RIP Great Bear 1943 - 2013

My dad was a cowboy.

My dad was strong and brave and he was a man of his word.

My dad answered to no one and followed the advice of his own experience and intuition.

He always did what he thought was the right thing and was disgusted when others did not.

He held himself and everyone he cared about to the highest of standards and for that reason, unfortunately, he was often disappointed. He was very sensitive.  He didn’t like to show that, or even feel it, but he hated to be disappointed.

He saw no gray in life, there was a right way and a wrong way to do things and he had no interest in hearing about or patience for dealing with things that were not being done the right way.

Whether we were raking leaves or pulling weeds or painting a room or planning a vacation – there was an order, a process that needed to be followed.

He loved my mom.  He knew, as we all did, that he could not have handled most of what life dealt him if he didn’t have her, having his back.  They loved each other and stood by each other when most people would have quit.  He lived with his actions and consequences and used courage and honor to move past them, and she allowed him to do that.  He admired her.  He respected her.  And they were a team that many of us can take a lesson from.

My dad had honor.  He had a strict moral compass.  He was macho and handsome and loved to flirt, well past the years that women loved flirting back.

He liked vacation.  Vacation was the one week of the year that he calmed down and let the rules slide a bit.

I remember arriving at the hotel on a beach vacation one time – we had just walked into our room, put our stuff down and my dad went to the balcony and looked down at the beach and the waves hitting the sand.  He told us kids to get our bathing suits on and within minutes the 5 of us were in the ocean, jumping and riding waves and enjoying our vacation, only 10 minutes in.  My mom was setting up house, likely just as happy to be alone to tend to things as we were to be at the beach.

I remember watching the 1986 play-offs and world series with him.  Every game.  I remember Jesse Orosco’s last pitch and Gary Carter’s leap from the ground to the mound when we won.

I remember feeling like me and my dad were the only people in the world during those games.

I’ll never forget the feeling of hitting my first (and only) grand slam in Little League around that same time period and telling him and my grandfather about that.  They were home watching the Mets, my mom and I got home and I ran into the family room to find my dad and grandparents and I said “I hit a grand slam!” 

I remember martinis, peanuts, Vienna sausages and pepperoni with provolone cut into tiny angles.

I remember quadding in the woods with my dad.  Ice skating on the lake.  The raft test. 

“If you can’t climb up on it, you’re not big enough to play with it.” 

“Do the right thing.”

I remember the feel of his hand when I held it.  Warm and rough.

I remember getting the Novocain shots and the stitches in my leg after I fell off the rope swing.  It hurt like hell but he held my hands and I felt like I was tying his arms in knots, pulling and screaming and crying.  But he stayed steady and strong for me.

I remember him walking me down the aisle on my wedding day and how we made fun of Deborah for crying before she went down the aisle, laughed so hard that my stomach hurt, but as soon as I turned the corner to go down the aisle, I lost it and he said “holy shit” under his breath and held my hand tighter and passed me to Jay.

I knew that he loved Jay and was so proud of us for finding each other and doing the right thing.

I remember struggling to nurse Abby when she was first born while my dad sat in the hospital room with me.  He never flinched and I know it was not a pretty sight.

I knew my dad really well.  Not just because he was my dad but because he and I talked.  We were friends.

We talked about life and relationships and money and family and houses and politics.  We talked about his life and the things that he did and faced and lived through.  He never said what I should or should not do, but he did tell me things like “I’ve been there, I understand that.” And I knew he did, because I knew him, and that was enough for me to figure out what to do.

I tell the truth.

I work hard.

I treat others as I would like to be treated.

That is what my dad taught me.

We didn’t always agree.  There were a lot of times that I completely, flat-out, whole-heartedly disagreed with him.  And I would be scared to say it, but I did say it.  And that usually ended the conversation.  We had to agree to disagree because no one was changing either of our minds.  And neither of us wanted to stop talking to the other one.

But sometimes it would blow that conversation up and we would yell.  And that was good, too.  Because you need to yell and be heard sometimes. 

