The Two Marys

   

 

  As I sit here on labor day morning at my sister Mary's "cabin" at the shore, I can't help but reflect on our family. When we were growing up my sister was known as Little Mary to differentiate her from my Mom, also named Mary. A couple of our uncles still called her Little Mary until they passed, even though she was well into retirement age and a good six inches taller than my Mom.

     We lived with my Mom's mother, Carmella for as long as I can remember. I don't recall Dad living with us but he must have moved out before I started first grade because I know Grandmom took me to register for school. Living with her meant we always had family around. My Mom was the fifth of nine siblings that I knew, though a couple brothers and a sister died years before. Sunday afternoons were a reason for family dinners with aunts, uncles and cousins that lived nearby and holidays were occasion for the whole family to gather. Grownups would eat in shifts in the dining room while the smaller children ate at the kitchen table.

     That was then, and over the years family members passed away or moved away but the connections continued, thanks to the Marys. For years my Mom kept track of everyone's birthdays and would send cards to all her sisters and brothers and her nieces and nephews and their children. For the little ones she used to but a dollar bill in the card because though there were a lot of grands and great grands by then, she knew kids like to open an envelope with money. (For her ninetieth birthday a lot of them gave her a card with a dollar - there was more than 90!)  She carried on with annual holiday dinners, especially Christmas Eve. About ten years ago she moved from the old family home to live with Mary, where the Christmas Eve tradition continues

     For many years Aunt Vivian would rent a space at the shore for the family to gather. I was there a few times when I was younger, but stopped when I got out of my teens. I have heard from her and my Mom some wonderful stories of the yearly trips to Wildwood and Stone Harbor. Now it's just Mary and Vivian left of the original nine.

     As we got older, my sister would connect with some of our cousins to organize family reunions which gave us a way to stay in touch with family that might have moved away or otherwise lost touch. She regularly talks with a lot of cousins that I don't see anymore. Over twenty years ago she bought her own little piece of the shore in Wildwood and a few years later I did the same. After ten years, I sold mine so I could afford to retire but Mary has kept hers. Though now it's offshore a bit, it's her place at the beach. She continues to enjoy making memories with her family. 

     She and Mom were considering coming down for Labor Day weekend, but Mom is now 98 and doesn't enjoy the trip like she used to. So I'm here thanks to Mary's kindness. And as I sit here I wonder what will become of the connections of our family when the Marys are gone. Mom and Vivian are in their nineties and it's not easy for them to get together, though they talk on the phone often. 

     They have given us, through stories and memories, a picture of our family that I would guess we each carry with us. I thank them for showing us the way and I thank my sister Mary for all she does for Mom, me and our family. 

WILLIN'

   

 Last Christmas my niece Jean and  family gave me a couple of tablets to use for writing my stories and, sadly, they have not gotten used. Oh, I've been journaling and writing "morning pages" as suggested by the book "The Artist's Way" but for whatever reason, I have not written anything for sharing - until this morning.

     I sat down at my desk as I often do, after I play with my cats and give them their breakfast.  But instead of my usual notebook,  I opened a tablet and started, not sure what would come out - my history or family stories or random thoughts and ideas. 

    What do I want to be now that I'm grown up?  I mean I wasn't really clear when I was a kid about what I wanted to do, and now that I've turned seventy I still don't know exactly what I want for my life - the who with or where or how I would like to be living, other than when I'm out delivering auto parts, I sing "I want to be retired" to that old Ramones tune.  I have yet to define what retirement should look like.

     Anyway, I have drifted along over the years with whatever presented itself to me - school, career, jobs, marriages, friendships, housing, travels - all constant changes - over fifty years of being grown up and life has continued to unfold. One door closes and another one opens, and this morning the song  Willin'  keeps playing in my mind.  Maybe my next road trip will take me from Tucson to Tucumcari, or maybe it's just about being open and willing and moving. 

