Movin' On Up

The home's empty rooms inhale memories and exhale potential. Unshackled by the weight of furniture, rugs, and framed pictures on the walls, the sparseness is surprisingly liberating.

This is not my childhood home. It is my parents’ place, purchased when I was a young adult.

In 1978, this house checked off all the boxes on my parents’ wish list. This single brick and stone residence with a backyard, a separate two-car garage, a screened-in porch, a den, and 2 full bathrooms actually exceeded their real estate dreams.

They were movin’ on up, just three miles from the compact rowhome where they raised my three siblings and me.

My folks had arrived.

As with every arrival, a departure is imminent. My mom died in 2020, and my dad passed in April of this year. After 47 years under their care, it’s time for someone else to move on up.

The house is being sold.

I find myself switching between the nouns house and home when speaking about it. Saying the word house feels generic and common; saying home adds heart and soul.

Powerful memories reside here, but this house has neither my childhood heart nor soul. I've stored those with the home where I grew up. 

For my folks, however, this home was a cherished vault of family life. They became grandparents the year they moved in. Seeing them realize their American real estate dream left a mark on each of us as we ventured out into our future homes. 

This was the only home their grandchildren and great-grandchildren knew where to find their grandparents. It had generational heft.

Holidays, birthdays, barbecues in the backyard, gatherings with friends, and family Sunday dinners, all hosted here, gave breath to this inanimate structure. 

Life here encircled my parents with a satisfying tempo, similar to the pleasure they felt swaying on their porch glider on any given summer evening. Death eventually stopped the melody as they, each in their nineties, took their last quiet breath.

The Burt Bacharach/Hal David song - A House Is Not a Home - bubbles up as I hear Luther Vandross sing:

                A chair is still a chair even when there’s no one sitting there,                                    But a chair is not a house, and a house is not a home                      When there’s no one to hold you tight. 

While the song explores themes of broken-hearted loneliness, it also conveys a deeper message about the presence of Life within a home. I couldn’t agree more. 

I slept at my parents’ home the two nights before my wedding, as did one of my brothers and his family, who flew in from Maui. My sister lived with my folks for most of her life. My other brother and his family then lived two blocks away. We reveled in this rare time of togetherness and proximity. 

When I worked in Philadelphia, my parents cared for my daughters one day each week, making it my favorite workday. My mom would wait on the front steps with the girls to greet me as I drove up to the house after work. 

I can see that tableau like it was yesterday - the girls waving wildly at my approaching car. Any lingering work stress disintegrated under the sparkle of those smiles. It is a treasured memory that I grab when I seek extra joy.   

As my folks aged and my family grew, my home became the gathering place for holidays and celebrations. In December, my mom would regularly ask, “Come see my tree.” It wasn't hard for her to relinquish hosting around Christmas, but she disliked the unintended shift in her home's activity.  

Her mother, who lived around the corner from my childhood home, made the same request in the 1970s as she eventually passed the holiday hosting baton to my mom's care. I owe my Christmas hosting devotion to these two unsinkable, loving women.

Singer/songwriter Katie Gavin's lyrics from The Baton whisper:

      Go on girl, it's out of my hands ~ I can't come where you're going ~                 But time unfurls and you'll understand ~ The baton, it will be passed again.

While recently sorting through my mom's holiday decorations, "Come see my tree" slipped into my thoughts - a reminder of her passion for Christmas and her joy in sharing her decorated home. Since my daughters live out of state, I more fully appreciate her feelings.

The décor in my parents’ home eventually began to fray around the edges as they both aged into their late eighties and early nineties, but the home's bones were supported and updated. They both knew the value of staying on top of their most valued asset.

 …but a chair is not a house, and a house is not a home…

Once the house was emptied in the Spring, I felt myself inhaling and exhaling deeply. Seeing the newly painted interior and the floors restored to their golden oak splendor reignited what my folks must have seen in the late 1970s. 

Soon, (hopefully) the next lucky residents will be welcomed with a renewed, airy freshness as they launch into their own set of memories. 

