Category Archives: Friends and Family

Photo credit: Google

I discovered this weekend that I am not as tough as I thought I was.

My kids left Friday morning for Canada with the high school band.

I envisioned myself meeting this day with deep serenity and a  calm spirit.

Instead, I was up early, making sure they had packed properly, had all their electronic and charging devices, passports, snacks, Canadian money, etc.

My husband told them something, then I would repeat it until he (gently) said, “Susan. Stop. It’s okay.”

Oh.

So I sat down, rather than following them around and watched the scene unfold around me as Josh and Julia got ready to leave in a last minute flurry of activity.

There were hugs and a round of “I love you’s”…and then they were gone.

And a part of my heart went with them.

I headed upstairs to have some quiet time, opened a book, and found this photo of a three year old Julia.

That’s when the tears began.

“For crying out loud,” I told myself. “Get a grip! They are only gone for a weekend!”

True. They were only a four hour car ride away in Montreal.

But they would be in another country. And since I don’t have a passport yet, I could not get to them easily if I needed to. That was what felt strange to me.

My kids were traveling to another country where they would have all kinds of fun and exciting experiences…without me.

That is the way it should be. As parents, we work ourselves out of a job. That is good and that is right.

Yet this trip was a reminder of just how fast our years of parenting had gone and that our kids were on the threshold of venturing out on their own to make their mark in this world and live their own stories.

Parenting is without a doubt the hardest job I have ever (and will ever) have. Nothing has made me feel so inadequate, exhausted, and imperfect. Or so exhilarated, joyful, and blessed.

Our son Josh is the strongest-willed child I know. He was  a generally sunny kid but when he wanted his own way, watch out! He intended to get it.

My mother was an absolute God-send to me here. She would counsel me, “Stand firm! You have to establish clear boundaries, that you are in control and he is not. If you don’t do the hard work now, it will be too late when he is fifteen and taller than you. Keep it up!”

So many times, it would have been much easier for us to just give in to our little red-headed tyrant but my mom’s encouragement (and lots of prayer!) gave us the backbone to do our jobs.

As a result, Josh is an absolute joy to us as a seventeen year old young man. God has taken that strong will and channeled it into someone who is extremely motivated, goal-oriented, and principled. He has many friends from all backgrounds, and his sense of humor, as well as dead-on impressions, keeps us all laughing.

Our daughter Julia was a bundle of curly, red-headed sunshine. Her blue eyes sparkled with life and joy and the sound of her giggles filled the house at all hours. She was passionate about  any and all animals, loved vanilla ice cream, and called me “Mama.”

Today, she is both an athlete and a girly-girl, our social butterfly, a musician, and is unafraid to zealously defend her views on a variety of topics. Despite having been a teenage girl myself, I really wasn’t prepared when my sunny girl began to display moodiness, sometimes act as if I were personally trying to ruin her life, and engage in copious amounts of eye-rolling.

It is a bumpy road ahead but I do enjoy the times when I get a glimpse of that sweet little girl again. I love that she still calls me “Mommy” even though she is fifteen and a half.

The late Rich Mullins once wrote a song entitled “We Are Not As Strong As We Think We Are.” I thought of that song as I wiped away my tears and got on with my day.

I was so grateful that even when my kids cross the border into another country and I cannot go with them, that Jesus— who knows no barriers— does.  That knowledge brought such sweet peace to my heart.

This summer, both of our kids will be gone for weeks at a time. I figure this weekend was a trial run for that. I am happy to say that I passed with flying colors. 🙂

Several people asked how Doug and I did with the empty nest this past weekend. To be continued tomorrow!

What about you? Are you an empty nester? How did you deal with it? Any advice is appreciated!

Seventeen years ago today, I become a mother for the first time when our son Joshua entered this world.

Josh and I are very much alike.

One of the things we both share is a love of writing.

His goal is to be a writer. Earlier this year, he finished his first novel.

He is currently taking an Independent Study course with his favorite English teacher where she is serving as editor. Once he completes the re-write, he plans to attempt to get it published.

