Christmas 2020

I sincerely hope you’ve all had yourself a Merry Little Christmas? Ours turned out well, although I have to admit it was a rough start for me.

This is the first Christmas without mom. And, although she hadn’t had a good year last year, she was still able to smile when we took our Christmas photo with her.

What’s worse – is Vince and I are recovering from nasty cases of COVID-19.  We’ve spent the past couple weeks struggling to breathe without coughing and sleeping more hours than we were awake.

Vince lost his senses of taste and smell. Which was actually a good thing for me – because I wasn’t really interested in showering – or able to, for that matter. Who knew standing took such effort?

Walking the dog was a lesson in perseverance as neither of us had the energy, but, well, dogs don’t much care that you’re fighting a virus. They still need to walk and sniff and piddle and poo.

Christmas 2019 with mom

But we have some amazing neighbors who took special care of us – from a distance, of course. When we were at our worst, they dropped off soups and fresh fruit. Another neighbor picked up a pizza one Sunday night for themselves – and dropped off a second pizza at our front door for us.

One neighbor made a special trip to drop off a bottle of zinc supplements after we’d run out and then another neighbor brought us a much-needed bottle of Nyquil cough syrup to help us sleep at night.

And just yesterday a neighbor dropped off some Christmas cookies; something we hadn’t even thought about baking this year.

We have some pretty incredible neighbors, don't we?

Ever since I became a part of Vince’s family, we’ve spent every Christmas Eve together.  We have lots of food and drink and – before her unexpected death last year, his stepmother Marilyn and her daughter Michele bought and wrapped a mountain of gifts for us all. It was a pretty amazing sight to see.

This year, however, the family decided to postpone our Christmas gathering since Vince and I had been sick. Nobody wanted us to share the virus.

I get it. I wouldn’t want to share this virus with anyone – let alone people we care about.  So we'll wait to get together with family until the New Year.

We had written our Christmas letter right after Thanksgiving this year – and mailed it well before we got sick. This is evidenced by the line I wrote, “Well, for one thing, our household is currently healthy and happy. And that is a huge thing for which to be grateful.”

Truer words.

Sadly, we learned that one of our relatives was telling others not to open our card or read our letter as they were concerned they’d catch COVID by doing so.

I’d like to think that we’d be more caring about our family and friends not to let anyone open something that even had the remote possibility of containing the virus.

But we just kept on rolling with the punches.

I had barely shopped for Christmas – so I only had a couple gifts for Vince. And I didn’t bother wrapping them. I just brought them downstairs and handed them to him. So prepared, right?

Vince knew that I wasn't feeling very festive and he gave me lots of extra hugs today. Moreover, he planned an amazing Christmas dinner for the two of us to share.

It was interesting – I haven’t had much of an appetite since the start of our illness – and Vince can’t taste or smell. But we shared a delicious beef roast, fingerling potatoes, corn and salads.

I even poured us glasses of wine, but couldn’t manage to finish even one glass.

Oh well. We gave it a shot!

What I realized as the day went on was that it didn’t matter that we didn’t have mounds of gifts under the tree. It didn’t matter that we weren’t surrounded by lots of other people. 

What really matters is that we are returning to good health – something so many have been denied.

What really matters is that I have a husband who loves me unconditionally. Who loves me enough to allow me a melancholy moment, but also asks me to recall some of my favorite childhood Christmas memories.  And that made me smile.

So despite the sad start to my Christmas 2020, it has a happy ending. And carries with it a feeling of hope for the future.

And my wish is for all you to have a healthy and happy New Year. 

Let’s put this one behind us, shall we?

 

Random Memories of Mom by Denise Domian (Denise's Domain)

Random Memories of Mom (and some of Dad mixed in because you can’t think of Mom without thinking of Dad):

 

·       Hopping into the car to drop off Dad at work in my bunny suit (footed PJs).

·       Packing our one paper bag of clothes for our trip to Cape Cod.  This is the genius of my Mom knowing that there was no way 6 suitcases would fit in our station wagon.

·       The Butt Tree (ceramic centerpiece of peaches piled in a bowl. Andrew coined it the butt tree, because it looked like, well, a butt tree.)  I can still hear Mom saying, “Oh, Andrew…”

·       The scissors, tape, or Mom’s pen hunting sessions because one of us had moved them from their defined place.