This house rightly stands on the threshold of becoming a home once more. 

  

"Come see my tree."

Christmas at my parents' home

                                                                 "The Baton"

Two Weddings and a Funeral

The first wedding was in early March - when we were moving freely about the land, yet the yellow caution flags were beginning to wave.

The couple moved ahead with their original plans and we found ourselves in place at the wedding venue at the appointed time.  All the elements one would expect at a wedding were also in place creating a easy, albeit tenuous, sensory backdrop:  little flower girls swooshing about in layered, cream colored dresses, sweet scents from floral bouquets, burbling water cascading over a decorative fountain's edge, the rapid, soft click, click, click of the photographer's camera.

The fresh feel of approaching Spring filled the plant dense venue.  Missing were the usual hugs, kisses, and handshakes that I, as a wedding officiant, would normally share with the couple and their folks. At that point, physical touch was a no-no but "social distancing" wasn't in our word bank yet.  

The ceremony included a reflection on how luck played a significant role in this couple finding and dating each other and eventually arriving at marriage.  Reading these sentiments written months before felt a little unbalanced given how this earlier, carefree certainty seemed blissfully naive in a COVID-19 world.

Yet, the moment contained all the precious joy and, a bit of relief, as two lovers made their marriage promises to each other as planned.  

In the hours and days that followed, it was becoming all too clear that this wedding ceremony would be my last for a while as a Journeys of the Heart officiant.

Days after the wedding, I found myself and my 92 year-old dad in a hospital emergency room watching my 93 year-old mother's health collapsing as we sat vigil by her side.  Hours later, she died.  

The mental ping pong of accepting the fact that her body could fight no more, comforting my dad's (and my own) fear and grief, communicating with siblings and children near and far, digesting how we arrived at this crushing moment, making mental calculations about the many surfaces we were touching in an ER environment, and perpetually hand sanitizing, proved to be a tsunami of circumstances teetering on unbearable. 

Marvel Comics has it all wrong with their hyperbolic imaginings of who is a superhero; the health care professionals in service to all three of us that evening earned that top billing then and every single day before and after.  

When we mortals are falling apart under the weight of an emotional onslaught such as a loved one dying, the EMTs, ER clerks, nurses, and docs are the voices of calm, reason, rational thought, and compassion. Layer on the current pandemic, the woeful lack of needed supplies, and a host of other larger than life scenarios and it becomes incomprehensible how they rise up and do this work every day.

They are human marvels. 

A few days later a second wedding came to the fore.

photo credit: Christian Nachtrieb

My daughter Alison's college roommate had a late April wedding planned in upstate New York. Alison is one of two maids of honor. The couple, Bridget and John, live in Boston and, like so many other engaged couples, they postponed the big celebration and took matters into their own hands as a pandemic encroached on normal life.  

On a clear, bright, breezy early spring afternoon, the couple decided to be wed, at a city park, with a couple of local friends surrounding them in a social distancing tableau. Out of town family and other close friends watched via Instagram Live. 

Dressed in wedding finery, with flutes of prosecco in hand, those family and friends  dialed in from across the miles and oceans to the precious, homemade moment. Bridget's mom even made a tiered wedding cake to celebrate, albeit from PA.  

The sweetness that emerged from this pared down, full-hearted ceremony was yet another reminder of how the power of love and the capacity for joy conquers.   

Days later, my mom's funeral took place.  It was a simple, private Mass arranged for my immediate family as the limitations on churches and funeral homes became increasingly stringent. (Thankfully Mass was live streamed so family and friends out of town and down the street could watch.) 

And on another warm, sunny, springtime day we closed the door to outside world issues and focused on the woman who gave our lucky family her finest work as mother, wife, grandmother, and great-grandmother.  We gave Love its due because it is our fuel and was never to be denied.   

We humans have an incredible capacity to hold love, sorrow, fear, gratitude, jealousy, compassion, wonder, grief simultaneously. It isn't the easiest juggling act but it is essential.   As long as we can keep some balance, remembering to switch off our rudder control from one powerful emotion to another, we have a shot at sanity.  And, a little peace. 