Last month, we were all in my husband’s Massachusetts hometown and we came across a storefront that was full of typewriters.  Josh’s eyes lit up and  there was no doubt we were going inside.

The shop was run by an older African American couple. The man took one look at Josh and said, “You’re a writer, aren’t you?” When Josh nodded, he emitted a rich, full-throttled laugh and he said, “I knew it!”

As Josh perused the various typewriters and finally found the one he liked the best, the owner began to tell Josh that a typewriter was a writer’s instrument. This really resonated with Josh, as he is also a musician who plays multiple instruments.

Once Josh purchased his manual typewriter, he was smiling from ear to ear. He has used it every day since we returned home.

Last week, he penned this poem on his blog and I would like to share it with all of you to celebrate his birthday today.

I hope you like it as much as I did. I happen to think this poem…and its’ author…is fabulous. 🙂 Enjoy!

“THE SYMPHONY OF LANGUAGE:

I am a musician without common sense.
My notes make no sound, though their beauty immense.
No “TWANG” of a string, for little old me,
My keys made of plastic, not precious iv’ry.
When I press them down, not a single note played,
Save the staccato “SNAP” of a letter displayed.

My G’s, A’s and C’s find themselves in no song,
But when strung together, their impact is strong.
They tell of great places, both far and quite near,
In ways that, when spoken, are sweet to the ear.

My instrument not plastic, nor wooden with strings,
But of metal and paper, two fine blessed things.
In a band or an orchestra, not a single one played,
But through its humble use, a whole universe made.
A world full of people and great beasts with wings,
A place which abounds with wonderous things.

A musician I am, creating a song,
With my trusty typewriter I’ve used all along.
Its timbre not sweet, but its message is true-
“A writer I am, and you may be too.”

Write the music of life, the dischord of strife,
Write mountains and mole-hills, the good and the bad.

Write your music, sing loudly and true;
Don’t widdle or whine, don’t think- just do;

Come, tell your story; it’s waiting for you.”

Thanks for reading,

Josh

“Can anybody spare some money to buy me some food?”

I heard her voice as we rushed along the streets of the Upper West Side on our way to dinner but I didn’t see her face. It was dark and there were so many people.

However, our son zeroed in on her like a laser beam and he stopped walking immediately. “We need to buy that woman a meal.”

She was an older black woman with her arm in a sling. Her face was deeply lined and worn but her eyes were hopeful.

A quick look up and down the street revealed a Blimpie’s on the next corner. We hurried inside. My husband ordered their largest sub, our son grabbed a water bottle and we headed back in her direction.

She had moved inside a Dunkin Donuts shop. Her arms rested on the counter that looked out onto the bustling street where people from all walks of life were in the midst of their own pursuits, completely oblivious to her need.

Josh walked purposefully inside, gave the woman a big smile, handed her the food and said, “God bless you.”

Enormous surprise registered on her face. Her eyes widened as she accepted his gift. Those same eyes then filled with tears and a smile spread across her face, softening all the harsh lines.

“God bless YOU!” she whispered as she reached up to give him a hug. She patted his face before he turned to go and stared after him as we resumed our walk to dinner.

“You know what I’m going to do?”

We all looked at Josh expectantly.

“If I decide to come here for college, I am going to pick a day, make a bunch of sandwiches, add a water bottle, pack them up, and just hand them out to whoever looks hungry.”

A lump formed in my throat, threatening to spill over into tears.

I was already highly emotional, as we were in New York City to tour colleges for Josh, who will be a senior in high school in the fall. It just seemed inconceivable to me that we were already at this point. Hadn’t we just brought him home from the hospital yesterday…a 10 pound bundle of red-headed joy?

And now he is a young man on the cusp of a promising future, ready to take on the world.

I am very proud of his many accomplishments but nothing makes me prouder than his tender heart for the underdog.

By the end of our time in the city, it was clear that NYU was his first choice for college.

If those doors do open for him, I will take joy in knowing that the streets of New York City will be just a  tad kinder because our son will make his mark, one hungry person at a time.

My cousin’s name lit up on the caller I.D. this morning but I didn’t answer.