When we were kids my dad never came upstairs.  Upstairs, in our rooms, that was our refuge.  Because downstairs we might get in trouble for not having something on our feet, or leaving the tv on for 15 seconds while we went pee.  Or having more than one lamp on or drinking in the family room or, god forbid, eating in there.

Once or twice a year, he did come upstairs.  Maybe he timed it for when we were all up there.  It was like an inspection.  One of us would hear his first foot hit the first stair and it was like slow-motion.  “Dad’s Coming Up!”  And we would all snap into action.  Decorations came down off walls, radios got turned down or off, school books spread out as if we were all cramming for finals, food or drinks got stowed, doors that were open got closed and vice versa.  It was amazing the transformation that could take place in the seconds it took my dad to climb the stairs, deliberate, heavy breathing step after deliberate, heavy breathing step.

And then it would hit you – as you were sitting on your bed, studying with no drink, no radio and only 1 lamp on – you left a tack in your wall.  And you knew he would see it.  And you knew you were about to be grounded.

Indefinitely.

We had to let the phone ring twice before we answered it.

We had to use proper phone manners as well as demand it from whomever may be calling us.

No one could ever beep in the driveway to pick up us, and we had to be in by 6 on school nights, 10 on the weekends…  until we were all in our twenties.

Not everyone got my dad.  People liked him or disliked him, but not everyone understood him.

I did.

He was a complicated man who tried to live very simply.  He tried to do the right things and he always did his best.

I loved my dad so much and I will miss him every single day for the rest of my life. 

Dog Days

So here we are, August 11th, and summer is coming to an end.

When I flip through my pictures and memories of the past few weeks it is a blur of sand, salt, seaweed, chlorine, over-priced ice cream pops and suntan lotion.

There was a lot of this:

And several days of this:

Probably too much of this:

Sometimes you gotta throw in a little of this:

Add a bit more of this:

A few afternoons ended like this:

And while it is not over yet, it is starting to get old.  I have to admit it.  As I have said so many times before on this Blog, I appreciate all 4 seasons, and never do I appreciate the next one more than when the current one is coming to a close.

When Spring has sprung, I long for lazy days of beach and pool.
And now, as my bright summer annuals are getting overgrown and under bloomed, my grass is growing slower, my car is sandier than the beach and the kids are so tan that people ask me where they're from...
They get on each other's nerves, which gets on my nerves.
They're bored, I'm bored.
We're ready to get back into our routines.  We've been bouncing, shopping, watching, swimming, sunning, riding, running, visiting, partying, sleeping-over, over-indulging and generally doing nothing productive or useful and enjoying every minute of it.  But we're done.

We want school and weekends and sports and dance and pumpkins, mums, boots and sweaters.  Birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas.We're ready.  Because summer will come again, it's good like that.  And I am so ready to organize closets and make handmade Christmas cards, finish that cork garland I have been talking about and maybe even that Kissing Ball I bought all the stuff for 3 Christmases ago...

We have a few more great things on our Summer Bucket List.
Next week we will head down to Ocean Beach in New London.  Summer is not complete without soggy fries and soft-serve ice cream cones.  Abby has it in her mind that she will conquer the "big water slide" this year and Wyatt just really looks forward to the Motorcycles.

The Motorcycle Ride, Ocean Beach Park - 2011

It's a Day-cation, for sure.  One I really look forward to as much as the kids, if not more than them.  Just blogging about it right now has me all revved up thinking about it.  What a great way to spend a summer day.  The boardwalk, the "waves", the white sandy beach and of course, the splash pad.  I can't wait!!

The week after next we'll have a whole week of Daddy-Time.  A whole week off of work to hang with us.  Last year he tried this and Hurricane Irene stopped by.  Assuming we don't have a repeat of 2011, we're really looking forward to spending some quality time.  We'll hit the beach, drive up the shoreline a bit, maybe go see that new Disney movie about the plant-boy.  Eat some good stuff, play some fun things and just send summer off in style.  Beach, pool, firepit, movie nights, popcorn and icecream.

Because, really, without the sand, suntan lotion and tanned bodies - what would the point of summer be?

