Giving from the heart...

One year at Christmas, when I was about four years old, I told my mom that I wanted to give each person in my family something special for Christmas. She said that was a good idea. I pointed out to her that I was only four and had no income which was going to make gift giving difficult for me. My mom told me, and this is a lesson that I hold dear today, that only those gifts that come from our heart mean anything and those types of gifts didn't have to cost much or anything at all. In fact, she said, sometimes giving someone something that is special to you, because it makes you happy, make the gift meaningful.

So I spent a good week or so looking around and thinking about what I really loved and what of what I loved would my siblings love too. There were my toys, of course, but I couldn't see any of my older siblings getting a kick out of getting my old toys wrapped up under the tree. Besides, I liked my toys and I wasn't sure I was all that ready to part with them. There were my books too but the same rules applied. And, as the baby in a family of six, most of my books had been their books at one time or another already. Gifting them back seemed redundant.

Then one night it came to me. One thing we always did when we were all together was have dinner at the dinner table together. My mom would cook up a big meal and we'd sit and eat and talk and laugh in the warmth of the kitchen. It was  special time and the most special thing, in my humble four year old opinion, that my mother cooked for us was her home made mashed potatoes. Now, being Irish, I am a potato freak! Love them! Boiled, fried, baked, mashed, chips, hash browned - it doesn't matter - I love them. And so it came to pass that on Christmas Eve, when I was just four, my sisters and brother and Dad all unwrapped a big beautiful potato. They all thought it was funny but I thought it was the perfect gift. I was giving people I loved something I loved, just like mom said I should do.

Mom chuckled too. Until she opened her present from me. It was a spatula. Dad helped me pick it out. Apparently while I enjoyed identifying my mom as a world class cook she would have rather had some bubble bath or nice perfume. Go figure!

The Tweeners...

Halloween has come and gone. For the first time in a long time, Kenosha allowed trick or treating to happen on the actual date of Halloween, Oct. 31 and at night. When I was a kid trick or treating was always in the evening and it was always a blast. Then, sometime in the mid-80s, rumors abounded about mad men stealing children or kids getting abducted and forced to eat razor bladed candy or some such nonsense. I don't think any of it was based in fact but the media made such a stink of it that parents and town councils everywhere lost their nut and made kids trick or treat on the Sunday before Halloween in broad daylight. There was something not right about that.

So it was with great anticipation, my sister and I dressed up and sat out in the rain to hand out mini-Snickers bars and SweetTarts to the throngs of costumed children. And I do mean throngs! We had more kids in the dark than we ever had during the daylight hours...even in the rain! It was fantastic and we, once again, had a blast.

And so today...November 1 begins the time that I call The Tweeners. Its the short but perilous time before the tsunami of holidays hits us in the kisser. It's the time we start coasting down the hill to the big rush. For me, it's the time of making mental notes of what I need to begin planning for, purchasing and doing over the next 20-something days. Eventually, the mental notes become actual notes that are compartmentalized into useful groups like "Groceries", "Gifts" and "Decorations". And, for me, these Tweener days, are days of pure excitement because anyone who knows me knows that this is MY time of year. I love the end of year holidays more than I can say! I love everything about them and most of the time it's in the silliest emotional way possible. I love making the Thanksgiving turkey. I love donating food and other goods to local shelters. I love being with my friends and family. I love decorating my apartment, putting up the tree, pulling out the ornaments that have been handed down to me from my mother. I love sitting in the glow of the tree with the room dark and listening to carols. I am that Christmas girl! That holiday spirit stays with me right through the end of the year when we quietly wish for peace and good will as the New Year stars light the sky.

So, as I head into the Tweeners, this wonderful time between Halloween and the New Year, I feel the joy of what is to come and the awe of what possibilities there may be! I wish I could give this feeling to everyone because I know that not everyone sees this time of year as I do. Most people feel stressed and depressed which, I think, is sadly because they don't truly understand the meaning of these holidays. This time, these holidays, are not about status symbols or finding the perfect gift These holidays are all about looking deep inside ourselves and reaching out to others without wanting anything in return. When you figure that out, you'll know it! Because it's the best feeling in the world!