It wasn’t because I didn’t want to talk to Missy, but I didn’t want to hear her message.

However, one can’t delay the inevitable, so I picked up the phone to listen to her voice mail.

Her voice was thick with tears as she said the words we all knew were coming but still didn’t want to admit were really true: “The doctors say his heart is weak. They are giving him about another month.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The message ended.

I looked outside where the sun was shining brightly on the snow-capped mountains. I was alone in the house except for our dog Buddy, who slumbered blissfully beside me.

I had been watching my former pastor online since I wasn’t able to go to church this morning and the service was ending just as I hung up the phone.

“Go in peace,” he said by way of a benediction.

Those words settled onto my sad heart like a welcome blanket.

My Uncle Duane has been in the hospital with pneumonia for the past week. Tests have revealed that his 86 year old heart is weakening. He will be moved to a nursing home later this week.

We are never ready to say goodbye to a loved one, are we?

Uncle Duane is my dad’s older brother. He enlisted in the Army when he was a teenager and experienced battle on the front lines during WWII. He worked as an accountant for the US Steel company until he retired. Through the years, he has been the most involved and enthusiastic of uncles, taking a keen interest in the lives of his nieces and nephews. We have all been the recipients of mailed newspaper clippings that highlight our various pursuits, family photos, as well as carefully selected birthday cards that were meticulously signed the exact same way all these years:

With love,
Your uncle,
Duane

And no phone conversation was complete without a full weather report…for both our area and his. 🙂

As I walked through the house, my eyes landed on a photo of the family taken in 2008. Uncle Duane is seated on the couch holding his camera. Almost involuntarily, a huge smile broke across my face.

The running joke in the family is Uncle Duane’s inability to operate a camera.

Every single time the entire family gathered together, he would ask us to pose for a group photo. Ten minutes later, we would still be in the same position, smiles glued to our faces as we tried to contain our laughter while Uncle Duane fiddled with his expensive camera, saying things like, “I just don’t understand what’s wrong with this thing!”

One year my dad was given a  camera for opening a checking account at the local bank.

He took great delight in good-naturedly drawing my uncle’s attention to the fact that his cheap point-and-shoot provided better pictures than the expensive Canon or Nikon his brother had purchased.

It was all in good fun.

As happy memories from years gone by flooded my mind, I had a good cry.

When my family came home from church, I broke the news to them.

We all decided that in a few days, we will head back to my hometown to see my sweet uncle.

His birthday is coming up, so we are going to get a cake from his favorite bakery and sing  to him. I will take lots of photos. We will listen to his stories, share the latest happenings in our lives, and we will laugh.

None of us will say it, but we will all know that we are saying goodbye.

For now.

On a day known only to his Creator, my uncle will leave this earth to finally see the face of his Savior.

He will also be reunited with his baby brother—my dad—who he adored.

I am so grateful for that certainty.

When I called Uncle Duane this afternoon to let him know that we were going to pay him a visit, he protested, saying he was not worth us making a 13 hour drive.

But the protest was a half-hearted one and he could not hide his delight at the thought of seeing us again.

And before we disconnected, he gave me a full weather report. 🙂

I love that dear man.

photo credit: longjumpingfrog

“What would you say if I told you I want to go out for Nordic skiing?” My 15 year old daughter asked me recently.

I was a bit surprised, as Julia has never done Nordic skiing before (although she has done downhill),  but I smiled at her enthusiasm and told her that I would fully support her new endeavor.

I knew it would be a tough road for her. The Nordic workouts are notoriously difficult, but the rewards are numerous: increased stamina, the camaraderie of the team, the ability to push past previously defined limits.

When I arrived to pick her up from her first practice, it was cold. The sky was a gun-metal gray, with just the faintest sliver of purple, as the wintry daylight yielded to the encroaching  darkness. The kids were running not only around the track, but up and down the steep hill that separates the football field from the soccer field. Their coach, a joyful warrior and avid Nordic skiier, cheerfully shouted encouragement.

