Shards of Memories
November 13, 2008
Isn’t that an incredible title — shards of memories? I wish I could claim it as my own creation but it comes by way of friend Steve who was responding to a recent email from me. I wrote about spending time with my cousins this week in Virginia as we all gathered for the funeral of my Aunt Hazel. She died last week at 79 years old. My mother is the last survivor of that generation.
My cousins and I sat around the dining table on Monday night and shared our collective memories of life in our family. It was truly a collection of the good and bad, the happy and sad, the ups and downs of 3 generations of an amazing American family.
We talked about my great-grandmother Dom who died when I was a toddler. She was the proud Pennsylvania Dutch, Scotch-Irish matriarch of our family who didn’t stand for anyone bad-mouthing her bi-racial family. I learned that she wore a Persian lamb jacket with a unique pin that my cousin Dottie still has. Funny, I have a faux Persian lamb jacket that little old ladies love because it reminds them of the ones they wore so many years ago — like Dom.
We also talked about my Bermudian grandfather Fred and the lovely hazel-eyed grandmother Hazel I never knew because she died of breast cancer before I was born. And we reminisced about Great Aunt Clara, the character in our family. She drove a big black car well into her 80’s and took no nonsense from anyone — except her 5 husbands.
I’ve often thought of how to spin our family history in a way that allows me to wrap it up neatly at the end with a big red bow. But this week, I realized, as Steve so wisely put it, that our family memories are shards from the past like broken mirror. Interestingly, as my cousins and I shared our memories I could almost see these jagged pieces being reassembled like a broken mirror — a mirror that reflected back the person I’ve become because of our family history.
Shards of memories.
What are yours?
What A Midlife Crisis Feels Like
November 11, 2008
In the next hour I will be at my aunt’s funeral. Aunt Hazel died last Friday at 79. And to be honest, I can’t imagine the world without her. My earliest memories of her are of a loving woman who always said what she meant and meant what she said. “No nonsense” was her mantra. Good cooking and a great sense of humor were her forte. She was part of the fabric of my life.
I talk a lot here about midlife and transformation and how this is all a bridge to the better half of life. Most of the time that’s really what I believe. But today, life is feeling more like a midlife crisis. Here’s how it’s hitting me right now:
- My aunt has died.
- She was my mother’s younger sister–my 10 years–and my mother is still living.
- My mother has dementia and although we’ve told her about her sister’s death, it’s hard to know how she’s taking this sad news.
- That makes me sad.
- I’m here in Virginia surrounded by cousins–Aunt Hazel and Mom are the last elders on this side of the family. My mother and immediate family can’t be here so it’s just me from the Michigan contingency.
- All the young cousins I held as babies are now grown and having families of their own.
- My older cousin who’s 75 feels like a peer and my cousin who’s just a few years old is about to turn 60.
- Yes I pretend sometimes that I’m only as young as I think but 60 is around the corner for me too.
Well enough from me now. I’ve got to leave for the funeral. You’ve got a sense of what a midlife crisis feels like to me today.
What about you?
Peanut on Obama
November 6, 2008
On election night we all gathered over at my sister’s to watch the poll results come in. My 4 year old niece, the “Peanut” was thrilled with the company, the festive atmosphere and the party spread of food. Oh — and the fact that she was allowed to stay up long past her bedtime.
You see, my sister and I remembered that night in our childhood when our parents let us stay up all night to watch John F. Kennedy become president. Funny, we’ve talked about that night often lately. It’s etched on our memories.
We wanted Peanut to have the same special memories of Obama being elected president. Even though the results weren’t in yet when we gathered together, we all sensed it was just a matter of time. And Peanut had to be part of it.
Shortly before Obama’s victory was announced, I was in the kitchen with Peanut explaining to her why this was all so important. As I tried to set the stage for her in a way a four year old could comprehend, I gave her a short list of the reasons that Obama was the man we all wanted to see elected. I ended with telling her that it was also very exciting that he would be the first Black man ever to be elected President of the United States.
