An Ah Ha Moment

We all have those times in our lives – those memories that are so vivid you feel like you could just close your eyes and relive the moment. Well I'm convinced that those vivid memories stay with us because our subconscious knows that there is a valuable lesson to be learned from that experience. Sometimes we learn the lesson right as it’s happening (visions of my first accident come rushing to mind) – but other times it takes years until the lightbulb goes off and we finally realize why that memory has lingered for so long. When we’re ready to see it, I call it an “Ah ha moment” -- a realization on life. In the past year, I've had a lot of those realizations -- and today is another one of those days.

In the very truest sense, today is a day that defines me. Today is my birthday. But today, like every birthday since I was 7 years old – my thoughts aren’t about my birthday – they’re about my brother, Jim.

Let me forewarn you, you might not like this story so much – because it’s not necessarily the most uplifting. But it’s reality – and a humbling realization about life. So here we go…

Family History
I am the youngest of five children in my family – the youngest by eight years. These days that age gap isn’t necessarily a big deal…but growing up the gap seemed monumental.

I was a definite whoops. “The best mistake I ever made,” is the way my Dad describes me. Some people cringe when they hear that. I don’t -- in fact, I think it’s pure and sweet. I have never doubted that my parents love me – my Dad is just being honest, and I appreciate that. Anyhow, the point is that with anywhere from eight to eleven years between my siblings and me, even though I am part of a big family, I grew up kind of like an only child. While my brothers and sister were off working, or dating, or doing high school and college stuff – I was going to grade school. So from my little kid perspective, the world pretty much revolved around me.

The Story Goes
So flash back to my seventh birthday -- it was the last day of school, and the first night of the church Carnival. I had spent all day peeking out the classroom windows at the rides that were set up in fields behind the school, and I had convinced myself that I was going to be brave enough to go on the enormous ferris wheel with the “cages” that spun around.

As soon as my Dad got home from work, we would all head down to the Carnival and stay there until way past bedtime. I was beside myself with anticipation. It was the perfect way to spend my birthday!

I remember playing with some dolls on the floor of my bedroom when I heard a car pull into our driveway and start honking its horn like crazy. I jumped up to peer out the window to see what was going on, and I saw my Mom walk out of the house to the car. Seconds later she and my brother, Jim, came racing into the house. I didn’t think much of it at the time and went back to playing with my dolls, but then I heard my Mom’s voice coming from downstairs. She wasn’t yelling – but I could tell she was upset about something.

I made my way downstairs to see what was going on, and though I don’t remember the details exactly, I remember seeing my brother sitting at the table with a blood-stained white towel wrapped around his hand, and my Mom was hustling around the kitchen and putting ice in a bag, yelling at Jim to keep his hand in the air.

She told me I needed to go across the street where my sister, Karen, was babysitting. She had to take Jim to the hospital and I was to stay with Karen until she came home. I had no idea what was happening, and the only words that came out of my 7-year old mouth were, “What about the Carnival?”

“Not tonight,” Mom told me. Jim just looked at me and said, “Sorry Lolly.” In the blink of an eye they were pulling out of the driveway, and I walked across the street with tears in my eyes. I'm embarrassed to say, I wasn’t crying for Jim. I was seven years old, and devastated.

A few hours later Mom called from the hospital to tell us that Jim was going to be ok. He had severed his finger in a freak accident while riding his bike. He had almost lost his finger completely, but fortunately they got there quickly and the doctors were able to restore it perfectly. Mom knew it was still going to be a few hours until they got home, so she told me where I could find my birthday present, and I opened it while I was on the phone with her. It was the “Busy Lizzy” doll that I had been wishing for, and I played with it until it was time for bed.

I don’t know if we ever made it to the Carnival that year, but I remember when we picked Jim up at the hospital a day or two later. He felt so bad for “spoiling my birthday” that he asked my parents to go to the store and get a present that he could give me when we came to get him. It was a diving mask with a snorkel and flippers – and he promised me that he’d teach me how to use the snorkel as soon as he could go in the water. What a good big brother he was (and still is). When I should have been doing stuff for him, there he was thinking of me.

The Lesson
It’s been 37 years since that freak accident, but as sure as the sun rises, Jim is the very first person I think of every year on my birthday. I guess it is just one of those “moments” that is permanently etched in my memory.

But remember how I said that I think we keep the memory in our subconscious until we’re ready to learn the lesson? Well today I think I was ready -- because for the first time since that accident I cried at the memory -- but this time I didn't crying about missed Carnivals. This time I cried for all the times when I've selfishly thought that I was the center of the universe. And for the times when I should have cared more, or done more, or given more to people who had less. And mostly I cried for the people who will never know what it’s like to love and be loved in a family like mine. I am truly blessed.