     Yesterday the President announced that the CDC suggests that the COVID vaccine is working and we can begin to lose the masks that we've become accustomed to wearing for over a year now. Restrictions have been rolling back and there is talk of live concerts resuming. I have watched a few streaming online shows, but I miss the crowds. I have missed the concerts, sporting events, Pow-Wows, and the in-person gatherings. I have missed hugs and actually smiling at one another. Yea, I am willing to keep moving and see what the Universe has in store for me next.

     It's a good day to be alive. Enjoy the ride.

We're All In This Together

   

  Sometime last Fall, before there was any talk about COVID-19 or stay at home orders, I had a thought of a story I wanted to write. It was a rather vague idea but the title was going to be We're All In This Together. I think I was seeing connections from one area in my life to another - family, work, friendships, activities, random conversations and songs on the radio. Now I fear that even if I ever write that story, I can't use the phrase that has become so strongly attached to the pandemic that has changed life as we know it.

    It's time to sit down and do a jigsaw puzzle.  I have these random thoughts and story ideas that float to the surface of my mind as I'm driving around and I think I have to do a story about that and sometimes it's just a title. By the time I get back home and pull out the laptop and the stuff I've dictated into my phone, I have trouble actually pulling a story together.

     There's something about jigsaw puzzles, or most any creative activity, that bypasses the logical part of the brain.  I am always amazed when I'm in the middle of a pile of puzzle pieces and some part of me that I can never identify, and don't need or want to, says " Hey, that squiggle with the blue blurry color goes on the right side of that house". And I pick up this random piece that I wasn't even looking at and Whoa! - it fits. In the same way I might have a question about where to vacation next, or do I need get out and walk more, or maybe I should call someone I haven't talked to in a while, and I'll get related messages about these things from a dream, or a song I hear, or a memory that surfaces.

     We are all connected was the theme of the original piece, but today I guess I want to talk more about where I've been these last few weeks since life has turned upside down.  I am one of the fortunate "essential workers" that gets paid to leave my house most days to deliver auto parts on less crowded roadways, so that the really necessary folks can keep their cars in good repair to get to the hospitals or police stations or grocery stores. I leave my apartment weekly to go to the laundromat and I am grateful to be able to walk the trails near my home for quiet diversion and exercise. I have also been trying to support local dining establishments by ordering take-out once or twice a week, so in a lot of ways I don't feel life has changed that much.

Route 202 on a weekday afternoon!

     On the other hand, my Mom turned ninety-six last month and a dozen of us spread out in the field behind her home to sing Happy Birthday, instead of taking her out to dinner or having a party. I have only visited her three times since the stay-at-home started since she had just completed treatment for cancer, and I am out among the public, however limited, and don't want to risk infecting her. My sister, that Mom lives with, is working from home and feeling isolated and stressed and I feel bad that can't stop by as much to see them.

     A part of me is truly grateful that I have not been in total lock down, but I have mixed emotions. I am concerned about trying to protect myself and others by social distancing, hand washing and cleaning my work and personal cars, as well as my apartment and I get aggravated when I see others being what I consider to be careless. I'm glad that I get to be outdoors, driving around for work and yet feeling guilty that I am not heading to the hospital or home care visits I would have been doing in the past.

     When this whole thing started and people were not going out to get their cars fixed, we needed to cut back the hours of service for a few weeks, but this has changed again, so I have not had much difference in my income. We changed our routine to include disinfecting the cars between shifts and how we do deliveries in the shops we service, but again, I am so much more fortunate than friends or family working from home or working longer exhausting hospital shifts or unable to work and still waiting on Unemployment Compensation.
 
     Summer is coming and I would love to be planning vacation or attending concerts, fairs and festivals, but all that is currently on hold until this situation lifts. In the meantime I'm staying grounded as best I can by connecting by phone and Zoom to family and friends, and talking a lot to God about what I'm thinking and feeling and asking for help and guidance.