·       Mom buying Tang orange juice because I didn’t like real orange juice.

·       Spying on Mom and Dad’s parties when we were young.  Why is that always so fun for kids?!

·       Staying in a seedy hotel in NY on our way to Cape Cod and thinking that we were either going to die in the creaky elevator or in our room because, well, it seemed seedy even to a kid.

·       Mom and Dad taking us to fancy restaurants and allowing us to order a Shirley Temple.  Seriously when I think about where they took us, I imagine the waiters rolling their eyes.

·       Mom and Dad walking holding hands, every time they walked together over 60 years.

·       The butterscotch cut out cookies we made each year.  I can still taste the dough.

·       Mom not telling me it was my birthday when I was in nursery school because they had plans that night.  The teacher blowing it and singing happy birthday to me at school causing me to ask Mom if it was my birthday when I got home.

·       Mom smoking with Aunt Ethel… what?!

·       Mom cutting the rug at any wedding.

·       Mom and Dad taking square dancing?! Dad wore a bolo tie and a pin which read “Big Daddy.” Mom wore one of those dresses with the flouncy layered skirts.

·       Mom and Dad slow dancing in the kitchen regularly.

·       Mom sitting in her rocking chair with a crossword and a glass of wine.

·       How much Mom and Dad loved the Cape and how much I loved going there. 

·       Going with Mom and Dad to the canal to watch the boats float down the canal.

·       Mom’s uniform of a turtleneck and cardigan.  I could never understand why Mom always wore turtlenecks even in the summer, but as an aging woman, I now know.

·       Mom stating, “Denise, I don’t know where you came from” because she didn’t understand my hair, my fashion, my love of rock climbing, etc.

·       Mom comforting me when I was sobbing uncontrollably because of a broken heart.  This happened more than once.

·       Mom wanted to get on any motorcycle:  Andrew’s, my boyfriend’s, and those at the Harley museum.  She loved making people scoff at the old lady on the motorcycle.  It fit her tough persona. 

·       Mom stroking my forehead when I was sick. 

·       The time when I was sick and I told her I thought I vomited blood and she told me I was being dramatic.  Until I fainted and they had to call the ambulance because I vomited blood.  I thought, “Ha, see, that’ll teach you to call me dramatic.”  I was a snotty teenager.  Mom felt bad. 

·       Mom patting my hand when I’d sit next to her.  Me patting Mom’s hands when I sat next to her in her room at The Glen.

·       The last time Mom rallied and became so lucid and conversational, telling Jane and I she loved us, as if she knew that was her last chance to let us know.  In fact, it was for me.

 

I’ve heard people say that when you lose both parents you feel like an orphan.  I don’t feel like an orphan.  I have so many examples, I know I was loved.  We were incredibly lucky to have them as our parents.

The Longest Hug by Andrew Domian (Andrew's Domain)

 

Cocktail hour-No kids allowed!

Since we were not able to have a formal service for our mother upon her passing, we thought it would be appropriate to share some of our favorite memories of her on what would have been her 96th birthday today. 

As my sister Denise has previously said, our mom could be fierce (in a good way), but she could also be extremely loving and caring. 

Our parents were of the very strict, old-school type and you lived by their very well-established rules. 

When we were kids, they had what was called the Cocktail Hour every evening after my dad got home from work. It was understood that they were not to be disturbed unless you had previously made an appointment to talk to them during that hour. The appointments were only to be made for major life decisions and you had to be prepared with your presentation and be ready to discuss all the pros and cons. My parents were excellent debaters. It was serious stuff!

When I was 17, I had this notion that I wanted to join the armed forces. I made my appointment with them and thoroughly presented my case and explained my reasoning.  They were initially very much against it, but eventually acquiesced because they knew I would do it as soon as I turned 18 anyway. I did inherit the stubbornness trait from my mother after all, and I wear it proudly. 

The day I was to leave for basic training in Georgia, my mom announced that she wanted to drive me to the airport herself. I was immediately worried. Growing up in a family with three other siblings made it a rare event to spend time with my mom alone. I spent a lot of time with my dad growing up, but almost never with Mom. 

