Category: Friends and Family

Mary Ann

When my father was alive, he would attend a local monthly WWII Veteran’s luncheon, so one year I was home visiting him for the 4^th of July, and he asked me to go with him to the picnic.  Despite being in his 90s, he could walk so I just think he wanted company because he didn’t need help to get there.  

The picnic was at the local firehall, and there were about 50 people attending.  For once, I was one of the youngest women there. That doesn’t happen very often anymore.  The men were all greeting each other, and I was getting introduced to everyone. Maybe my father was showing me off a bit.  Even though they were older gentlemen, they could still flirt with a knowing wink or mischievous smile.  I was having a good time.

With each hello, I would ask what their role was during The War – there was only one war, WWII, for this group. They would share that they were on the beaches of Normandy or they freed a concentration camp or fought with the Marines on Iwo Jima.  I was talking to living history. The gentleman across from me at the table told me every few minutes about D-Day, and I listened patiently because it was important to him, and it was a memory he still had.  

Most of these men didn’t talk about The War when they came home, and the stories remained deep in their souls.  They had a lot of lost time to make up for and didn’t need to dwell on the tough times in their lives. However, as they got older, the stories seemed to rise to the surface.  At least, it did with my father.   His memories, his stories are precious to me now.

Well, after the social “hour,” it was time to eat.  We filled our plates with hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad, and baked beans – typical fare at a picnic.  Everyone was seated and grace was given, and birthdays were acknowledged with several of the men reaching milestones in the 100s. With each month’s meeting, fewer men were in attendance – The Greatest Generation was rapidly disappearing. 

 After the birthday wishes were extended, we all stood for the Pledge of Allegiance.  Old men in walkers who could barely stand did their best to rise for the Pledge.  They all did and loudly began “I Pledge Allegiance to The United States of America….”  I became so overwhelmed with emotion that I began to cry.  (Tears still fill my eyes as I write this.)  I was free because all these men had sacrificed their youth with their bodies, minds, and souls.  At that moment, I understood the meaning of the Pledge and why they fought for liberty and democracy. 

In this very divided time in our country’s history, I don’t think those men were thinking along party lines or if they were from a blue or red state as they stormed the beaches of Normandy.  They knew their purpose to fight for freedom and against tyranny. I will always be thankful for that day and the treasured gift those men gave me.  That may have been my father’s purpose in including me that day.  Daddy was always so wise, and there was a lesson to be learned that day.   

One of my favorite people is a vivacious friend who is always upbeat. She sets the bar for checking in with her friends. She is one of the few people who continued to foster our friendship during the six years I was sequestered, taking care of my mother. Karen called at least once every week.  The call may not have been more than a few minutes. Still, it was enough to let me know she was thinking of me and wishing me well.

Admittedly, I was not as good in the past. While friends and family were always in my heart and thoughts, I did not take the time to let them know. Several years ago, however, I resolved to do so. Even as a professional, I took time to write short notes to people. Handwritten notes are so rare these days that upon receiving one a person knows s/he is important. My staff appreciated the time I took, but more importantly that I noticed something they did.

Another friend sends greeting cards through the US Postal Service.  I would receive a card for every occasion, with a simple signature, “Love, Shelley.” My mother also liked to send greeting cards to family and friends. While the effort became too much for her, I would address the envelopes, write a sentiment if she wanted, and let her sign. This small act gave her joy and let her friends know she still thought fondly of them.

Written notes, while appreciated, are not required. Social media has given us the opportunity to reach out to friends and family in multiple ways. Posting on Facebook, Instagram, or X (formerly known as Twitter) is a quick and easy way to let others know what you have been doing. An email or text message is more personal as it is directed at specific people, so you can interact with others.

The importance of contact, no matter how short, cannot be denied. One never knows what kind of day your friend or family member is having. At times a brief hello can become the most valued event of a person’s day.

Of course, staying in touch takes time. Try scheduling fifteen or twenty minutes a day specifically for contacting someone you care about. A quick text message saying “how are you today?” or just a GIF or emoji could mean the world to someone.  A “hello – thinking of you” with a heart icon tells someone you care.

