Christmas 2009

I love Christmas. I especially love it when it is July and I'm sweltering in the heat and TV networks are showing Christmas specials as the subtle reminder that we only have 143 shopping days left. Nothing's better than that warm, fuzzy Christmas feeling in the middle of summer. I usually vow, right then and there, before the July 4th fireworks are lit, that this year Christmas will be different. I always make myself a promise that the coming holiday will not catch me off guard and I will be prepared, shopping done and gifts wrapped by the first Sunday of Advent.

I make myself that promise every year, and each year, September comes and we toast our anniversary on the 23rd. How quickly October 9th arrives and we celebrate Dave's birthday toasting with the good scotch in the crystal tumblers. Before we know it, Halloween arrives and we watch the leaves change, take in the harvest moon and, 6 days after Halloween it's Katie's birthday. Fifteen days after Kate's birthday, it is once again time to blow out candles, but this time on Brent's birthday cake. A week after Brent's birthday, Thanksgiving arrives and immediately thereafter, a blink really, it's December 10 we are singing, in harmony, "Happy Birthday dear Vanessa". When that first candle is lit on the Advent wreath, I'm usually stressed and am astonished that I'm left, once again, unprepared.

I distinctly remember walking into Peet's Coffee one morning for my latte, three equals and extra foam. Not that I need the menu, I have a habit of looking at it so I don't have to make eye contact with everyone before my coffee. Attempting to blink through my pre-coffee haze, I saw that, overnight, on the Sunday after Thanksgiving; they had decorated the store in green and red and changed the menu to accommodate the holiday drink favorites. On further inspection, I saw the wreaths full of mock gift cards and heard the barista call out "Egg Nog Latte for Michael". Believe me when I say I shuddered in my Crocks when I realized it was the first Monday after Thanksgiving. Nessy's birthday was nearly here and I didn't have her birthday gift and somewhere along the way, Christmas had arrived! I felt like I'd received my first dose of "Christmas in your face", compliments of your friendly, neighborhood Peet's coffee shop.

I came home and booted up my Facebook page and whined about the overnight transformation of my coffee hotspot to Holiday Headquarters. I was feeling more than pushed and I don't really know why. The Christmas ads on TV had started way before Halloween this year. So why was I pissed about Peet's transformation? Perhaps it was because when I visited there on Sunday, the day before, there was no hint of Christmas and on Monday morning, Viola! Maybe it was because I was tired and needed my caffeine fix. I'm not really sure. But, one of my Facebook family (actually my Cousin Sandy, from Texas) responded to my Grinch state of mind and said, essentially, "Why would you not want the best time of year to happen? You should look forward to the time when you celebrate with your family and friends." In other words, she said, don’t worry, be happy! It was a good wake-up (almost better than the latte), because when I looked at my posting later, I realized she was right. Instead of dreading what was before me, I needed to embrace it. I didn't realize then, that less than 6 days later my beloved Mother-in-law, Anna would die in my arms. Although she had been ill, at that point in time, I thought she'd make it until Christmas. It's funny how Divine Grace works, sometimes it's that seed that someone plants in your heart which grows and blossoms into something life changing and beautiful.

Although we said good-bye to Ann, and we were all sad to see our family matriarch join the ranks of Heaven's best, it was a beautiful death. (Sounds like an oxy moron, but there isn't another way to describe it.) With the help of Hospice we were able to keep her comfortable and the first snowfall which began as she left this world was the perfect metaphor for our beloved Grandma's transformation from being frail, sick and tired to what, I believe, was heaven's gates opening to receive her. "I's" dotted and "T's" crossed. I believe that as humans we sometimes need a slap in the face to remind us not to sweat the small stuff....and the preparations for Christmas, especially when facing the death of a loved one, is just that--small stuff. It should be a time of praise and remembrance of the birth of our savior, Jesus Christ. Moreover, it is about being with the ones you love--being present, not giving them. The stockings, tree, cards, baked goods, garlands, and egg nog lattes are just like the sprinkles on top of your Fro Yo (frozen yogurt). Garnish. Nothing more.

