I See Dead People

Having just spent this entire week helping my ex-husband and his family deal with the handling of funeral arrangements (my father-in-law died Christmas Eve) I have to say I'm taken aback at the whole business and practical side of death. Cremation? Or Traditional Burial?

What started out as plans for a simple funeral soon turned into a staggering bill, once the $3,600 mahogany casket was chosen by all his siblings, along with the funeral home costs which included the embalming - making my father-in-law look like some kind of horrible blood-drained wax creature, kind of frightening to his grandchildren to say the least.

He already had a burial plot, apparently my parents' generation took care of these kind of things as almost a rite of passage once they hit middle age.

Me, I can't fathom buying a plot for myself. Not because I think I'm immortal - but because yesterday as we gathered around the burial site at the cemetery and I looked out over the acres and acres of headstones surrounding us, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer this small world can possibly provide the land needed for cemeteries. It almost seems like an extravagance in itself, traditional burials, that is - in this day and age.

I want to say "Cremate Me, Please"...but what holds me back? The fear of fire, the thought of my body being incinerated to dust and ashes? But really, how much better is it to end up being artificially "preserved" in the grotesque way my father-in-law now is?

Going Home Again

December 2006; a house near the ocean.

Upon reflection, some things are just too precious to be written down at all, but they'll live on forever in our memories. This is one I'll keep safe within my dreams.

Fall From Grace

In light of a recent transgression, I've been doing a bit of reading lately on this subject. What I'm finding is that there are many different categories of collapse; the United States for example, has been experiencing a cataclysmic fall from grace, and on a worldwide stage to boot. Setbacks, scandals and slips are all too familiar within the corporate world, where every penny earned hinges on maintaining a solid reputation. Celebrities keep the tabloid industry thriving with their public gaffes and indiscretions. Winona Ryder, Mel Gibson, and most recently Michael Richards have felt the full sting of consequences resulting from their actions; their reputations became unraveled and are seriously tarnished.

But I'm interested more in the everyday personal fall from grace, the kind an ordinary person experiences when they've done something wrong, something that appears to be terribly out-of-character, something that changes the view others always held of them.

I experienced a very serious fall from grace about 5 years ago, the repercussions of which resonate with me to this day. I was living in a marriage that was mutually loveless, held in place only by the children my husband and I both adored, and in my loneliness I drifted into an affair. Although he was aware of my infidelity my husband chose to ignore it, which in turn gave me a sense of entitlement to continue it.

That affair eventually ended, as all affairs do...but trailing in it's wake was the impetus to finally go ahead with the divorce we both had long wanted, but delayed for the sake of our children. The divorce was never about the affair, after all - but you can only stay together so long "for the kids" before even more damage is inflicted overall.

I didn't escape my indiscretion without paying a price, however. An email account inadvertantly left open and stumbled upon by one of our children changed everything. All the lovingly explained and carefully thought-out reasons we'd given them for ending our marriage became discredited and moot in light of this discovery. For children facing the trauma of a family about to be broken, it pretty much comes down to the black and white; who to blame. It was heartbreaking and painful - one of those life-altering moments you wish you could forever erase.

It was through this terrible fall from grace with my own children that I learned redemption actually does exist. It's taken understanding and patience, love, and lots and lots of time, but my children are proof of this fact.

I'll never be the shining model of motherhood they once believed I was, and in my grief over how I hurt them that was a significant loss - but I also realized that they would've begun discarding that ideal regardless, simply in the process of growing up. Every child eventually begins to see their parents as the real and imperfect human beings they are, complete with flaws and foibles - but it's the children who can see beyond those things that have learned firsthand for themselves what forgiveness means.

No matter if it was a major or minor transgression, a fall from grace isn't something to be dismissed or taken lightly, but neither do you have to let it define you. There will always be the inevitable fallout and unintended collateral damage, and saddest of all, the ones who may never quite trust you again.

All part of the consequences you have to bear, albeit made more tolerable when paired with the knowledge that redemption can and does exist, you need only to seek it by making reconciliation, and hopefully in time you will find it.

I Want A Katrina Cottage

Little Pink Houses...

Or yellow, as the case may be. I'm thinking along the lines of khaki, with black shutters, to match our main house.

Makes perfect economic sense. It's an ideal size for an in-law apartment, I can buy it at Lowe's, and with almost an acre on my existing property I have the lot space to build it. I could use it for my parents, for my kids when they need a transition space after college, or even for myself if I want to get away from my kids.

How much you want to bet zoning won't allow me to build it? Fuckers.

Isabel From Ireland

The excellent and superbly written review for Edna O'Brien's newest book (on Slate's Book Blitz) brought to mind another Irish woman...

A cousin from Ireland, one I'd never met before, visited my family for two weeks this past summer. Isabel was her name, an attractive looking woman in her mid-40's, and we were happily prepared to entertain when she arrived on our doorstep in August with 3 of her 6 children, all teenagers, 2 girls and a boy. She had long contemplated making this trip for over two years, and only by the urging of her husband and unrelenting pleas of her children did she finally decide to book the plane tickets and go for it.