More mature (translate, older) people enjoy a good old-fashioned telephone call. And while cellular service end-to-end is not as clear as traditional telephone lines, a quick call can still lift spirits and put a smile on the recipient’s face – and yours.

Think about someone you care for and then reach out to them, today. The time it takes is nothing compared to the breath of fresh air you will feel.

During my caregiving years, people consistently reminded me to take care of myself – to give myself a break. While I knew my friends and family meant well by nudging me, I felt relatively certain they had no idea what my “taking a break” entailed. Much preparation goes into leaving for a few days. You are not just packing for yourself.

I created a “Caring for Mom” notebook with tabs for each category of information one would need to stay with my mother in my home. Once the notebook was complete, I could update it easily when something changed. Using a three-ring binder and creating the documents in Microsoft Word and Excel made updating information easy.

Sections included the “legal” documents which included her DNR, Advanced Directive, Power of Attorney, and Last Will and Testament; General Notes; Exercises; Daily/Weekly Checklists; and Medical. The tabbed sections were behind the page full of emergency and non-emergency phone numbers.

Another tool I used to help others help me was my trusty little label maker.  I labeled pantry shelves, kitchen drawers, tableware, and mom’s supplies. I even put labels on the knife blocks to remind helpers to hand wash the knives! I have to chuckle. My kitchen, bathrooms, laundry room, and mom’s bedroom and sitting room all reminded me of a church kitchen where everything is neatly identified.

Several meals and meal kits were prepared; the freezer and pantry stocked with carefully packed and labeled foods. Instructions for using the Keurig were taped to the beverage bar. Although mom was not a huge fan of “take out” there were a few restaurants she enjoyed. My computer browser stored the passwords and credit card for those, along with Shipt and Instacart access, so the helper could easily place an order for delivery.

I worked with health care providers to ensure there were enough medications to last through a few days after my return. Pill planners were filled for the entire time I was away. Extra supplies of disposable underwear, toilet paper, paper towels, disinfectant wipes, etc. were stocked.

Mom’s clothes were washed, ironed (where necessary), and hung by “outfits” in her closet. Instructions for washing sheets and clothes were taped to the inside cabinet door above the washer. How to set the dryer was also posted.

Much as packing diapers and formula and several changes of clothes are packed for a small child, every detail had to be covered. Even though I believed I had left nothing wanting, I would still receive daily calls – sometimes multiple calls in a day – asking where something was or what to do about “x”.  Getting away was physical but not disconnected. (What did we do before mobile phones?!)

Prepping for a “vacation” when caregiving reminded me of preparing to be away from my full-time job. It took a week or two to prepare to be gone. Upon return, it took a week or two to catch up. Sometimes I wondered if the time off was worth the effort. Of course, having a break is necessary for rejuvenation and mental health.

Should you find yourself in a caregiving mode I hope my experience will help guide you in preparing to give yourself a break. Even if you do not have the responsibility of another person, some of these tips may be helpful to others who at some point may come take care of you.

Mary Ann

When our parents build our childhood home, they purchased a lot that had a small creek along the one boundary.  It was about two feet wide and six to twelve inches deep as it meandered towards the Susquehanna River.  

The property had an interesting history before we claimed it as our home.  Early in its history, an Indian tribe had a village there.  We would find arrowheads and other artifacts when we were tilling the ground to plant.  In the early part of the 20th century, the property was an ostrich farm – the feathers were used for ladies’ hats of the time.  Mid-century, the land was used as a nursery. The creek remained central in all chapters of the land, and it was for our family as well.

When my brother, Timmy, and I were young, we were constantly in the creek.  We would build dams; catch crawfish, baby fish, or frogs; and one year, we discovered freshwater muscles.   The muscle shells had mother-of-pearl interiors.  We were sure we could make jewelry out of the shell and become rich. Childhood dreams!

Alongside the creek, we would build barns for imaginary horses and jumps for them to leap.  It was endless days of summer fun.  In any season, we were playing in or by the creek.  On snowy days, we would cross a wooden plank that bridged the creek allowing us to get to the ice-skating ponds.  Often, we would slip and fall in the creek’s really cold water.   Our mother was always thawing us out as we dressed again to go outside and do it all over again.  

