searching

my life can be summed up in the searches. not least of all the search for a partner to share with. i'd heard success stories where folks married at 40+ at the end of their search and all was right again in their worlds. at least those were the stories told to me by some who wished i could finally find mr. right instead of mr. could-be-if-i-try-harder.

i can say now that the love story continues and that it is okay to meet that i'm-so-happy-to-be-with person at a later age. the shared history? i've seen that it can be the very thing that breaks up the heartiest relationship. lately i've begun to 'un-romanticize' that theory and realize that the differences we bring to the mix are just as powerful. that we've settled as humans and (hopefully) learned to handle discrepancy with grace also comes into play here. the years we get through do make us stronger, i'm sure of it.

chapter one: meeting someone.

it happened at work during a time so chaotic i really don't know how i got through it. yet there he was, someone who smiled when i passed by and sent a bit of sanity my way in an unsettled atmosphere. i was pleasantly surprised to realize that he wasn't there to hurt or take, that he shared common experiences growing up not far from where i did, and that his search was on a similar path as mine. the times that followed became more meaningful and hard to let go. the opportunities to go on separately were there, but something just held us. something i later realized was love.

chapter two: merging

can we fit and fill well-established lives and expectations? not the easiest task when you've logged so many hard-won miles. but when the person is worth it, the fit just happens. the journey begins together, and the upsets end in holding on. we both felt again and again that our meeting was important and that our feelings would one day form a routine that fulfill and sustain, one that we'd be happy to come home to.

chapter three: i do

there was a promise to love, then there was a promise to stay. both done most eloquently. i'm very lucky to have found someone who expresses their love meaningfully and in unforgettable ways. the ring box in the comfies, the monogrammed stockings, the bed-n-breakfasts, surprise spa treatments, even a home-cooked candlelight dinner or two. gifts from the heart and for the mind. just some of the things i've been blessed with. a strong family, work ethic and mindset, the ability to fix EVERYTHING and make things better than they were before, more blessings. our weddingmoon: the most magical time in my life.

chapter four: nesting and other likenesses

our home is our image. we are both there in the walls and hedges. who knew there were so many more ideas than my narrow decorating abilities. there's a certain strength and ease about our style that wasn't there before. no more girl-child beginnings or chances. just solid wood in the most inviting colors and textures. solid. a word i've gotten used to lately. that he'll be there and do what's right when all else falls away - restoration of faith in its most vulnerable state. i just need to learn to lean into it more, something i have trouble with due to all sorts of prior disappointments. strength in weakness, a new concept for me.

chapters: near and distant future

to appreciate, to demonstrate, and to illustrate the love that has come to me. to allow for a differing opinion. to give in ways that add exclamation points to their meaning. i hope to shorten my learning curves and enjoy my surprise life to the fullest. that i can see other loves as frivolous and unearned in comparison, rights so many wrongs and heals so many wounds. my husband has brought me that and more.

the love continues...

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me?

a year has gone by. wow. on days like this i need to stop time & look around. i'm not necessarily religious, nor do i seriously believe in divine intervention. it's nice to think of in theory - God's hand guiding us, but i've always thought those who claim God has led them to a place or person were just grasping to justify actions. or that a simple stroke of luck came their way and they've glorified its meaning. as i sit here now and look back on the few times when i can't ignore a guiding hand in my life, i realize that today is one of them.

i've never handled stress well. either i'm searching and hoping for someone to pick me up from sorrow and transport me to a happier place of being OR i'm just downright destructive to myself and those i love the most. all times i wish i'd behaved differently but simply didn't know how. nor would i look beyond my comfort zone for answers. i blamed my depths and inability to get past them on clinical depression.

oh, don't get me wrong, i'll take whatever pill or potion recommended to get me through those times. they hurt too much not to. lately though i've turned to someone else for relief & salvation. me.

i've discovered that a good cry really can help me get through times of confusion where in the past i thought that was a ridiculous theory. i mean, when the crying is over, then what? you're still in the same mess, feeling the same way, right? either times have changed or i have. or my mental health has. or all three. but i do find that a good cry can help to cleanse some of the mess inside.