While her chldren and ours bonded almost immediately, it took her a few days to feel sufficiently comfortable around my 3 sisters and myself - we were all roughly around the same age - but gradually as the first week wore on and we traveled together to visit places like the beach, NYC and DC, she began opening up to us about her life in Ireland, and her first impressions of the US.

She was stunned by all the little luxuries (2 cars in a family, garages, remotes for everything) all the activity and the technology that permeated our everyday lives, finding it at times thrilling but mostly bewildering and unnecessary (4 computers in one household, for instance) although both her daughters had cellphones, her 16 year old son had no use for one. She dressed in a kind of utilitarian manner, something I understood from when I was a mother with much younger children at home - you rarely looked at yourself in the mirror or thought much about how you dressed. She had a "makeover" at Bloomingdales and blushed furiously when they made a huge fuss over her because she was from Ireland - it was pretty obvious that she'd never been fussed over like that in her whole life. She bought some flattering new clothes and shoes that weren't as "sensible" as they were stylish.

Isabel was remarkably well-read and educated, as were each of her children, not to mention totally aware, knowledgeable and opinionated on almost all current events. This was the one striking difference I noted and felt we came so far short in comparison as to be an embarrassment. She would regularly use literary references in conversation or to describe something, a habit her children seemed to pick up naturally too, often leaving my own teenagers puzzled and clueless. Needless to say, it made an impression on them as well.

The two weeks flew by, when it was time for them to leave my sisters and I felt we had gained a new sibling, and we all cried at the airport, lots of hugs and promises for a future visit to Ireland next summer.

It was a couple weeks later that I received an email from Isabel, describing the inevitable letdown after such an exciting trip - "the best two weeks of my whole life" as one of her daughters said.

She described standing at her kitchen sink and losing herself in thought about the things she'd seen on the trip, she was surprised at how much she missed it and wanted to come back, how addicted she had become to all the daily trips and just the fun, laughter, excitement and festive atmosphere of being around a large extended family.

But mostly, she missed the daily contact with me and all my sisters. We were not without influence, things had already changed in their household - the old home computer they'd been using (all sharing the same email address) was just recently replaced with an upgraded model, and she's been emailing us pretty much on a weekly basis ever since.

And just a few days ago, when I stumbled across Stephen King's "It" wedged into the side of our living room sofa with one of the pages folded over to bookmark it, I knew things had changed at my house, too.

**

Joy Is The Right Word

Funny how something as simple as diving can be so powerful.

Last year, amidst all the sadness of going through a divorce, I decided it was high time my children got a fresh perspective, that a little fun was in order. My oldest daughter was away at college but it was my other three (triplets) who needed this more so than her. I wanted to take them somewhere they'd never been before, so I booked a short escape for a long weekend, to the Bahamas. Keep in mind that the Jersey shore was the only ocean these kids had ever seen in their short teenaged lives.

I know that I speak for them as well as myself, when I say that a single stellar memory of that trip will forever stand out. It was the moment right after we had just gone underneath, just seconds into that shimmering sea of turquoise. My three children were floating in a sort of semi-circle directly in front of me, and even though they were all in scuba masks I could clearly see their faces.

I will never forget how each of them looked to me at that moment - each taking in the surreal spectacle of undersea life - hundreds of brilliant-colored tropical fish swirling around us, the gorgeous orange of the coral further down below, the deep clear blue of the water, each of them looking at me so wondrously as if to register "is this for real?"

Joy. That was what we felt together, at that moment.

Online Dating: Judging a Guy By His

Grammar.

You know, like the way he writes in his profile. (Perverts. What were you expecting?)

Anyhoo, I caught a lot of flack last time I wrote about online dating, for saying how important good grammar was to me. Well I still say it. I can tell immediately if he reads and if he’s educated by the way he writes. By “educated” I’m not talking about university degrees. For example, if I get a reply from someone and he uses "your" instead of "you're" and then I read on and see all kinds of misspellings, I get this mental image of someone with a lot of dirt under his fingernails. I have similar distaste for anyone who uses “LOL” in their correspondence, although that’s more a petty personal thing of mine and I try not to let that cloud my overall impression.

In the world of online dating, your first impression comes from how you write it. If you don’t think grammar is important, its no different than showing up on a traditional old fashioned blind date wearing shorts with black socks and shoes.

Peach Pie

I made a pie all by myself for the first time, last night.

Key words: all by myself. Over the years I've made dozens and dozens of pies, but they were always a collaborative effort; my husband always made the crust because he was excellent at it. He had a way of turning out pie crusts that were picture perfect and so flaky the first bite would melt in your mouth. I'd always do the easier part of peeling the apples or paring the peaches, mixing in the sugar and cinnamon and whatever. We both come from big families, and our pies were legendary within our family circle and because of that, we were always assigned to bring dessert to all family gatherings, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Every holiday would find us slaving in the kitchen the night before, always filling the house with the most wonderful aroma.