I watched as the kids came up the hill after receiving a hearty “Well done!” once practice was over, thinking that if it were me, I would be crawling. However, all I saw were smiles and excited chatter. Amazingly, they all had energy to spare. Ah, youth.

When Julia got into the car, she was still pulsating with energy and joy. “I forgot how good it feels to really get a good workout!” she said.

Since then, I have watched her learn to use roller skis, run to the summit of a mountain and back down, lift weights, do strengthening exercises, and push herself further than she ever thought she could.

I’ve learned that the kids who go out for Nordic really want it. There is not a lot of glory in this sport. No pep rallies are held in anticipation of a meet. Training conditions are rough: running long distances after school in the cold and unforgiving harshness of a New England winter.

But along the way, these kids learn the importance of giving your individual best while fully supporting your teammates in their own quest. They learn that with practice, they get better each day and increase their ability to endure. They learn that they are made of tough stuff. No wimps here, that’s for sure. They learn to revel in the magnificence of what the human body can do and appreciate the simple joys of being able to walk, run, and jump.

I am so proud of my girl for having the courage to try something new. To challenge herself. To dare to risk her previously conceived notions of what she could do. To maintain that balance between fully being a girly-girl and an amazing athlete. To be willing to get out of her comfort zone and learn new skills in the presence of other students who have been doing this for years.

“Move out of your comfort zone. You can only grow if you are willing to feel awkward and uncomfortable when you try something new.”—Brian Tracy

At one point during one of her practices, I saw Julia break away from her friends, pass by several kids, and push hard to the finish line. On the way home, I asked her what had happened there.

She said, “I was trying to stay with my friends but then I said, to myself, ‘Why am I doing that?’ I can hang out with them after practice. During practice, I have to be the best I can be and I’m not gonna hold myself back anymore.” She flashed a huge grin. “So I left them in the dust!”

I hope you will allow this post to consider where in your life you would like to decisively leave your comfort zone.

Don’t be afraid to make the leap and break away from the pack.

Will it be hard and uncomfortable at times? Of course. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.

This life is short. The time is now.

As Nike would say, “Just do it.”

Adventure awaits!

“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”—Anonymous

As my family and I walked into the Texas Roadhouse  on Sunday night, Keith Urban’s song “Days Go By” was blaring from the restaurant’s speakers.

We think about tomorrow then it slips away
We talk about forever but we’ve only got today

And the days go by
I can feel ’em flying
Like a hand out the window
As the cars go by

It’s all we’ve been given
So you better start livin’
Better start livin’ right now

Cause days go by…

This was going to be our last night in Pittsburgh for quite awhile.

The movers would arrive in the morning to take my mom’s belongings to New Hampshire, where she is moving to be with all of us.

It was kind of a surreal night.

At one point, I made one of the “blonde” observations that I am famous for within my family and I  laughed until I cried. I finally had to excuse myself and go in search of Kleenex.  It was then that I realized that my tears were no longer from laughter but they had morphed into the bittersweet tears of an unexpected sense of loss.

My husband and I have moved eleven times in our twenty years of marriage, due to the nature of his work. We left my hometown in PA one year after we were married. No matter where I lived, I always knew that I had a place to return to in the hills of western Pennsylvania.

Now I don’t.

Yes, I still have plenty of family and friends in my hometown and would never lack a place to stay, for which I am very grateful.

However, there no longer exists a specific place in PA  where I can return and be welcomed by my parents. My dad has been gone for 10 years and my mom is now living in New England.

And I am thrilled about that! I love that she is going to be part of our daily lives and will get to spend so much time with my kids, whose departure to college is fast approaching.

Yet it is another sign of change. 

Change is hard.

That night in the restroom at Texas Roadhouse, my tears were a mixture of happy and sad.

Just two nights earlier, a bunch of family and friends had gathered to give my mom a farewell party. It was wonderful! There was a lot of laughter and memories shared. Best of all, there were four generations of cousins from my mom’s side of the family in that room! Each group took a turn posing in front of the fireplace. Every generation was fully intact, except for my generation. My cousin David was glaringly absent, having lost his life almost a year ago. (I wrote about that here.). That is still so hard for me to believe. Part of me kept looking at the door, expecting him to walk inside and join the party.