another amazing thing has happened - for the first time in my life i can honestly say that i enjoy my own company. not tolerate out of desperation, but ENJOY my alone time and journeys. this has helped in countless ways, including the miracle of getting me off the couch & out through the neighborhoods walking. no boredom, no loneliness, just me & that's okay.

recently, there've been times when i've relied on my own company to pick up & carry me through hard times. when i can't think of a single person to sit with me while i figure out my life, thoughts & issues, without judgement or need to do it all out loud. when the crying is over and the 'now what' creeps in. when my heart or head tells me there's something missing in my life. when i'm unsure where to go from here. there's me.

that i've come to this non-loneliness and peace, well, i have to give credit and thanks where due. thank you God for leading me. thank you Mom for showing me that it can be done and how. thank you Ed for recognizing the signs that i need to work it out myself and supporting, even urging me to look for solutions on my own.

there are very few times in my life that i've gone off desperately seeking solace. those times when it got too tough to stare at the walls or my bedposts, but to go out & take back the meaning. i've gotten into the car armed with a journal & a pen, asking for a hand to lead me to a place condusive to quiet thought and clarity. somewhere inspirational, bordering on magical. once i gave in to the journey, i was delivered effortlessly to the very places i requested. vastly different but similar in atmosphere, places that each helped me to obtain clarity & get back on a good path.

the beauty of nature can restore me like nothing else can. okay, expensive spa treatments and the manufactured zen environment where they're delivered can do wonders as well. but sitting with nature, enjoying stillness and my own thought process in 'restore' mode - those times are very few. but lately asked & answered with a force so strong it steers my car. i know this because each time the places i found were unknown to me before i landed there.

serenity. i wear it on a bracelet. i search for it with my soul. and i now feel confident i can find it. with God's hand and just a little help from my new best friend. me.

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some days there are answers

others, only questions.

why do some fear and others dare?
why do some take care and others take for granted?
why do some ask 'why me' and others ask 'why not'?
why do some curse the coming rain while others grab a good book and some hot cocoa?
why do some dominate and others appreciate?
why do some wish and others create?
why do some look forward and others reach back?

how can people lie, cheat, steal and kill?
how can someone leave another who loves them deeply without even a glance backward?
how do i know when to say i'm sorry and when to say go away?
how can we take our health for granted when others pray for theirs?
how can puppies be so darned cute?
how can some remember and others forget?
how can i live without my loved ones who've died?

when is it time to give up?
when will our elected officials work for the good of the country and not themselves?
when will there be a cure for cancer?
when will i have enough time to spend with all the people i love?
when can i finally put old hurts to rest?
when will i have enough 'stuff'?
when will my intense love of music make my head explode?

what is my purpose in this lifetime?

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as promised...

I read somewhere that all children mythologize their birth. I don’t believe this to be true in all cases, I rather think I’ve met some folks who, now down and out, think of that time as an inconvenience to their parents and a disappointment to others. I find it hard to relate things that I’ve only heard and not seen, or seen but didn’t remember, then heard at family gatherings time and time again, each time etched more immortally within my own personal story. I definitely have an issue of it and if I ever write my story, how much of it was told to me as opposed to those times I lived, felt and believed. Most definitely my babyhood is all filtered through the minds, beliefs and story-telling powers of my relatives.

While I don’t believe all of us think our arrivals as front-page news, I do think that each of us, in our own way, would take the chance if offered to go back in time and experience our first months of life. That time when, even though we’re living, we have no recollection (as if we’re in a coma or under anesthesia). If everyone around us wasn’t as nurturing as they should be, or downright mean, we wouldn’t have the slightest recollection of it. People we came to trust later in our lives could have been those harshest to us in our early days and nobody but an outside observer would have that knowledge. If that observer didn’t tell, or wasn’t around in later years, did the tree fall in the forest?

I’m not all that versed on repressed memories and related psychology, but it seems to me that patients are always recalling hideous things that happened, rather than just a time where they might’ve lain in their mother’s lap, by a soothing fire, feeling that all was right and snug in the world. Further, if we do have those “snug” moments, are those the ones that carry us through life and give us hope where others, maybe not so cuddled, have doubt? I’ve always thought ‘nature vs. nurture” a fascinating study, although one that would take a spare lifetime, which I do not have.

