Mother's Day 2023

I love Mother’s Day. I get to celebrate that I am a mom 😊- my favorite identity in the world, right up there with being David’s wife, of course – and am thrilled to have yet another occasion to indulge in reminiscence of my own mom.

She had lots of great qualities, with approachability high on the list. For a kid like me who ruminated excessively, I appreciated how willing she was to listen to whatever I was miffed about, view it from multiple perspectives and create some kind of plan to improve my situation.

There had always been something about her presence when I was conflicted that was, in a word, transformative, and when she passed, I wondered how difficult it’d be for me to get through life without it. However, as days became weeks which became months, I got used to the new reality, until I realized that I could still have her nearby, in one way or another.     

It just so happened that my mom had told me before she passed that she wanted to be cremated. My dad had been buried, and when I asked – without thinking about what was important to her – “Don’t you want to be with Dad?” she said she would like some of her ashes sprinkled around his grave but that she also wanted to be spread in her favorite place in the world – the outdoors – on a mountain and/or in the ocean.

When it came time to talk with the funeral home about her wishes and we told them what she had said, the question was asked, “What about the rest of her ashes? Do any of you want an urn to have at home?”

This was a surreal conversation obviously; just a couple of days before, I was visiting with a very alive albeit unhealthy mom, and now we were talking about my bringing her ashes home in an urn. The thought of her stationed in my house in this manner was at first bizarre, then it was more bizarre, and then it was...amazing...too good to be true even given that that was the only way I could still be close to her. I jumped at the chance.

I said “Sure, I’ll take some,” as if I was talking about leftover cake, and my sister said the same thing. Next, we picked out our urns and then waited several weeks for our mom to be mailed to us.

When we received the package, I was too weirded out to take the urn out of the box. When I finally did, I wasn’t sure where to put it. I decided to place it on the piano, because she loved to play and was terrific at it too, and I was always excited when I saw her walking toward the bench in my childhood home. Her fingers were fast and powerful and would belt out “Mother’s Prayer” like nobody’s business. She inspired me to play too, but I never developed the finesse that she displayed naturally.

Mom has now been sitting on the piano for over 8 years. On a side note, I just realized that my iPhone wallpaper is a photo of her sitting at a piano.

While it can be unnerving to know she’s hanging out in my living room, I have caught myself looking for her when I’m passing by. I always smile to myself thinking she’d be so happy to know that she’s where her great-grandchildren are, as they often bang away on the piano and sing loudly and have lots of fun until someone shuts the top onto someone else’s little fingers.  

It may sound creepy to have my mom’s ashes in my home, in such a prime location too, but the truth of the matter is that I’ve learned to find joy in this rather unconventional scenario. I appreciate the ease with which I can communicate with her; I don’t have to drive an hour to get together or call her on the phone. She really is more accessible this way.  

I’ve gotten so accustomed to it that it feels like old times when I ramble on about the craziness of life with her sitting there quietly. While I find her as patient as ever, she’s surely quieter than ever too, so now I really have to don my thinking cap to speak intelligently to myself. 

Even in this different form, she continues to comfort me.  

It's My Anniversary!

It’s not a typical one that people generally brag about, but I’m going to today.

Seven years ago this month I was fired from my job at the pediatric office where I dutifully went for 17 years. I know I’ve referred to this experience multiple times in my blog posts...please allow me to do it just one more time 😊.

For months, I kept asking myself – and still do at times – WTF ?!?!?

A couple of years before that, unfortunately, the local newspaper for which I had been a freelancer for 15 years was gobbled up by a much larger one, thereby ending my association with them. Missing the writing, however, did get me to launch my own personal blog in 2014, that you guys are still kind enough to read when I’m motivated enough to write.

When I was sent home that morning back in April 2016, I was panic-stricken and so very sad. Even though I no longer liked the job at that time, I was comfortable with my routine there, had some wonderful co-workers/friends and felt good about helping the parents of the little ones.     

I was worried, albeit realistic: at 56, how likely would it be that I could slide into a similar situation?

With no commitments for the first couple of months of my being at home during the day other than to participate in a training program as required to get unemployment benefits, I began to realize that my efforts might be misdirected: instead of looking to replace the kind of job I had, perhaps this could be a time to explore other possibilities.   

One day as I was online looking at volunteer opportunities as a grant writer, I saw that some guy on Facebook Messenger tried to contact me. He asked if I’d want to freelance for his Pine Barrens community newspaper start-up.

I called him back not knowing if it was SPAM and my first thought was Yikes! He has a very young voice. But you know the power of youth...he was so revved up about his new venture...I couldn’t resist...I went to his office the next day. He was indeed young – even younger than 2 of my kids – but after he told me I could focus on feature writing and not have to take on a school district or municipal beat too, I was all in.

