|
|
November 26th, 2013 Yes, she did. On Saturday I had a lovely time in Boston wedding dress shopping with both daughters. The day was orchestrated by maid of honor daughter Ashley. I met her for lunch and shopping while waiting for bride daughter Erin to arrive from NY. The l’elite bridal was the perfect place for this special event. We had a wonderful experience and inside of two hours, she did say yes to a beautiful dress. (Yes I had a few tears – there’s nothing like that moment when you see your daughter in a wedding dress for the first time.) We ended the day with dinner and martinis at a favorite restaurant. It was the day every mother dreams of with her daughters…
This day actually started last Thursday this way:
Text between bride daughter and me:
Randomly, I get this:
Bride Daughter: We need to discuss how classy and modern u will look this weekend.
Please leave biker chick or rock star at home for one day.
Me: U r insulting
Bride Daughter: Good u got the point then. Just be gorgeous and pick out your most up to date outfit.
Me: My black n white leggings are clean!
Bride Daughter: Shut the front door. That will not happen Rhianna.
Also no fancy holiday nails.
Stick to basics. Less is more.
Me: They are green. And staying that way. They match my new glasses.
Bride Daughter: Well then the rest of u will be black.
No purple boots or combat kickers.
Ashley said u had on nice ones last time.
Me: Nice what?
Bride Daughter: Boots
Those are approved.
And it just got better….
Maid of Honor Daughter, Ashley accompanies me to a store I wanted to go to while we waited for Erin. For a year I had been perusing the Soft Surroundings catalog and was excited to see a store right there in Copley. I told my daughter this store has my style as she pulled me out of oncoming traffic saying, “Can’t wait to see this!” Once in the store I immediately gravitated to a green velour top trimmed in satin that just shimmered. (And we all know how I am about sparkly stuff.) I said it would be great for Xmas. Ashley hung it back up saying, “Um…no, I don’t think so.” Then she found a gray sweater that she said would be perfect for me. Well, it did have some bling trim and a bit of black leather, so I agreed to try it – but I told her to bring the green one, too. She said she was hoping I had forgotten about that one.
In the dressing room I put the green one on. She and I are going to the Nutcracker next month and I thought it would be perfect. She said, “Mom. Take that off. You look like Stevie Nicks – oh where is my sister?” Then she took a pic of me in it and texted it to Erin with a “hurry and get here message.”
What’s wrong with Stevie Nicks?
I really liked the gray sweater she picked out and bought it. Ashley was relieved to already know what I would be wearing to the Nutcracker.
Now some might think I might be offended by these conversations. And maybe a few years ago I would have. I feel differently now. Hey – it’s better than being predictable and boring where my outfits to these events wouldn’t even be a second thought. I may not give credence to what others think of my choices, but it’s different when it’s my girls. They are the mirror that gives me the best reflection. They are the best friends I truly trust. And vice-versa. Bride daughter wouldn’t have picked anyone but her sister and I to help her make the biggest fashion choice of her life today. The three of us are blank canvasses. The art that is produced by our clothing choices is very different. It is these differences that bring us to the level of trust we share.
And so, as another day goes by, I give thanks for my girls – my best friends – who have informed me that I’m not allowed to shop without them for a mother-of-the-bride dress and they will have a hairdresser and make-up artist for me on the big day – lol – and…I have written.
November 22nd, 2013 Today is the fun Friday A-Z blog hop day, except today is not fun. The letter of the week is R. Today, R could only stand for one thing – Remembering. Remembering this day fifty years ago. I feel privileged that I was alive fifty years ago and have real memories of this day. I was in sixth grade in Mrs. English’s class on the top floor of The Perth Central School which was really in Amsterdam NY since Perth didn’t have a post office. The wooden desks were in their five traditional rows. The blackboard was really black. Late afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the tall, energy deficient windows. I was staring at my Social Studies book, watching the flecks of dust twirl in the sunlight across my book as I thought about how much I hated answering the four questions at the end of the chapter “in a complete sentence”. I looked across to the row next to me and watched my future husband diligently writing away. Yes, I knew then that I was going to marry Richard Bartosik and right then I was figuring out a way to bug the hell out of him and relieve this awful boredom that settled over the classroom. Turns out I didn’t have to concoct a plan.