It may have taken me 37 years to figure it out, but Jim, thanks for giving me the best gift ever -- a gift that no amount of money could ever buy. Now whenever you’re ready to teach me how to snorkel, I'm game.

This has nothing to do with the story...but it's probably the funniest e-card I've ever gotten for my birthday.

A Different View

On most every day of the week, I wake in the morning, grab a cup of coffee, then move to my office which is situated at the front of my house. My office is arranged in a way that I have a lovely view out my front window, and I have to be honest, for someone who lives in a relatively unglamorous part of the world (northeast Pennsylvania), I think this view is pretty special.

On most every day, I look out my window and see a beautiful community park, with large fields for playing, an amazing variety of trees that celebrate the seasons (at the moment they are incredibly lush green), and birds galore. In the colder months when the trees are bare, beyond the park I see a beautiful stone farmhouse and a horse farm where the horses are often let out to run and feed. Beyond the farm is a gorgeous expanse of mountains -- then nothing but clear blue skies. It's truly one of the most beautiful views that I could imagine (short of a waterfront or mountaintop view) -- and every day I thank God that I get to enjoy it.

Today, however, when I look out my window I see something different. Today is May 23, 2009 -- the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend -- and I've been reflecting upon the significance of this holiday. I know my eyes are playing tricks on me, but today out of my window the large fields are lined with headstones, each decorated with an American flag. From the farmhouse, I can hear the cry of a mother who just learned she lost her child to the war; and high atop the mountain I can see a flag being lifted to celebrate our freedom -- a freedom that came at a price for countless soldiers and their families over hundreds of years.

This morning as I enjoy my coffee and my view, I am remembering those fallen soldiers and their families. Praying with a grateful heart for the heroes that have given us the greatest gift - freedom.

God Bless America

From Generation to Generation

When I was a little girl, there was always something magical about going to my Gramma’s house. My Gram was the kind of person whose warmth just radiated wherever she went. Just being around her made you feel good. Her home was warm and welcoming, her cooking and baking was phenomenal (and she always did it so effortlessly) and she just seemed to enjoy the little things in life – like tending to her garden and being a good friend to her neighbors.


I have countless memories of visiting and staying with my mother’s parents. Some are so vivid it is as if it happened yesterday. I remember being terrified to go down into her basement alone, but loving sliding down the “firemen’s pole” to get there when Gram was down there. I remember going up into her attic and admiring my mother’s wedding dress – and occasionally being allowed to try it on. I remember walking with her down the big hill on her street to go to the post office, and then to Garden State Farms to get the freshest, coldest milk I’d ever tasted.



I remember staying up on New Year’s Eve to watch the ball drop and listen to Guy Lombardo sing Auld Lang Syn. Just before midnight Gram would fill a plate with her amazing Christmas cookies and make huge ice cream floats with cream soda and vanilla ice cream, and at midnight we’d dance around the sun parlor and sing. I’d go to bed shortly after midnight and sleep until noon the next day, and when I’d wake up, Gram would let me have “coffee” (half coffee, half milk with about 3 spoonfuls of sugar) out of the demitasse cup of my choice. She’d make French toast covered with cinnamon and sugar and drenched with warm maple syrup. (Thinking back on that I have to laugh -- Gram was just pumping me up with sugar before returning me to my parents after they’d been out celebrating on New Year’s Eve. Maybe that was her way of making sure they didn’t celebrate too much! )


I could write a book about my Gram – but I think you get the point. In my eyes, she was just a phenomenal woman, who brought joy to every life she touched. When she died during my junior year of college, it was the first time I really felt the sorrow that comes from losing someone you love and truly adore.

Gram & me

I’ve spent the past 20+ years of my life trying to be someone my Gram would be proud of. I try (albeit I’m not always successful) to keep my attitude aligned with how I remember hers to be – ever-positive, ever-generous, ever-loving. I am so far from “there” – but I keep trying just the same. At times when I’m feeling confused about something, I look up to the heavens and I ask my Gram how she would handle it -- and do you know what? She usually finds a way to send me an answer. I guess she just can’t stop helping.

So, I’ve told you an awful lot about my very special grandmother, but that is hardly a story that warrants the title of From Generation to Generation. So what’s missing?



What’s missing, is a glimpse at two other phenomenal females in my life -- my mother and my daughter.

