One moment

Still grateful because of the weekend, I turned in my bed to see a text coming in from my sister.  "Oh, cool, I get to start the day with her."  The text informed me that one of the family's best friends (our neighbor since we were in diapers, and Jeff's best friend throughout high school and adulthood) was in a car accident because he was trying to avoid deer and slammed into a telephone pole. 

Man, my heart was in my esophagus when I read that text, and I immediately said a prayer and started to cry.  Thank God, he only got pretty banged up, and nothing worse.

One moment.  One swerve.  One deer.  One pole.

The accident reminded me of how grateful I am to have people in my life that I love so deeply.  It also reminded me that one moment can change everything.

Everything.

Love. Love. Love.  It's what we must do.

Do I Really Feel the Way I Feel?

"It is easy to be the person you have always been, for it requires no change, no self-reflection, and no growth.  It may appear that changing yourself requires giving up something.  In reality, there is no need to give up anything--you must simply add to what has been."

I am a quote junkie.  I see quotes, brilliant thoughts by people who "get it" and I consistently write them down.  Even if they're in a book somewhere, I grab my little notebook and I write them down.  I have been writing quotes in various notebooks for years now, and I am always pleased when I come across one randomly, and think, "I understood that and it applied to my life when I wrote it down."

The above quote was written down about three years ago, when I was in the haze of self-reflection, bitterness, resentment and unforgiveness.  I remember thinking, no praying, that the person who had betrayed me would change by growing and self-reflecting. 

In reality, now that time, healing and wisdom have evolved in my little head, I realize that the person who betrayed me, was me.

". . . you must simply add to what has been."

I like that.  It gives me comfort.

It's funny to recognize your own faults- - humbling, for sure, but also funny in a curious sort of way.  I sometimes get on this high-horse, and think I know all the answers to all the questions that pertain to what I've experienced in life.  Divorce?  Oh, I'm an expert on that.  Infidelity?  Oh, I can give you all kinds of advice.  Death?  I'm the one you can turn to.

The truth is, I don't know squat.  The only reality I know is my own, and when I think about it, I also think about a line from the song "Walking in Memphis":  Do I really feel the way I feel?

We are all subjects.  We are subjects of our own smoke-screen and mirrors, and my thoughts are not my own thoughts, my feelings are not my own feelings, they are just reflections of a mentality that I am the center of the universe, and all that happens in the universe is a reflection of what I put out there.

Maybe that is partially true.  I mean, we are all connected.  We have to be. . . we've all seen how rain dances on water. . . we've all experienced tears from frustration, grief, happiness. . . we've all been passionate about someone or something and found disappointment with the reality of it. . . we've all experienced regret and those what if moments. . .  we've all had our breaths stop for beauty. . .

We're human.

Because we are human, we are able to experience the gifts that life provides - - daily, hourly, by the minute.

So, what?

Not sure what I feel right now, but I know that in three years, I might come across the quote above, and have an entirely different train of thoughts.  I suppose I can only take what is given to me, and add it to what I already assume that I know. 

What I know is that I don't know all there is to know.

Yet I do know what I feel when I observe rain dancing on the ocean, rays of sunshine bursting through the clouds, a drop of dew reflecting off the wet grass, a hawk soaring through the sky, an unexpected smile from a stranger, and belly laughs. . .

I just wish I could always remember that joy as I continue being human in a broken world. . .

God Made Him

The boy's name was Clifford.  He wasn't a big red dog.  He wasn't even a black, successful gynecologist (though, as luck might have it, he shared the first name with one Clifford Huxtable, and by virtue of that he was exposed to women's anatomy).  He wasn't best friends with Norm, though he often philosophized with a Sam, sometimes over an alcoholic beverage, I am sure, but never in a bar called Cheers.

Now Clifford earns his money as a safety inspector and trainer, yet as anyone who might have seen him, also knows that Clifford is a lover of food,  a lover of family and a lover of words.  He has written several books, notably his most recently published, Oh, Brother.  The Life and Times of Jeffrey Fazzolari, and wrapped up into this book is a story of love, family, relationships and survival.

