nostalgia

This week, I went to Charleston with my husband and youngest son.  Charleston is my father's birthplace, the place where my parents met and married, where we spent almost every New Year's Eve and every weekend from Easter to Labor Day throughout our childhoods, where my aunt and cousins still live.  Although I haven't been there as often in the last 30 years, I have been there many times.  And yet, for some reason, this week the nostalgia hit me like the wall of humidity that greets you when you walk from the air conditioned hotel lobby.

I was there for a conference, and so we were with my boss and his wife and my co-worker and her sister.  Maybe it was sharing memories with them. 

My mother's mother moved to Charleston from Massachusetts when she retired from teaching.  It wasn't until I spent summers with her that I really "did the tourist thing."  Gramma and I walked or rode buses and taxis all over the city.  She took us on the horse and carriage tour of South of Broad.  We'd go to the Market, or even just the Piggly Wiggly on King Street.  And where ever we went, she'd say, "This is Kathy Duffy.  Her uncle is Father Duffy.  Her grandfather was John Duffy the pharmacist.  Did you know him?"  And although it wasn't surprising that everyone knew Uncle Tommy, I was shocked by the number of people who remembered John Duffy the pharmacist.  It was almost enough to break through the soul-deep mortification I felt as a psychotically shy child with a talkative grandmother.  Almost.

On Tuesday afternoon, we drove to Folly Beach.  The road to James Island, where I enjoyed a true childhood with my friends Bernadette, Elizabeth, and Roland, was so different it didn't strike any chords.  Actually, I think it might be an entirely different bridge.  It certainly didn't awake my sleeping child-map that remembers the turns and the Spanish Moss and the Dairy Queen we stopped at once in a while for a rare treat. 

Although Folly Beach isn't a part of the child memories, the ocean and the waves that were.  The waves were breaking in just the right place for some serious wave-riding.  For the first time in 25 years, I didn't stand in the shallows with small children or watching anxiously for potential threats against my fearless sons as they dove into the waves.  Mark and I rode the waves ourselves.  I heard my mother's voice as I said, "Hold up, that one isn't going to break for us."  I saw my awe for my mother reflected in Mark's eyes as he saw I could really tell when the wave would break and when it was faking.  Of course, he didn't say anything.  He was having too much fun, and maybe he didn't realize what an art it is.  I got tossed into the sand with the whole ocean as a Netti pot, and I haven't had such a good time in... 30 years?

Wednesday we went to Sullivan's Island to visit Fort Moultrie, and that is another story...

Bertie's everyflavored Blog-farts

I have been gone a week and I am totally out of touch. After I check-off some items on my chore list, I'll try to catch up with all of my blogging buddies. I have really missed them this week.

I went to the National Alliance for Public Charter Schools Conference in Washington DC. It was spectacular, especially for a bumpkin like me. I am amazed at the brilliant ideas for choices in education that have been established throughout the nation. I'm thinking about what might work in Columbia, and what niches might be met. For instance, there are elementary schools (in SC too, I think) where everything is taught in French. I don't speak French, unfortunately, but I'd like my children to be able to speak as many other languages as they can master or even pick up. That's just one program, and the rest of the curriculum is excellent, of course. Anyway, I'll muse on that stuff more at my other blog The Matriarch's Corner, where I pretend to know something about stuff and try to use complete sentences. Not really.

We stayed at the Renaissance on 9th Street. It was a lovely hotel and the concierge was helpful and the mattress was really comfortable and the shampoo smelled really nice. And it was right next to the convention center. But, being a country bumpkin, I can't understand why, if we pay $300 a night convention rate hotel fees, we have to pay $12.95 a day for Internet service. And $2.50 for a soft drink. And $25 a day to park. OK, I admit it... I'm a provincial mouse. I have stayed at Best Westerns (and other hotels) with free Internet, comfortable bed and shampoo that didn't make my hair fall out. They didn't have a concierge, but when we asked the desk clerk where to eat, she said there was a really good Greek restaurant about a half mile away. It wasn't in the middle of DC, of course. And I know $300 a night is chump change for a nice hotel in a big city. And the mattress was comfortable. But, good grief, how do rich people stay rich when they waste so much on conspicuous consumption? I really am a hick, ain't I?

I love DC. Even though the streets are jammed with cars and buses full tourists and government workers and lobbyists and diplomats and everything else, the city's layout is logical. I love the fact that the streets are named after famous letters and numbers. I know the order, once I get the NW/NE stuff straight. The metro and bus system is just as clear, even for tourists. I love color-coded metros.