Funny thing but the last ten years or so of the marriage, things deteriorated to where the only thing we ever did together (as a couple) was making those pies. Oftentimes our kids would sit up at the kitchen counter, taking in the unusual sight of us working together as a team. Watching them watching us, I'd always feel such pangs of regret. For not giving them more of those kind of moments, the ones that bring such security when kids see their parents are in sync. Even then, they knew - we all knew.

Its been a transitional year for all of us. I've taken on a lot of new (to me) responsibilities since Tim moved out over a year ago; the more mundane things like mowing the lawn, fixing things or painting aren't as big a deal as I once thought. Its been the subtle things that are much harder to keep attuned to, things I have to make sure I don't become too busy to miss; like the way one of my sons began to check and double check the locks on all the doors every night before we all went to bed. He's finally stopped doing that now.

Last night I bridged a little bit more of the gap when I rolled out that dough and took on the pie crust by myself. It wasn't for a birthday or a holiday, there was no special occasion except that I had all these perfectly ripe peaches and the free time to do it. My daughter sat up at the counter and chatted with me while I measured out the flour, she never alluded to it but I knew she was watching, and remembering. I started feeling those pangs again, but I just kept on rolling, and talking with her.

Damn if it didn't turn out halfway decent. No one even noticed it wasn't quite picture perfect when it was still warm and topped with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. All they noticed was the specialness of having homemade peach pie on an otherwise normal day.

Yesterday, I Was Caught Shoplifting.

Actually, I was caught eating the goods outright, I wasn't concealing them.

I was at Wegmans, a rather upscale grocery store that happens to have an unbelievable candy section, one that would bring out the kid in anyone, a candy section to die for. They've got all the penny candy from my childhood; atomic fireballs, red hot dollars, wax lips, wax bottles, fizzies, licorice snaps, candy cigarettes, candy buttons on paper, sugar babies, now & laters, Oh. My. God.

So there I was, cruising all the tempting choices with my bag in hand, trying to decide - when I nonchalantly dug into the raisinet bin and scooped out a small handful.

I was munching on them when two security guards slithered up behind me and flashed their badges. Gulp.

Mortified, I immediately pulled my cart over by the m&m bin. A couple of kids were pointing, whispering and snickering behind the Hershey kisses display. I smiled at the mullet-coiffed guard; she didn't smile back. They didn't make me spit out the evidence or read me my rights, they didn't even prosecute, it was just a warning. This time, anyway. But I've got a feeling there's a frozen fuzzy picture of me somewhere (from their monitor/camera) stuffing my mouth with raisinets - and its hanging up back there in their corporate offices, its on my permanent record now.

Should I seek help?

What NOT To Say In The Ladies Room

...at least not when a nationwide microphone is attached to you.

CNN's Kyra Phillips was caught with her pants down on Tuesday, while taking a bathroom break during President Bush's televised Katrina Anniversary speech in New Orleans.

From the New York Daily News:

"The mortifying episode came when Phillips stepped away from her desk during coverage of President Bush's Hurricane Katrina anniversary speech. Viewers saw Dubya's lips moving, but they heard Phillips pulling down a zipper and making girl talk with another woman in the rest room. "I have the most handsome man," Phillips gushed. "Just a really passionate, great, great human being. And they exist! They are hard to find, but they are out there." Phillips' sister-in-law didn't get such positive treatment. "I've gotta be protective of [my brother]," she was heard saying as she washed her hands. "He's married, three kids, but his wife is just a control freak!"

No word yet if Kyra's going to be invited to little nephew Johnny's First Communion come next spring, she's still got to face sis-in-law at all the upcoming family get togethers during the holidays first.

But it could've been far, far more humiliating. I'm thinking specifically if the nation listening in had heard "sounds" of any kind, or ladies room chit-chat along these lines - (add your own if you want)

"#%@! anyone have a tampon?

"(tap-tap) "hey over there, can you spare a square?"

"I look fucking awesome today!" (I actually once heard a woman say that to herself in a ladies room, thinking she was alone. I thought it was great)

Local Woman Starts Her Own Blog About Writing A Blog

Well, the pressure is on. Yep, this here is the "Big Time" now. Instead of the two or three of you who may have glanced at my posts back on the good old fray, untold millions of you are now out there reading this, insatiable to know the sordid details of my personal life, and/or my recipes. Well this ain't going to be no ladie's kitchen blog, I'll say that flat out. What you're going to get here are recipes for success. Success at what, you may ask? Well, I always think the bedroom is a good place to start, perhaps I'll start there.

Anyhoo, I'll try to live up to E.E's (thats Editor Ender's) expectations. Granted, he hasn't got any for me, so I'll try to live up to his expectations for bacon. We all have to start somewhere.