“May I have your attention please,” came over the loud speaker (our name for the PA system). “At this time I would like everyone to please stand. It has just come to our attention that the president of the United States of America has died after being shot in Dallas Texas. Please bow your heads in silence,” Click. Silence.
At ten years old I, along with my future husband and fellow classmates, in Perth NY, stood and stared at the brown and tan floor tiles for what seemed like hours. None of us dared move. Even our teacher stood, stunned, behind her desk in the front of the room. “Please be seated,” jolted us out of our stupor as the loud speaker began to speak once again, really loud. “At this time we would like all staff and students to gather their belongings and prepare for an early dismissal.” Click. We all sat down and began pulling books and notebooks out of desks. Mrs. English called us row by row to proceed to the coat closets to get what she called our “wraps”. Then we were called to line up by the door in the order that the buses would be leaving the lot. Some of us were trying to ask each other what was going on in a quiet whispers. I didn’t dare. Mrs. English said, “No talking.” I always listened when the teacher spoke for fear of “getting in trouble.” At this point in my life the most mortifying thing would be having my name “on the board” to miss recess.
We boarded the buses and even the “high schoolers” were subdued. There was no yelling and throwing paper wads on the bus that day. When the bus pulled up to my driveway I stepped off the high steps and walked down the the long car path leading to my house. Inside my mother and grandmother were sitting in front of the TV sobbing, wiping their eyes with white tissues. I sat down and sobbed , too, not really understanding the magnitude of what just happened. I just felt the terror of thinking “What happens now? Will we have a war? Are we going to be bombed?” I was too young to realize the disregard adults, parents and teachers alike, had for children’s fears and feelings back then. No one took time to talk to us and help us understand what was going on. We were children. Somehow we didn’t count as people yet because we were too small to understand anything, therefore we should “be seen and not heard.”
How different on the day in my classroom on September 11, 2001. This time I was the teacher. The announcement came to just me through a quiet phone call to my classroom phone. I carefully gathered my little charges on the carpet and explained to them that there was an accident involving two airplanes and some of their parents were coming to pick them up early. I assured them they were safe, here in our classroom. We were going to have playtime in inside today because the playground was closed. They were only five. They seemed happy with what I said, and the promise of toys and play reinstated their safety and insulated them, for the time being, from the vibes of fear that was permeating among the adults in the room.
It was that day I learned that children are people, too, and have to be considered in both bad times and good. You need to say something to them. I would never want a child in my care to feel the confusion, sadness, and fear I felt in my living room on this day fifty years ago. My friend, also a blogger, wrote about this day. In her post Remembering John F.Kennedy she said, “Then, two days after Kennedy was shot, Jack Ruby shot Oswald right there in front of us on live
TV, and in the chaos that ensued, I knew nothing would ever be the same.”
She certainly was right. From that day forward our world, as we grew up in it here in the US, was never the same. It was at that time we, at ten years old, learned there were things out there way bigger than us. It was then my Barbie doll began taking on new rolls in my play that stretched way beyond getting married and being a homemaker. I knew it was going to take a lot more to be a “mom” in my future world than it was that day for my mom in hers. She could be quiet and alone in her fear. My children would be brought up in a world where they will want to “know” and it was going to be up to me to tell them.
And so, as another day goes by, my thoughts go out to teachers in classrooms everywhere today where kids will be asking “What is this all about, a president getting shot?” and I pray God gives them the words to explain and alleviate the fears young minds can conjure up, and… I have written.
BTW…did you know…
November 21st, 2013 It’s hard to live a life without numbers, but today that’s what I want to focus on. I don’t want to consider “how many” clients, students, members, etc. I just want to focus in the ONE I’m with.