And DC has so much STUFF. My sister Ellen & I only toured one day, but it was great. We had hop-on/hop-off bus passes on the open-topped bus. I recommend that as a way to go. We saw more of the city than we would have if we'd tried to drive. We got to pick our stops and concentrate on the sites, not the parking. The pass was good for two days, so Dad, Bob, Ellen's husband Paul, Joseph, Mark, & Roslyn toured on Monday as well.

I saw the Vietnam Memorial for the first time. There were flowers for father's day, I think. Mark kept asking if I was OK, but I couldn't really explain.

At the Korean Conflict Memorial, there were Korean marines --- veterans and younger men. It was very moving.

On Wednesday, we went to the Capitol to tell our Senators and Congressmen we support Quality Public Charter Schools. That was cool, even though we met with staffers, mostly. The staffers were very knowledgeable and interested. We were supposed to meet with Congressman James Clyburn in person, and most of our group probably did. His office is in the Capitol building, so the security is tighter. I'm sure it's our fault for not realizing this, but we had a rather unpleasant encounter with a pompous security guard. We also had a wonderful encounter with a woman at the Sgt at Arm's desk who went out of her way to help us.

A staffer from Congressman Brown's office took us to where we go through security to get into the Capitol. The other office buildings had security, but other than having to take off my stylish belt, it wasn't a problem. At the Capitol, we got in the wrong line and someone said we could go the other way. Following directions, we walked in that direction. There was a metal detector there, so it's not like we were jumping the security. But Officer Odie started yelling, "LOOK OUT YOU HAVE SOME RUNNER'S!" We didn't pay attention because we didn't know WTF he was talking about. When he grabbed us, we explained what we were doing. God, what an ass. So we headed over to the Sgt at Arms desk, where two women checked our IDs and gave us passes. Ellen wasn't with us, so I asked the lady what Ellen should do to get in. She said she'd get her, asked me what she was wearing and run upstairs to find her. It took two tries, but she got her and got us through. BUT THEN, we went back to the metal detector where Officer Odie starts yelling, "LADIES!" like we are supposed to know the dumb f he is talking to us. Then he tells us our bags are too big and we have to do something but I'm not sure what. One alternative was to put them in our congressman's office, but our congressman's office was in the capitol building. So I said, "Fine." And we left. I understand the need for security, & I don't expect security people to be overly friendly, just professional. I don't see the need for pompous rudeness. And the fact that the lady (I think her name was Bobbie) was soooo helpful stands in stark contrast. We were really looking forward to talking to Congressman Clyburn, too. Oh well. Maybe we can invite him to the school.

On the way up to Washington, we visited my cousin Karla and her family in Leesburg VA. They were so welcoming! (Chris --- thanks for letting us use your bed and sorry for ruining your Wii golf score.) Along with great talk, great food, and great coffee, Karla took us to the Mannasses battle site even though she's probably been there a million times.

On the way back, we saw my aunt & uncle, Ellie & Cec in Shadyside Md. Cousin Jay and his cool family came to visit, but we had sort of dropped in (not literally, but only a couple days warning) and they had other plans. It was good to see them all.

Between Karla & Frank's house and Ellie & Cec's house, I am inspired to get rid of a lot of my junk and only keep stuff we love. Frank is a Navy officer, so they have traveled a good bit. I think it's the moving that honed Karla's simple but elegant & comfortable decorating style. Ellie & Cec have lived in the same house for 40 years maybe, and you can see layers of collected things reused in a new way. But no clutter. We'll see, but wanting is the first step to realizing, right?

The weather was perfect the whole time. It was in the 80s with a breeze. With the right shoes, I could have walked all day.

It's great to be home. Time to start deciding what I really love... other than the husband, the children and the babies, of course.

home is...

The question was asked (by Annie at writers and witches, and words...oh my! who asks the best questions) what six words would you like to have describe your house. I have been thinking about this and asking my children and husband what they think.

Since they are men, they have trouble with the exercise. I say, if the house were the way you want it to be, what words would describe it?

They say, clean, which is cool. I say, let's go beyond that. Let's accept clean (first word: "Clean"), then talk about what other words would describe it.

They look at me, puzzle their faces, think hard and say, "If we all pitch in, we can keep it clean."

I say, I know. Clean. I have clean. Now close your eyes... no, don't roll them, close them. OK, keep your eyes open. The house is clean...

"It's not."

I know it isn't. We're working on that. Now move beyond clean...

