  Scott Baio!  JOHN STAMOS!!!).  But of course, the most important lesson I took away from this movie:  "Jam tomorrow, jam yesterday, but never EVER jam today!"

All in all, the weekend was much better than last week, and though I'm still feeling a bit down in the dumpsish, there haven't been any hysterical crying jags in the past few days, so that's certainly a step in the right direction.  How was your weekend?

So... It's Been A While, Yeah?

I don't get it.  A few months ago I had a full time job and then some, I had a fairly active social life, I was solely responsible for keeping my apartment clean and taking care of the dogs, I had to carve out a couple hours a day to talk to Colby--and still I blogged almost every day.  Now I'm completely unemployed, granted I still feel like the piles of dirty dishes and laundry never end, and my social life pretty much consists of trips to Lowe's and Wal-Mart with Colby, but I just can't seem to find the time to blog on a regular basis.  And I'm quite sad about this, because I love going back and reading old posts and looking back on where I was and how far I've come.  In a sense this website is my diary and I've been so proud of my ability to keep up with it and record my thoughts and feelings.

When I was younger, I was absolutely obsessed with Anne Frank.  I read her diary countless times as well as her collection of short stories.  I wanted to be remembered like her--of course at that age it didn't really occur to me that so much of what makes her fascinating is that her life was so tragic--I just saw that she was a young girl like me who enjoyed writing, had crushes on boys, and argued with her parents.  All she had to do was keep a daily diary and decades later people were reading what she had to say and loving her.  I tried so hard to keep a diary--I still have all of my sad attempts tucked away in a hope chest--but I could never stick with it.  Blogging has helped me leap that hurdle and I'm so glad that I've found this form of communication, both with the outside world and with myself.  I've learned so much about myself from being able to read the words I write when I'm sad an lonely in the middle of the night and from sharing my joys and adventures with all of you who have truly become great internet friends.  Blogging is a habit that I don't want to break and I will try to find a way to incorporate it back into my life on a more regular basis.

Anyway, I was lucky enough to have Colby back from his trip a few days early, so we were able to spend the week together before he left again, today, for a class in Kansas.  I had grand plans for all of the things I would get finished around the house during his last trip, but instead I spent most of my time buried in research for our Italy honeymoon or watching movies, but this time I really do want to get the upstairs taken care of once and for all.  I don't think I can stand another week of looking at partially unpacked boxes!  In exciting news, we finished putting down grass in the backyard.  It's been raining all day, so I haven't gotten any pictures that aren't primarily grey and splotchy, but it does look much better than the two sad little patches on either side of the patio!

This past week, Colby and I also made our first big "couple furniture purchase".  Well, okay, I guess actually the refrigerator was the first big couple purchase, but that's not actually very exciting.  (Although, I do love our refrigerator, for what that's worth.)  We spent a few days hunting online and in a few furniture stores looking for a dresser for the bedroom and two nightstands to replace the two rather worn down tables I'd inherited from my grandmother.  We checked out this great store based on a couple of recommendations, and 10% off coupon in hand headed to the store in Seattle to see what we could see.  We ended up with this dresser and two of these nightstands (nightstands assembled by moi, I'll have you know!):

And we fell in love with this table for the front entrance:  (Which, oh my God, Colby, are you reading this?  IT'S ON SALE!) 

I'm actually quite proud of our furniture shopping abilities, as we have very different decorating taste.  Colby is much more modern and extremely minimalist and I like a little extra flourish and swish here and there, so I was a little concerned.  But we both loved the pieces immediately, and I think with a little time Colby will come to appreciate my love for candles and vases of all shapes and sizes.  And even if he doesn't, I live here more than he does, so they're here to stay!