I wished he was there.

When I took a photo of my mom, her cousins, and their spouses, two were missing: my dad and my cousin Elaine’s husband Don.

“They should be here too,” I thought, as I snapped the photograph, feeling a lump in my throat.

Yet in spite of the ache that accompanies the loss of loved ones, I treasured the dear ones who were there. I tried to savor the night as much as I could.

My mom looked so happy and touched that all these people had come out on a cold November night to help send her off to a new season of her life.

Mom and her grandkids

I thought about how thirty years ago, her mother came to live with us when my mom was around my age. I was 16, the same age my son is now.

The circle of life.

It is an achingly beautiful, and at the same time desperately heartbreaking thing.

I dried my eyes and went to rejoin my family. As I approached the table, I could see them all laughing and my heart swelled with gratitude for the gift that these people are to me.

We have each other in a very tumultuous and scary world.

I am so very grateful that they are along for the journey with me as the days go by.

Photo credit: ToniVC

The online article said that the young man swerved to avoid hitting a dead bear in the middle of the highway and lost control of his car. He plunged off  the road into some trees…and entered eternity.

He was 24 years old.

This young man attended the same homeschooling co-op my children did. None of us knew him personally but we were remotely acquainted with his mother and some of his younger siblings.

My heart broke when I received this sad email. His mother’s smiling face filled my mind and I could not begin to fathom her searing pain. This is every parent’s worst nightmare and I felt my breath constrict as tears filled my eyes.

This world is broken.

One morning a son gets up to go to work and is gone from this earth less than an hour later.

A link to his Facebook page revealed a young man with a wide smile and laughing eyes. Photo after photo showed him in the midst of groups of friends hiking, swimming, enjoying parties and family get-togethers. Heartbroken friends left messages on his wall that he would never read.

My son just got his driver’s license. The first night he was out alone a nasty storm blew through. He texted me when he was leaving and then an hour passed. That was one of the longest hours of my life. The garage door opening was the sweetest sound and I hugged him tight when he walked through the door. For just a moment, I longed for the days when he was little and I decided where he went.

That night was a reminder for me that any control we think we have is an illusion. Our children were created by God and they are ultimately His. He knows the days ordained for them (just as He does for you and me). They are His gifts to us, on loan for a time.

On a brilliantly beautiful autumn day while one mother buried her son, I awoke to the sound of mine playing his saxophone. My daughter giggled on the phone with a girlfriend. Our family attended a neighborhood party together and ended the day sitting by the fireplace and watching a comedy. The day was ordinary but beautiful in its simplicity. My heart overflowed with gratitude for another day, another chance to love big and smile wide and hug tight.

Our daughter has been truly shaken by this turn of events. She told Doug and I this afternoon that she doesn’t want to live with regrets, that she doesn’t want to leave anything unsaid between her and her loved ones. She will turn 15 this week. I am grateful that she has such a wise perspective at such a tender age.

I say this on this blog all the time but it bears repeating: treasure your loved ones. 

Let all the silly stuff go.

Keep short accounts.

Forgive easily.

Laugh often.

Make sure they know how much you love them and why.

Celebrate their strengths.

Show mercy.

Pray for them.

Love with all your heart.

Remember that this life is a vapor compared to eternity.

None of us are promised tomorrow.

The song is ended but the melody lingers on. —Irving Berlin

These past couple of weeks have been full of blessings in my life.

Nothing particularly momentous, nothing extraordinary. Just life lived in the golden sunshine of late summer/early fall. God’s myriad of graces, filling my heart and my senses until thankfulness and gratitude overflow into a stream of continuous praise to the great and magnificent God who gives life in all its fullness.

There was a hike through the woods and up into the clouds to reveal a beautiful view…

My kids

My brother

followed by a hearty breakfast by the lake…

That morning/afternoon, we  experienced the joy of living in a country where food is readily accessible and plentiful; where the precious gift of freedom is celebrated; where laughter rings loud and long as my family gathers around a meal.