     We are all in this life together, so  share what you can to touch lives nearby or far, send your light out to the world. Whether you're working or stuck at home you are a part of the whole of life. Peace and love to all.
 
   So that's where I am today.  I hope we can soon start to resume a more normal way of life.
   

To The Ocean and The Mountain and Back Again

 

  Back when I  was in my late twenties, my husband Jack died from a heart attack the day after Christmas. He had been diabetic since he was thirteen, back in the nineteen fifties, and never got good control of his blood sugars. Though he had developed high blood pressure six months before, I was totally shocked by his death.  I had never lived on my own before and grief turned into heavy drinking and darkness. Eventually I  was living in a very small world, basically going to work and the bar and home again, day after day.
     When I began to have panic attacks at work or most anywhere other than home, I started seeking help to get back to a more normal life. In time, I was able to stop drinking with support of  others who have been there, as well as professional folks. It took some time before I was able to expand my world and after a while I began to feel a yearning to watch the sunrise over the ocean. My first time going to the Jersey shore after I began to clear up was with a guy I had met about that time. He had to go down to talk to someone about a painting job and we combined that with an overnight stay. I was up early the next morning and walked out to the beach to wait for the sun to come up. Similar to my coming out of my darkness, the sunlight gradually grew and colors brightened into pinks and yellows until it was daylight. 
     I'm not sure how long it was after that, but either later that year or sometime in the next, I drove to Ocean City, New Jersey  alone to see the sunrise over the ocean again. Though less than a hundred miles away, it was the farthest I had gone on my own in quite some time and I was hopeful I would not have a panic attack and need to turn around and go home. I made it, and have been to the shore many times since. I have probably taken hundreds of pictures of the sun coming up out of the ocean but I framed the first one and it still hangs in my living room to remind me of that experience of coming out of the darkness, overcoming fears, and going after my dreams.
     In time, God brought another man into my life who would become my second husband. Joe and I and his son Sean took many vacations to the shore and I found myself wanting that seaside lifestyle more and more. We were able initially to purchase a small rental property and then an old vacation apartment turned condo in Wildwood. The fear I had felt those many years ago was forgotten as, together or alone, I made the drive down and back on a regular basis. It became such a routine part of my life that I stopped recording sunrise over the ocean, though I always think of it when I hear the lines from an old Easter hymn about "the sun from out the waves".
     Joe  battled with cancer for a year and a half and died of a stroke after we had been together for thirteen years and Wildwood became my home away from home that summer as I took a three month leave of absence to heal. There were many walks on the beach at sunrise as well as during the day. And many meetings with folks in that town, as well as my hometown,  who helped me get through the darkness without having to return to drinking.
     The following year, I attended a Body, Mind and Spirit Expo and had a session with a woman medium who gave me a message that was clearly from Joe. A short time later I saw an ad for a South West Spirit Quest tour with this same woman and I signed up. I flew from Philly to Albuquerque and met up with Lino and a dozen other folks for a full ten days of travel through New Mexico and Arizona to many Native American sites and healers, as well as red rocks and vortices in Sedona. The last day of the tour, I declined the trip out to Taos Pueblo and opted to spend the day walking around Santa Fe instead.

     Over the next six years or so, I would get the thought to go back and visit Taos. It kept calling me, sort of like the feeling of wanting to see the sunrise over the ocean had all those years ago. I booked a casita near the Plaza and flew out to New Mexico again, this time on my own. I had been to the Southwest with the group and visited my son in San Diego the year before, but this was the first time traveling father than the shore on my own. I had dinner with a friend of a friend when I arrived in Albuquerque then drove north the next day to Taos. The feeling of freedom was incredible. I had come so far since that first solo trip to Ocean City and there I was traveling up wide highways and narrow winding mountain roads with only God keeping me company. It felt like such a miracle.
     I had researched Taos and chosen where I wanted to go, but the first sighting of Taos Mountain as I drove north from Rancho de Taos was beyond exhilarating.