This Thanksgiving...

I know I have a lot to be thankful for in my life. I always have. I wouldn't consider myself wealthy by any means but I am blessed. I have an incredible family. This year it is even more present in my mind how important they are to me because, this year, I was not able to celebrate Thanksgiving with them. Now let me explain, this isn't the first time I have been without family at Thanksgiving. I spent one Thanksgiving in Sweden with Alex's family. Even though they don't celebrate this holiday they politely indulged me while I cooked a turkey with all the trimmings for them. My own family celebrated at home without me but even then I didn't feel this sense of missing out as I do this year.

Last weekend I came down with a cold. As I ran around getting what I would need to make one of the traditional turkeys I could feel this cold coming on. Sniffles, congestion, slight cough - it was coming. Over the next day or two it worsened. Luckily, I had taken this week off from work so I wasn't having to call in sick but if I hadn't there was no way I would have been able to go to work. That's a pet peeve of mine, by the way, people who come to work coughing and hacking who clearly should have stayed home. Anyway, on Wednesday, I cooked a 22 lb. turkey and carved it  up and got it ready to go on Thursday morning. When I went to bed Wednesday night I was still somewhat optimistic that I would be going to my sister's house to celebrate with my family. But, all night on Wednesday, I was forced awake by violent coughing fits which made me have to get up and out of bed to get them under control. By morning, it was clear, I wasn't going anywhere but CVS to get some more cough medication. I called my other sister and she took the turkey and I stayed home with a promise that she would drop off some left overs when she returned. I might have gone and toughed it out but my sister Terry is on medication for her cancer that lowers her immune system. She can't be around anyone with even the slightest cough and I surely don't want to be the one to make her sick!

I've been missing them all day. I know it's silly. I mean it's not like I'm never going to see them again and I also know that these feelings are fueled by my feeling really crappy and sorry for myself. But my family is fun and I know I missing out on some great laughs. And my nieces were bringing their families from Illinois with the little kids. I miss them. And Jenna who is now 21 is home from Marquette University. I miss her! And my nephew was bringing his kids and we hardly ever see them! I miss them too. And my brother in law Ron was coming today and he rarely comes to large family gatherings. I miss him too. And my oldest sister was making oyster dressing at my request and now I'm not there to enjoy it! I'm the only one left in the family that likes it! I want it and I miss it! I miss them all today. Yes, I'm feeling sorry for myself and yes, I will see them all again. But these are the people I am most grateful for in my life. All of them. My siblings - Verda, Butch, Kathy, Terry, and Patsy. All of their families and their kids families. Together we are a fun, wild, crazy, loud, opinionated bunch. And I know how blessed I am to be a part of that!

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

the week that was...

Wow, it's been a while since I wrote anything here. Truth is, I had all of last week off of work which, you'd think, would be a very good thing. I was in need of some time away from work and taking a week off with no real plans usually gives me some rest, relaxation and fresh perspective. But last week just gave me a major head ache.

We are dealing with, from a very far distance. a change in Alex's father's health that means he may not be able to ever live on his own again. Being thousands of miles away does not make it easy to try to get information about what's going on, what's to happen next and where he goes from here. We were planning a vacation to Sweden but now that vacation time will be taken when we have to help the family move his things so it will not be the restful leisurely time we had hoped for. Also the distance and time change between here and Sweden meant that to get any information at all it had to be done when businesses were open in Sweden which, much to our chagrin, was about 2 or 3 am our time. Right now my sleep schedule is a little loopy!

Another thing we had to deal with was the sudden death of my sister's ex-husband. I can't honestly say that I feel saddened by his passing though I feel very sorry for his two adult children who are dealing with the death of the parent for the first time. I don't mean to sound so callous, that I don't feel anything, but he was an ex-brother in law and someone I haven't associated with for a very long time so it's not as though I knew him very well at all. Still, a death in the family is a death in the family and just as stressful either way.

In the middle of all of this, we had our friend come over to give us a quote on what he would take to paint three rooms in our apartment. Turns out he's quite affordable and he's starting this Thursday. Even with that one bright spot there was still an overwhelming feeling of being stuck last week.