On the way to the airport we stopped at a Big Boy restaurant for lunch. Another extremely rare event. In my entire life, I only ever ate out with my mom by myself three times - this was the first. The next two were not until over 30 years later when Dad was in the hospital. It wasn't that I didn't want to - it was because my mom and dad were inseparable and I never would have thought to ask to dine out with just my mom. 

Anyway, at that lunch Mom said the reason she wanted to drive me to the airport was because she wanted to spend time with me on the day I changed from a boy to a man. I think she thought that on that day I was not a boy anymore. (Truth be told, I don't think I have matured much since I was 17!) 

I must admit, it made me tear up that day - and it still does now when I think about it.

Lunch went by way too fast and I wished I had a recording of it because I know it was the first time I ever had a conversation with my mom as an adult. 

After lunch we continued to the airport and my mom gave me what I am sure is the longest hug we ever shared. Years later she told me that she cried the whole way home from the airport. 

It is one of my favorite memories of my mom and it makes me wish I had asked her to go out to eat, just ourselves, many more times than we had. 

I have learned to not miss what seem like very small opportunities because they can be the memories that mean the most later. 

My Mother's Hands by Jane Domian Cordova (Jane's Domain)

About a week after Mom died, I caught a cold. And then I gave it to Vince. (I'm good at sharing that way...!)

Whenever I've gotten sick throughout my life, I have always wanted my mom. Even in my adult life, I will utter under my breath, "I want my mommy!" Part of it was me making a "funny" as I knew Mom wouldn't run down to Columbus every time I caught a sniffle just to hand me a tissue. 

But part of it was real - because a mother's love, care and concern for her children help make it better. Always.

When I think about it, it wasn't mom's comforting words I was hearing in my head - it was her hands: her efficient nurse's palm feeling my forehead to check if I had a fever. Rubbing my temples to ease the pain. And patting my head or rubbing my back to let me know it would all be okay.

As an adult, mom would hear in my voice if I was sick during our weekly calls. Sometimes I would downplay it so she wouldn't worry. But she did anyway. And she'd call and check on me until I was better. 

The last time I remember mom comforting me was only last year. She was in truly bad shape after her second broken hip. She could no longer walk and was declining in all ways more than I ever thought my little, tough-as-nails mom would ever decline. 

It was the last time I sat with her in her apartment at Parkside Village. Usually, I met her in the dining room and fed her as her hands were no longer steady enough to hold a utensil and bring the food to her mouth. 

But that day, we went back to her room after dinner. I was sitting in my normal spot and moved her wheelchair close to me so we were facing each other. We no longer had conversations - I would just talk and she would listen. Once in a while, she made murmuring noises as if to let me know she was following along - or trying to, anyway. 

It had been a hard time for me. I was missing my mom even though she was sitting right in front of me. I was missing our conversations and our time together as we drank a glass of wine and I told her the news of the day. 

I was also sad because Vince's stepmother had recently died unexpectedly and we were trying to help his 89-year-old dad maneuver through the mourning process and the business side of handling details following a death.

And I was tired.

So as I was sitting there talking to her, I got overwhelmed and choked up. I put my head down in her lap because I didn't want to upset her by crying in front of her.

Suddenly, she pulled her hands out from underneath the blanket and started patting my head. 

Of course, that made me want to cry even harder...but I got myself under control, sat back up - and said I was okay. And I thanked her and told her I loved her. Back then, she was able to tell me she loved me, too.

It was another poignant moment that mom and I shared that I will never forget. 

But Mom's hands weren't only there for comfort. In my mind's eye, I can see her standing at the stove stirring a pot preparing dinner for her four children and her husband. I see her squinting at the needle in her hand trying to thread it to fix a tear or a hole in our clothes to eke out a few more months of wear. 

And I see her doing laundry and folding clothes in that efficient, no-nonsense manner that told me it was a task she didn't particularly care to do but knew it had to be done. We had no Laundry Fairies that would handle those tasks. Well, that is, until the four of us kids were old enough to help.