Dinah's Storm

Today I drove around with an old lady dog in my backseat.  She was soaking wet and running, terrified, from thunder and into roads that while I can't call them a "major intersection", I can say that for around here, it's dangerous territory.  So, what choice did I have but to pick her up and let her sleep soundly in my backseat while I drove around for 40 minutes looking for any sign of someone frantically searching for their terrified, lost dog?!

And for what reason would I be driving around on this particular day, when this particular storm and this particular dog happened to cross my path, while my kids were at camp (for their first time ever, away from me for a whole day - we can discuss the hole in my heart later)?  For what reason would this sweet, greying, frightened and lovely little girly dog run in front of my car while it's raining so hard I was trying to decide if it was just huge drops or actual hail?  Her tail was between her legs, her thick, groomed wolf-like coat was soaked but her eyes looked peaceful and her body language asked for help.
So, I got out of the car.  And I talked to her.  And I opened by back door.  And she hopped in.

At first, she stood and looked nervous.  And while I am absolutely an animal lover, I am also an animal respecter - and with that comes a healthy dose of fear - and my fear of being bit kept me from going right at her to check her collar or pet her head.
I let her relax.  I stopped home and checked on my own 'fraidy-dogs, got some water and a few treaties and went back to my little stray.
She was not hungry or thirsty.
She was tired.  She laid down.  She slept so hard I could hear her breathing.  I thought about bringing her home and calling it a day.

But instead I drove on.  And let her sleep.
And then I turned down a random cu-de-sac, all the while talking sweetly with my new girly dog.  And I said to her "you never know why things happen the way they do, you never know why you make a turn where you would not normally  turn" and so I turned.  In that cul-de-sac I decided she was confortable enough for me to open the back door and pet her and check her collar.
No tags.

I think I already knew I was not actually going to take her to the Animal Control Office in town.  First of all, they didn't answer the phone (or call me back promptly as their vm promised), so I knew they weren't there and confirming that wasn't worth the ride to me.  Secondly, I called!  I did my part.  I was not going to "surrender" this sweet girl to the authorities in hopes that some uniformed guard might care enough to find her a home.  I would be her home!!  She was sweet!!

As I was checking her tags, a car pulled out of it's driveway and up next to me.  I was looking for people looking for their dog - because everyone else was inside watching the storm, not standing outside in it.  But this woman happened to pull out as I was checking out my lost girl.
She said hello and introduced herself kindly, I said "I found a dog!"  She got out of the car and with the excitement of a 7 year old said "Can I See?!?!"
She did not recognize her but made no motions to leave me in her neighborhood, scratching my head.

At this point, I knew I could not let the dog back out of my car to find her way.  But I also knew I could not squeeze my 2 small, excitable kids into the back seat with her.  She seemed lovely and relatively clean, but who knows.
But I didn't know what to do.
Enter Debbie.  My new best friend.

When I explained that I did not want to give the dog to animal control ("she's so cute!") but I also didn't want to lock her in my garage as the storm that she seemed to be running from raged on all around her, and I couldn't put her in my house with my 2 dogs who were also foaming at the mouth in the humidity and thunder and I couldn't keep driving around with her because I had to pick up my kids, Debbie said - without any hesitation at all and much to my shock and delight - "I'll take the dog!"

Here is where I have to tell you that Debbie was a striking red head - friendly, freckly, pretty and red.  And yet, none of my usual red-head-flags shot up.  She seemed so genuinely kind and concerned.  Almost like she had been waiting for a new dog to show up.  She had a blanket for the seat in her car and a leash!
("you never know")

So, Debbie took the dog, I went home to my own dogs and took stock of my day.