Peanut smiled at that point in an indulgent and patient way. She tilted her head, threw up her hands in slight exasperation with me and said:
Ti-Ti (that’s what she calls me), Barack Obama isn’t black — he’s brown!
I had to laugh!! Peanut gets it. Color is just color. It’s not what defines you or makes you qualified or not for any job — even president. Yet another life lesson from Peanut –
Out of the mouth of babes.
The One Vote Barack Obama Won’t Get
November 3, 2008
I’m here to report that there’s one vote Barack Obama won’t get in this historic presidential election — my 89 year old mother’s. But don’t get excited John McCain. This isn’t a vote for you. You see, Mom’s not voting for Senator Obama simply because she can no longer understand what the voting process is all about. The dementia she has suffered from for years has robbed her of the ability to make an informed decision in this election. Mom would be devastated if she knew.
But she doesn’t. I had a conversation with her this past weekend to see if there was any hope of her being able to exercise her voting rights. When I asked her if she knew who was running for president — she didn’t. When I explained about the candidates, as objectively as possible, and asked Mom if she had an opinion on who she’d vote for — she didn’t. And when I asked her if she wanted me to get more information for her — she didn’t. At that point, I watched her retreat into the cave of her dementia; that place where she doesn’t have to face the fact that she can no longer make important decisions like the one that will be made tomorrow.
If she were able, I know in my heart that my mother would be honored to have the opportunity to vote for Senator Obama. There are many other seniors like my mother who are unable to vote for him tomorrow, though, for reasons beyond their control. Let’s not forget them. We stand on their shoulders — their efforts through the years form the foundation for the choices we have this Election Day.
So in honor of the choice Mom would make if she could, I’m dedicating my service as a legal monitor at the polls tomorrow to her. If there’s an senior in your life whose mental and physical disabilities keep them from voting –
What can you do to honor them on Election Day?
Lipstick Was My Favorite Halloween Costume
October 31, 2008
I know it sounds weird but lipstick was my favorite Halloween costume. I didn’t care what I dressed up as that day as long as lipstick was involved. Remember, I grew up during the 50’s when the standard, at least what I saw on my friends’ mothers and women in the movies was really, really, really RED lipstick. And in those days, little girls didn’t get to wear make-up under any circumstances, except of course — on Halloween.
Here are some of the costumes I had in my youth:
- Annie Oakley — with lipstick
- A bumble bee with sequins — and lipstick
- A princess — with lipstick
- A Wizard of Oz flying monkey — with lipstick
- A bunny rabbit recycled from the flying monkey costume — with lipstick
- A gypsy (I hate to think of the many years I dressed up as a negative ethnic stereotype) — with lipstick and
- Morticia from The Addams Family — with lipstick
- A lot of others I can’t even remember — with lipstick.
The goal was always to try to sneak past my mother’s vigilant eye and go to bed with the lipstick still on. That way, I figured, I could sneak off to school the next day with a whole new aura of sophistication emanating from my faded, smeared but still red lipstick from the night before. It never happened.
As soon as we hit the house after trick-or-treating, Mom had the big jar of cold cream open and ready. If memory serves, the brand of that vile goop she used was called “Albolene” and when Mom was done smearing it all over my face, there was no trace of lipstick to be found — always one of the low points of my childhood.
The residual of those memories of past Halloween lingers on in my long-time practice of wearing lipstick almost always. These days my lipstick may not be red but I never leave home without it.
So what will I be this Halloween. I’m showing up as “aunt” to Peanut, my four-year old niece who, I hear through the grapevine, will be dressed as a “diva pumpkin fairy” with wings, a faux fur jacket, faux fur boots with silver trim and many layers underneath to keep her warm. Apparently Peanut had final decision-making authority over her costume. But when she comes over to trick-or-treat, we’ll add the final touch to both of our costumes — lipstick. After all, it’s a family tradition!
What was your favorite Halloween get-up?
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Karen - Midlife Coach