I remember how I used to spend the first fifteen minutes of the school day standing in my doorway talking to a myriad of children and adults alike. Next to me there would be a child standing waiting patiently for my attention, without repeating my name or touching me, like they they were taught to do. For them, it was usually worth the wait because when I did turn to them it was like they were the only child in the room. I wouldn’t even let other students interrupt our interaction. When I was listening to the oh so important thing that was on that child’s mind, I was not thinking of the number of children that would go to first grade reading or the number of children that would do well on some future testing. I only cared, in that moment, about what that child was asking me or telling me.
Days without numbers. As I go to my current job today, it’s not about how many people I can sign up at the fit club. It’s about the person who looks at me, after we do their strength test and says, “You mean there’s hope for me?” That’s when the adrenaline courses through my body and I look back at them and say, “Of course there’s hope for you! We will start small. Make small changes in your life that will, in time, add up to huge health benefits. We will change your life one workout at a time.”
And they smile, and look back at me, thinking, for the first time someone really has faith in them that they can do this. And my faith in them is real, just as it was in that child standing next to me. They are not a number. They are not a conquest. They are a person who just needs to be shown a small step that they can navigate in a world that’s scary and foreign to them.
I want to think I can live my days days in a world without numbers. It’s a challenge, I know, because business and money depend on numbers. But maybe, just maybe, by focusing wholly on the individual we are conversing with, the numbers will take care of themselves.
And so, as another day goes by, I approach it by asking my God, “Who is it you would have me touch for you today?” and …I have written.
November 18th, 2013 Gabby TV – become the happiest person you know. I like that. I’d like to be the happiest person I know and…I think I am. I still have lots to learn, but I’m happy doing it and, Gabby really does help.
Gabby TV is the video blog by Gabrielle Bernstein. She also author of my latest read, Spirit Junkie. This past Sunday I had the pleasure of attending the Natural Living Expo with my daughter and her friend to hear Gabby speak. It’s amazing how both she and I listened to the same person for two hours and came away with two completely different treasures.
I came away with a huge thing about relationships – a topic for tomorrow or maybe for “R” on the Friday blog hop. Last night I get a text from my daughter asking me if I still sell Herbalife products. She said she learned from Gabby that she has to stop just thinking about doing something about health and fitness and actually take a step. I missed that part of the message – probably because I was so stunned by the part that hit my heart and brain.
It was a great day and I recommend checking out Gabby TV and her book, Spirit Junkie. You never know what you might come away with.
And so, as another day goes by, I want to thank my daughter for inviting me to the event, I’m a fan and now subscribe to the video blog, still thinking about what I learned, and…I have written.
November 16th, 2013 Most of you know every Friday I participate in an A-Z Blog Hop. (See previous post.) I add my post to the chain on Friday and over the weekend I go back and click on each blog in the chain to see what other people came up with for the letter of the week. I love reading everyone’s posts. It’s usually the same ten or so people and by spending all these weeks reading their blogs, I really feel I know them. I learn so much by what they have to say.
This week the letter was Q and I was really curious to see what everyone came up with. I read them all and was thoroughly enlightened and inspired, but one stood out and made me want to share it with you. It’s the blog by Tom Threadgill, Bringing Truth to Fiction. I have come to enjoy Tom’s take on things, but his Q post, Q is for Quinqaugenarian was his best yet. Especially the part about the quarters – our daughters used to steal every quarter in this house for laundry after they moved out. Check out his post. It will ring up some memories for you, too.
And so, as another day goes by, I so love learning from others, I hold up their ideas and turn them around, letting the light reflect on them, much like I would with a crystal, and… I have written.
November 15th, 2013 It’s fun Friday! Welcome to the A-Z blog hop. This week’s letter is Q.
In Words With Friends the letter Q is coveted because it’s worth ten points, but it’s also dreaded because it’s very hard to use. Unless you know the words “qi” and “qat”, you have to have a “u” to use it. But oh happy day if you can slap that baby on a triple letter that’s part of a triple word. (I once had my highest scoring word like that – 160 points for just ONE word). For those of you that are Words With Friends players, the word “qua” comes in handy, too.