"It doesn't have to be beyond clean," they say. "Not like we're going to eat off the floor."

My turn to roll my eyes. Close my eyes. Sigh.

OK, so some houses are formal.

"I don't think you can have a formal house. Not with Gabe and the baby to be named later."

I know, I'm just trying to make a point.

"Me too. If it's formal, the babies will tear it up."

I rub my head.

What about color? If you could paint your room any color you want, (but you can't paint it black), what would it be?

"I can paint it black," says Joseph.

You MAY NOT paint it black. (Pause while they sing "Paint it Black")

Bob adds: "Don't paint it any weird colors." Since I'm not ready to talk color, really, I let it pass.

OK, so what do you want?

"Clean and not formal."

"You can't have formal with kids."

How about if I have a house without kids? Or husbands? Or grown children?

"That wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

So, bottom line: we're working on it. Clean, informal. And don't even consider quiet.

Now appearing in the role of Ophelia...

When I was a child, we went to visit my mother's sister and her family in Maryland every Christmas and every summer. I always loved the visits, except for one thing. My mother would change from the competent, active, intelligent woman I knew into an insecure younger sister. For at least part of the time, my mother would turn into a ten year old, her sister would turn 15 and her brother would turn 5. It wasn't pretty.

It isn't pretty when it happens to me either. Even though I spend more time with my father and siblings than Mom did with her family, I still have a role and I don't play it so well. Instead of being an intelligent woman, a good mother, a competent & knowledgeable accountant, a problem-solver, I become the bright but flaky and slightly unstable sister. Even though I haven't thrown an object at anyone in over 20 years, I am the fish-wife, the temper-tantrum thrower.

My brother and sister don't pin me to these roles as much as my parents did, and my father continues to do. Sometimes, I sense that they are disappointed in me and my choices, but it isn't crippling. However, I have realized that it is a waste of time for me to talk to my father about anything that is important to me. When I talk about the charter school which I helped start and for which I serve as board chair, he says, "why do you waste your time on that?" Recently he asked me about the tax consequences of selling his house and when I tried to explain, he picked up a magazine and sighed, "Never mind, I'll ask Pete (the non-relative he pays to prepare his taxes.)" I spend a good part of my days making tax consequences understandable to people who don't do math. I am known as someone who can explain accounting principles in English. But not to my father, who only hears an 8 year old who wants to watch the Monkees when everyone else wants to watch something else.

I would like to say that it doesn't matter, but it continues to haunt me. When I need to ask for something or stand up for a point of view, I hear a voice telling me that I am a fish-wife and I am never satisfied. When I succeed, the voice points out how lucky I am and that luck can change. My inner sound track is "don't get too full of yourself." It plays in chorus with "pretty is as pretty does."

I can work on changing the song, but I'm not going to change my father's picture of me. Since there are more good things about visiting than bad things, I'll continue to visit. But I will check myself at the door, and not make the mistake of sharing hopes or fears only to have them used as further examples of my foolish inability to deal with the world. But I really really need a new theme song.

Thanksgiving part deux

Yesterday, we had a wonderful time with my in-laws. Bob's cousin, who we are just getting to know, came with his wife and two little children. My sister-in-law's first ex-husband was there along with his sister. Everyone was charming and fun.

Bob's family is very musical. His cousin played his CD. I am always amazed that people I actually know can sound like that --- like REAL musicians. Cousin Warren and Bob played the piano & every child who wasn't too shy showed off their musical skills. Later, Bob brought out his guitar and took requests while most of the family played pool. It was a great day.


The menu, for the record: Turkey, gravy, rice, sweet potato casserole (with marshmallows), green bean casserole, cabbage with apples, collards, creamed spinach, three kinds of cranberry relish (including one Mark made), heavenly hash (more marshmallows), apple, pumpkin, pecan pie, peach cobbler, & pumpkin cheesecake. I know I've forgotten something...

I think that I was wrong about the family gathering thing. Well, not wrong for my family. They don't want to entertain on Thanksgiving or Christmas or whatever. They want to be. And that's OK.

But the new people at Bob's family's house made everything seem fresh and new. Having new people around allowed me a new look at the family, and I liked what I saw.

Today, I'll go to a quiet gathering of my side of the family, and it will be nice. We aren't all alike; I'm not even the same person every day. And that's OK.

Families

Annie commented that it was sad my big happy family couldn't be together because of their different beliefs. I think I need to clarify what I said, and sort of defend the families. Well, not defend them.. they are what they are.