This moment is the one we have.  The only thing certain about the ones to follow is that they are unknown.   

What a world. 

Our Star Man - Mr. Max

There is no other person I am thinking more of today than my brother, Joe - aka Mr. Max. 

He is in a state park in Glendo, Wyoming chasing his sixth total solar eclipse and to say he is energized by this event is a massive understatement.  Joe's email address begins with "Starman" and he writes a blog "Starman Astrology Update" which details astrological events and how planetary patterns influence our lives. (See his link at the end of this post.)  He offers individualized astrological consultations using birth charts. His brand new first grandchild, Logan, will refer to Joe with this moniker - Grandpop Starman. My brother's unofficial nom de plume - Mr. Max - sums up his approach to doing anything - always to the maximum degree.  He can be exhausting.  

Joe has been star struck for most of his life. At five years old he received a telescope for Christmas and his love of astronomy was lit. Astrology followed with bottomless enthusiasm for understanding the relationship that the star/planetary movements have on our lives from our birth.  I admit I understand little of when the moon is in the seventh house or the intricacies of Mercury Retrograde, but I admire the passion with which Joe follows the wider, wondrous universe in which we float along. The airless maw of space is where he gets the greatest oxygen. It's his heartbeat - his avocation.

I am the youngest of four siblings and my two brothers are closest to me in age.  I figured out early on in life to use whatever means necessary to attach myself to all of their shenanigans because that was the epicenter of fun.  They tolerated, taunted, and spoiled me equally.   They taught me how to dance, let me play with their army and Matchbox toys, took me to play nickel pinball in Atlantic City's old Funcade on the boardwalk, and introduced love for music into my life when the 1960's exploded with it.  

Whether or not it has been wholly true, I have always felt they see a large part of their sibling roles to be in service to their little sister - me. 

When Joe took off for college he was a reliable pen pal.  He understood how sad I was to see him leave home. Each letter he wrote to me included a couple of one dollar bills.   That gesture made such a deep imprint into my 12 year old brain.  Brothers were the guys who would always take care of you regardless if they lived at home or away.  

After he was married for several years, I made it clear as often as possible that I was growing impatient to become an aunt for the first time.  Ever the teaser, Joe would call me a pismire - an ant.  Of course I had to look up the word and hated its existence.  My "aunt" wish was eventually granted with the arrival of Beth and Catie, two magnificent nieces.  

Joe's well earned and somewhat predictable life as a husband, father and CPA was punctuated by his love of photography, travel, growing succulent plants, along with stargazing, chasing planetary events, meteor showers, and any other space related happenings which always seemed to take place in the godforsaken hours of the night instead of the more civilized pre-midnight hours!  He has consistently been undaunted by the energy and planning it takes to maximize seeing some celestial wonder. 

He eventually left his marriage and life as a CPA to follow his star filled heart's desire and after several years of living elsewhere in the US and in Australia he moved to Hawaii 17 years ago.  My brother Vincent was first to move to the island of Maui in 1978, so seeing Joe follow to the Big Island in 2000 confused and confounded me.  It caused a protracted riff in our relationship because I was profoundly sad for my nieces and for my family. Most of all, I felt abandoned even though I had a family of my own. Our sibling relationship seemed cheated. 

Sibling Selfie 2014 - Joe, Vincent and me

Joe reached out consistently in those years but it took me a long time to come around and accept his choices.  I am grateful we were granted the time to circle back.  Joe was here last week to meet his new grandson and his thoughtful energy delighted us. There was LOTS of eclipse talk as he recalled seeing total eclipses in Chile, Japan, Hawaii, Syracuse, New York. More importantly, we chatted about the move to his next home in South Africa this week. A new continent awaits him. In keeping with his eclipse fervor, Mr. Max does little halfway. 