I stayed in this position for several years and am thrilled for how it enriched my life. It opened my eyes to the wonderful people of the Pine Barrens communities. Many interviews and time spent with my subjects were so meaningful at the time and remain in my thoughts today.

For example, I love my nighttime shower routine with fabulous smelling goat soap (“The Grazing Goat”), thanks to the woman I highlighted in my feature story who has created an enormous line of goat soap products. 

Based on another woman I interviewed, I am equipped with the knowledge that if a VIP in my life gets sick, I am going to contact the “Hug Wraps” creator, a cancer survivor herself, for a custom-made item that will feel like a big, warm hug. 

I could go on and on.

Since this freelance gig still left me with lots of time, I also took a second position to write and edit for a startup women’s health website and app. I had the pleasure of spending time and brainstorming with one of the co-founders and worked closely with my special friend Beth who so tragically passed away from ALS about 18 months ago.

I also had the opportunity to work with my dear friend Susan, a CPA, who brought me in to her office to help out during tax season, where I stayed for over a year, until the pandemic started.  

I am much obliged to those who invited me in, who were open to giving me a place with them at a time when I was desperately trying to find my way.

One day I’ll have to tell my grandbabies how thankful I am for them for so many reasons, a very important one being that their births caused a welcome rebirth in me.

The first two grandchildren provided me with a weekly babysitting responsibility; during the pandemic I got to travel to Florida 3 times with my daughter’s mother-in-law to visit our kids and granddaughter, and in-between these trips I was able to spend concentrated time with the youngest of the grandchildren. None of this would have been possible had I still worked at the doctors’ office.

Often in life stuff happens to us which we have no control over; in this case, it was my termination. While I should have taken matters into my own hands, I didn’t, and instead my life took a different course...and played out so much better than I could have imagined.

Getting fired truly was addition by subtraction, and for that I am grateful.

Parents

I heard a story recently about 2 young men in their 30s living together. They were friendly, not necessarily friends, and one saw that his roommate’s behavior had changed in a concerning manner. For a couple of weeks, the one man observed that the roommate had been staying in his room more than usual with the door closed; wasn’t talking much, going out or participating in activities or social gatherings; and maybe not eating or showering regularly. His demeanor had become alarming, and each day was more worrisome since he wasn’t bouncing back.

The man tried in various ways to communicate with his roommate, but he didn’t know how to reach him. Out of desperation and despite what young adults may feel should be the last option, he decided to call his roommate’s parents.

They were so very grateful; they were able to help him to get back to some sense of normalcy.   

In thinking about this story and how proud I was of this man to call his roommate’s parents, it occurred to me that we parents play a very unique role in our kids’ lives, regardless of their ages, for a few reasons: 1 – We have known our kids all of their lives – through the ups and downs, the big moments, the struggles and joys; 2 – We are forever rooting for their happiness and success; and 3 – We have traversed many of the roads they are traveling on now (i.e. raising kids, balancing work and family; and many more).

This dynamic enables our kids to share whatever is on their minds – if they are open to it – with people who know and love them and whose priority during that conversation is their well-being. The combination of this rare relationship coupled with our being decades ahead of them in terms of age and life experience create an opportunity for us to share perspective that they might not otherwise have and, therefore, find valuable to consider.

Our children – regardless of age – stand a lot to gain when they let us in. We can be a quiet sounding board or a vocal one in a back-and-forth discussion. The more they talk through their concerns and get others’ insight, the better, although in the end it is their journey to navigate.   

I look back on the times my mom tried to steer me in a particular direction by moving me away from one and on to another, as well as when she sat me down to talk about something I was doing or not doing that may have troubled her. She didn’t shy away from expressing her thoughts, which I both appreciated – because I knew her motivation was pure – yet also disliked, because these exchanges were not usually pleasant for me. Even though at times I wished she’d keep her thoughts to herself, I always heard her out and mulled over what she said, because I knew she wanted what she believed was best for me.

We live in a world that can be very hard to manage at times for a variety of reasons, and there’s really nothing like knowing there’s a mom and/or dad looking out for us.

 

 

Thanksgiving 2022

Another Thanksgiving is in the books.

This holiday is a reminder that nothing stays the same, starting with the meal itself.

Some 50 years ago I’d have been sitting in the dining room of my parents’ house, fighting with my siblings over who was going to get the legs and dark meat of the turkey because again, as the youngest, I was the last to have access to the dinner plate. With only white meat remaining, I’d load up instead on the stuffing, made in the cavity of the turkey and drenched in turkey juice...sinfully scrumptious. String bean casserole, jellied cranberry sauce from a can, salad and sliced white bread rounded out the meal.