Which is what I think about families in general. I heard an interview on NPR yesterday. A sociologist was talking about Thanksgiving and holidays and how to deal with your family. She was very witty and, I thought, wise. One thing she said that struck me was that you don't have do this stuff if you don't want to. We all work very hard and we should choose where and with whom to spend our down time.

As an extension of that, I think we need to recognize that just because we want to be with different people doesn't mean they want to be together. I think it would be selfish of me to force the various facets of my family together just because I don't want to eat three turkey dinners. After all, these people have nothing in common except Bob and me and our children. Why should any of them endure a holiday with virtual strangers? After all, they all work very hard, too, and deserve a relaxed holiday.

Having said that, let me emphasize that none of these people are rude to each other. They all have lovely conversations, they laugh, they commiserate, they applaud. Many of them like each other outside of any relationship they may have with Bob, me and the kids. They may like each other more than they like us. If we did get together, it would be a pleasant event.

It just wouldn't be a take your shoes off, loosen your belt and tell stories about the time Great Grandma Mary put the turkey in the oven for four hours, but forgot to turn it on. No, I take that last part back. That story is always told.

Anyway, we will have two or three turkey dinners and spend long periods of time in the drowsy comfort of various family --- no company, no cares, no drama. And I think that will be a good thing.

Over the river

Yesterday I planned to shop for Thanksgiving and cook one of the pumpkin cheesecakes (the one for the family feast at his school) and make the dough for cheese pennies. I managed to buy the food, but that's it on that front. I did get the landscaping timbers and soil for my little garden by the shed. Sometime this week, the boys (who are men) will build my little raised garden.

Today, I go to work and try to do everything that needs to be done this week in one day. I also need to go by the school to sort and deliver the fundraising booklets. We're hoping the kids will hit up their families at Thanksgiving. Isn't that what families are for? I plan to do my Christmas shopping through the school's various fundraisers. (When is the Scholastic Book Fair? I need to buy books!)

This evening, I make pumpkin cheesecake with ginger snap crust and ginger whipped cream topping. And maybe cheese pennies. If I'm going to be a mess anyway, might as well go all the way.

It has occurred to me that the traditional fight I used to have with my mother at this time of year may have been more about me than her. Or a certain combination of her personality and mine. I sort of miss that fight, although I'm trying to avoid going ballistic on anyone else. And I'm still thinking Christmas in the Islands sounds really really good.

Thanksgiving: the angst

This is the time of year when I begin my annual nervous breakdown. Well, actually, last week was... which is part of the reason I haven't posted. That and a perforated eardrum, but that's a different story.

At Thanksgiving, families gather as one big happy group, give thanks for their blessings and eat lots of food. It helps if you family is one big happy group. It helps if they can be together without sneers, judgements and reminders of things we agreed to forget.

My family is really three families. My father and siblings, my husband's parents and siblings, and us and our children. This year, with the advent of the angel Gabriel, there is another family or two... my son and his family of three, and Katy's family.

Robert and Katy decided to invite all of these people to a Thanksgiving dinner at their house. I can understand their motivation. There is nothing that says "we are a family" more than inviting others to eat with you at your house. And it appears that Robert has inherited my all-or-nothing style of entertaining. Once a year, invite everyone you know to your house and feed them.

Unfortunately, the forces of Thanksgiving did not work in their favor. Their 1200 square foot house would strain with the 25 to 30 people who might show up. Although they wouldn't have to provide the food for everyone, it would be a small space filled with people who are related only because Bob and I love each other and because Katy and Robert love each other. Other than us, they are as diverse and divided as the US Senate. Our families range from my Dad who is a raging liberal atheist who has gotten more so in his old age to Bob's brother and sister-in-law who firmly believe in a literal Bible and other things I don't understand and don't want to. I'm not going to go into all of the stuff in between out of an out-of-character respect for privacy. Let's just say that if Pat Robertson, Hillary Clinton, Sylvia Plath, Yasir Arafat, Martha Stewart, Indira Ghandi, Mao tse Tung, Ayn Rand, and Ann Coulter sat down together, they would have more to say to each other than my family members. My family is all wonderful, but in really different ways. And while everyone would be civil and kind, no one would have fun.

So we will go to Bob's parents on Thursday and my brother's on Friday. I have promised Katy and Robert I will help with a non-Thanksgiving dinner for her sisters and their families and her cousin and her boyfriend.

And I am not complaining.