Q reminds me that most things in life that matter or are valuable carry a high cost – like loving your children. The more you love them, the taller is the cost when they leave or something damages the relationship. Q reminds me of struggle. I like struggle. If you work at it and finally get it right, the reward is great and the learning and growth that bleeds from struggle are invaluable.
And so, as another day goes by, back to the boards, I hope I get a “Q” in my next game, and…I have written.
November 12th, 2013 Last night driving home from work the new Katie Perry song Unconditionally came on the radio. As I listened to the words I thought about the unconditional loves in my own life.
My husband loves me unconditionally. I know, deep down, no matter what I do, he will always be here. I’m a handful and have pulled many stunts over the years. I won’t say he was always pleased with my actions, but even mad or angry, he stayed and saw me through it.
Grief and loss pull a person out of a relationship for an inordinate amount of time. It takes almost four years for a person to get over an irretrievable loss and return to being able to hold up their end of a relationship. My husband held up both our ends when I spent those years not entirely present. He never thought of himself. He never faltered. He just stood quietly by and did whatever I needed him to do, never asking anything of me. He put up with silence, despondency, and endless nights just talking and talking about the same topics over and over, as long as I needed to. He didn’t know it, but he was walking me back to healing. Back to our life as we once knew it. Lesser men, with less than unconditional love, wouldn’t have lasted over these years.
This unconditional love of his makes me want to be a better person. He should have someone whose steady, stable, and makes good choices as his life partner. He makes me want to be that person. That is the crux of marriage: being able to accept a love that makes you better each day, and in turn, urges you to give back even better that you received.
And so, as another day goes by, today I press pause and give gratitude for my husband’s unconditional love, say thank you to Katie Perry for reminding me of what I have through her music, and…I have written.
November 10th, 2013 Stop laughing. I don’t. Hostas are horrible plants that take over your garden. Their creepy little green eyes start peeping through the mulch at the first sign of spring. They spend the season scarfing up all the sunlight and water at the expense of the smaller plants. Then they spread their strong green leaves out over the whole garden, bigger than last year.
At the height of summer they dazzle us with purple flowers that they think are so special. Then, just as quickly as they came, the flowers die leaving behind a lot – and I mean a lot – of clipping work to do until fall. In the fall they shrivel and die and turn to mush mixed with the wet leaves. They leave an awful mess to be cleaned up by others after they leave this earth.
You might ask, “If you hate them that much, why don’t you get rid of them?” You can’t. Their ancestors just keep reproducing and leaving a messy life behind, not providing much joy while they were alive. I asked my husband to get rid of them. He tries. He digs them up and gives them away for free. (We actually have neighbors that WANT them!) He told me if I wanted all of them gone, we’d have to rent a backhoe.
And so, as another day goes by, hostas are only good for one thing – reminding me I don’t want to be a hosta, and…I have written.
November 9th, 2013 Me: Dear, can we go to the movies this weekend? There’s a movie coming out Friday I want to see.
Husband: Sure. What is it?
He agrees even before asking what it is. More zsa zsa zu .
Today we went to see About TIME. The movie is two hours long. After the first hour we were looking at each other and silently giggling. We picked a bad one. After certain scenes my husband did his “rather poke a fork in my eye” motion. Fifteen more minutes and we were laughing silently so hard because this movie just went on and on repeating the same scenarios over and over, with minimal humor. We didn’t have to speak. We both have been here before.
Then we grew strangely silent. We focused on the screen. The story took a left turn and suddenly we were motionless. My husband whispered, “Wow.” I was crying. The last half hour makes it a great movie.
Yes, the actors were exactly right and delivered the lines precisely, but it was the writing that grabs you. A surprise story. Don’t miss this one. Also, try to enjoy the first hour more than we did, with a better attitude. If I could see it again, I’d do it with a different perspective. In fact, it’s probably the only movie I’d ever see twice (I just don’t do that.)
And so, as another day goes by, the only other movie that smacked me hard at the end was Pay It Forward (I just didn’t expect the kid to die), this one comes close – we had to stay seated so I wouldn’t walk out an emotional mess, and… I have written.