Once Grandma was buried and blessed, I began my preparations for Christmas, not with the usual whine and whimper, but with open arms. I simplified when I could, delegate as much as humanly possible, listened to Christmas music and realized how lucky I was. Yes, I had lost someone who was very dear to me, but she left an imprint on my heart which will forever remain. Instead of fighting the preparations, I embraced them. We went ice skating with Snoopy, watched the tree lighting and sang "O, Come all Yee Faithful". We drove around and looked the Christmas lights and decorations, savored the sweet lemons from our tree and lit the Christmas candles soaking up their warm glow. There was still work ahead for me to ensure that everyone's Christmas was perfect. After all, I AM the family matriarch now and Christmas is MY responsibility. I did, however, remind myself that there really is no present as perfect as the time we spend together as a family. The Kodak moments of my life which will flash before me at the very end will be not about tensile and lights, they will be snapshots of the laughter shared, the stories kept alive by tradition and love and about giving to others. When you "pay it forward" grace and goodness are like a boom-a-rang.

My favorite part of Christmas will always be Christmas Eve. It is after we've feasted on freshly cooked Dungeness Crab a tradition started by my parents 35 years ago. It is long after the last bite of Jamie's shrimp Louie is bagged up for later consumption. There is this special moment when the 15 year old scotch is drunk, the Korbel is uncorked, dishes are done, Karen Carpenter has sung "Merry Christmas, Darling" and the table is set for the morning. I love to breathe in a sigh and a prayer that stockings are stuffed, the house is tidy waiting for the Christmas morning chos of presents, egg nog and cinnamon rolls. After we've laid baby Jesus in his crèche and before Ralphie has received his Red Rider BB Gun is when my personal moment begins. The magical part of Christmas for me is that time; when the wrapping is done, the anticipation is high and I am the last one awake in my cozy little house. I always stop for a moment and look back over my shoulder in awe and wonder on Christmas which has unfolded, regardless of the circumstances. Despite the economy, job situations or even the death of a loved one, Christmas always blooms like a red Amaryllis. During this brief moment, before I retire for my long winter's nap, when I see the lit tree, extinguished candles and piles of presents, I always stop and take in that last quiet moment. Perfection! It is the warmest and fuzziest I will be all year. I'm always amazed at the beauty of that one brief moment....before I turn to walk down the hall greeted by the gentle sounds of Dave's snoring. The beauty of that tree, lighted garlands and decorations which will glow all night in anticipation of the day to come is perhaps the most breath taking sight of the year. That snapshot will be the one which imprints my soul. It is with a full heart that I savor the quiet stillness when all are accounted for and all is merry and bright.

Good-bye Grandma

I have been asked, “What is the secret to a long, successful marriage?” Being friends? Absolutely. Love and forgiveness? There’s a whole lot of that. There are many obvious reasons why marriages are successful or why they fail. I truly believe that besides the obvious stuff, it is essential to have a good mother-in-law. I was blessed with such a woman. From the very first time we met, there was an instant and easy rapport between us. She was gracious, kind and never offered advice unless called upon. Our relationship spanned over the past 35 years. I watched her revel in births of her grandchildren. She loved each and every one of them, baked cookies and colored with them, took them shopping on payday and sped over to our house when Katie called in a panic because she was home “alone” with Vanessa and Matt and I was 5 minutes late arriving home from grocery shopping. She was always the first one to arrive when a baby was sick or when I was flat on my back after surgery. When I had three children under the age of 7 and Vanessa came down with chicken pox, 14 days later I was covered in blisters only to discover I never had the virus as a child. We went down like dominos (except for Dave who had the good sense to have them as a boy). She was there every day to nurse us back to health, never complaining, helping Vanessa who was better by the time the rest of us were sick, doing laundry and sometimes just sitting with me to try to cheer me up.

Grandma loved movies and could name most all of the actors in old Hollywood. In her younger years, she always had the skinny on whoever was on the front of the National Enquirer. She read many biographies of the actors of her generation and whenever I’d forget who stared beside Jerry Lewis in “Cinderfella” or Bob Hope in “The Road to Hong Kong” she not only knew the actor, but to whom he/she was married and how many kids they had, etc. She was awesome at movie trivia.

I watched her struggle with her own aging mother who was eventually admitted to a rest home. When her dementia set in, it was the ONLY time Ann ever shared with me her difficulty visiting her Mom who couldn’t speak and was a mere shell of the woman who lovingly raised her and was her best friend. Someone who didn’t love Ann as much as I did might have confused her admission as complaining. Nothing was farther from the truth. It was just so sad to watch the slow decline of her beloved mother. But she went several times each week, did her laundry, fed her, loved her and showered her with gifts.