We have big plans but have no way to implement them and after a while all the wishing, dreaming and hoping gets a little old and one starts to feel stuck. I'm sure we'll be fine and plans will roll as, well, as planned but it's been a weird week that has made seeing the light at the end of the tunnel just a little bit harder.

Winding down...

This year has been an incredible roller coaster full of ups and downs and loop de loops. Some of it has been exciting and very good. Some of it has been stressful and very sad.

Last year, my mother made the decision to move in with my sister and her family. In her 90's she was not able to care for her home any longer. She came to this decision on her own and that was a blessing. I've heard horror stories of families having to force their elderly parents out of their homes leaving them traumatized and angry. Mom decided this for herself in her own time. It was also a blessing that she was there with my sister last Christmas Eve because that was the day, while getting ready for our Christmas Eve get together, she suddenly had a stroke. That was the event that defined how the next 12 months would be.

Initially, we were hopeful, yet scared. Mom did all the therapy asked of her and tried very hard to regain her movement and language skills. But, at 93, it was too much for her. For the next 12 months she showed a steady decline and now can barely speak anything that makes sense. She eats very little and so has lost an enormous amount of weight and the pressure of her bones against her thin skin has left her riddled with sores that will not heal. She is assisted in every aspect of her life - eating, dressing, toileting and communicating. This frustrates and tires her out. My sister, who is an angel, patiently altered her own life to become my mother's chief care giver. She has made the journey from task master - getting my mother to cooperate with therapy - to gentle companion - making mom as comfortable as she can. My mom is on the end of her life rope and it's been painful watching her natural decline. She never wanted this end for herself but she is tolerating it with quiet wisdom and deep faith. One of these days, her God will bless her and finally take her. It will be a blessing for us all.

Also this year, another person in my life had been fighting the good fight against cancer and leukemia. My brother in law's cousin was diagnosed with breast cancer last year and underwent treatment that ravaged her health and took her hair. She made it through and triumphed over the cancer, started growing her hair back and started living again. Her victory was short lived because shortly after she was diagnosed with leukemia. Still not 100% after the initial cancer treatment, she began treatment for the leukemia. Apparently, it didn't work. Judy passed away Sunday morning. She was 62.

Those were the low points of the year. But the year wasn't all low because this year my family welcomed the birth of four new babies - Isaac, Logan, Chelsea and Indy. Our family continues to grow and, in spite of our losses and sadness, we have had many chances to celebrate with great joy.

I guess such is life. We cannot know the good times if we do not experience the bad. We would have nothing to compare it to. So, we say good bye to those we loved and will love forever and hello to new souls who will fill our dark days with smiles and laughter. Such is life. And life is good.

Getting my Irish up!

I know, the name of my blog indicates that I am Polish, and I am. At least, half of me is Polish. The other half, given to me by my father, is Irish. I am a 50/50 split! Since today is St. Patrick's Day I thought I'd take some time to tell you about my Irish father.

My Dad was a great guy. He was born in Waukon, Iowa, the son of a dreamer and a supporter of dreams. His parents, Catherine and Michael Kelleher, had come over from Ireland with their respective families and met here in the US. My grandmother was a go getter. For a time, she rode a short leg of the Pony Express in North Dakota! My grandfather was, in his life time, a farmer, a sheriff, a business owner, and a politician. He thought the US was a land of opportunity so when he saw one, he took it! They had a passle of chidren - Margaret, Myrtle, Hazel, Donald, Francis, Theodore, and Vivian. Vivian, with the feminine but very British spelling, was my father. Vivian Bryant Kelleher.

His brother's Donald and Francis both died as children when they, along with my Dad, all came down with the flu. This was sometime in the 1910's mind you, so the flu was epidemic then. My Dad said he became feverish and drifted in and out of consciousness. When he finally came to and could think straight, both his brothers had already been buried. That was the first time in his life my Dad had ever been ill. There was a second time in his life but I'll get to that later.