But let me tell you about mom's hands. Her fingers were bent and her knuckles were enlarged from the arthritis that plagued them. From the time I was young, I remember her beseeching anyone nearby to open a jar or use the can opener to open the dreaded can of peas or peaches for dinner. (It wasn't until I was an adult that I learned that fruits and vegetables weren't supposed to be mooshy!) But Mom simply didn't have the strength in her arthritic hands to perform these basic tasks.

I remember when I was in high school we had a hand-held mixer that was starting to go on the fritz. So I saw mom start mixing whatever she was making by hand. I could tell it pained her, so I asked if I could help. 

Then, as Mother's Day approached that year, I got the idea to buy her a new mixer. Dad thought it was too extravagant a gift, but I was feeling flush from all my babysitting gigs and I bought it for her anyway. (Little did I know yet that women do NOT want appliances for Mother's Day!) 

But that mixer was well-used and it was still in their kitchen cabinet when my friend Sue and I cleaned it out after Dad had passed and we were preparing to put their house on the market. 

Throughout her life, Mom would say she had ugly hands because of the arthritis and she rarely polished her fingernails with anything but clear polish. Once in a great while, she'd allow us to paint her nails a pale, pale pink - but that was about as bright as she'd go. 

Once Alzheimer's took hold of her and she moved to the memory care unit, polishing her nails became an activity we enjoyed together. 

Mom would look at my bright nail polishes - hot pinks and reds and purples - and she started asking for those vivid colors for herself. I, of course, indulged her and we'd spend a good hour making her nails look pretty. (Of course, Mom would forget what we were doing and she'd run her fingers over her clothes thus smearing her nails and we'd have to start over again!) 

This year - when COVID-19 caused the world to shut down and we could only visit mom outside from six feet away - I rarely saw her hands as they were hidden underneath a blanket. Mom was always cold, even if it was 85 degrees outside! 

But the last image I have of mom's hands was the weekend she died. I was finally able to see her in her room; something I hadn't been able to do for over seven months. Mom was on oxygen and I knew her time was near. I picked up her hand - now bereft of any polish whatsoever - and I held it. I talked to her and told her how much we all loved her. I said that she had been able to see all four of her children only the week before.  I told her it was okay for her to leave - that we'd be okay. And I prayed out loud while holding the hand that had comforted me my whole life. 

Those tiny arthritic hands were the most powerful hands I will ever know. But I know my brothers and sister and I benefited from them. And I will be forever grateful for their remembered touch. 

Jane Domian Cordova

Jane's Domain

10-23-2020

 

An Edition of This 'n' That

It’s the middle of August and it’s hot out there. I start to take Maggie out for her walk and about 20 seconds into it, we’re both panting with our tongues hanging out in desperate need of some H20 to cool us down. 

Maggie too pooped to stand and drink!

Fortunately, I don’t mimic her and hunker down on the ground to lap water out of a bowl. 

It’s not pretty. And I’m a little crankier than usual these days. 

So I’ve been trying to stay inside in the A/C and chill. Ha ha. Get it? Chill?! 

(Hey, I just got back from our latest walk and this is the best I can do.) 

I haven’t been enjoying watching the news or looking at social media much these days; people are so divisive and the political rhetoric is out of control. 

One person posts an opinion – and all hell breaks loose as people bash others for their opinions. Fights ensue. Long-time friendships are shattered. People are unfriended left and right. 

I’m weary of the fighting. 

Adding to this is the whole COVID-19 thing. We’re still in the midst of it. Some people believe it’s all a big scam. Others are fervent in their belief that we should all don masks and continue to socially distance ourselves. I suppose the biggest factor that might change one’s opinion is if they have a loved one who has either fought off this illness – or who has succumbed to it. 

So what I’ve been doing instead is trying to find ways to entertain myself. Sometimes I’m easily amused and other times? Well, it takes a little more effort. 

There is a game app that I play frequently called Trivia Crack. Have you heard of it? If you like trivia, I recommend it. 

However, I was playing the other day – just a random game with a random person – and I realized the questions were very definitely not in English. 

Somehow when I started the game, I inadvertently changed the language from English to Dutch. 

I don’t speak Dutch. (Shocking, I know.) 

But I didn’t see any way to change the language back to something I might halfway recognize, so I continued to play the game. I figured it would be a quick loss since I had no clue what the questions – or the answers might be. 