We have been texting and chatting wildly as he joins the throngs within the path of totality in the western US. Early this AM he called to say he had crossed into Wyoming's path of totality with clear skies. He shared his sunrise on this moon shadow day.  The state's population size is expected to double for the 2-1/2 minute show. I truly could not be happier for him.

In a lovely twist of fate, his daughters, Beth (who is visiting from her home in Oahu), Catie and grandson, Logan are spending "partial eclipse" day with me and my daughter, Ali in the Philly suburbs.  Regardless of what the weather conditions are here, we are content knowing the star man is gazing in the path of totality.  For those few precious minutes, all is right with the sun, moon, and stars and, of course, with Mr. Max.  

Here is the link to Joe's blog: 

(Thanks to Joe for use of his blog photos -little sister privilege is alive and well!)

http://starmanupdate.blogspot.com/2017/08/solar-eclipse-and-leo-new-moon-lion.html

Birthday Boy

Today is my brother Vincent's birthday. He and I are the 3rd and 4th children of four, so we are naturally connected by birth order.  I was (am) the nudgey little sister who always wanted to be part of the action with he and my older brother Joe whether it was playing army men, navy men, wrestling, running, dodge ball - the activity didn't matter.  Like a horse at the starting gate, I just wanted to burst onto the track and get in on all that I saw in front of me. 

So, today I celebrate the sibling who is directly in front of me as he completes his six decades around the Sun because I have been a beneficiary of his big heart and passion for life all these years.  Vincent has always taken his role as big brother to heart.  Our grade school parking lot was the 'playground' at recess and the boys and girls were separated by a white line - woe to anyone who crossed it. (Can you guess it was a parochial school?)  Vincent would regularly stand on that line and send an emissary to get me and check if I had lunch money, snack or whatever.  Of course I would huff in exasperation as I was pulled from my friends to answer his queries but I loved that he cared so much. 
 
His best buddy in high school, Tom,  stood well over six feet tall so when I finally became eligible to attend the Saturday night mixers, I was shadowed by my brother and his posse which was easy to identify because of very tall Tom.  While my friends loved the attention of older boys, I was irritated by the glaring intrusion into my gaggle of girls.  One friend noted that her brother always ignored her at the dances, and, well, everywhere else.  The sting of her statement translated clearly for me.  Outwardly I would sometimes be annoyed by Vincent's attention, but inside it felt good to know he was watching out for me.
 
Ironically I attended the same university as Tom, so Vincent came a callin' on my college campus - same deal, different location.  By then I had accepted that this was the painless cost of being Vincent's younger sister.
 
When I picture Vincent in my mind he is always smiling.  His grin, while often a sign of joy, can also be a sign of nervousness and this became no more clearer than when he became an altar boy.  We all attended one of the first Masses he served alongside our brother, Joe.  Joe knew the ropes and had a somewhat serious nature, so pairing him with Vincent proved interesting.  As the brothers rounded the sacristy together Vincent's smile overtook his face for the entire Mass.  It still makes me giggle.  Joe kept telling him to stop smiling which of course had the opposite result.  Vincent caught the wrath of the nun in charge of altar boys and so emerged his relationship with authority.  The tale is a family favorite.
 
Just as I finished up my four years away at school, Vincent packed up his things and moved to Hawaii.  (Or as my mom describes it, referring to its distance from home, the Moon.) He heard the Siren's call and actually answered it.  I wonder how many of us really do that?  Thirty-five years later, he nurtures his family business on their organic sprout farm as he doggedly seeks better soil health as a small farmer/activist. He lives his passion with no stop button.  As he says repeatedly, "It's all about the food."

I love that his legacy, so far, is one of love, humor, and big-heartedness.  Vincent is a wide open door to Life.  I deeply admire these qualities especially because boys/men don't necessarily go first to these emotional places with such gusto.

Here is his TedxMaui Talk titled "Soil: Having a Sense of Humus" given on Maui in 2012.  It says everything about who he is.  Happy Birthday, dear Brother - Vincenzo no ka oi!

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAbhN3SESpI