My Dad was proud to be Irish. He was almost always called "Kelly" - short for Kelleher. He worked various jobs - a gardener, farming, and then later, factory work and Union organizer at J.I.Case in Racine, WI. But the larger part of his working life was as a small business owner. He owned and operated Kelly's Tavern in Kenosha, WI. It was a great corner bar with an attached restaurant (where my mother cooked Thursday through Saturday). Dad was the chief and only bartender working 7 nights per week, holding court with the regulars and, believe me, spinning a yarn as long as a mile. He was almost stereotypically Irish in that he would actually instigate arguments. Sometimes he would read something out of a set of encyclopledias he kept hidden behind the bar. Then, when some lowly patron was just in for a shot and a beer and some conversation, my Dad would ply him with a question. A question about something he'd just read about. And when the unsuspecting sucker would take the bait my Dad would "set him straight" with all the inside info he'd just studied up on. If the poor guy stepped it up into an argument, my Dad would reach down, pull out a Funk and Wagnall, and prove the guy to be an idiot. My Dad got a kick out of doing that to us kids as well. We often would storm off, red faced and frustrated, yelling, "Daaaad!!"

My Dad took his Irishness serious. He loved to read about Ireland and about the people there. He had a lot of books he'd picked up over the years and he would page through them with a sort of wistful look in his eye. He would read aloud from a well used book of Irish humor which he found a wee bit funnier than the rest of us did. I gave him a birthday card once telling him that when I grew up and could save the money I would take him to Ireland for a vacation. I never got that chance.

When my Dad was 78 he was diagnosed with Leukemia. This was the second time in his life that he had ever been ill, the first being that bout with the flu that claimed his brothers. Being unusually healthy at the time of this diagnosis, my 78 year old father opted to meet this challenge head on. He decided to do the chemotherapy and transfusion therapy that was determined to be the best course of treatment. He would go into the hospital for these treatments and be there a night or two and then return home. Each time, he returned a little weaker and more bruised. I was at the university when this happened. I think I was 22 years old. I got used to Dad being away for a day or two at a time. I could see him waning but he still had his Irish spirit and sense of humor so it was hard to see how ill he really was. Finally, he was unable to eat solid food and had resorted to jars of baby food for his meals. Yet, he still could argue like an Irish dock worker and tell a tale to make your head spin.

Then, one morning, as I was sleeping in my room, I heard my Mom call out to me. I got up and ran to my Dad's room. He was lying in bed with a fixed gaze, his fingers holding the St. Patrick's medal he wore around his neck. My Dad was dead. I called 911 in the hopes he wasn't but deep down I knew he was.

In the days that followed, while we made funeral plans and awaited the arrival of his out of town family, I kept thinking about all the wonderful things my Dad had given me. My humor, for sure. My voice - my Dad was a great singer in his right. My sense of purpose and right - my Dad was among the first to sponsor a Vietnamese family to come to the US after that war. My sense of fun - my Dad loved to be around people and enjoyed a good party. He gave me many, many gifts. And a love for my Irishness.

At my Dad's wake, so many people arrived to pay their last respects to my father we were overwhelmed. We had no idea how many lives my father touched during his time. The funeral director had to open an additional room to accomodate and line formed outside of people waiting to get in. My Dad wasn't a celebrity. He was just one man, living a life, loving his wife, raising his kids, trying to do what he knew was right, sometimes succeeding, sometimes not, spinning a yarn, having a laugh, touching lives and holding up his Irish head with pride each and every day.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, Dad! I love you!

In the holding pattern called life..

My mom's not doing so well. She hasn't progressed as the docs and therapists had hoped so they are now saying she will need a nursing home. On the one hand, that means she will be coming closer to home. On the other hand, it means she will be forever altered.

I guess I should have been ready for this. I mean, after all, she is 93 years old and I've had plenty of time to get ready for the inevitable. But I am not ready and I am angry that life throws these damned curve balls at us and we're just expected to deal.

But, I do find comfort in thinking about the things my mother accomplished in her life.
1. She taught elementary school for over 25 years and never had a sick day unless she was in labor.