I Need Postage For "Back In Time" Please

It's currently 2:19 in the a.m.  I am not asleep.  This is not because I've been a huge lazy ass lately.  In fact, I've been awake waaaaaay too much in my opinion.  I have a lot of things weighing on my mind (as stated in the previous post), however the things that are currently on my mind are boy issues.  Very unfortunate boy issues.  As in, no boy is to be trusted, no seriously I mean it this time, oh my God, Angela, haven't you learned your lesson by now??

Anyway, so I haven't been sleeping very much lately, but I've decided that rather than wasting the rest of my night stalking people on MySpace or Facebook, I will do something productive and write a highly informative letter to myself full of wit and wisdom.  Sadly, I fear this letter will not be delivered because the post office said something about shredding the fabric of the space time continuum if they try to deliver letters to people 10 years ago.  Oh well, I soldier on regardless.  But I present to you, "A Letter to Myself Minus Tennish or So Years".

Dear Angela, Aged 13,

Hi there you crazy kid!  Let me just begin by saying, stop stressing about your boobs, they're never going to get any bigger, so just don't worry about it anymore.  (Also, that kleenex in your bra is totally obvious and also so very overdone, I'm cringing at how cliche you are... I was... whatever.)  On the positive side though, you're going to discover makeup soon, and after an unfortunate tarantula eye phase, I think you'll be quite pleased with the outcome!

First things first.  You know how you really hate wearing braces, and you realize that you're probably going to be wearing them for the rest of your adolescent life, but that's okay because at the end of it your teeth will be all gorgeous and straight?  Yeah, well, you're right about that, but let me give you a little hint.  Once you get them off?  Conveniently prior to prom and senior pictures and all that jazz?  Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, wear your retainer!  I'll leave the profanities out, because I know you have tender ears yet, but seriously, you're not the expert here.  How hard is it to put two harmless little pieces of plastic in your mouth every night?  It's not hard!  Trust me, it's much much harder to drop $1500 in one go to repair the damage of NOT wearing those tiny little plastic bits.  My credit card literally screamed in pain.  That is something that you NEVER want to hear.  Just think, you a little 13 year old child, are keeping me $5,000 away from owning my very own house!  I'm not pleased with you, or the 16 year old version of yourself who led you astray.

Secondly, let's talk about boys here, because I want you to be realistic over the next few years.  I know you love Ryan with the passion of a thousand suns, as do all of your closest friends.  Why?  I'm not sure... quite honestly, at that point he looked an awful lot like a Keebler Elf, but you know what, that's okay.  And I know you think that there's nothing worse than the agony of being "the best friend" to the guy that you have your little crush on, but oh my God, girl, it is going to get SO MUCH WORSE!!  Revel in this!  Enjoy this!  It's so innocent and beautiful, and it will eventually be up there among your top favorite memories of school.  But please, in a few years a very smooth talker is going to come along and try to sweep you off your feet, and I need you to just say no, mmkay?  I fear that experience led to an awful lot of baggage that I currently carry with me and at the rate I'm accumulating baggage I'm never gonna be able to fly on that airplane again.  (Another thing, Ryan really does turn out hot, but then when you go to high school he's going to leave you in the dust for the way more popular girls who totally put out.  Maybe look into that makeup thing a little earlier?)

That's really all I have for now.  I wish I could give you some kind of wisdom and insight into your career decision, but quite frankly 10 years down the road you're going to be in pretty much the same boat as you are right now.  Only less homework and way more stress.  Maybe stick with that psychology thing... that actually could have been interesting, and probably a lot more worth your while than a literature degree.  Just know that despite what you may think, you're a pretty cool kid and the memories that you're making right now you'll carry with you for the rest of your life.  But mostly, just know that I really want to kick your ass about the retainer thing, and that's kind of my prevailing attitude toward you right now.

Hugs n' Kisses!

Angela, Aged 23

The One Experience In My Life For Which I Shall Surely Descend to the Ninth Circle of Hell Upon My Death

I should preface this entry with a disclaimer stating that I am not to be held responsible for anything I am about to say. I’m currently drugged to the gills on Tylenol Cold medication and not just a little bit medicine-headish. I’m a bit of a pariah at work today as people who have had the flu are laughing at me and yet avoiding me and people who have not yet had the flu are cowering in the corners to keep away from me. It feels good being a social outcast. No, really!