 One summer, the creek dried up, and all the baby fish were in small puddles thrashing around to stay alive.  I caught a snake having dinner on the trapped fish.  I went for a shovel to end it days, and it was gone by the time I returned.  I had to save the fish so the snakes would not eat them all.  I got a bucket and filled it with water and put the baby fish in it.  I had to carry the fish to a big pond about two or three football fields away from our house.    I remember that the walk to the pond was so hard because the bucket was heavy with water and my hand hurt as the handle dug into my palms.  I had to stop often to rest.  Then fight the weeds to get to the pond.  When I got there, it was such relief to dump the bucket into the water and save the fish.  I made about three or four trips that day saving those babies.

We saw the water snakes as the enemy of the creek. This was before we understood the balance of nature. Eating the baby fish was just doing a snake’s job.  However, I would don my father’s waiters and grab a shovel.  Then it was off with their heads.  We cleared the snakes from the creek. I cannot believe I did that.  I have had several snake encounters over the years – another blog one day.  I keep thinking that it is all karma for me taking their lives, and it should equal out soon – I hope.

As we grew, the creek became less important, but an event happened that changed it all for my family.  There was a big oak tree that grew at the corner of our property near the creek, and by the tree there was a big metal tube that was used as a bridge for the farmer to traverse to plow the fields behind our house.  Stones surrounded the tube keeping it in place.  The tree had a Tarzan rope swing that we would play on.  All fun!  However, my brother, would climb the tree and throw his coat down and then lie at the bottom of the tree and say help me, I fell.  He thought it was so funny.  Timmy was a tease. 

Then, one day as I was feeding our dogs at the coop – the dog kennel – near the creek, I looked up and down came Timmy’s gold hooded jacket trimmed in fake black fur, and this time, he was in it.  He fell about 15 feet, hit the metal tube, and bounced on the stones into the creek.  My mother was watching from the kitchen window and flew out of the house to get Timmy.  She got him out of the creek.  He was unconscious.  She rushed to the car with a neighbor to take him to the emergency room.  I stood there in the swirl that was happening.  Off they went, and I was scared wondering about Timmy. 

Hours later my mother returned.  My father was with her.  I overheard words like fractured skull, concussion, and maybe he could die.  With the morning, Timmy gained consciousness and escaped the worst possibilities.  He did have a bad concussion.  He would have to be careful about any future head injury because it could be fatal for him.   I think his thick winter coat saved the worst of the fall.  The creek was not the same after that.  Some of it was our age, and some of it was the memory of the fall.

In years to come, my own children played in the creek when they came home to visit their grandparents in the summers.  It held the same magic for them.  Then years after that the creek became Terry’s Creek named after a neighbor’s child.  He, too, was in the creek all the time as we were as children.  It is a wonderful playground for children allowing their imaginations to grow, and each new generation of children claimed it as their own.

When my parents downsized and sold the family home, I went to take pictures of the house and of course, the creek. I collect stones from the creek for my parents, my brother, my children, and me.  I made them each a photo album to remember our family time there and a stone to remember the creek.  It was a nice closure to many years of memories.  Now, I do believe the creek actually runs through our hearts and souls and is a part of who we are.  Did you have a creek or a pond in your youth that still flows through you?

When I was a girl at home, my mother and I would make May Day baskets. We would fold construction paper into cones and glue or staple them to retain their shape. Then we would affix paper handles. Sometimes we would draw pictures or write words on the “baskets”.

Once we had made enough for mom’s friends and local family members, we would pick flowers and greenery from the yard, trim it to size, and stuff the baskets full of flora and fauna.

It was always exciting to create these lovingly made baskets, but the real intrigue was when we would drive to someone’s house just outside of view from the front, sneak up to the front door, and hang a basket on the doorknob before ringing the doorbell and running back to the car.

I remember one time I left one on the door of a friend whose mother I knew would be home. My friend’s father was a very stern disciplinarian and although he was considered a leader in our hometown community, I thought of him as mean and possibly dangerous. In reality, he probably was a normal man-of-the-house, but he lacked the love and empathy I saw in my own father. I thought the May Day basket would be a blessing to my friend.  Her mother remembered that one gesture for years and commented to my mother well after I grew up and left home.