Blessings…

There have been opportunities for lunches with friends old and new.

The view from lunch

…times of sharing and laughter, where masks were removed and the hope that Christ brings was celebrated.  I give thanks for the precious gift of friends who continue to inspire me to keep running my race with my focus on Him.

(One of my friends gave me the new nickname of Sparkles , after I told her that a sweet little girl I met last week said to me, “You are so SPARKLY!” in response to all my jewelry. 🙂 ). I will happily answer to that.

It is sparkles, I love it.

Blessings…

My husband and I had the joy of listening to our son play with our church’s worship team at a women’s retreat this past weekend.

When he was 12, he attended this same camp with his buddies. Now, at 16, he was returning as a musician to serve others with the gift that  God has given him.

“This place is so much….smaller than I remember it,” he said, as he pulled his instruments from the car, his eyes sweeping the area, full of memories.  Then he disappeared into the hall to prepare to play.

My little boy is growing up.

Blessings…

I have enjoyed long conversations with my mom, made all the more sweet because of her recent hospitalization.

…a fresh reminder that life is fragile and tomorrow is never promised.

Blessings…

Our family became small business owners a few weeks ago…a new season, a new beginning, God’s wonderful, unexpected surprise!

Jeff (who can never keep his eyes open in photos!) and Doug (with Buddy looking on) on our closing day.

Behold, I am doing a new thing…(Isaiah 43:18).

Blessings…

What are your blessings? Be sure to count them.

They are His gifts to you.

They add up…and make any life rich with wonder and joy.

The grace (the unmerited favor and blessings) of our Lord Jesus Christ (the Messiah) be with you all. Amen. —I Thess. 5:28

Photo credit: Bogdan Szuta

She rolled her eyes and my heart broke a little.

The “she” was my daughter’s good friend. Her father had just very enthusiastically told her his plans for the two of them for the rest of the day.

“I’m going to show you around some of the places that were special to me,” he said, with a big grin on his face. “I figured it would be fun for you to spend some time with your old dad.”

I could not help smiling at his excitement. But then I looked at his soon-to-be 15 year old daughter  and my smile faded when I saw that eye roll.

We had spent the day together, driving our kids down to Boston to attend an information session offered by the college that she and my kids all want to attend. My husband and I drove down with our son, while Julia and her friend rode with her dad.

I had listened to him try to share memories with her as we had lunch and saw some of the sights of the town where he used to live.

Her reaction was barely concealed indifference.  She was neither hearing him or seeing him. Not really. Yes, she heard his words and her eyes watched him as he talked but that was as far as it went.

“PAY ATTENTION!”  I wanted to shout at her—not in anger but in sadness and heartache. “You only have one father! Listen to him! THIS TIME IS A GIFT!!!”

Of course, I said none of those things. We said our goodbyes and I watched them walk to their truck together.

The sight made want to cry.

I was the same way as a teenager.

I mostly endured the  time with my parents and lived for the times when I could be with my friends.

I listened with half an ear when they told me about their younger lives, but it was nearly impossible for me to imagine that they were anything other than my parents.

Every so often during my teenage years, I would have a recurring dream that my dad had died. I would wake up crying, then I would feel so relieved when I would hear him puttering around in the morning getting ready for work. He was still here!

I was so happy that I would greet him with uncharacteristic enthusiasm that morning and resolve to be nicer to him than my sometimes self-absorbed, bratty teenage self usually was. That only lasted a couple of days, of course.

What I would give to be able to listen to his stories today.

I am so grateful that I had a second chance, so to speak, during the last week of my dad’s life. I think he instinctively knew his time was short and he wanted to talk. He shared memory after memory with me: his childhood in Donora, PA, his time spent in the Air Force during the Korean war, what it was like when my brother and I were younger, and most sweetly his thoughts on my mom, his bride of nearly 40 years at that point.

“I still can’t believe that someone so beautiful would be interested in someone like me.”

I treasure those last moments with my dad and always will.

The point is, we have to stop taking the people in our lives for granted.