2. She gave birth to 6 healthy children and raised us all to be good decent caring people.

3. While raising us and teaching, she was the cook in my dad's restaurant. This meant she taught Monday through Friday, cooked Thursday, Friday and Saturday and then spent all day Sunday preparing her lessons for the following week. Yet we never felt she wasn't present in our lives from working too much because she made sure we had great family times - picnics, trips to the zoo, swimming at the lake, etc.

4. She made sure that we all got great educations and encouraged us in whatever we wanted to try. And she was always there to hold us up when we failed. And she never said, "I told you so."

5. She had and has so many people who love her, whose lives she's touched, whose hearts have been shared with her. I know once she's back in Kenosha she will have a never ending stream of visitors.

6. She taught me shame. She taught me to recognize that there is some behavior, some ways that I could choose to act, that would bring shame to myself...and to her. And that's the one thing I would never want to do.

7. She knows that laughing and having a sense of humor about yourself is more important than being the smartest, the prettiest or the richest. If you can laugh, no matter what your circumstances, you will be happy.

8. She taught me that inner strength can take me through the toughest times.

9. She told me she loved me every single day of my life. And she meant it. Even now, not a day goes by, when me and my siblings or my husband don't say "I love you". We end every phone conversation with that. When we leave each other's homes we say it. And we mean it.

10. She taught me that being happy...truly happy...doesn't come with wealth or power or prestige. It is simply knowing there are people I love, who love me back, and always will. I wish everyone could feel that in their lives.

My mother is a remarkable woman. She has been the pillar of our family forever. And, even now, she still is. We are all just a little lost while she is in this condition. We're all still looking to her at the moment to know how to deal with this. It's slowly dawning on us that her time to lead us may be coming to an end and we will have to remember those things she taught us, those gifts she gave us, and carry on together, taking care of her now as she took such good care of us all.

I love you Mom. Always have. Always will.

Revisiting reality...

Over my life, I've come to realize that no matter what we plan for ourselves, life often has made other plans for us. For the past year or so, I've sort of had this plan/dream that one day I would be moving to and living permanently in Sweden. I've looked on-line at possible locations, apartments, homes and whatnot. I've explored various cities and towns to see what life would be like when I was there. Of course, my exploration was limited to what I could find on the Internet or could glean from talking to my Swedish friends and family.

I still have that dream and, honestly, truly believe that one day, Alexander and I, will get there. But lat week, another possibly scenario presented itself. As we were driving through downtown Kenosha, Alex asked me about a tall, apartment complex there. It is a rent controlled complex for Senior Citizens. When I explained what it was he said, "My dad could live there if he moved here."

In my desire to move to Sweden, I often thought about there being a time when Alex's father was not able to take care of himself and how I would easily make the decision to be there to take care of him with Alex if necessary. I never thought about the possibility of him moving here to the US. But the more I've thought about it, now that the seed has been planted, the more I think it would easy to make that decision as well. Because for me, no matter the plan, no matter which way the plane flies, at the end of the day, it is family that matters. And I know I will go where my family, either immediate or by marriage, needs me.

(But, I'm not giving up on moving to Sweden just yet!)

The day after...

Today a gentle snow is falling lightly outside. The Christmas tree is lit with a nostalgic day after glow. The presents are opened and sitting under the tree on display. The coffee is hot and comforting. The kitties are warm and snuggling. And all is right with the world.

Here are some shots from Christmas 2009






Christmas highlights -
Singing carols at my mom's house.
Eating traditional Polish food on Christmas Eve.
My sister's house all decked out in lights.
Opening gifts at home with my husband and loving every minute of it.
Hearing little Sophie say "Mehwwy Cwismas!" with all the sincerity of a 2 year old.
Playing Charades at my sister's house. Who knew Alex would be the whiz at that game!?
Watching my oldest sister trying to act out "My Humps" and get her team to guess it. (Oh how I wish I had video for that one! LOL )
Watching my mom watch her family and smiling. She's 92 and may not have many more Christmases.

Happy New Year everyone!

My mom...

My mom totally rocks. She just does.

My place in the world...