* Special note to my sister and brothers – SEE THIS MOVIE! Trailer
November 7th, 2013 Click. Click. Click. There’s no place like home. Follow your passion. Find your passion. It’s the pathway to happiness, so goes the recent hype. I jerk my head up and think, I better hurry up and get out there and search for mine. I thought when I retired from teaching what a wonderful opportunity to get another chance to “be whatever I want to be when I grow up.”
At 47 years old I began to look forward to retiring from a thirty-five year teaching career at the age fifty-five. We bought our Cape house and I envisioned myself moving there and becoming a writer. I didn’t even know what I wanted to write yet, but I could see myself sitting there in my house at the edge of the marsh, writing. That day finally arrived four years ago. My first year of retirement I spent doing my house over because I needed a “writing room”. Then I needed a new computer. One year went by and I still hadn’t written a word. I decided I needed to “make” myself write, so started my blog Another Day Goes By and pledged to my Facebook friends I’d post everyday. It worked. To date I’ve written seven picture books and, through a twist of fate, found my way into illustrating, and illustrated a picture book for another author. I currently serve on the board of the Cape Cod Writers Center, an organization responsible for me figuring out that path from teacher to writer.
This road was not a clear cut path. I learned to develop the courage a writer needs to put your heart out there in print. The courage grew bigger than I had planned. What if writing wasn’t my passion? What if my passion was business? I signed with a multi-level marketing company and decided I’d make my fortune in the energy industry. I quickly found out selling anyone anything – even it it didn’t cost a cent – was not in my wheelhouse. Even my husband told me I don’t have the chemical makeup to do that job. Next, I received an email from a lady in Boston who wanted to hold children’s writing classes on school vacations and she needed a teacher. This was more like it. I set up a website, wrote the curriculum, and packed a huge bag with a traveling classroom. I taught the classes all last year and into the summer. It was a huge success and it felt SO good to be back in a classroom again. The only problem was I had to live in Boston for the whole week to teach the class. I tried to get my own classes started here on the cape, but quickly became overwhelmed with the marketing aspect of making it work.
At the end of four years I found out I was neither a writer nor a businesswoman. I could do both things, but a certain fire within was lacking, and everything I tried ended up being a dead end road. A year ago I joined Koko Fit Club, a digital gym, and suddenly I knew, when the time was right, THIS was where I wanted to work. I wanted to be a fit coach there and teach people how to take care of their aging bodies and change their lives without worrying about money, marketing, publishing, readership numbers, traveling, running a website, and the many other aspects involved in publishing a book and/or running a business. Teaching. That was my passion. That was the thing that ignited the fire within. My gift is taking a mountain and breaking it down into manageable grains of sand so people can do more than they ever thought they could. There is no greater reward for me than seeing someone succeed and move forward in their life.
Thirty-five years in a classroom and I never worked a day in my life. Four years trying to be a writer and start businesses and it was totally work – each and everyday. I was treading water, trying not to drown. Today I travel five days a week to all five Koko clubs on Cape Cod, but I don’t work. I teach. I’m no longer drowning – I’m swimming laps. Clean, easy, precise laps. By zeroing in on what I was made to do, my passions have realigned and prioritized themselves. Anything to do with business has gone by the wayside and my writing and art has taken its rightful place – on my mornings off and lovely lazy Sundays spent on my tapping away on my iPad.
My passion – it was there, inside me all along. There never was a need to find it or chase it.
And so, as another day goes by, click, click, click, there’s no place like home, and…I have written.
Big news! I just received word that this blog post was chosen to be published in the online magazine Cape Women Online. It will appear in the Winter issue 2014 and will be online January 15.
This is my first official publication of something I wrote and I wanted to share the news with you. You have all been such faithful, supportive readers as I developed my writing career. It began, right here with this blog, and I’d like to sincerely thank each and every one of you for reading, commenting, and supporting me. Now, out to celebrate with the hubby!
|
|