Strangely enough, I ended up winning – 6 to 0. How? You ask. I haven’t a clue. Apparently I’m very good at guessing. 

Well, except for the one question – something about Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band – and I clearly recognized the word “Beatles” as one of the answers. Yay, me. 

So the win was a small thing – but it made me smile and I was entertained for a moment. 

Another weird thing happened one day last week. I was sitting at my desk in the kitchen working on a “patio music playlist” when Vince came in and asked Alexa to play some music. 

I was scrolling through some of my songs and came across something called “Worth It” by Fifth Harmony. I didn’t recognize the song and, frankly, wasn’t sure I recognized the group who sings it – so I started to play a snippet on my phone. 

At precisely that moment, the exact same song started playing on our Echo Show. The Exact. Same. Song. 

It was a little freaky. 

Mostly because (a) I didn’t know I even had the song in my library and (b) I wouldn’t think it was a song that is frequently played on whatever discs Alexa was spinning. 

So those are just a couple things that have been going on that I’ve found interesting. (I guess these would fit under the “doesn’t take much to entertain me” category! 

I hope you are entertained this weekend and do something fun. 

No divisiveness allowed, okay?

Goin' Hog Wild

So what is a person to do when most of their summer activities have been cancelled due to COVID-19?  Sit at home and twiddle their thumbs?

Yeah, pretty much. Although the art of thumb twiddling has probably given way to thumb texting on smart phones. Which is a little different, I suppose.

Anyway. This year there are no swimming pools, no beach getaways, no summer concerts or big cookouts or summertime gatherings.

I didn’t realize how much I looked forward to all these activities until they weren’t open and available.

Every August, my friend Sue and I spend an entire day at the Ohio State Fair.  We walk from the back of the fair to the front and take in all the sights and sounds. We shop at some of our favorite vendors. We marvel over the annual butter sculpture and take the requisite

2019 Ohio State Fair Butter Sculpture

photos.

And, because Susan goes completely bonkers over any and all animals, we have to stop in and see the bunnies and chickens and cows.

We eat our favorite fair foods and drink frosty cold Lemon Shake-ups. And then, before we head to the exit, we make a final stop and top it all off with a funnel cake sprinkled liberally with oh-so-messy powdered sugar.

We’re pretty much in hog heaven all day long – and it’s something we look forward to all year long.

But this year the Ohio State Fair has been cancelled and I was sad to miss out on our annual visit.

So when Sue invited me to go with her to a small Madison County Jr. fair the other day, I jumped at the chance.

2020 Butter Sculpture?!

Yeah, I know. This is what extreme boredom will do to a person.

There were no rides or vendors. There were no butter sculptures. And there was mask wearing and social distancing going on.

But there were a few food trucks and we were thrilled that one of them sold funnel cakes.  We were in hog heaven!

Uh, maybe literally.

Because we sat down to share the funnel cake in a small arena where a “Swine Showmanship” event took place.

I had no clue what this sort of event was and I was fascinated as these kids competed with their pigs tapping on them with a stick left and right as they waddled around a dirt-filled ring. (The swine were waddling, that is…not the kids.)

There were as few as six swine in the ring – to as many as nine at any one time.  And there was but one judge who had the difficult job deciding last place to first place finishers.

I had no clue what was happening – and I couldn’t tell who was winning and who was losing.

So – because we were ignorant of the finer nuances of the competition, Sue and I took to making bad puns and jokes.

Sue started it, though. When the first group came out into the ring with pigs meandering around in no coherent manner that we could discern, Sue said it looked like they were trying to herd a pack of wild kittens.

And then I said something about one of the pigs going hog wild because he wasn’t following his handler’s directions.

Hey, trust me - we did the eye rolling thing at ourselves and at each other, too, so no worries.

Plus, it only deteriorated from there, so I’ll spare you the details.

But at least we had fun. And we really did have mad respect for all those kids who had spent the better part of a year raising their pig and training it for this competition.

So we finished our funnel cake and wiped off every last bit of powdered sugar before putting our masks back on to head back to the car.

And, while it couldn’t possibly compare to the Ohio State Fair, we had a great time.

After all, that’s what counts – right?