I spent four days in Taos, visited Taos Pueblo, one of the oldest continually inhabited sites in North America, crossed the Rio Grande Gorge bridge, the second highest bridge in the US Highway system, and walked around the Plaza shopping and listening to music. Since it is an artist colony, the town is filled with galleries and I did visit a few of those. I stopped in a book store and chatted with the shop's cat, and ate at the local diner. It was just a small taste of the area, but another big adventure for me.

     On the return trip back to Albuquerque I drove the Turquoise Trail, a beautiful country mountain byway,  stopped in another artists village, Madrid, traveled about twenty miles of old Route 66 and had dinner at Diner 66 on my last evening in the Land of Enchantment. Maybe one day I'll take a longer trip on The Mother Road.

  A couple months ago I was feeling tired and stretched thin. I booked myself a room in Wildwood and took a weekend to just get away and watch the sun rise over the ocean again. It did not disappoint.

2020 The Year Of The Book

 

 It's been over two months since my last blog post. I wish I could point to one thing or another as a reason or excuse for not writing, but I'm not sure what's been holding me back. Some changes are going on with a couple of family members which I'm not going to get into here but I just have not felt moved to write about anything in particular. Maybe that's the thing with a blog about daydreams, memories and random thoughts. I don't have a single focus, just scattered ideas.

     The one thing that's been percolating in the back of my mind is my book idea of Gravy Every Sunday. I've started a few chapters as blogposts and have a general outline of topics to include but as far as the actual writing of a book I've been stalling. I finally renewed my Microsoft Word subscription in an effort to get a more professional look to my writing. I missed last month's Memoir Writers Circle meeting because I just was not able to write or even talk about writing. So this is an effort to prepare for next weeks gathering.

     When I first started writing The Friendship Tree back in April of 2018 I was excited to just put my thoughts out for sharing with no expectations, Then as I felt more comfortable writing about my life and my experiences ideas seemed to flow on a regular basis. People responded positively to my words and all in all I was having fun.

   
     Somehow as I plan to write my first book, because that's how I think about this endeavor, it is becoming work. When I first started down this path a fellow writer suggested I read the book "On Writing Well" by William Zinsser. I didn't get too far in reading it, but the first chapter spoke of writing as a vocation versus an avocation. Hard work compared to easy fun. I remember telling my friend that I was having fun telling stories, while he was doing the hard work of professional writing, around the equally hard work of his day job.

     I started working a part time job a little over a year ago and have even talked about it in my blog a little bit. Now I'm trying to figure out how I can schedule writing around afternoons of delivery driving and actually make progress on getting this book out of the dream stage to actual concrete pages and chapters.
   
     In the blogs about my family I've talked about my Mom being one of nine siblings that I remember when I was growing up. Now there are only two left, Mary and Vivian, both in their nineties, and I feel an urgency to get this project finished while they can both read it. So the only time pressure at this point is from me. No deadlines or publishers pushing me forward, just my expectation for my self to do a good job of recording my family's story for my generation and those to come. My goal is to finish writing and see it published  before these last two sisters are gone to join Grandmom Carmella and the rest of the brothers and sisters. I had a psychic reading after Uncle Tony passed and he said he was fine but he missed the gravy.

      Wish me luck.

La Famiglia

Back- Pep, Vivian, Tony, Marian, Front- Frank, Mary

     Let me tell you about my family. By that I mean the family of  my mother's mother.  Carmella Bruno was born in the small town of Maida in the Calabria region of Italy back in 1893. She was still in her teens when she married my grandfather, Frank Pellegrino. They had three children before she turned twenty and then they moved to the United States, initially living in Pleasantville, NJ and eventually settled in Ambler, PA. I can't begin to imagine what the long boat trip was like with three children, let alone leaving her family and hometown and moving to a totally different country. There was and still is a strong  Italian population in Ambler which must have helped. Her brother Joe also lived there.  I never met my Grandfather, since he died when my Mom was just a little girl, but I do remember going to visit Uncle Joe who always seemed to be in a good mood, and it seemed, was liked by everyone.
   