Historically, May Day has various memories. Considered a pagan holiday by some, it was a celebration of Beltane – honoring the return of spring, rebirth of fertility and life – as it falls halfway between the Spring equinox and summer solstice.  In some traditions, washing one’s face with the morning dew on May 1 would bring beautiful skin and good luck. In Hawaii, the date is known as Lei Day in which they celebrate the aloha spirit and the giving of the flower.  My mother recalled dancing around a May pole at her Catholic girls’ school.

May Day also is associated with the Haymarket affair of 1886 in which worker’s went on strike in an attempt to demand an eight-hour workday. May 1^st was designated as International Worker’s Day and is celebrated in approximately 160 countries around the globe. The United States does not celebrate International Workers’ Day on May 1, as we have Labor Day later in the year.

Mayday is also an internationally recognized distress term that is used by pilots and maritime vessels to request emergency assistance. The term was coined in 1920 by Frederick Stanley Mockford, a radio officer at Crydon Airport in London. Mayday is the phonetic equivalent of the French phrase m’aider, which means help me.

For me, May Day is simply a nod to the flowers beginning to peak through the defrosting ground, welcoming the sun and brightening our days. It is a day full of happy memories from childhood. Thus, dear readers, I send you virtual baskets of flowers on your electronic doorstep and wish you a lovely spring day.

Why is taking compliments so hard? Do we really not appreciate when someone notices how we look, something we have done, a gesture, etc.?  For many years I found myself downplaying a kind remark from others.

“That dress looks great on you!” “Oh this old thing? I have had it for years”

“You are a wonderful hostess.” “It was no trouble; I just took the easy way out.”

“Your hair looks lovely.” “I just had it styled. It won’t look like this when I do it myself.”

“I enjoy your blog.” “We are still learning how to navigate the site.”

You get the picture. We make excuses, unable to imagine there is anything worth complimenting. Or are we attempting to be humble?

Several years ago I complimented a friend who retorted “I just can’t seem to get things right.” It hit me.  Was she discounting my observation? Was my opinion not worthy of her respect? Did she not feel worthy of being noticed? I began to understand that the correct response is a simple Thank You.

Cynthia Ozick stated “We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.”

If a simple thank you is difficult, there are numerous ways to thank a person. Thank them for being in your corner, always lifting you up. Say “I appreciate that” or “You are very kind to say that.” Even “You just made my day!”

For less formal interactions, “thanks” may be appropriate among friends, family, and familiar co-workers. Thank you, is more formal and may better express sincerity. You will know the situation for yourself and the person from whom you receive the compliment.

Regardless, it is important to accept praise graciously – to treat compliments as the gift they are. Be genuine in your response, maintain eye contact, smile, and never, never downplay the compliment.  In short, be grateful and kind to others.

Finally, I just want to say, “thank you for taking the time to read our blogs. We appreciate you!”

Mary Ann

My mother had a chicken lamp that was her pride and joy. She saved a $1.00 a week for 35 weeks to buy her coveted lamp.  Remember those days when you put items on layaway? That was a healthy price for the 50s. However, the lamp did not feel very mid-century.  It had a brown shade with a yellow ruffle, and it was a chicken.  It didn’t matter, she loved her lamp!

One day my mother was off to the store which was down the street from our house, and my little brother, Timmy, and I, were left home alone and were to take care of one another. This was a time when younger children were given much more freedom.  We were about 6 and 8 years old at the time.  At any rate, we were expected to behave and keep out of trouble.

Well, as soon as mother left to do her shopping, we, of course, began fighting and chasing one another around the house.  I believe that Timmy was chasing me, and he plowed into the chicken lamp knocking it over and breaking the head off.  (He may tell this differently.) OMG, the world was ending.  We were doomed.  Mother was going to kill us for a multitude of reasons; namely, her chicken lamp was broken, her precious chicken lamp.

So being the older, wiser child, I decided that we would not confess our sins.  So, we put the head back on the chicken and became the most well-behaved children occupying ourselves with Timmy playing with his farm set and me reading.   If mother discovered the damaged chicken lamp, we would deny everything.  This was the first time that brother and sister conspired to save their necks.  We were taking this to our graves.  