And hopefully next year life will return to normal (I’m being optimistic). When we can once again take photos of the butter sculpture and drink Lemon Shake-Ups and eat some delicious fair food and end the day with a funnel cake with powdered sugar.

So even if your weekend doesn’t include watching a swine competition, I wish you lots of fun and happiness in whatever you do.

 

A Walk With a Purpose

This year Vince and I have become involved with the 2020 Walk to End Alzheimer’s and are volunteering with the Marketing Committee.

It has been a strange year to be a volunteer. We can’t meet with others on the committee in person due to COVID-19. We can’t do all the marketing activities the organization has done in previous years like putting informational stickers on coffee cups and pizza boxes to garner interest in the 2020 Walk and in the mission of the Alzheimer’s Association.

So we have been doing a lot of virtual activities. We meet monthly over the phone and see each other on screen like a 2020 version of the Brady Bunch.

Our current strategy is to forge ahead with plans to hold the Columbus Walk to End Alzheimer’s at the Columbus Commons on Sunday, September 27^th.  There is also a virtual component to the walk, but we don’t yet know what that is going to look like.

Vince and I have also formed a team to walk – we are Team Forget Me Not. In honor of my mom. And in memory of all those who have succumbed to this disease.

Things change. And for all we know, the virtual walk will be all we can do because of coronavirus health concerns.

So we’ll take it day by day and week by week until it’s time to join together – either physically or virtually – to bring focus to Alzheimer’s. 

Research.

Programs.

Help.

I’ve read that Alzheimer’s affects one in four people. Certainly it has affected me and my family. My mother has been in a memory care unit for nearly four years, but has had the disease for over ten.

And while I would give anything to have my mother back the way she was pre-Alzheimer’s, I know that’s impossible.  

But what I can do is help raise awareness of the Alzheimer’s Association. And I can help raise funds for research to find a cure and to sponsor the programs the Alzheimer’s Association provides.

There are many worthwhile causes and many opportunities to give – so I don’t ask this lightly. But if you are in a position to help support our walk and cause, I would appreciate it more than you could ever know.

We would be honored to have you join our team, too, if you are willing and able.

Our link is: http://act.alz.org/goto/JaneandVinceCordova

And I thank you so very much!

It's Not Business as Usual-Not by a Long Shot

I’ve written several blogs in the past week…but haven’t posted any.

It just seems disrespectful during these tumultuous times.

I want to smile and laugh. I’d love to be carefree. And I’d like to make other people smile if I could. But it’s nearly impossible to get back to business as usual.

Because nothing about life right now is business as usual.

Covid-19 is still a “thing” – even though it seems to have been pushed to the bottom of the page. Yet I still must wear a mask when I go to the grocery store. And I still cannot visit my mom inside her memory care unit, put my arms around her and tell her I love her.

Other events have come to the forefront that prevent business as usual.

If you’re like me, you are horrified, saddened and angered by the senseless killing of George Floyd. I don’t think I will ever get the image out of my head of now-fired and charged police officer, Derek Chauvin, with his hand in his pocket, kneeling on Floyd’s neck while Floyd begs to be let up so he can breathe.

Kneeling on a man’s neck with his hand in his pocket just screams nonchalance to me. As if it were no big deal.

Oh, but it was a very big deal.

Since that time, social media has been drowning us with videos, memes and commentaries.

Some are heartening to see: peaceful protesters waving placards reading “Black Lives Matter.” Operative word in that sentence: “peaceful.”

I watched a video last night that made me cry. The police (don’t ask me where) were holding a line and the protesters were standing almost face to face with the officers.

I worried as I was watching that violence was going to ensue. But suddenly, I saw officers putting out their hands to shake the hands of the protesters. And then there were hugs on both sides of the line. It was a lovely image that I wished were the case in every city protest.

But then I’ve also seen videos that made me cry for a different reason – the video out of Buffalo, NY, where an elderly man was shoved by an officer in riot gear enforcing a curfew. The sight of the man on the ground bleeding from his ear was absolutely horrifying.

And I pray that he recovers with no ill effects.

Did the officer mean to shove the man so hard he fell and was injured? What could the protester possibly have said to cause such a reaction?

I don’t know – and I don’t really care.