You see, Clifford is a survivor.  There are days when he gets hit upside the head with an unwanted reality, and he mourns the losses that arose from these realities.  But despite that bubbling pain, he awakens and begins his day with words, with sharing and with an attitude of love.  He is aware that this is what he must do because his little sister, Carrie, relies on it.

Together, along with Clifford's family, readers and friends, we all move forward another day and feel the warmth that comes from relating to Clifford.  On one very special day, of every year, this day, Clifford walks on even higher ground, and here on earth and in the heavens, all who know or know of him celebrate.

Today is his birthday.  Raise a toast and wish him well.

Cliff -  God made you.  He must be in love with me.  I love you.  Happy Birthday.

Sleepy Time

We were all treated to a beautiful autumn weekend in Maryland.  The leaves just started to turn those gorgeous reds and golds, but it was still warm enough outside to enjoy the sun shining down from clear, blue skies.  I felt fortunate to be able to share this weekend with Paige and Tony, who rode around on their bikes (Paige took the training wheels off, finally.  I had been trying to coax her for the past year), and scooters, shooting hoops and chasing all the dogs around the neighborhood.  It was a happy weekend, and every night, the three of us fell into our beds, exhausted.

Yesterday morning, I got a text from a friend of mine.  "You missed a great time last night.  I am just getting home."  It was 7:24 in the morning!  I was just getting up for the day.  There was a part of me that was envious because I am sure that whatever had gone on the night before was filled with laughter and fun times.  Yet, there was a bigger part of me that was so happy that I had been sound asleep by 10pm.  I couldn't imagine functioning the next day.

Then, my brother comes strolling in the house.  I thought he had been up early and was just coming back from  a trip to the grocery store, but no, he was whistling and laughing.  "You missed a good time last night."  He had been hanging at the same place as my texting friend.  So I heard some of the funny stories, and looking at my brother, I was doubly happy that I was in bed at 10pm.  He was whipped.  But did it stop him from covering my pool with my cousin, Larry?  Did it stop him from running his laundry, and making a pot of sauce big enough to feed the entire Ravens team?  Nope. He functioned.  I have no idea how, but he did.  I was tired just watching him, and while the kids rode around the neighborhood, I sat on the front porch and dozed in the sunshine like a cat.

Sleep.

I love to sleep.

Last night, at 8:30, me and the kids were cuddled up on the couch, watching Spongebob.  My eyes were drooping, and when I looked over at them, they were half-asleep.  Despite Patrick's idiocy, the kids and I weren't all that into it.  I turned the tv off, and without complaint, they slipped under their sheets, and were out within minutes.

Sleep.

I awoke this morning to the little bastard Enzo slobbering all over himself, and found Tony beside me, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. 

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to wake up."

"I'm up."

"Good.  Can I ride my scooter?"

If the weather remains the same, we will go for another walk after dinner, and we will sleep soundly again.

I'm happy to be with them, alive, well-loved, and well-rested.

It's All in a Day

Last night was date night with Tony.  For the past three times together, we've gone to the Fuji Steak House because Tony loves the noodles, and he gets to pay the check.  (He always grabs the check from the waitress, and attempts to sign the receipt.  We've gotten to the point that the waitress will bring a fake check, and snag my credit card on the sly).

Last night, Tony decided he wanted to go to Chic-Fil-A.  In his world, there was no better place to be.  So we went, and sharing a booth, we talked.  We talked about school, about soccer, about Uncle Cliff (for some reason he had a bunch of questions about Uncle Cliff, Sam, Jake and the Yankees) and about how he really does love and miss Paige when she's not with us, but he doesn't like to tell her.

On the way home, he begged me to do his homework for him.  When I said no, he started to cry, and muttered, "You're stupid."  I looked back at him and asked, "Did you really just call me stupid because I won't do your homework?"  He smiled, and the crying ceased.

He was still crabby about doing his homework, but when I opened his folder and found that he had gotten a 100% on his 3-page math test, the mood quickly changed.  I grabbed the test, did a dance around the kitchen table, ran into the other room to show Gracie, who was laid out on the sofa in a coma, and even let the little bastard, Enzo, rip a hole in my esophagus as he tried to get the paper from my hands. 