What most of us remember about this amnesic time after our births and somewhere before the ages of four or five, is what we see in pictures. The ones that carry the unmistakable brand of the decade in which they were taken. Since I’m not yet fifty, my beginnings were captured on thick, quality paper with pattern-cut edges with warm shades of white-grey-black. I try to imagine color in that world, but it’s not there until those same pictures move, as Grampa was also an amateur movie-maker. None of us knows how lucky or unlucky our childhoods were, until notes are compared. Maybe the comparison isn't such a good idea after all.

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fireplace or forest fire?

i have a dark side. for some of you that'll be hard to believe. for others, the ones who know me best, "no kidding" is the best phrase here. that i am my own worst enemy has been told to me too many times to count. sometimes, when led to the altar of joy by the season or people celebrating it, the mind goes elsewhere. so far (fingers crossed) this year hasn't been so bad in that respect. i'd hate to believe it's because i indulged in a not-so-civilized ritual, but, hmmm. ok, here goes: i recently wrote down ALL the creeping, crawling thoughts onto pages and pages. all those things that hit me when i don't see them coming. the lies, the games, the very troubles that have found their way into my life. i hate to say it felt good, but oh, the feeling not unlike eating a very rich chocolate cake - the whole cake - in one decadent sitting.

for me, the way the pen-to-paper looks is almost as important as it reads, and i made the letters tell the stories in painful detail. all the pieces that you want to push aside when they intrude. my own personal bone-pile to quote a very wise friend, all come up too often because of the long walks i've been taking. there they were, allowed and encouraged, onto paper. what to do now. oh yeah, burn the suckers.

folded up small, in the corningware dish they went. candles in a dimly lit bathroom, fan on, door locked - burn baby burn. they fought back. not catching, not flaring. stubborn as i knew they would be. but, they did finally burn and all that was left were their ashes. almost as if i knew what to do next, i pushed the ashes into a pile, dug a hole in the corner of the backyard that is home to doggie doo and buried the suckers. gone. finally.

i don't know if that ritual did anything real, or if my mind told me those thoughts were finally unwelcome, but i have to say it really worked. they don't come any more. and if they do, it's just a little toe and then better thoughts overtake. my walks are filled with music and hopeful thoughts, plans, and motivation to keep up the lifestyle of the last 3 months that have shed me 30+ pounds. so satisfying. much more than that chocolate cake.

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it's a beautiful day and i'm supposed to be racing around readying for thanksgiving. but i can't stop feeling the thanks. isn't that what we're supposed to do? this whole season was built around it. but i keep trying to push it aside to plan menus, make lists and clean rooms.

i wouldn't be so rushed if it weren't for the company we've had for the last month or so. all welcome guests who gave us joy and enriched our lives. and now it comes down to the mundane righting of the household. today's society and its stipulations encroach and people say "hurry, or you won't get it all done in time". i know i'll give back. make a juicy turkey, a welcome atmosphere and, barring mishaps, tasty tempting side-dishes. i'm leaving desserts to the experts this year, as the sweet stuff always seems to be the straw that stresses me. i don't want to feel stress this year. i want to keep this feeling that i'm so lucky to have what i have, to have found what i've found, and to have kept the capacity to enjoy it all.

i'm 50 now. that thought comes through and all i feel is grateful. i've earned any lines, aches and cellulite that has formed in/around this body. i've earned the short-term memory lapses and jumbled thoughts that result from a life filled with times worth remembering and lessons well learned. i don't have the slightest urge to have anything nipped, tucked or enhanced. i'll keep it all. the aging process has brought me a new awareness of the luck i have that others do not. the gifts i keep and try to use when i can.