It is 2020. There are cameras everywhere. What actions may have been hidden in the past and covered up with lies are now exposed with every cell phone camera video.

So our actions have consequences. Even if we didn’t mean it. Or didn’t mean for things to go so far.

We can’t blanket statement anything these days – and we shouldn’t. There are good people and bad people. There are good, courageous men and women who put on that blue uniform every day to keep us safe.

Just as there are those who don’t deserve to wear that uniform.

There are good citizens of every creed and color. And there are bad people of the same.

What we must do is hold ourselves – and our officials – accountable. Which, to me, is what the protests are about. And I applaud that.

What I don’t applaud is the violence or the rioting or the looting or the senseless destruction of property and burning of buildings.

How does this help? How can it possibly help?

I just read that a friend of mine in Cleveland was attacked, pistol whipped and his car stolen in a random act of violence during this turbulent time. I’m grateful he is going to be all right, but he is hurting right now – in both body and soul.

And for that, I’m sorry.

I wish I could make things better. I wish I had a solution and could magically make people treat each other right. Where we could all live together in peace.

Where mothers would never have to sit with their children of color and give them “the talk” – the one where they have to tell them how to behave if they are ever pulled over or stopped by the police.

And I think of those fresh-faced, beautiful children and I hope that by the time they are adults, the world will be a little better and they won’t have to fear being held down on the ground with a knee on their neck as they beg for breath.

So, no. Nothing about life right now is “business as usual.”

And that’s the point.

Quarantine 15?

In the past week, Vince and I have planted flowers, dug tree roots out of the ground, and pulled weeds. I also helped him with his latest Farmer Brown scheme of building a raised bed in which to grow vegetables this summer.

This, as you may know, is wayyy more diggin’ in the dirt than I prefer.

Frankly, I’d prefer to keep my hands as far away from the dirt as possible. Like if I never had to touch a rake or trowel again, I’d be perfectly fulfilled and happy.

But when the neighbors’ dogs head straight for your yard to chew on the weeds for their daily doggie salad, well, you bite the bullet and start diggin’ and pullin’.

Despite these dirty, sweaty efforts, I find myself woefully unprepared for the summer.

Why?

Well, because I fear I have joined the ranks of those who have gained the Quarantine 15. You know – those fifteen extra pounds that creep up when you can’t get to the gym to work off all that comfort food you’ve been consuming over the past several stay-at-home coronavirus months.

Sure, walking Maggie Minx five or six times a day is helpful. And lifting and dumping 25 lb. bags of dirt into the raised bed in the 90 degree heat has to count as some sort of exercise. Doesn’t it?

But when I put on my favorite summer parrot shirt and it’s a little snug around the waist when I button it, well, that does not make for a happy me.

I guess it’s a good thing Farmer Vince is planting vegetables.

And it’s a really good thing I don’t know how to bake bread.

One of the biggest complaints we had during the height of the shelter-in-place order was that we couldn’t stick with the fresh vegetables and daily salads that we’d previously enjoyed. Only going to the store every couple weeks precluded having fresh lettuce and veggies on hand.

The other thing that was a little disconcerting during this time was that we found ourselves purchasing comfort foods like chips and cookies and cheese and bread. These are items we had pretty much eschewed while we have been living a healthier lifestyle the past couple years.

So I say it’s time to get back to that healthier lifestyle. Besides, I’m getting a little sick of the junk food, believe it or not.

Now we just need those homegrown veggies to hurry up and grow.

Bring on the salads – and I don’t mean the doggy salads in our flower bed!

The Old Green Leather Wallet

I was cleaning out some things today and I came across my mom’s old green leather wallet.

The wallet she has had for decades. The wallet that is falling apart at the seams. The wallet we tried many times to replace for her – only to have her stick with the old green one she already had.

She liked the smaller size of it. She liked that it didn’t have too many pockets and slots for credit cards. She liked that it had softened with age and she liked that she knew where the treasured photos of her husband and children and grandchild were.

 

She also knew which compartment held the ratty card on which she’d written the phone numbers and addresses of those important to her.

I hadn’t looked in the wallet since mom moved in to her memory care unit nearly four years ago. When she first arrived, she carried her purse. Mom never went anywhere without it and moving to a memory care unit was no different. While I knew she wouldn’t need a purse there, I didn’t try to dissuade her from bringing it.