• I am grateful that we have this much family in one town.
• I am grateful that my parents and Bob's parents married each other and stayed married, and that Bob and I are still married after 22 years, so we don't have to add the stress and strain of step-families to our bizarre mix.
• I am grateful that I am blessed with a group of people who love us all, even if they are bewildered by our behavior, beliefs, and interests. And vice versa.

Time to go to the store... three pumpkin cheesecakes coming up...

The Best Laid Plans

Let me talk about plans. I had lots of plans for last week. Nothing really big, mostly getting through the little things that back up. And then, my grandson and both his parents ended up in the hospital with viral meningitis.

Viral meningitis is not as bad as bacterial, in that it won't kill you, probably. It causes a fever and a headache so bad you think you are dead and in hell already. Because it takes 48 hours to be sure it's not bacterial meningitis, which will kill you, the doctors gave them antibiotics. One doctor said, in front of my 9 year old who was also getting checked, that it probably wasn't bacterial or they'd all be dead. Somehow, this wasn't as calming to Mark as the doctor seemed to think it would be. Go figure.

With his parents in other parts of the hospital (36 hours in the emergency room for Dad & about 24 hours in the emergency room and another 24 in a private room for Mom), GrandBob and I had to stay with Gabe in his room. We were glad to take care of him, of course. Our bosses and co-workers were understanding and supportive. We revisited our belief that cable tv is over-rated, although we did enjoy a couple of Hitchcock movies.

Everyone is ok now. Gabe is all better. Mom Katy is feeling somewhat better. Dad Robert went through a worse time after he got out of the hospital, but had some serious medication and survived.

Uncle Joe, my other son, is sick at home now. He had been checked out and diagnosed with "flu-like symptoms." I think maybe it was early in the meningitis, or maybe not. He's taking extra strength ibuprofen and lots of fluids. I'm not taking him back to the emergency room. Did I mention it cost $125 with insurance for the doctor to scare Mark and say he wasn't sick? Did I mention Robert doesn't have insurance or medicaid or anything? Joseph is still covered, and if I thought they could do anything I'd take him in. Right now, I'm pretty sure it's viral something. If it weren't he'd be dead. That's what the doctor said, and we always trust the doctors, right?

What's love got to do with it?

Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8

A truism.

How many times have I heard this in a wedding ceremony? How many times have I said Paul is really not my favorite apostle. And yet, these are true important words representing true important ideas, not just for romantic couples but for friends and families as well.

I have been thinking about the nature of love. Love. Not obsession. Not approval. Not affection. True, unconditional love.

I love my children, my husband, my extended family, and my friends in a way that will never end, no matter what they do. (Don't take that as a challenge, please. I'm being a little rhetorical here.) I may not be happy with some choices, but I love the people. I respect them and their right to make their choices even if they are different than mine. I probably wouldn't like them so much if they didn't make their own choices. But I would still love them.

Another truism?

I thought so. But recently I have been shocked to find that some people don't love that way. When someone does something they don't like, they withdraw love. I shake my head and furrow my brow. How can they do that? Was it really love? Don't you have to love your children, your siblings?

I'm not talking about tough love. Your child is on crack and refuses to seek help and you stop giving him cash and letting him steal your silver to sell for more crack. That is great. I'm all for that, but even then you still love your child and you do something excruciatingly hard on yourself --- allow him to suffer, even go to jail --- because you love him too much to help him kill himself.

I'm talking about your child doing something different from what you hoped he would do --- going to art school or not getting married --- and you saying, you won't do what I say so I don't love you any more. I wash my hands of you. Who does that?

Yesterday, my husband received an e-mail from his sister stating that she couldn't say anything nice about his family and would withdraw from contact. She said she hadn't commented before (untrue) because she knew we wouldn't listen (true).

And she is right, of course. Her advice was neither solicited nor welcome. One of the things of which she disapproves is a beautiful boy named Gabe who was born less than two weeks ago, "out of wedlock" as they used to say. How could we possibly entertain that notion? What would we do to try to please her?

Gabe is the latest in a long line of sins my sons and I have committed against her supposedly libertarian sensibilities. I knew she didn't approve of us, but I didn't realize it was such a strain for her to keep her opinions to herself. I rarely tell people what I think of them, even if they ask. I don't find it to be a strain at all.

I think I have said too much. I feel a dam bulging with all of the irritations and petty grievences (she gave my son his first haircut without asking because she thought it was too long and didn't even save me a curl), and I don't think I should let it out. I am civilized, remember.

And when she says "I don't have any influence on your children at all," I smile in the same vague way I do when someone offers to sell me insurance. "No, should you?"