"This is why you need to do your own homework, smarty pants!"

After that, we were all about homework.  We breezed through his math, read, and then punctuated all the sentences he had to write.

"That was so easy!"

As I put his homework back into his backpack, he ran to the kitchen, grabbed a mixing bowl and an egg and said, "Let's make cookies now!"  We got to work, preparing the cookies and as he mixed the ingredients together, he said, "I'm smart, amn't I?"

"You sure am."  I answered and we both laughed.

After that, we started a heated game of Uno Attack.  When Paige showed up with her dad, we were in the middle of a rant.

"You're going down this time! Uno!"  Tony said, pointing his finger in my face.

"I only have one card left too, you doof."

"Yeah, but you have to push the Uno Attack button." 

I pushed the button, and got six more cards spit out at me.

"Hahahahahaha... Uno!  Hi, dad."  He jumped up from his chair to give his dad a hug.

After his dad left, he said to Paige, "I just kicked Mom's ass.  We missed you."

Now, you have to understand something about Paige.  When she is part of a heartfelt sentiment, she cries.  Just last week, she read a quote that I have in my kitchen (some guy named Ghandi coined it):  "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

"Do you like your world?"  Paige asked.

"Yes."  I answered.

"Why?"

"Because you're in it."

As soon as I said it, her eyes pooled and she ran to me, "You just made me cry!"

So when Tony told her that we missed her, she reacted the exact same way.  She ran to him for a hug.  He made a face and tried to push her away, but as she squeezed and told him she loved him, I saw a smile.

We spent the rest of the evening, coloring at the kitchen table with Rocky III playing in the background.  As Rocky began training for his second fight with Clubber Lang, we talked about perseverance, and when it was time for Rocky to actually fight, we put down the markers and cuddled on the couch.

With every climax of music, the kids jumped and smiled, and cheered on Rocky.

"You ain't so bad.  You ain't so bad.  You ain't so bad.  You ain't nothin'!"  Rocky uses his glove to push Clubber back into the corner at the end of the second round.  I looked at both of them, and saw wide smiles.  And I started to cry.

"Are you thinking of Papa again?"  Paige asked.

I nodded.

"Because he used to call you every time Rocky was on?"

I nodded again.

"Will you call us every time Rocky is on?"  She asked.

I nodded and hiccupped on my tears.

She leaned in for a hug.

After Rocky knocked Clubber Lang out, we headed upstairs for bed.

Higher Ground

I can see myself climbing uphill. I envision how I might look from the ground, my arms tight and clawing. I see my hands reaching for purchase with a tree branch or an embedded rock. . . climbing. The sweat drips down my forehead, into my eyes, and concentrating on the next move, I blink the sweat away.

I can feel the muscles in my legs working; the muscles tightening as I strain to move up, as I work to get to the top. And stopping to breath, I look at the self I left behind, still shaking her head, saying “You’ll never do it.” I nod my head and look beyond her, above and beyond her to the open skies.

My ears pop from the heights I reach, and are opened to hear the sounds of joy screaming from heaven, the applause from heaven that pushes me to move up and up and up.

Taking a deep breath, I see that I still have a long way to go. Taking a deep breath, I position my hands to pull me higher, I position my legs to push me forward, and heavy with breath, I move up another step.

Having lost my footing a few times, sliding down, down, down, I am aware of the obstacles that I can’t see, that may scrape me, bruise me, knock me down. Instead of fearing it, I expect it. Instead of challenging it, I humble myself to it, knowing that I need the work of heaven, the work of the stars to keep me moving forward.

I pray to the skies on my way up. I pray to be moved above and beyond when the time is right. I beg that I may end on the other side of the mountain, away from the ground where my old self holds a place for me.

I pray for truth on this trek. I pray for honesty on this trek. I pray for love during these travels. I pray for a mate as I climb. I pray for a passion fulfilled on this trek. I pray, I pray, I pray, I pray.

I will reach higher ground. I will reach higher ground to hear the applause from the heavens more clearly, because those hands are working to pull me up and up and up.

Planting my feet on solid ground, I will look down at the speck of my old self and watch as she walks the other way.