my computer's crowded with photos, journals and wishes. my greatest joys are simple ones: pen and paper play (blue ink, bold lines and flourishes), trying to finish just one more crossword puzzle before bed, collecting recipes, soft yarns, baking the perfefctly browned whatever, watching the dogs run up/down the walkway, abundant flowerbeds, sleepy saturdays, a good garage sale, listening to adventures told by my kids (whosever biological ones they are), laughing, music that moves me, a flattering outfit, all natural shades of green, a perfect sentence, an inviting scent, old movies, anything jimmy stewart did, honest people, funny friends, baby animals, my front yard, saying "we" instead of "me", grated cheddar, howard stern, mom's house and the memories there, family traditions, vibrant colors, the look of trust on a dog's face, brothers-in-law, balloons, pool parties, cool breezes on a hot day, wind chimes, sunsets, fireworks, piglet, my husband wearing his 'comfies', a good hair day, pride in my work, watching my soap, italian soccer, perfectly fried fish & chips, fruity drinks where you can't taste the alcohol, barbeques, silhouettes and having had granparents. so much more, but i think i've already won the contest for longest run-on sentence. i'd list them instead, but i don't like the look of lists - reminds me of to-do chore and shopping lists. thanks should flow and keep coming like pouring rain or the spicy finish of a perfect bite.

all the thanksgiving thoughts i've heard and read lately, felt forced to me. like they're supposed to happen now, so here they are. this morning they all hit and i'm warm with them. it's going to be a great day. thanks to all who've brought me here. time to get out the shopping list...

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just like gramma used to make

nothing brings me closer to both my grandmothers than having my way with the kitchen. i strive to recreate smells, tastes, inviting warmth and the love that both put into the most amazing italian meals. mixing old and new, vicdomino and longo, creativity and nostalgia - all into stockpots and baking dishes. all i can say is, well, yummy. not necessarily for my own versions, but for those inspirational to the methods used to create them.

two very different women, different levels of life, different looks entirely. commonalities include heritage and height - i take after both. i remember watching each get prepped and ready for their day: one with great care, very proper and detailed, the other with the fortitude of many women before her, with an "into the kitchen i go, doesn't matter much my looks while i'm there" attitude and tenacity.

each with different specialties. one made a MEAN sauce (or gravy as the die-hards call it), the other great attention to detail - antipasto platter just right - CHECK! lasagna bubbling in the oven - CHECK! the right amount of tempting side-dishes - CHECK! good to go. i take after both there too. more the latter i'd say, the sauce i'm still perfecting. i'm happy to say that i can feel their spirits near when i attempt to re-create their specialties.

gramma madoo (my baby version of mother, like my mom called her) was adept at the sweet stuff: baking. pignole cookies (that's pinion or pine-nut to the rest of you), harvey wallbanger and rum cakes (*hic*), even potato/peanut butter candy. along with chewy-doughy pizza (the way i love it!), a beautiful/bountiful table could be found at her glendale home.

gramma rose made the most tender, fall-off-the-bone meats. Along with a very dark, rich tomato sauce served with lots of crusty bread. She introduced me to the pungent tang of romano, still my choice over parmesan. a down-home atmosphere was always present in her burbank home.

add to that my dear great-aunt josie's incredible meatballs and pizzelles and i'd say my kitchen lineage is a most respectable one.

my style? no shortcuts, no canned sauces, no ready-mixed or prepared meats, always freshly grated cheeses and garlic bread with real garlic. all a novelty in today's hurry-up kitchens. a full meal takes more than one day, and those days started early and ending late. honestly? it gets harder with each year and my grammas made it look effortless. i know now that it was far from it. in my little girl's mind, dinner was always ready when we arrived, glimpsing only a small portion of the preparation and never allowed to participate for fear i'd be underfoot and hamper the process.

richness, fullness, love. no wonder i have 'portion issues'. but i wouldn't trade a bit of how i got here. with two loving women at the helm, missing them both more with each year since their passings, keeping their lessons close and dear. the most fondly remembered? "always use your hands to mix and mold the food - meatballs especially". in my opinion, that's where the love is added. gramma madoo insisted that several sized spatulas were always close at hand, but preferred to use her fingers to scrape batter from beaters or bowl. often washed and very well used, her hands. much like mine today.

love and miss you grammas and aunt josie. you are in me today, in gene and spirit. never forgotten, served up with each hearty italian meal.

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