In the morning, I dropped Abby off at school for her first ever, long awaited, day at camp.  As a stay-at-home-mom and beach-bum, I have never seen the need for summer camp.  We hang out in the summer.  We go to the shore, we go to the lake and we have a pool.  But this year has proven more challenging than years past.
It's not that my kids are super-spoiled (they are, admittedly, regular-spoiled).  It's not that they're bratty.  But, at nearly-5 and 6-going-on-16 they are, without a doubt, on each other's nerves.  And every day, with me, they are getting bored.  They are without structure, and they are bored.  They need more than what I am giving them.  Next year I will plan better.
So, this week they went to camp for a day.  I had meetings and camp is more fun and cheaper than a babysitter.
Abby went in the morning, lunch and 2 snacks packed, ready to rock.  I kissed her goodbye and walked away.
I felt like my heart was going to fall on the hallway floor.
Amazing what absence can do for the fonder...
What the hell am I going to do when school starts?

From there we stopped at Papa's house to drop off Nana's sunglasses that she left at our place.  A nice visit with Papa and the pooch.  He gave Wyatt a new hat - a red one to match the red shorts and red t-shirt he chose for his day.  The hat says "Stolichnya".

After that I dropped Wyatt off at his friend's house (and I really felt my loneliness kick in).  They had about an hour to play before lunchtime and then they, too, were off to camp.  We had decided (three of us, moms of 3 Kindergarten boys) that a half day would be enough for them at this point so they had a playdate and lunch first.

From playdate drop-off I went back to school to meet with the 2 principals of the 2 elementary schools with my PTA Co-Prez, CR.  We met and chatted and did our agenda and political deeds.  We laid out our meetings for the year, discussed costs and concerns and, I hope, are done with that.
The one thing I do not want, with this new role of PTA Co-P, is to be in meetings, in cahoots, in bed with administration.
Don't misunderstand me, I adore our principals - and our superintendant.  I like & respect them as women and administrators.  I consider myself - and our town - pretty lucky to have 2 female principals and a female superintendant that are moms and teachers and all around career women, but are also fearless and awesome and, to be honest, gorgeous.  LOVE that.
But, as PTA prez, I want to be neutral.  I don't want my personal opinions to play a role.  I want to focus on the kids, their benefits, the teachers, their benefits and the overall community feel - the pluses, the extras, the greatness that the PTA can give to a community.
Not to be dictated by the governing bodies, only to be dictated by need, want and appreciation.

From PTA I went to the Country Club.
I finalized the menu for the Dinner-Dance I am planning as a fund-raiser for the local Food Pantry.  I can honestly say "I" here because so far, it's all me.  I will need help - I do!  But I haven't found it yet so, so far, I'm pretty freakin proud of me.
We finalized the menu.  Cash bar with Beef & Fish buffet dinner, appetizer stations, salads, pastas, desserts - the whole nine - it's gonna be awesome.  DJ.  Photographer.
I am so flippin excited.
Now, onto the marketing.  That part is the key part because if I mess it up, or even if I don't maximize it - my planning, my whole idea - will fail.
I have to sell 120 tickets.
How?

From the Club I went to town.  I had a few things for sale in the Consignment shop.  It seems like Abby was the last girl born.  We ran out of girls.  Every baby born after Abby had a penis.  So, I ran out of good things to do with her better clothes.
I am a huge charity giver.  But sometimes - it's just too good!!  I want to see it move on, or I want to get something back for it.
Ralph Lauren and Gap and Janie & Jack!  I want to see a return on my investment!!
So, I went to consign.  Almost 3 months ago.
And so, in parting with a shopping bag full of stuff, I waited and waited.
And I made 20 bucks.
I feel dirty.
I'll just pass it on from now on.  If it's really worth it, I'll eBay it.  Consignment is not for me.

From town I went to ManchVegas.  Birthday party next week.  Both kids are invited.  Need gifts.
I went quick, one store.
Headed home as the skies got dark.  And so we come back to the doggie in the street in the pouring rain...

Debbie took the doggie from me and I felt good about it.  I felt sad because in that hour or so, I had gotten attached, but I felt good because we exchanged numbers and I knew that if she didn't find her home, she was going to keep her.  I knew it.
So, I felt good.

About 3 hours later, she called me.  She found her home.  Her name was Dinah and she was home.

Life has a funny way of finding it's way.

And, to add to this story, it turns out - Debbie is BFF's with my next door neighbor.  Small, small world.