Category: Family

Posted on

Rainy Morning

The warm November is sliding into a warm December.  It’s raining this morning, but it’s still plenty warm enough for writing on the porch.  Now it’s time for a run, and I’m waiting for the band of showers I can see on the radar loop to pass over.  Slowly, I’m beginning to figure out how to manage my days without the overwhelmingly intense central focus of a big job.  What is my job now?  Is it okay to not have a “job?” How much consulting work do I want?  When will David and I have an actual vacation, a real step-out-of-our-lives break of a week or two?  What matters beyond being with my family and friends?  How often can I manage to be with Emilio?  What do I want to do?  What am I doing?

Noticing how the beads of rain are hanging from every horizontal surface this morning, the twiggy branches of bushes, the red winterberries, the prickly foliage of the barberry, the wire fence of the pasture across the street.  Be. Here. Now.

Posted on

The Next Great Photographic Artist

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

We took Emilio to a “Go See” in Manhattan today.  Adrienne signed him up with an agent who handles baby models many months ago, and he periodically gets called to go have a couple of quick photos taken for different customers — Huggies Prints in this case — so the client can see if they’re interested in using Emilio for an ad.

On the way into Manhattan I sat in the back seat with Emilio (of course) and chattered with him and let him play with my iPhone.  When I got it back from him, I saw that he’d shot a number of photographs and his first bit of film.  He’s clearly exploring the interplay of light and dark, and how textures break up our visual comfort, encouraging our minds to move between the left hemisphere and the right.  His mastery of flow, sound, shadow and motion is amazing. Yes, he’s a genius.  His photographs are here for you to see, and you can follow this link to see his film.  It’s called “Crossing Into the Light, Letting Go of the Refrigerator and Standing On My Own.” 

Posted on

Columbus, Ohio

I’m in Columbus, not that I have any idea what the city is like, and I won’t by the time I leave either.  Here to do a day of training for domestic violence advocates on working with child protective services (I developed an expertise over the decades of my work at the Coalition on the co-occurrence of domestic violence and child abuse and neglect), I came straight to the Fairfield Inn in the big box store outskirts of the city when I arrived yesterday, the conference center is directly behind this hotel, and I’ll leave directly for the airport when I’m done today.  I hear it’s a nice city.

I did get to ride with a friendly and interesting cab driver yesterday.  He’s from Ethiopia, fought as a guerilla rebel and got injured, and came to this country in the 80’s.  Although he’s 62 years old, he has three children under the age of 14.  “I was late to marry,” he said.

He asked where I’m from, why I was here, how were my travels?  I told him about leaving my job in June, that I’m still doing some work in the field of domestic violence and sexual assault, but that I’m also writing and spending as much time as possible with my grandson.  “He’s the most beautiful baby boy in the universe,” I said and he laughed.

It was a sweet laugh, because the cab driver understood, Emilio really is.

Posted on

David Has A Blog

Today’s news — David has a blog.  Check it out: oldmanbadback.  Be sure to read The Number 4160 in the grey menu bar.  Otherwise he has two reviews of hiking packs he’s recently tried, and much more to come on staying outdoors, fit and active in the face of aging.  Adorable photo of him too.  Lucky me!

Posted on

Yom Kippur, Again

I just reread my Yom Kippur post from last year, which told a story from two years past on Yom Kippur.   And I recently reread Adrienne’s blog post from last Yom Kippur.  Looking back is in the spirit of this solemn day, when we think about our transgressions, contemplate atonement and forgiveness, and resolve to be as good as we can be, while loving ourselves even in our imperfection, in the year to come.

Today at services, I could feel Eric sitting beside me.  He is so present to me still, and no more so than on days that are rich with all he brought into my life — a spiritual practice that has stayed deeply meaningful for me, with rituals and traditions that keep me connected to friends and family and him.

In a couple of hours, David and I will go over to Mark and Andi’s to continue a tradition we’ve started since Eric died.  In the years before Eric’s death, we had started going back into Concord to attend the Memorial and Concluding Services for Yom Kippur.  In the midst of the thoughtful swoon that a day of fasting and reflection brings on, getting dressed again for services and driving back into Concord was a lot, but we’d come to count on the tradition.