I was talking the other day to my friend Katie and we discovered that we have been leading almost parrallel lives. She is the youngest of 6 children in her family as am I. She has four sisters and one brother and so do I. Her brother is the second oldest and so is mine. She also was the only one home for a large portion of her life after her siblings moved out to work and get married. She lived at home with only her mother after her father passed away and that's exactly the way my life played out too. My siblings all grew up and got out and I stayed home with my mother while in high school and college when my father passed away. All of this talk led to a long discussion on birth order.

Birth order is something we take pretty seriously here at work where we use Bowen's Famiy Systems (http://www.genopro.com/genogram/family-systems-theory/) as a tool to work with our clients. There is definitely something to it when Katie and I started relating stories about growing up as the baby of the family. Certainly, there are stereotypes that go along with that. Everyone thinks the baby is the spoiled one, the coddled one, the one that can do no wrong. Perhaps that is partly true in the eyes of our parents. But in the eyes of our siblings we are seen as the one to be tolerated, the one who can't do anything right and the one whose opinion just doesn't matter all that much.

One conclusion Katie and I came to was this - no matter how old we get and what our birth order, we constantly slip right back into those roles we grew up with whenever we are together as a family. It's true! No one can make me cry like my big brother can! I love him to death but he has a way that of teasing me relentlessly that just gets to me every single time. It all starts out in fun but he just doesn't know when to quit. My sisters also have a way to get to me. They don't think I can cook. I have no idea where this idea comes from because I'm a damn good cook but everytime we get together and we each bring a dish to share they rant and rave about the fact that I have actually cooked something...even though I have done it every single time. Its like they think I am retarded or brain dead or something and are AMAZED that I was able to do anything at all.

Of course, falling into my role means that there are some family discussions that I just know to stay out of. Like politics, for instance. I tend to lean to the liberal side of things which pisses off the conservatives in the group so I just keep my mouth shut. Occasionally, I can't help myself. They'll say something so outrageous that I hear my words before my brain engages and tells me "NO NO STAY OUT OF IT!!" and then it's too late. No matter who was in disagreement before I spoke, I become the target of the shouting.

Still, I love them all and wouldn't trade my place in this family for anything. There are aspects to being the baby of the family that I really love and that makes all the difference.

Remembering New Year's...

When I was little my parent's owned a neighborhood bar and restaurant called "Kelly's Tavern". My Dad was the owner/bartender and my Mom was the cook. She made the best fried perch in Kenosha! Each year at this time we kids were enlisted in the preparations for the New Year's Eve party that would take place on Dec. 31. We had to clean the place up and set up extra tables and chairs. But the biggest job was blowing up hundreds of balloons. We would huff and puff until our face muscles burned. In each balloon we put a little slip of paper that had a prize written in it. These weren't huge prizes, believe me. The balloons were shoved into enormous bags tied with a string and hoisted to the ceiling. At midnight, my Dad would pull the strings and all of the balloons would fall. Our patrons, all of them from the neighborhood and life long friends, would run and grab and stomp on them, popping them, to see what they won. They would win things like a 6 pack of beer, a free dinner for two, a kiss from the cook, or a few free games of pool. Whatever it was, they loved it and it was the highlight of the night.

Since I was so young, it was just thrilling to get to stay up so late and be a part of it. It seems weird now since, I think, in this day and age having a 6 year old up past midnight in a bar would be frowned upon. But then it was what we did. We knew everyone who came in there. They were at our birthday parties, and some of our weddings. They came to pay their respects when my Dad passed away. We went to pay ours when they passed away. We were a family of a sort.

The bar no longer exists but those times there are the most vivid in my memory. In fact, the time I spent in that old neighborhood is burned in pictures in my brain. I wish we still had that old bar. I would love to own it now and run it like my Dad did. It was a great place.

Just plain fun...

This weekend one of my niece's got married. I went to the wedding with my family and we stayed overnight at the Hyatt. Ate too much, drank too much, laughed a lot and just had a wonderful time. Here are some pictures....



Tamatha and Ron taking their vows.



My sister and her hubby shaking their groove thang!