But we looked inside her wallet so I could take her ID and health care cards and any other important information she carried. The only money mom had in the wallet was a $10 dollar bill, which she handed to me.

“Well, I guess I won’t be needing this anymore, she said. “Why don’t you keep it, Jane?”

I was already an emotional wreck having to bring mom to this place that I knew she’d never leave, so the act of handing over the last little bit of cash in her wallet almost did me in. I had to excuse myself for a moment to recapture a little composure.

When I rejoined her, she’d already forgotten about her purse, the green wallet and the ten dollar bill.

So when I came across her wallet in my purging frenzy today, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I hadn’t looked inside that wallet for ages.

I carefully opened it up and inside that old wallet were the parts of one’s life that seem mundane – until the person no longer has any use for them.

Inside her change compartment were, yes, a few coins – but she also carried some bobby pins for her hair. That compartment also held a religious medal – the same medal that mom gave me from time to time in moments of strife.

She meant to give me some peace by sending me that small token – but whenever I see those medals, I think of mom.  And while it brings a little sadness, it also does bring me a sense of comfort.

Also in the change purse was a small polished green stone. I suspect she picked it up on one of their many trips around the world. But I don’t think we’ll ever really know why that stone had such significance that mom kept it in her wallet.

I removed her frequent shopper cards for a grocery store and several pharmacies in Alliance.  

The card she always carried for the grocery store in Wareham had already been discarded. It could be that dad took it out of her wallet when they sold the cottage at the Cape knowing they’d never need that card again.

For some reason, she carried dad’s library card in her wallet, although perhaps they both used just one card when they borrowed from the library.

Or perhaps with the advancement of her dementia mom lost her library card and rather than replace it, they simply used dad’s card.  

But seeing dad’s signature on the back of the card brought me to tears. So many memories came flooding back.

I remember going to the library with them as a child and later visiting the bookmobile on my own whenever it came around my neighborhood. I’d check out as many books as I was allowed and then I’d struggle to carry them home careful not to drop any of my treasures.

I am incredibly happy that my parents instilled a love of reading in all their children – so much so that sometimes when we’d all gather together, we would quietly spend time together reading or doing crossword puzzles or jumbles.

Sometimes we’d all be so still, someone would invariably say, “Aren’t we a lively bunch?!”

But it was a comfortable silence broken only by someone commenting on an interesting passage or someone else asking for an answer to the clue in the crossword puzzle.

Nowadays, people can gather together and quietly spend time scrolling or texting or YouTubing or whatever it is they’re doing on their phones, but that togetherness doesn’t seem to have quite the same camaraderie.

In later years, I’d drive my parents to the small library in Wareham. Vacations at the Cape meant I got to catch up on lots of reading and I’d check out as many of the new best sellers as I could manage in the time I had there.

Dad went from reading regular books, to reading Large Print books and then later still when macular degeneration was winning the war against his eyesight, he’d borrow books on tape.

Mom, meanwhile, transitioned from historical novels and biographies to cookbooks where she could read snippets of dishes she’d most likely never prepare. But she always liked looking at cookbooks.

Toward the end of their visits to the library Dad would help her choose travel books where she could look at the photos and he’d help her try to recapture some memories of her time spent in those locales.

Finally, inside that old green wallet were photos of her husband and her children growing up. Our high school graduation photos were in there and tucked behind them were one or two of our grade school photos.  She also kept several photos of her granddaughter, Chloe, whom she adored.

There was a small black and white photo of dad taken in April of 1953 in Winnipeg. Dad was nattily dressed in a bow tie and an overcoat smiling as he sat on some steps in front of a vast pillar.

Shortly after they returned from their honeymoon, he had been given orders to report to an Air Force station in Winnipeg, the capital of the Canadian province of Manitoba. In later years mom and dad both recounted stories of that time, with her travelling by train to the remote station and staying with him in housing with no running water. 

It was a picture of dad that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. And it made me nostalgic for times that had passed and can never be recaptured again.

Much as that old green wallet captured snippets of mom’s life. She will never relive those times again, but in looking through her wallet, I got to experience some of those special moments in her life – and ours, too.