When our kids went to Grandma and Dale’s house it was as if someone would open the screen door and say “let the games begin”. Usually shenanigans, was instigated by Dale and after someone was crying (usually Katie) Grandma would turn, hand on hip and say, “Oh Dale!”. Her house was always full of laughter and treats with a sprinkle of teasing and fun. Once the kids arrived, the candy dish was attacked as if piranhas had been set loose. Grandma introduced our kids to the “old school” Abbott and Costello and soon it was a Halloween favorite. The kids always had their own toys at her house as well as a change of clothes. They were always comfortable at Grandma’s house, it was a happy place.

Until she moved to Cobb, she never missed a dance recital or a choral performance or a play. She always came to see at least one sports game during the year and I know I wasn’t the only one who could see how proud she was of her grandkids.

When my own parents became ill, first my Dad, then my Mom, she was there to help with the kids and encouraging words for me. I knew she understood my sadness because she, too, had nursed her own mother to whom she was so very close. She knew the sadness of being a perfectly grown adult, with children, a home, and responsibility and yet experience the intense sadness which comes from loosing a parent. I believe a loss of that kind puts a hole in your heart and although it heals, it does so around the hole which remains forever.

This year, I became a mother-in-law when our daughter, Vanessa married Frank. Katie and Brent will be married on June 19, 2010 and I don’t feel the documentation necessary to refer to Brent as my son-in-law. He’s been here for the long haul and earned his stripes doing Sunday dishes and getting the stuff down from the top shelf. It’s important that you men know that I’ve observed the dynamic which can sometimes be present in the mothers-in-law relationship over the, now many, years of my life. I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly and listened to stories from friends about preverbal monster-in-laws. I promise you that I’ve learned how to behave from the best! She taught me that love and acceptance is paramount and that forgiveness is essential and that as soon as your child marries someone, that person becomes your child too. I promise you, that I will do everything in my power to be like Ann. Of course you’ve both been in the family long enough to know that I may have my moments and for these moments I apologize in advance. But when this happens (notice I didn’t say “if”) just bear with me.

The late Jacquie Kennedy once said that if you fail at being a parent, you will have failed at the most important job in the world. Because the only thing which you leave behind are your children. They are all that count. Vanessa, Katharine, Matthew and Madelyn I want you to know how very proud your Grandma was of you all. She loved being with you more than anything. She especially loved watching you grow into not just young adults, but good, solid people, with old school work ethics, exceptional values and the capacity for great love. Your father and I are so very proud of you all and how you pulled together to support Grandma during these past difficult weeks. When I arrived home on Sunday the house was decorated for Christmas. But. you didn’t stop there. You all helped plan the luncheon for today, ran errands, scrubbed toilets, folded laundry and helped to sort and scan pictures. Together, we were like a well oiled machine and completed the tasks at hand.


I may not tell you often enough, but let me remind you that you are the best part of me and your father... When we die there is nothing we take with us, except for the love of the people we’ve left behind. I’m certain of your love for Grandma and she was too. She will live on in you….her memories, stories, history and her grace.

Grace is defined, in the biblical sense as unmerited favors. Perhaps the secular definition would be karma meets paying it forward, until somehow you are touched by this wonderful moment whereby the heavens open and something so special happens, somewhat randomly, and you feel as if fairy dust has been sprinkled and is cascading down around you. As sad as it is, I feel that Grandma’s death was enveloped in Divine Grace. Her quick demise, although hard to accept, allowed her suffering to end. The immediate intervention of The Hospice Team, the amazing nurse Ro who helped us though those final hours, Dolly the cat who never left Grandma’s side the night and morning of her passing. The first snow flurries of 2009 which began to fall just as Grandma died and the continued flurries which melted as soon as they hit the windshield as she made her final trip down Mt. St. Helena and if that wasn’t enough, snow on Sonoma Mountain on Monday morning. For anyone who didn’t know, snow was Grandma’s favorite thing! I know skeptics would say these are all just coincidences. I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in Divine Grace. I believe in miracles. I believe we are the instruments of grace. It took me half of my life before I recognized this, but I promise if you quiet yourself, listen and pay attention, you will see it too.