I try to teach that to my kids as often as I can.

Today, make it a priority to see your loved ones. Listen to their stories. Treasure them.  Give them your full attention for at least a few minutes of every day.

I will do the same.

Yes, it takes time to be this intentional. However, it is worth every effort.

And if you are so blessed as to have a parent or parents who are still living, pick up the phone and give them a call. Better yet, if you live close enough, stop by and see if they will tell you a story or two.

In my last post, I mentioned that Doug and I were on our way to an outdoor wedding in Rhode Island. The forecast called for heavy rain and high winds but I am delighted to report that it was wrong.

Although the sky turned a threatening gray and the wind picked up quite a bit right before the ceremony began, the rain held off and the wedding and reception were absolutely beautiful.

I first met the groom when he was nine years old and his mother and I had  become fast friends. We caused that poor boy untold embarrassment with our antics over the years.

It has been a joy to watch him grow up and I am honored that I was invited to share his special day.

I also told him now that he is a married man, he can stop calling me “Mrs. Brown.” 🙂

****

On Angie Smith’s recommendation, I read a most wonderful memoir called The Middle Place  by Kelly Corrigan.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Middle-Place-ebook/dp/B0012095DK/ref=dp_kinw_strp_1

She is not a believer and there is some language but I absolutely loved this book. Kelly’s writing made my childhood come alive in living color (we are only two years apart in age) and I identified with the close bond she had with her father.

The very first line captivated me and brought me to tears:

“George Orwell once said something about how childhood necessarily creates a false map of the world but it’s the only map we’ve got and no matter how old we are, at the first sign of trouble, we take off running for those fabulous countries.”

I totally relate to that.

My childhood map was drawn on a dead end street dotted with nineteen houses in a small town in western Pennsylvania. I loved it there and to  this day when I return, happy memories fill my mind. It seemed like such a simple time. Dads worked, moms stayed home and gathered on front stoops with iced tea and coffee, and kids played from morning until darkness fell and the lightning bugs lit up the night with their mysterious and beautiful brilliance.

To me it seemed like a magical place, exempt from the sorrow of real life. Of course, it wasn’t. The years would show that the mother of two of my friends had been an alcoholic who died full of bitterness and cirrhosis of the liver . My classmate Kenny O’Toole was killed in a car accident just before we were going to be juniors in college. Another classmate suffered a tragic fall and was paralyzed from the waist down. Marriages crashed and burned and much loved neighbors began to leave this earth one by one.

But for one shining moment in time, life was sweet on Theresa Avenue and that is what I choose to remember. Sometimes when life seems hard, I close my eyes and go back there. I am forever grateful that I have those memories that time cannot take away.

At any rate, Kelly’s story is not only about her childhood but the fact that both she and her beloved father were diagnosed with cancer at the same time. Their fighting spirits are an inspiration. In addition, Kelly’s writing is fantastic.

Get the book and be prepared to laugh and cry, sometimes on the same page.

***

Last night we had my son’s girlfriend and her family over for dinner.

It was the first time that all of us got together and I am happy to report that we had a fabulous time. There was never a lull in the conversation and the laughter was frequent and loud.

Maeghan had spent the month of  July in Ireland and I asked her to bring any photos she had with her so we could hear all about her trip. Of course, since I am old, I envisioned her bringing over a stack of photos. However, she had put together a lovely computer program for us to see, where one photo melted beautifully into another.

I admire her courage at going to another country by herself at the age of sixteen.

At one point, they noticed this photo of Josh and Julia when  there were 3 and 2, respectively:

As I was telling the story of the kids’ first Halloween and how Josh felt the need to tell everyone who commented on his costume, “I’m not really Superman ya know!” I felt an unexpected lump in my throat.

My little “Superman” is now a confident and mature 16 year old who is in the process of editing his second novel, is passionate about his music, and is loyal and committed to his family and friends.

I am proud to be his mom.

And as a ferocious storm rose up and a heavy rain lashed the windows, I was grateful for the warmth and laughter all around our large kitchen table as new friendships were celebrated.

Life is good.