The thing about Tylenol Cold is that it’s great to take when I’m home sick because it seems to just knock the crap out of me, but since I’m sitting here at work and forgetting my name when I answer the phone, I think perhaps it wasn’t necessarily the wisest choice this morning. Especially since I’m pretty sure that in my groggy state I took the nighttime version. Curses upon you, handy double package with both daytime and nighttime medication nestled together in a snug embrace!

It kind of reminds me of one time when I’m pretty sure I accidentally got a little bit high. When I was younger, probably middle school through early highschool, I had about 400 million different inhalers for my bronchial issues. Some were chambers, some where bags, some you just twisted the top to break a pill and inhaled. So, the interesting part was always trying to remember how many pumps of the aerosol medicine dispensers you were supposed to do and how many times to perform the inhalation. I came home from school one afternoon after a particularly rough day for my poor, abused lungs, so I decided to take a hit off the drugs. (Ah, it makes me feel like such a rebel to say that!) I must have done two pumps instead of one, or two puffs instead of one, details shmetails.

All I remember is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my mother’s hutch, and thinking about how beautiful and sparkly all of the dishes and glasses were and why I didn't notice that more often and God, I really don't appreciate my parents, they are just the greatest parents in the world, they probably don't even love me anymore because I'm such a rotten daughter, and those dishes are just GORGEOUS. And I remember then putting my head down on the table, at what was more than likely a normal speed, but just feeling like it took FOREVER for my head to go from the upright position to smacking against the cold wood. That’s been my one and only experience with drugs—well, aside from the time I had my tooth pulled and they used laughing gas on me. That was a real “gas”, get it? Gas?

So, anyway, that’s my story for today. I hope that you got a giggle out of it the way I did, even though I’m sure my giggle was a little more manic since it was probably drug induced. Oh, and crack is whack, but I dig on asthma inhalers.

Countdown to Christmas

Growing up, Christmas was always a BIG DEAL in my family. And when I say BIG DEAL I mean that it was a fixture in our household. That my mother was so smitten with the holiday that she would only give up listening to Christmas music for Lent. Because it’s probably wrong to listen to songs about snowmen and presents and candy canes when we’re supposed to be fasting and praying and reflecting upon Jesus’s sacrifices for us. Jesus’s father would not like that. And to my mother, not listening to Christmas music for 40 days is truly tantamount to fasting in preparation for death. And I’m not even being sarcastic there.

I think my sister and I looked forward to that season following Thanksgiving with reverence, excitement, and a little bit of awe as we would watch our house transform into a veritable winter wonderland. I think my father mostly just cursed and wished that Baby Jesus’s birthday didn’t involve so many damned burned out light bulbs. But I would say that 80% of my happiest and most vivid childhood memories revolve around Christmas and our constant teasing of my obsessed mother.

I remember sitting on the couch and carefully unwrapping red candle after green candle after peppermint striped candle while It’s a Wonderful Life played on the television. I remember our Advent calendar with an Andes mint for my sister and I each day as we counted down to Christmas. I remember going to the Christmas symphony every year and watching our local weatherman come on stage with a Santa hat on his balding head. I remember sitting on the couch on Christmas Eve, eyes tightly shut, twitching slightly in anticipation when my parents would go into “Santa’s Room” and bring out our Christmas Eve gifts—always an ornament, pajamas, and Christmas book. I remember the year that my sister and I made Santa’s Favorite Cookies all on our own. And I remember putting out Santa’s cookies and eggnog (because he gets milk everywhere, the 5,000 calories in the eggnog would compliment his favorite cookies much more nicely) on the hearth in our special reindeer dishes with carrots and redhots outside for Rudolph (because they would make his nose shine more brightly, and since his sole purpose in life seemed to be that his nose shine brightly we thought we’d help him along).