The bride cranks out some Britney Spears karaoke style!



The beautiful bride.



It's not a wedding without cake!




The bride and her father - my brother - dancing.



My nephew Donnie.



The bride's mother lighting one of the candles on the altar.



One of the enormous lighted centerpieces.



Two of my sisters, several trips to the open bar later.

'tis good to be Polish...

My old Auntie's are here for a visit. They are my mother's sisters. My mom is 91 years old so as you can see the term "old Auntie's" does apply here. One of my Aunt's is a nun. We don't call her "Aunt" anything...we call her Sister Loyola because that's the name she chose when she entered the convent at the tender age of 17. She's 87 now so she's had a good long run at the nun biz. She lives relatively close to us, just down in Illinois and we get to see her twice a year. She comes here in the summer for a week or two and then again in the winter for a week. My other Aunt lives in North Dakota. By car, she is 17 hours away but since she is now 85 she and one of her daughter's are flying in. A seventeen hour drive would be too much for her especially since she is on oxygen daily now.

When these three get together is quite fun. They talk a lot about growing up on the farm in Minto, ND with my Grandmother Anna and my Grandfather Stanislaus. Yes, that was his name. Stanislaus Reszka - born and raised in Warsaw, Poland. I never knew any of my grandparents. Grandpa Stanislaus died 8 months before I was born. The others all died long before that.

There will be much laughter and much eating while my Auntie's are here. There are two distinct times when the family is guaranteed good home cooked Polish food. One is at Christmas when we go all out with very traditional Polish fare and the other is when the Aunties are here. So tonight we are all getting together for dinner. There is likely to be perogis, kishka and sauerkraut. And the three of them, who look more and more like the same person as the years go by, will be laughing and talking all night long.

As I've said, my mother is 91 years old. There's not likely to be many more of these get togethers. So this one will be a little sentimental as well.

"But I'll missss yooooooooo...."

I told my family of the plans Alex and I have which include, someday, me moving to Sweden to live. Now there's a ton of things that have to happen before the move can happen so the actual moving date is not even really close. Most of my family met my information with silence. I'm familiar with this silence. It's the silence that comes because I know they have a million and a half questions, twice as many opinions, and they are afraid to come out and ask anything just yet. It's a pattern they have and I just chalk it up to their needing to digest it all before talking about it. Except for my sister Terry...

Terry is the one sister I am probably closest too. I live upstairs from her, for one thing, so I see and talk to her everyday. She's spent far more time with Alex when he's here too so she knows him better and she's one of those people who really love other people and always wants to know more about them. Friday as we were coming home from my Mom's she blurted out "I don't want you to move." When I asked her why she said "Because I'll missss yooooo..."

Of course I will miss them all too but, that aside, I have never wanted anything more in my life. I've spent a good deal of my life doing things the way my family has wanted them to be, which was okay, but not always the way I would have chosen to do things. My family is fairly typical in that they just want to make sure that everyone is safe and going to be okay but they have made it so the only way they can be sure of that is to become almost unadventurous or curious about life, the world and other people. For example, my niece had an opportunity to go live and study in Ireland for a year. It was a great chance for her to see how other people live, to meet them on their turf, and open up her mind. It was a gift that was handed to her - all expenses paid and money to live on while she was there. Her family poo-pooed the idea as too dangerous because there was so much they themselves didn't know about where she would be going and who she would be with. So she didn't take the chance. Instead of encouraging her to break the borders of her small world, they scared her into thinking that anything outside of it was just plain scary and bad. I find that very sad.

My family's pattern is this - grow up, get educated, get a job, get married, stay here. They've all done it which is why they've always seen me as some kind of a rebel just because I happened to live in Chicago for a few years. I came back and followed their way for far too long. It damn near killed me. I have one niece who went her own way. Move to Virginia, had a baby on her own, bought a house, laid down her roots there in her own way...and they just don't know what to make of her! So, my plans to move to another country is probably making them crap themselves right now!