It's Raining in Baltimore

The circus is falling, down on its knees.  The bigtop is crumbling down. It's raining in Baltimore, and 50 miles east, where you should be, but no one's around.

It's been raining a lot in Baltimore lately -- just buckets of rain for the past 6 weeks, and every time I am alone (away from the kids for the weekend) when it is raining, I hear the entire Counting Crows song in my head. 

I need a phone call.  I need a raincoat.  I need a big loan.  I need a phone call.

I was looking forward to the weekend only because I knew that I would see the kids at soccer on Saturday, and then again when I picked them up for Sunday school on, er, Sunday.  But, damn, again, the rain in Baltimore is ruining the soccer reunion.

Strained conversations, passing me by; and I don't have nothin' to say. You get what you paid for, but I just had no intention of living this way.

When I put the kids on the bus this morning, it wasn't raining.  We were in good cheer.  They had gone to bed without a hitch and slept a solid 10 hours, and they were happy and joyful, chomping on Apple Jacks and talking about the soccer practice they had gone to last night. 

I need a phone call. I need a plane ride. I need a sunburn. I need a raincoat.

When the bus pulled up this morning, I kissed them both and said, "I love you.  Tony, stay on green today!"  Tony said "Okay," and Paige ran toward the bus, then turned around and said, "I really love you, Mommy" and I just smiled.  When they got on the bus, Paige looked through the window and gave me a look of longing like she thought it was the last time she would see me.  It drove me crazy all day, and I kept sending up prayers to God, the Saints and all the guardian angels to keep me and them safe!

And I get no answers. I don't get no change. It's raining in Baltimore, baby. But everything else is the same.


I spent most of the day wondering if what I had just written smelled like crap because it certainly felt like I had written crap.  And I kept asking my higher power if I was on the right track with regard to my life's aspirations.  And I kept thinking about a man that I dated for a short time, shortly after Jeff passed away.  And I kept wondering how thinking about him was related to what I was feeling inside about my path in life, and if that was related to the crap that I had just written.  And I kept seeing Paige's beautiful face in the bus window, waving good-bye for the day.

There's things I remember. And things I forget.  I miss you.  I guess that I should.

I saw their faces in my mind, all day.  Paige, Tony and if I'm honest, Jesus.  I kept thinking about William Shattner's roast to Charlie Sheen when he said, "You're okay, Charlie.  There was another guy that was kind to whores and was persecuted by the Jews -- and people worship him!"  Now, that's funny stuff. And of course, I thought about my dad and Jeff -- it's just a typical day, after all.

3,500 miles away. What would you change if you could?

When I met the kids at the bus stop, Paige had earned enough "good kid" tickets to buy something at the school shop, and what she bought was this plastic thingy that looked like a stop light -- green, yellow, red-- and she said that it meant, yes, maybe and no.  And she decided to ask it a question:  "Would we have fun with Daddy this weekend?"  and when the lights stopped flashing, it was on yellow-maybe.  The next question she asked was, "Will Mommy miss us?"  As soon as she asked the question, I smiled and said, "Heck no" as she was saying, "I know it's going to be yes."  It was red-no.  That thing's a piece of no-good crap!

I need a phone call.  Maybe I should buy a new car.  I can always hear a freight train, baby, if I listen real hard.

I thought about how my life has changed.  I thought about my brother Cliff a lot too, for some reason.  Maybe because I had just read his blog and found it to be brilliant, as always.  I thought about my sister sending me a text yesterday that simply read:  "Tomorrow is another day.  I love you," and how we corresponded, in tears, about missing our dad.

I wish, I wish it was a small world.  Cause I'm lonely for the big towns.  I'd like to hear a little guitar. I guess it's time to put the top down.

It's still raining.  The dogs are crossing their legs and holding their private parts, and doing a little dance, but won't go outside to relieve themselves.  Stupid bastard.  And Gracie.

I need a phone call.  I need a raincoat.  I really need a raincoat.  I really, really need a raincoat.  I really, really, really need a raincoat.  I really need a raincoat.

I just got a phone call 3 seconds ago (the first of many over the weekend).  From Paige. 

Now all I need is a raincoat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEnCxGh8kBg