My Mom
I’ve already introduced you to my Mom in my Patchwork Pillows post a few weeks ago. The thing I really didn’t realize growing up, is that my Mom is an awful lot like my Gram. She spends every day of her life just giving. Giving. Giving. Giving. She gives hugs, praise, gifts, love, and she always – always – has time for her family and friends.

Growing up, she sacrificed so much for my siblings and me. She was always there – for every sporting event, every play, every recital – every day, she was there. She helped me with every assignment that I successfully put off until the eleventh hour, and unlike me with my own kids, she never complained and never lost her patience (at least not that I knew).

As a mother of three teenagers myself, I now see my Mom in a completely different light. The truth is, I could sit here all day and never find the right words to describe just how good a person my Mom is. She is gentle, kind, loving, optimistic, upbeat, generous, nurturing….the list could go on and on all day.

My Daughter
My daughter, Amy, a “next-generation” gentle soul, really summed it up the best. After celebrating Easter at my parents’ house a few weeks ago, we were in the car together and she turned to me and said, “Do you know what I realized last week on Easter? Mom-Mom is just the cutest little woman in the whole world. I was watching her on Easter, and while everyone was busy doing their thing – there was Mom-Mom, just puttering around, smiling, and making sure that everyone was happy and comfortable. I just love her.”

Amy's recognition and appreciation of my mother warmed my soul, and was very reminiscent of my feelings of admiration towards my Gram. It made me very proud to know that my sweet daughter was attuned to that kindness. What followed later that week, however, left me speechless.

Amy made another comment following a get-together with some friends. She said, “You know what I realized, Mom? Someday I’m going to be the cutest woman in the world.”

“Oh really?” I said, “How’s that?”

“Well, you know how they say that as we get older, we become a lot like our mothers? Well, I was watching you last night, and you reminded me of Mom-Mom – just staying positive and smiling, and making sure everyone was happy and comfortable. It’s happening to you, and it’s going to happen to me. Someday, because of Mom-Mom, I’ll be the cutest little woman in the world.”

Talk about a great gift from your daughter.


Who knows exactly how far back we can trace the line of kind-hearted, smiling women in our family? All I know is that whether I’m looking back and remembering my Gram, or trying to find the words to describe my mother – or even looking to the future and the amazing young woman my daughter has become, I can’t feel anything but honored and humbled to be a part of this family.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Dogs Just Get It

A lot has been written about dogs and how we could all stand to learn a lesson from them. I mean think about it -- dogs just get it. Like it or not, they don't can't hold back from showing their emotions. When they're happy, their bodies wag. When they're sorry, they put their tails between their legs and hide. When they're hungry, they eat...and eat...and eat. Dogs are quick to slobber their doggy kisses all over you. When they're excited they jump up (yeah, I should probably call in some help on that one), when they're scared they bark.

The point is, you always know with dogs --they're just really good at showing their emotions.

I have two dogs -- Bear and Champ -- they are brothers (litter mates believe it or not), supposedly Shepherd/Lab mixes but I would say that is questionable. What do you think?












We got these two as puppies a few years ago. I would not recommend getting 2 dogs at the same time if you're not a pro-dog trainer. Two dogs can definitely outsmart the average adult -- each one blaming the other for whatever bad behavior is going on. Anyhow, I gave up pretty early on "training" these dogs. Thankfully, they're good-natured, mild-mannered mutts, who like playing with each other and, believe it or not don't get into a huge amount of trouble.

Anyhow, the only thing that I insisted on training them was meal-time manners. Before they are fed: 1) they have to compose themselves (something that isn't always easy when they see that "yummy brown stuff" being scooped from the food bin); 2) they have to sit and stay while I put their bowls down; and 3) they have to shake my hand and give me a kiss on the cheek. Once they've done that, I say "you're welcome" and then give them the okay to eat. I know, it's silly -- but I like our little meal-time ritual if for no other reason than I hate to be barrelled over by pouncing dogs who want their food.

There's a point to me telling you all this -- just stick with me a minute longer.

So yesterday morning it was - I don't know - maybe day five or six of rain here in eastern PA. The dogs were hungry and yipping outside the kitchen window (did I tell you that both these dogs love to be outside in the rain?).

The morning feeding ritual started -- I grabbed their bowls and headed to the mudroom for food. They could see through the kitchen window that I was headed in the direction of food, so off they ran to the backdoor -- each one taking a turn at jumping up to peak in the window. I opened the back door and held their bowls of food above their heads -- this is their sign to settle down and sit.

Me: "Good morning friends. Are you ready for breakfast."