The year after Eric died Adrienne and Sam and I planned to go back into Concord, after the break from the morning service, for the Memorial and Concluding Services.  Being part of the Memorial Service was particularly important to me.  But we didn’t make it.  I don’t remember exactly why but it was probably a combination of grief and exhaustion. We went to Mark and Andi’s and broke fast with them.  We didn’t make it back into Concord the following year either, and by the third Yom Kippur after Eric died, David was in my life and Laura had just died.

“I really want to go to Memorial Services, ” I said to Sam, who was home that year.  “But I really don’t want to go back into Concord to the Temple.”

“Do your own service,” Sam said, and we did.  I have a copy of the High Holy Days prayer book at home, because when I went to see the Rabbi after Eric died, and asked for his suggestions for helpful readings on the Jewish response to death and grief, he said he thought the Yom Kippur Memorial Service in the prayer book was as good as anything, and I took a copy home.  So three years ago I picked out readings and we created our own Memorial and Concluding Service with Mark and Andi.  And did it again last year.  And will do it again today.

The photo above is from the first Yom Kippur after Eric died, just about 5 months after.  The photo makes me think about all that’s changed in the five years, and six High Holy Day seasons since he’s been gone.  Mark and Andi and I visited his grave after this morning’s service, and told stories about our lives then and now that made us laugh.  Eric loves that — all of us laughing and loving and carrying on our rituals in whatever way keeps us connected to Judaism and to him.

Posted on

Twisting Vines

David and I arrived at the unveiling for Eric’s Uncle Ben in East Haven, CT almost an hour early yesterday.  We drove down the dead end Brockett Place, past the tall iron spike fences on either side of the small road, tall headstones behind the black rails, turned in the circle at the end, and parked heading out. Then got out of the car to go for a walk.

We wanted to stretch our bodies after the drive, and we didn’t want to be present for any family drama that might show up early.  All summer I’ve been trying to stay clear of the discord that’s erupted in Eric’s family since Ben’s death.  It occurred to me that family disputes that arise after someone dies, centered around wills and inheritance and who got what, or didn’t get what they expected, may just be grief displaced.  Or maybe I’m being too nice.

We walked into the driveway of a school and sought the shade along the edges of the open field to each make calls to our families.  There were vines twisting up the trees, curling around themselves, circling into spirals that climbed up.  The twists looked like family to me, all the ways we love each other and wrap around each other and how some families forget how to make sense of their lives together without conflict and how the best of families support each other’s twisting, new vines growing on old wood towards the clear light at the top of the tree canopy.

Posted on

Droid Post

I’m back in Stone Harbor, on vacation. Yes real vacation. No gardening (though cooking all the garden vegetables I brought with me), no cleaning out the storage pod in the driveway and reorganizing the barn (David’s new studio in the barn is done), no cleaning out the decades of accumulated stuff in David’s parents’ house in Lancaster (which is what I did for the last two days until I was bone-achey and as dirty as I ever get). We have 5 more days here and Adrienne, Matt and Emilio are here until tomorrow night.

Today we sat on the dock with Emilio at high tide, when the water rises over the walkway a few inches, and introduced him to salt water. He loved it and happily splapped the water and sucked our salty legs.  Tomorrow I want to plop him in a pool of water at the beach.

Then days of reading, writing, sleeping, thinking. The one major drawback is the lack of reliable internet. So I just downloaded a WordPress app. Thus, my first post via my Droid. Workable but tedious. One finger typing is way slow as you all know.

Posted on

Emilio and Eric

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Adrienne and I have thought for a while that Emilio sees Eric.  I’ve heard that babies up to about age 2 often can see people from different dimensions, and since everyone in our family has experienced Eric’s presence in different ways, I’m certainly ready to believe Emilio would experience his presence too, and maybe in very direct ways he can’t articulate yet.