Mostly I remember waking up on Christmas morning at the first sign of the sun peeking up over the horizon and assaulting my parents in their bed, as my sister and I panted and hyperventilated and NEARLY DIED as my mom put in her contacts and my dad TOOK FOREVER setting up the video camera in the den. And then the presents—oh the PRESENTS!! They exploded from under the tree, overflowing to the couch and the fireplace where our stockings would be laid as they were dripping with so many goodies that the stocking hangers couldn’t support the weight. But the first thing—always the first thing done was to take Jesus out of the drawer and place him in our nativity scene so that he could observe, probably fearfully, as we tore into our gifts with wild abandon and slight hysteria. I remember when my grandmother and grandfather were in good health we would pack up all of our favorite toys (read: every single thing we had received) and trek over to their house to resume with our second Christmas of the day and a ho-down with my grandfather at the helm, playing the guitar and singing as two frenzied little girls danced among the rubble of wrapping paper, bows, ribbons, and tissue paper.

As I said—Christmas is a BIG DEAL. We’ve always been very serious about Christmas and I would say that there have always been some unspoken rules in our family regarding the holidays that are probably more strictly adhered to than the canon in a Catholic church.

* Thou shalt not deny the existence of the good St Nicholas. For then the gifts shall cease to flow forth freely.

* Thou shalt not assault thine ear with any music but the hallowed John Denver and the Muppets Christmas record as thou decks thine tree.

* Thou shalt cease tearing into gifts once Santa’s supply is exhausted and retreat to the kitchen for rest and sustenance before resuming the exhausting task of opening gifts from thine kin.

* THOU SHALT BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS.

This year marks the first year that I haven’t been home for all of the giddy preparations for the holiday season. It also marks the first Christmas that Mema, my grandmother, will not be here with us to celebrate. My sister and I will be doing the cooking since my mom will probably be feeling pretty much as though she’s been run over by a reindeer. In short, there are going to be a lot of things about this holiday that are very different from how things have been in the past, and in a way I feel as though I’ve truly reached the end of my childhood. Things have been gradually changing over the past 5 1/2 years, since I left for college and then graduated and moved away, but it’s as though suddenly I’ve reached the end of the line and I just got chucked off the Kiddie-Train. Within the next few years I imagine that I’ll be married, whether it be to Colby, Daniel Radcliffe, or some unnamed hunk from my future, and beginning a family of my own. At that point it will be my responsibility to create a magical environment for my own children to reflect upon with fond memories and feel safe and secure in as they grow older. And I know that eventually the cardinal rule of being home for Christmas may evolve and start to mean my own home, not my parents’. Part of the mystique of Christmas will have vanished in the effort to make a magical world for my own demon-babies. But I suppose in another way it will seem more magical as I get to relive that magic of Christmas through another set of eyes and relive old traditions as well as create my own. And I know that Christmas may change in some ways, but I’ll always have that warm glow when I think back on my own Christmases past.

Today I think about how we would laugh at my mother for her love of all things Christmas, and I can’t help but smile as I rejoice silently each time I turn on the engine of my car and hear carols playing on the radio, and feel butterflies of excitement as businesses start putting out holiday lights, and neighbors hang their Christmas wreaths. And I give thanks that not only did Baby Jesus give his life for our sins, but he also lets his annoying little brothers and sisters open all of his presents on his birthday. And really, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Goodbye

“A child needs a grandparent…to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world.” Charles and Ann Morse

I’ve been searching for a way to talk about this topic for months now, and I’ve yet to find the words to express the emotions that it brings out in me. I have always had a great love for my family, but I’ve always felt it difficult to express very strong feelings, I’m much better at keep everything all bottled up inside. Of course at some point, the high pressure will generally lead to an explosion, and at that point all hell breaks loose. In that same way, I’m not very good at telling the people in my life how important they are to me. This past summer two of my grandparents passed away after declining for years, and I don’t feel as though I’ve ever really accepted that they are gone. I let myself cry very hard for their loss once, each time immediately after I’d heard of their passing, but other than that I worked very hard to keep it all tucked inside.