The changing season this Fall was exceptional; Indian summer, early rain, exquisite foliage, harvest moons and lots of green grass. Perhaps the beauty seemed more intense given that we were faced with saying good bye to our family matriarch. As we gather around our family table, the places will change, the young become old, the elders take their places among the celestial family looking down with pride on their legacy they've left behind. Our hearts are full with memories and love and the promise of a new family member next summer, Anna's first great-grandchild. And so, the circle of life remains unbroken.

Our family is a circle of love and strength.
With every birth and union the circle grows stronger.
Every joy shared adds more love
Every obstacle faced together makes the circle stronger

In closing, I would like to say what a privilege it has been to have had Anna Heizer as a mother-in-law, a friend, and a grandmother to my children. She taught me, through example, that sometimes less is more; that kids will be kids; that sitting down on a summer day to drink sweet tea and look at the JCPenneys catalog is actually better than a trip to the mall. She showed me how to quiet myself and breathe in the beauty of nature, to feed the critters and most importantly, she showed me the kind of mother-in-law and grandmother I want to be.

A Gently Shifting Universe

Ask any child what they want to be when they 'grow-up'? The answers will vary depending on the age of the child, their background, and probably where they live. When I was 5, I dreamed of being a singer...a diva like Diana Ross. When I was 8 or 9 my life's ambitions changed and I wanted to be a professional cowboy. By the time I turned 12, I wanted to be a vet. That dream was quickly quelled by the fact that I hate math and science and the sight of watching an animal in pain was more than I could handle without without Xnax. When I was 15, I fell in love and didn't cared what I did as long as I was with Dave. Although my parents were not people who valued a college education--unless you were a doctor or a lawyer-- they did believe that everyone should have a trade. I was convinced that I should attend a trade school and complete training to be a legal secretary. I hated trade school--despised it with every fiber of my being. The only thing I hated more, was working in an office. I was not the type of person who could sit at a desk and be the female counterpart to Dilbert. I needed people. I needed movement and I wasn't afraid of hard work. While attending trade school, I worked a temporary job for a deli/caterer. I discovered working in the food service business was my 'thing'. I really felt like I'd hit my stride. I loved the interaction with people, the instant gratification of a job well done and I must admit, I thrived on the adrenaline. My parent's wouldn't accept that I become "just a waitress", so I kept feelings to myself, put my head down and finished business school and was a bonafied Legal Secretary.

When we purchased our home in 1979, it didn't matter what I did as long as I generated an income. I accepted a clerical job for America's Good Neighbor, State Farm Insurance and was miserable for 5 years. I showed up everyday, did what was asked of me, but could barely get out of bed when the alarm went off. The job, however, generated a decent paycheck and excellent benefits. It was easy enough being chained to a desk shoveling paperwork and collecting a bi-weekly paycheck. The hardest part was that I worked with a bunch of sniveling women who were hormonal, temperamental and often times cut-throat. After the arrival of baby number two, I quit my job "down on the farm". I eventually went to work part-time for a local caterer. It was acceptable enough for my parents because my first job was being an at-home wife and mother. Catering was just a part-time thing that I did to get out of the house. I welcomed the hard but respectable work which enabled me to be part of people's weddings, barmitzvahs, anniversaries, etc. It turned out that I had a real knack for it, because I've spent most of my adult life (besides being a wife and mother) working in the catering business. Even operated a moderately successful business venture with a partner.

Never in my girlhood dreams did I think of being someone's Grandmother. Perhaps that is because I never really had living grandparents. My paternal Grandmother, the only survivor of the four, died when I was 10 and although she was loving and sweet, there was a language barrier between us. She could break this barrier with food because she was a marvelous cook. By the time she moved from Central California to Novato, she was already ill and elderly. I wonder if that is why I never envisioned myself as a grandmother. There are still times when I stare at the picture of my Grandmother, Maria Constance Mello Clementino, as a young bride and wonder if she ever thought about the legacy of women she would leave behind? In her eyes I see my daughter, Kate, and my cousin Jenni too. There is a definite resemblance through the mouth and eyes.