Over the years, I replaced that canned cranberry sauce with cranberry apple crisp, a recipe first given to me by my ex-husband’s Aunt Inge 40 years ago. I brought what has morphed into a cranberry-apple-orange-pear crisp to David’s sister’s house this year. Initially I made it with margarine because Aunt Inge kept a kosher home, then butter because she passed away, and now Earth Balance, a vegan buttery spread that David likes, to healthily accommodate the non-dairy/kosher eaters in our families. I’ve also reduced the sugar by half and added more fruit for natural sweetness.

The stuffing, while still my favorite part of Thanksgiving, has been modified for the non-meat eaters, as it’s made in a crockpot, stovetop, or oven...nowhere near the turkey. This year it was made in all three places since the crockpot stopped working halfway through, and I had no choice but to move the heap load of stuffing around.   

These modifications don’t make a big statement, but the one-time “traditional” Thanksgiving meal has surely expanded over the years, in many ways. Pescatarians also aren’t expected to load up on sides as they were at one time; they now have salmon as their entrée. An added awareness of the need for diary free, gluten free and a variety of allergies comes into play each time we get together, depending upon who will be in attendance.

The size of these gatherings is always all over the place and will most likely never be the same as the year before. Whereas my parents’ Thanksgiving table accommodated a family of 6 plus some friends of my parents, pre-pandemic David and I had some 30+ adults sitting at multiple tables; this year it was 16 plus 2 sweeties, 1 and 2 years old.

While it’s impossible to guess what next year will look like, and who will be going where, it could potentially include a minimum of an additional three families and 4 more kids, just on David’s “side” alone. I am hopeful some Cohens might also join in. 

The absolute best changes have taken place outside the kitchen. In the past 5 years, we have added 8 children to the next generation.

I’ve begun to realize that the only constant is continual change...and a life that will look different each day.

 

Garage A, Level 4

David asked the other day if I ever forget where I put things. I thought he had to be kidding.

He said he had been working outside on the grounds of our home and wanted to reorganize his tools but was afraid that, in the process of relocating them, he wouldn’t remember where they were when he needed them next.   

Hmmmmm...I said, “Yea, I forget sometimes 😊.”

S O M E T I M E S? What a joke! Just days before, my own reorganizing efforts threw me into a tizzy. I had to buy yet another new crochet hook because I couldn’t recall where I stored my stash of at least 20...even though at the time, I was sure I had found the “perfect” place...but, a week later, back to Michael’s Craft Store I went.

A similar situation occurred not long ago with picture frames I bought for photos of the grandkids...saw cute ones, put them away in the “perfect” place and then couldn’t find them when I needed them.  

The reality is that about 10 times a day – at a minimum – I can’t find where I put something. Does this mean I have too many things? That I think differently every day and, therefore, approach decision-making with a constantly changing perspective? That I can’t hold all that info in my head anymore? All of the above?

I was fascinated to learn after all these years of talking about almost everything, that David and I hadn’t yet discussed the tricks we’ve come up with to resolve one of our biggest challenges...to find our cars in parking lots.

He said that on our annual trip to Maine – as well as other places he travels by air – he always parks in the same garage and level at the airport so that he doesn’t have to think about where he has parked when he’s headed home.

For me, it’s the daily errands that present the biggest headache. To combat the stress of my forgetfulness, I intentionally park in the same general vicinity of places I go to regularly, like supermarkets, restaurants, doctors’ offices and so on. This works well for an easy exit, so long as the chosen spots are available. The trouble starts when they aren’t.

When I have to park in a new spot, I run the risk of walking round and round the parking lot when I’m exiting and trying frantically to find my car. Sometimes I’ll press on my key fob to activate the chirping sound so that I can follow to my car but with so many other similar sounds, that isn’t always effective given my hearing deficiencies as well. I could probably use my iPhone to help me out but fidgeting with electronics in the parking lot is going to be, well...a nightmare, given I’d first need to find my readers in my handbag.

Even though I was soooooooooo embarrassed by it at the time, I often find myself thinking about the good ‘ole days when I drove around my parents’ “Cohen for Council” enormous advertising box that was bolted down to the roof of their Delta 88 Oldsmobile back in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s.  

Going shopping with that thing was absolutely the best, because I’d never have to wonder where I had parked. The sign always stood high above even the tallest of cars – no SUVs on the road back then – and truly was a driver’s dream come true.

David is convinced that 2 components are at play to explain the memory losses we experience as we age: 1 – We don’t retain as much as we were once able to, and 2 – We realize it’s easier to repeat our actions than make random decisions that require us to keep track of more details.   