It’s strange, since moving away from home, the separation from family has made it easy enough to feel on some level as though nothing has changed. As long as I don’t think too hard about it, it feels as though Mema and Pepere are still around doing their thing, just miles and miles away. I didn’t see them or talk to them very much in these past few years which is something that I regret very much now, but that also makes it quite easy to not accept that they’re gone. I know that Mema’s house was sold and renovated, and that I’ll never go back to play Cinderella on the back porch, or school in our bedroom, but somehow that still hasn’t sunk into my head.

Pepere and Memere left Florida over a year ago, but still I keep thinking that at some point I’ll be swimming in their pool or watching TV out on the lanai someday again. Even though I’ve been to Memere’s new apartment, slept there, eaten there… it still isn’t Memere and Pepere’s house. Because I didn’t have that day to day contact with them, it’s as though my memories of what I grew up knowing have become my reality.

With Mema, at least I had the experience of her funeral, and seeing her in hospice to help me accept what was happening, but even so, I never really let myself say goodbye because I think in a lot of ways I had said my goodbye years ago when the grandmother I always knew began slipping away. I stopped letting myself really register that anything was changing to a certain degree and I think that’s why I’m still find myself thinking that when I go home for Christmas this year we’ll still head over to Mema’s house after we open all of our presents and have our second Christmas there. It’s completely unfathomable to me that she won’t be there sitting at her place on the couch when we have birthday parties. It was quite obvious to me that my Mema was dying, but not enough has changed to believe it fully.

I hadn’t seen Pepere for almost 2 years before he died, and I’d never seen him lying in a hospital bed, so the fact that he is gone is even more surreal. I think I’m not completely alone in that—I received a note from Memere recently saying that whenever anyone comes over to visit, no one wants to sit in his chair, because to all of us that will always be Pepere’s chair. I didn’t go to his funeral, so I never had any chance to see for myself that this was real and not some bizarre dream. When I went up a few weeks after the funeral everything seemed so unchanged. Pepere was such a quiet man that you could really still think that he was there, maybe just in the bedroom getting dressed or in the kitchen making his famous piña coladas.

It’s not when I think of them dying that I get teary, that doesn’t even seem like reality. It’s when I think of everything that has changed—when I realize that we won’t be going to Mema’s for Christmas, when I realize that we won’t be swimming in the pool over Thanksgiving, that we can no longer find secret passageways in the bushes in Mema’s backyard, that we won’t be learning how to play Cribbage with Pepere… those are the times when I mourn.

It was time for them to go, their bodies had lived long lives and they were tired and sick, they were shells of themselves. It’s the experiences that I wasn’t and am still not ready to let go of. That I still can’t bring myself to say goodbye to. I’m not sure if they’ll ever seem more distant, but I do know that I cherish my one surviving grandmother more than I ever knew. I’ve learned that as hard as it may be to accept my family will not always be here. That I’ll not always be here. That I should love and treasure them and fully experience every memory that we create together. Because after we’re all gone, that’s what is left. It’s the memories, the games, the places and the things that we loved that live on.

I’ll never have Christmas with Mema again, but her memory will live on in every Christmas I celebrate for as long as I live. I’ll never play Cribbage with Pepere again, or listen to his Big Band music with him, but every time I listen to Glenn Miller or count to 21 he’ll be there in that moment. I didn’t say it enough when they were alive, but I say it every time I think back on those days, "I love you and I can’t wait to see you again at the end of my road."

“The history of our grandparents is remembered not with rose petals but in the laughter and tears of their children and their children's children.  It is into us that the lives of grandparents have gone.  It is in us that their history becomes a future.”  ~Charles and Ann Morse