It is amazing that neither of us said anything.  I would have been in trouble for not supervising Timmy better, and he would have been in trouble for breaking the beloved lamp. So, time passed, and the head held.  Mother cleaned the lamp, and the head did not fall off. The head remained steady even during a move to our new house.  It is not fun waiting for a shoe to drop.  At any moment, our sins could be revealed.  

Time passed; years passed.  The chicken lamp remained on a revered spot in the living room on a round, maple table. The chicken head held firm to the point that we began to forget about it until one Sunday afternoon.  My father’s brother and family were visiting.  Their son, our cousin Gregory, walked over to the lamp, and he touched his finger to the tip of the chicken’s beak.   Plop, the head fell to the tabletop.  Timmy and I looked at one another across the room, and our eyes locked.  Gregory was going to be the one in trouble. He would take the fall, and neither one of us spoke up.  That moment sealed the bond between us.  This was going to the grave with us.  Gregory was just a little guy, so he wasn’t going to get in trouble for “breaking “the lamp.  He just touched it.  Everyone was sorry, and my mother ended up glueing the chicken head back on the chicken body.  All was well.  How did we ever get away with this? 

Now, for the backstory.  First, Greg if you are reading this, we are sorry we let you take the blame.  Timmy as a child was a naughty little boy, and we have many Timmy stories in our family that I will share in the future.  Timmy became a teacher and an outstanding school guidance counselor when he grew up. Never give up on a child. Redemption is always there.  

Apparently, not for me.  The Berenstain Bears have a story on honesty (The Berenstain Bears and The Truth) that is centered around the children breaking a lamp. The book was written 30 years after our crime. There must be a lot of children breaking lamps.  Those little bears confessed, but they didn’t have a Cousin Gregory to lay the blame.  We didn’t confess to our mother until we were in our 50s, and she was in her 70s. We figured it was safe to fess up! She wasn’t mad and had no idea that had happened.  We felt lighter and didn’t have to take the sin to our graves! 

Mary Ann 

Have you ever taken a group tour for a travel adventure with companies like Viking or Smartours?  You are with around 30 people, and often you click with some of the people you meet. For the duration of the trip, you become fast friends, and at the end of the journey, you exchange addresses and contact info to keep in touch.  Time passes, and you are lucky if you get a Christmas card.   Occasionally, however, magic happens, and the friendships take root on the trip and blossom in the coming years!  

I have been blessed twice with such friendships.  On a trip to Africa, I found one of my best friends, and we have taken several trips together and have enjoyed NYC when I lived there – she is a New Yorker.  We are very compatible travel buds, and laughter comes easily to us. What a blessing!  

On another trip in 2012 to Costa Rica, I met a group of people who were from New York City and New Jersey.  There were 7 of us (two couples and three singles) who have kept in touch meeting several times a year to dine and do local adventures.  We explored Greenwich Village with the New Yorkers leading the tours and walked the Brooklyn Bridge and toured the Dumbo area of Brooklyn.  We did a day exploring an outdoor sculpture garden and have attended plays. When we are together, it is non-stop talking, and everyone gets along so well. We call ourselves The Costa Rica Gang. 

Sometimes we do major trips together.  Several of us went on tours to Morocco and Egypt. Other members of the gang have taken smaller trips together or meet up for dinner in New York in small groups.  My African bestie has joined our group several times and is often part of the adventures.

I have used the word together in most of the sentences in this blog.  It is the word that best describes us.  The Costa Rica Gang is the kindest and most adventurous group of people I know.  We are in regular contact sharing our life experiences.  There have been medical challenges, and we have supported each other through them.  I know if I needed help, these people would be there for me.  I would be there for them.  

How did I get so lucky to have been blessed with these people in my life?  I am richer for knowing them. I cannot say enough good about them. I hope they see this blog as a love letter to them.  I look forward to our future adventures – together! 

Note: 

If you meet people on a trip and you can see a lasting friendship, try to really stay in touch.  You must reach out to them and make some plans.  Great Travel Buds are priceless. Remember those friendship can grow and be a meaningful part of your life. You will never regret the effort. 