Them: drool, tails wagging against the macadam, bodies shaking with excitement

I put their bowls down quickly and turned to go back to the house to get out of the rain (seriously, I'm not an ogre - the dogs love the rain and would NOT come inside even for food). I closed the door behind me and looked out the window of the door. To my surprise, there they both sat, looking at me (still drooling), then looking back at the bowls with longing, hungry eyes, then back at me.

In my rush to get out of the rain, I had neglected our routine.

I opened the door and went back outside. Leaning over, Bear gave me his paw, and a kiss on the cheek, then watched and waited as Champ did the same.

Me: "You're welcome boys. Now go ahead, eat!"

And eat they did.

I went back inside and closed the door behind me, and as stupid as it sounds, my eyes welled up with tears. My dogs just reminded me of the importance of gratitude --and letting people know how much we love and appreciate them.

We should never be too busy, or too anything to not take the time to say thank you, or good job, or most importantly, I love you. Those are words that fuel the spirit, they keep us going through the day-to-day called life.

So to my family and friends who are reading this -- I love you, and I'm so grateful for your love and support.

For anyone else reading this --I'm truly humbled that you stopped by and read all the way to the end of this unusually long post (for me). I hope you'll come back again -- real soon.

And to my dogs...thanks for being such good teachers. You guys just get it.

The Philosophy of Nicholas & Sarah

Did you ever notice that there are some people who have these incredible memories? They remember names, faces, dates, and things like how much they paid for their first car. Those people amaze me, and in truth I'm kind of envious of them for having that treasure trove of memories in their brains.

Over the years I've learned to accept the fact that my memory is pretty bad -- with the exception of those things that I remember like they were yesterday. Like family vacations to Cape May every summer -- and the amazing smell when you walked off the boardwalk into Morrow's Nut House. Or the night I met my husband at The Cask in Boston. Or the time I tripped going up onto the stage to be the magician's assistance at the Knights of Columbus Family Party.

Incredibly vivid memories -- every one of them. But there is one memory I have that I truly believe was a defining moment in my life.

It was spring of my senior year of college, and I was struggling with the "big question" about what I was supposed to do with my life. One of my roommates (and best friend), Michelle and I, decided to go to my parents' house one Sunday afternoon -- probably to do laundry. It was one of the first nice days of spring, and we were sitting in the driveway at my parents' house talking about life and trying to find the answer to the "big question."

The little neighbor girl (whose name I don't remember, so we'll just call her Sarah) was out playing in her yard with her younger brother, Nicholas. Sarah may have been 4 or 5 years old -- and when she saw us in the driveway, she came skipping over to us all giggly and grinning. Nicholas toddled along behind with sticky fingers, a runny little nose (you know the kind that makes bubbles when you breathe) and an enormous one-year old grin. You could tell he just adored his sister as he teetered behind her trying to keep his balance.

"Hello! What's you're name?" Sarah asked when she got to our driveway. Nicholas just grinned and came over and climbed into my lap.

Michelle and I introduced ourselves, then proceeded to talk to Sarah about all the things that a 5-year old wants to talk about -- dolls, butterflies, clouds, pigtails, pierced ears and the like. Nicholas just kept grinning and occasionally would reach up and touch my nose with his filthy little fingers.

All of the sudden, Sarah just stopped talking, and she stood up and looked at her brother, then she looked at us and said, "Nicholas is a cutie pie, and I just wanna hug him." And she did, right there and then she hugged her brother, and the two of them giggled like crazy.

It wasn't a minute later that she said goodbye and took off back to her yard, and Nicholas tried to keep up behind her.

Michelle and I sat in the driveway laughing about how adorable the two of them were. They didn't have a care in the world, and the most important thing was just being together, making friends and being happy.

"You know, Lol*, " Michelle said to me, "That's what it's all about. Right there -- that's the secret to life -- just be happy."

We sat silently in the driveway for a few minutes and digested the words -- both of us realizing that plain and simple truth.

The ride back to Muhlenberg that night was an easy one. All the stress of trying to answer "the big question" was gone, and we just laughed each time one of us would mimic little Sarah's words, "Nicholas is a cutie pie, and I just wanna hug him."

I may still be trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up, but fortunately Nicholas and Sarah taught us the best philosophy of life -- just be happy.

*Note: Lol is a nickname I've had since I was a child. My nieces & nephews call me Lolly...and someday I hope my grandkids will call me Lolly and my husband Pop. The nickname came long before LOL meant Laugh Out Loud...but I'm pretty pleased with that acronym. :)