As he shared his thoughts, another idea came to my mind but, by the time he was done, I had already forgotten what I was going to say.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I gave birth to a Phillies fan but, the second time around, I married the Philly team’s biggest rival: a Mets Fan – whose son was a chip off the old block.

Their team allegiances weren’t something I focused on when analyzing the pros and cons of a union at that time, a move that would place 7 of us under one roof. I thought of other areas that could be tricky, but I viewed the 3 guys’ interest in sports as a unifying factor.

I soon realized that living with passionate fans of arch enemies could create a tense atmosphere, especially if their beloved teams were playing each other, one team advances, or whatever the case may be. That said, these guys were always very respectful of one another and there were no times I had to intervene. Yet, I still preferred to leave the house when Philly played New York, in any sport.

As empty nesters, David has had it easy with just me at home, as I am neither a vocal nor intense fan. I don’t bask in the glory of a win – aloud – and I don’t criticize the team or goad him after a Mets’ loss. Because of the wife in me, I have always been happy for him when the Mets advanced, although that is often accompanied by a twinge of guilt and sadness for my son if they’ve beaten the Phillies.

And because of the mother in me, I have always been thrilled for Michael to be in his glory with a Phillies win, and I’m disappointed for him when the Phillies lose because, to him, this team is family. I still have poems he wrote to me for my birthday or Mother’s Day that somehow always included his love for baseball, his favorite players at the time like Pat Burrell and Jim Thome, and the Phillies as an entity that gave him a sense of belonging and purpose.  

I overheard a recent conversation some time ago that David had with his sister, a serious Phillies fan for many years. She grew up in the same house he did and, like him, left home as a Mets fan but, unlike him, transferred her allegiance to the Phillies when she moved close to Philly so she could revel in the team spirit with her neighbors and friends.

Before the start of the World Series, she asked David why he couldn’t root for the Phillies once the Mets were out of the running. He responded that he could not start rooting for a team that he roots against all year long. He also said that Phillies fans would not root for the Mets fans, had the situation been reversed.

I took a brief survey of fans in my family to see what accounted for these differences, and my small sampling was divided along gender lines. I’m wondering if this opinion reflects one’s competitive nature, is a male/female kind of response, or something else?

I need to ask one of my girlfriends, a die-hard Phillies fan who spends hours listening to sports talk radio, this same question. She scolded me a couple of months ago for praising the Mets’ announcers, saying that Keith Hernandez is a jerk and that the Phillies’ commentators are far better.

Her comment, loyal to the Phillies through and through, might align more with the males I asked who said they would not root for a true rival under any circumstance, whereas the women I asked said they could, if their team is out of the running.

Frankly, given the length of the baseball season, which is followed by basketball, hockey and football, I’m glad I don’t have a strong feeling either way. It seems like rooting for these teams results in a whole lot of angst considering how rarely anyone’s team ends up on top.

A Shacket, Anyone?

The Cohen siblings – there are 8 of us (4 plus spouses) – have a tradition of giving each other gifts for our birthdays. The process for each person usually starts with this question: “Anything specific you want for your birthday?” The answer could be a particular item, a gift card, or a “surprise me!” response that falls within our budget.  

One of my brothers has a birthday coming up in November, so I asked him the annual question and he said he’d like a “shacket.” He asked if I know what that is, to which I replied that I think I do but please explain. I was a bit confused because I had only heard that term once before, in a women’s clothing store, last year. He said the one he wants looks like a shirt but it’s heavier, it’s button down, he’d wear it as a second layer over a lighter shirt, it has pockets with flaps on the chest, and he wants it in navy blue.

As he described it, I started to picture myself as a teen wearing this exact item – my beloved “CPO.” I wore it every day and don’t recall when or why I retired it. Perhaps I wanted to disassociate with a wartime item given my overall anti-war stance – even though I was proud that my dad served in WWII – and this jacket debuted then as part of the uniform given to U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officers (CPOs) in the early 1940s.

Or maybe it was simpler than that: the jacket was always kind of itchy (it was at least part wool), so maybe I became more finicky as time went on. I also think that in my later teenage years, I probably developed the desire to wear more fashionable clothing.

A few years ago, when the downtown Philly I. Goldberg Amy & Navy store – where I had purchased my CPO – was set to close, I began to feel desperate to find another one. I wasn’t sure why this sudden need for nostalgia became so pressing, especially when I’d never want to relive some of those turbulent teenage years. That’s the funny thing about yesteryear – it isn’t always positive; it’s often negative – yet I often find myself longing for items that take me back there anyway.

I guess that CPO I adored back then was what we’d call a shacket today, and I will get a kick out of it when I see my brother wearing today’s version.  

I might even decide to get one myself.