When Emilio was tiny, Adrienne came out of the shower one day and he was on his back in his bassinette, smiling up at something above him.  “Daddy,” Adrienne thought.  I’ve also seen him looking at what appears to be blank space, smiling and cooing as if he’s locking eyes with someone.  And yesterday morning when I came downstairs, Marianna who had gotten up with Emilio said, “He’s been talking to Eric.  He keeps looking over into that corner smiling and chattering as if someone is there.”

Maybe he was particularly attuned to Eric because he visited the grave for the first time the day before.  He looked like he knew where he was, and was comfortable being with his grandfather in whatever dimension that’s possible.

Posted on

On the Porch

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

There are ten people on the porch this morning.  David is reviewing the hike up Mt. Isolation, and Anne is here to help convince him it’s doable, fun and scenic.  At 13.3 miles, David isn’t convinced it’s a hike he wants to do with the limited hiking conditioning we’ve had this year, though hike convincing isn’t why Anne came over — she’d never met Marianna and is here to see her, as well as Emilio, the attraction for Alison and John to be here.  Or a Sunday morning hanging on the porch is attractive in itself.  David’s brother Doug is here.  With a meeting in Boston later this week, a couple of days visiting in NH made sense, and I’m glad to have him here when it’s warm and there’s power.  His last visit was during a major ice storm and resulting power outage, and we spent the night at the house feeding the old wood stove to keep the pipes from freezing.  It was dark, dirty and cold, and we had to get water out of the half-frozen stream in a five gallon bucket to flush the toilet.  Hanging on a porch full of friends and family drinking coffee is a much better way to experience this house.

What makes me particularly happy is that I’ve been home long enough to keep my flower pots out on the steps and they look fabulous.  Flowers + family + friends = happy me.

Posted on

Emilio Day

Photo by Adrienne

Emilio was delivered to us in bed at 7:30 this morning.  “We’re off to work,” Adrienne said and she and Matt were gone.  David and I handed him back and forth as we made coffee, then put him down and watched him squiggle and soldier crawl across the floor, occasionally doing a plank stance with his hands and toes touching down as his diapered baby butt rose in the air.  We went for a short walk with Emilio in the Ergo (this generation’s version of the Snuggli) and Khadijah on the leash, admiring a garden down the street with pear trees, amaranth, sunflowers, giant tomato plants and dahlias.

Then it was time for the 9:00 bottle and the rocking down for the first nap of the day. The unsuccessful errand I did (involving trying to get something positive out of Verizon to help fix a phone problem) while Emilio slept isn’t worth even thinking about in reflecting on a pure Mimi-day.  When Emilio got up, we packed up and drove to Fire Island, stopping at a state park to have a picnic in a shaded pavilion, overlooking the bay behind the island.  The air was warm, the breeze strong, and Emilio had his second bottle, though he seemed too enthralled by the beautiful day to finish it,  then gnawed on a red pepper and a peeled New Hampshire peach.

Back in the car, Emilio napping again, David and I explored the barrier beaches of western Long Island, looking for possible kayaking spots (not much luck there).  Emilio woke up when we stopped to get gas and got fussy, so I sat in back with him while he finished his bottle (breast milk, so I was motivated not waste any).  Back at the house Emilio played on the floor again and in my lap and David’s, making little animals pop up on a toy with big colored triggers.  A bit more milk, more rocking as he sucked my shoulder, then sleep again.

Right after Emilio woke up, Adrienne got home and he pumped his little body up and down and smiled and cooed.  She left the room for a minute, and he went back to popping animals out of the toy, then focused right in on Adrienne when she came back.  We made dinner and ate in the yard, Emilio sitting in his high chair smooshing cherry tomato halves into his mouth, mashing peppers and bananas with his gums and taking in some turkey burger.  Good and dirty for bath time, Adrienne took him to get ready for bed.

David and I sat in the yard for a bit longer, watching the clear sky get dark and talking about the day, what it feels like now that his father is gone, our upcoming trip to Kigali, our plans for this week with Sam here, when we’ll fit in our next hike — random musings of contentment.