Terry has since (yes, since Friday!) talked about Alex and my plan and she does know why I want this and, deep down, she is excited for us. I think that if she could, she would have made the choice to do something like this long ago. Yet, each time we talk about it she ends the conversation with "But I'll missss yooooooo...." And you know what? That makes me feel good, in a way. Because I'll miss her too. I'll miss them all. But I know something they don't. I know the world is not that big a place anymore. I know that in just 8 hours I can be back or they can be there. I know that we can talk everyday if we want to and I know that this is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Chalk this up to "What were we thinking..."

I spent a little time tonight going through some old photos. I guess it was a moment of nostalgia or something. Or hormones...who knows...

Anywho, these photos were from way back when we were all younger. There were shots of my family on past vacations, my sister's weddings, some forgotten get together in my mom's backyard. I started to see a pattern depending on what year the photo was taken. For some reason, me and my fours sisters had almost identical BAD hairdos and the same twisted fashion sense at the same time. There was one photo (and I really wish my scanner was working so I could share it) where we are all standing next to a camper. I'm about 15 in it, I think. Each one of us is sporting the incredible poodle curly perm look and we all have it dyed red. We look like we're on spring break from Clown School. Mixed in between us is a couple of nephews and brother-in-laws. Can you say SIDEBURNS? Yes, we are Clown School rejects apparently being escorted to an interment camp by a bunch of Guidos. My sister Patsy is fulling rocking the Olivia Newton John headband look too.

I think I've already decided on what I'm getting everyone for Christmas this year. I'm getting this sucker blown up poster size and giving them all a copy.

Big, collective sigh of relief...

My brother is going to be okay. They are keeping him at the hospital for the next couple of days just to be absolutely sure that the bleeding in his brain has stopped and there are no other complications. My mother, after she realized he was going to be okay and had calmed down, said "Good thing it was his head he hit...that's the hardest part of him." Gotta love my Mom!

Inching closer to a dream...

Even though nothing has really happened to make me feel this way, I do feel suddenly like I'm getting closer to my dream of living in Sweden. I spent a little time last night watching some DVD's that Jessica sent me. They were of the family at different holidays and different stages of their lives. I really love watching these. It makes me feel like a part of something special.

Home movies are like that. They're little snippets of some one's life and you get let in just for a moment. It's nice. Makes me all warm and gooey inside.

Love, life, loss...

It occurred to me today that sometimes, even when you have not met a person in real life, lives can be intertwined. Yesterday, I sat down to my computer to peruse some blog entries and the first one I read just stopped me in my tracks. Turns out that Van - someone I have never met but someone I hold in high regard - had a recent tragic loss in his life. On a personal note this struck me suddenly and left me wondering what to say to someone I don't really know but someone I know enough to feel the need to say something. I know Van through his music, his humor, and the snippets of his life he gifts us with through his blog. I know enough to know that, on a human level, the unexpected loss of his father has deeply touched him. And, having lost my own father long ago, I know what that loss feels like.

I do think it is possible to feel that we know one another from what we share via the Internet. In some cases, depending on the depth of what we share, it is possible to feel we know each other very well. I know that it is possible for me to be affected by what my Internet buddies go through because I have been keeping Van and his family close in my thoughts since finding out about his loss. Maybe it's just that loss is such a universal feeling. We all have felt it one way or another so we automatically know the impact it has on our lives. Maybe it's just a part of the human experience we share that draws us, at least in empathy, to those we don't really even know.


Hang in there, buddy.

Jellicle Cats....

So being a member of a large family with a ton of nieces and nephews, I get roped into attending many (MANY) high school functions. The worst was Orchestra Fest...four hours of orchestra music all performed by kids grades 3 through 12. Not that I have anything against orchestra music but FOUR hours of it while smashed into the bleachers in the gym was not pleasant.

Last night, I had to go see my niece Jenna perform in the musical "Cats". Let me say I have always hated that musical. It's two hours of people dressed like cats singing songs that make no sense and dancing around in their best catlike way. Blah! But I actually enjoyed myself last night. What the show lacked in content, the kids made up for in shear enthusiasm. And Jenna was great! She was in the chorus and danced her tail off. So, it wasn't a bad way to spend the evening.