     My grandparents owned a home and small grocery store on Maple Street in Ambler and had seven children by the time my Grandfather died when  Carmella was in her thirties. Being a kind person she was too generous with helping out neighbors by extending credit. This unfortunately meant  she  had to sell the store when the people who owed her money weren't able to pay. About this time she met a young man who worked across the street from her store. Sam wooed her and convinced her to marry him and move down the road a little way to Norristown. Carmella eventually had two more children with Sam.

     Times were tough and Mom and her brothers and sisters went to school for a while, but eventually had to quit school and go to work at various jobs. They had times of being split up when Grandmom and Sam went to New Jersey to work on farms. I've heard stories of multiple moves and evictions, yet they stayed together as best they could. All of this is obviously handed-down stories from before my time, but it sets the background of staying connected. Grandmom and Sam eventually split up and Grandmom managed to keep the family together.
 
     Carmella had three children that died long before I was born, but I grew up with Aunt Ange (Angeline), Aunt Pep (Josephine), Aunt Marion, Uncle Frank, my Mom Mary, Uncle Tony, Aunt Vivian, Uncle Joey, aka Puppy Dog, and Aunt Marie (the baby). Aunt Vivian moved away to Delaware after she married Uncle Fred, and Uncle Joey spent time in the Army, including a few years in Viet Nam but the rest of the family lived in Norristown or close by. Uncle Frank did a bit of traveling and had a few long distance moves, and there could be a whole story written about his adventures, but I'll leave that tale for his children to tell.
 
     Carmella was always busy. Aside from the usual household tasks such as cooking and laundry, she had a large vegetable garden and a smaller flower garden. She knitted and crocheted clothing for the family and also some that she made for regular customers. I still have a multi-colored bedspread that she made for me decades ago.  Until I finally outgrew it, I held onto a beautiful russet colored sweater she knitted for me back when I was in seventh or eighth grade . She also chartered buses for trips to a variety of places. We traveled to church feasts and festivals around the Mid Atlantic area as well as cultural sites like Washington D.C. , the New York Worlds Fair in Queens back in 1964, and Atlantic City home of the Steel Pier and the Diving Horse.

New York World's Fair- top- Grandmom and neighbor Frances,below I think Ricky Tyson, Me, MaryAnn and JoAnn and Aunt Ange

   
    The family lived in a number of houses before they settled into the house which was my childhood home. Mom and Dad, my brother Bob and sister Mary  lived two blocks away when I was born, but my earliest memories are of living at 441 Sandy Street. We moved in with Grandmom before I can remember, and my parents eventually split up. This was the family home for decades of Sunday dinners and holidays and birthdays and all sorts of family celebrations. After years of moving - initially from Maida, Italy and around Ambler and Norristown this was where where Gradmom lived for many decades until she died.

Grandmom and Mom with my nephew Billy.

      Sandy Street is where I grew up and stayed until my mid-twenties after I married, the last one to leave the nest. That is where my Mom lived until she was almost ninety and finally moved in with my sister Mary.  Mom maintained the family home and Sunday morning traditions, and for years the aunts, uncles and cousins came together there for  Christmas Eve dinner.  Mom mostly lived on her own, and sometimes with children or grandchildren moving back to stay for a while. Always involved with her family, neighbors, work and church, she provided a safe harbor for us there over the years.

     With this background, I have found myself trying to keep the balance between roots of home and love of travel, between being alone and enjoying the company of friends and family, enjoying traditions and exploring new adventures. Story telling is my latest form of adventure and I am still finding my way around the writing and formatting and hope to soon find the path to finishing and publishing a book.  In the meantime, I'm enjoying the ride and looking to see what comes next.