Mary Ann

My mother loved jewelry.  Anything shiny and sparkly, and it was a special treat when I got to explore her jewelry box.  I would try on the rings and bracelets pretending I was a princess.  However, there was a little silver bell that nestled in one of the compartments on the top tray of the jewelry box.   I was fascinated by that bell.  It had a little goat on one side and some words that I didn’t know, and when you jiggled the bell, it had the sweetest sound like fairies laughing.  

I coveted that bell and would beg my mother for it throughout the years, and she would always say it is not time.  I am sure she knew if she gave it to me when I was too young, I would lose it.  She was much wiser than I.  Years passed and sometime in my 40s she gave me the bell.  I guess it was time.  It was also when I found out the meaning of the bell.

My father had gotten the bell on the Isle of Capri when he was on R and R during WWII.  The little silver bells were made by the monks of St. Michelle and represented good fortune and protection.  Pilots like my father and paratroopers bought them and often pinned them inside their uniforms.  Most of the bells had four leaf clovers (one leaf is for fame, one for wealth, one for a faithful lover, and the fourth for health) or other good luck symbols.  My father’s had a goat on it.  I am sure he picked it because he loved animals and was from a farm family.  Under the goat is the word Capri and on the back is the inscription La Campanella Della Fortuna which means bell of good luck.  

The legend behind the bells is the story of a young, poor shepherd boy who lost his only sheep and followed the sound of a bell to find it. Saint Michael then appeared to the boy at the edge of a cliff saving him from falling, and Saint Michael gave the bell to him for protection. The bells today are a symbol of Capri bringing joy and good fortune, a little bit of heaven, to whoever wears them.  They can also stand for peace.  At the end of World War II, Capris gave a replica of the bells to President Roosevelt, and it exhibited at the Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum in New York.

After I was given the bell, I put it on a chain and wore it often.  It always made my father happy when I did.  He always commented on it.  If I wore it around my grandchildren or my students at school, they would always ask me to bend down so they could ring the bell.  They could hear the fairies laughing.  

When my father passed, I began to wear the bell all the time.  It keeps me close to him.  It brings me peace, joy, and a bit of luck just as St. Michael had wanted. It kept my father safe during WWII.  It is my most valuable piece of jewelry, truly priceless.  And I am thankful that my mother made me wait until it was time for me to appreciate its meaning.  

February is quickly approaching … and you know what means! Several opportunities to celebrate during the cold winter month. Once such celebration is Groundhog Day!

This year, Punxsutawney Phil will emerge from hibernation on Sunday, February 2, at 7:20 am. According to legend, if the furry marmot sees his shadow on a sunny day, he will retreat, meaning six more weeks of winter. If on the other hand he does not see his shadow, spring is just around the corner.  On a cloudy day, he takes it as a sign of spring and stays above ground. It’s always been a bit counterintuitive to me … sunny day – more winter. Hmmm.  If I were Phil, I would stay in my cozy burrow with my partner Phyllis and my two young kits Shadow and Sunny.

 “Punxsutawney Phil, Seer of Seers, Sage of Sages, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, and Weather-Prophet Extraordinary” is the most famous groundhog according to the Farmer’s Almanac.  The first recorded Groundhog Day celebration was in 1886 in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, making it the oldest of such celebrations. Likely, due to the 1993 movie Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray and Andie McDowell, the day has been elevated to pop culture status. Now, several Groundhog Day celebrations are held throughout the United States and Canada.

Digging into historical traditions, some say Groundhog Day has morphed from the pagan holiday Imbolc and the Feast of Candlemas. A Scottish prophecy indicated that a sunny day on Candlemas meant a long winter.

For me, I was always looking for ways to entertain my mom for whom I was caring.  She began to look forward to Groundhog Day, as one of many “holidays” we celebrated. Arriving just prior to Valentine’s Day, Groundhog Day was a one-day event, so it was low-key. Still, we had fun.  I found a recipe for Groundhog cupcakes which became an annual tradition. They were fun to make, yummy to eat, and for mom, she had bragging rights – something unique she could tell her sisters.

I even ordered mugs, t-shirts, and chocolates from the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club Store. Admittedly, I get a little crazy at times. But hey. We were making memories.

If you are looking for a way to brighten your winter and fight the doldrums, tune in to the Groundhog Day celebration, live streamed for those of us who can’t or don’t want to be in the cold morning air at Gobbler’s Knob.