There is a vast different in terms of the two different generations: My grandmother went to the hen house, wrung the neck of a bird, dressed it and put it in a pot. My daughter, Katie, on the other hand, will not reach into the cavity of a commercially processed chicken purchased from the grocery store to remove the giblets. This cracks me up and I usually envision my grandmother and mother rolling over in their graves. I immediately picture Aunt Maria in a full apron, hands on hips, hair in a knot on top of her head and her crooked finger wagging...."You girls of today have it so easy!" And, of course, she was right!

So hear I am today, a resident in the not-so-new millennium and I have no misunderstandings about who I am. Regardless of who and what I "wanted" to be, I am first and foremost wife to my beloved, Dave. I am mother to Vanessa, Katharine, Matthew and Madelyn. I am mother-in-law to Brent and Frank and sister-in-law to Dale and Melody. I still love to sing and my love for animals has only grown as I mature past middle age and tuck my AARP card into my wallet. My Sunday table overflows with children, spouses and friends and my cup runnith over. The funny part is that of all the things I "dreamed" about being, a grandmother was never one of them. Yet as the days draw near to the birth of my first granddaughter, Lillanna Marie, my excitement grows. When I look into her eyes for the first time, who will I see? Her mother? My mother? My grandmother?

It is a powerful thing to watch the universe shift. The young people become old, the old generation moves on to join the Celestial family, and we are left with this remarkable family unit which continues to move forward and grow. Our family is a circle of love and strength. With every birth and union the circle grows stronger. Every joy shared adds more love. Every obstacle faced together makes the circle stronger. When I look at the faces around my Sunday table, I'm humbled and over-joyed.

It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown

Last night Dave, Maddie and I watched "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown". Who can resist the yearly treasure of seeing former Sonoma County legend Charles Shultz's first animated cartoon? It has become a classic in every language and still seems new after 40 years. It was a warm fuzzy feeling last night for me as Dave and I shared it with our last baby. Being the fat girl I am, I was thinking about Dolly Madison snack cakes. Dolly Madison was the original sponsor of the 30 minute prime time cartoon. Of course, I was never allowed such a treat in growing up, but that doesn't mean I didn't use my lunch money in Jr. High. Mom would buy them and hide them for lunches for the "boys". They were the ultimate snack cake...sort of a Little Debbie's kicked up a notch. Perhaps they are still around in certain areas; hell, they may be available at Safeway for all I know. I don't shop that isle much myself probably because I hear the voice of Mary Frances saying "That's for your brother's lunch. You can't have that!". I hate it when she's right. I didn't need them and my kids don't either. It's a "Shasta Food" at best. (Food we eat in Shasta is everything we're not supposed to, washed down with the most alcoholic beverage you can find!).

Last night, however, we were huddled in our Tempurpedic, Sparkey snuggled at my feet, Maddie at the foot of the Cal King, and Dave enjoying the familiarity of Linus and Sally between deep snore-like breaths. Maddie asked her almost sleeping Dad, "Do you remember the first time you watched this, Daddy?".

Dave started the litany of his "first time" with Lucy and friends and my warm and fuzzy immediately went to a dark place. The first time I saw "It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown", I was in a dingey claustrophobic, little-box house for enlisted men and their families on Hamilton Air Force Base. It was October 27, 1966. On that foggy morning, my life had been tragically altered because my brother, Gary Clementino, age 22, was killed in an early morning crash on Highway 101 at the (then new) Washington Street On ramp. He and his passenger, friend, colleague and father of 2, (with number three on the way) Leonart Heartman, were hit by a speeding car. According to the newspaper clipping, their truck was hit by a small car coming off the on ramp. The small car (which we later learned was a Corvair) spun out of control, broadsided the truck with Len and Gary in it, sending them into the concrete pillar which held up the overpass. The CHP said that from the position of the bodies, he was unable to determine who was driving.

That morning in which my childhood changed began quite normally. I was dressed and ready for school. Mom was having her second cup of coffee and her first cigarette of the day. I played with a new kitten. I was wearing a green jumper and it was before my mother had cut off all my beautiful, thick hair. The phone ringing in our Fifth Street house was a commonplace, at all hours, because it was an extension of my father's business. Phone number TW2-9373 was answered 24/7 from home or the shop. I heard Mom pick up the phone "Clementino's" and after a brief silence there was a scream and a slam of the phone. Dad had called, I think it was Dad, and Mom was told that there had been a terrible accident and that Gary was being taken to Petaluma General Hospital. Dad was one of the few people in 1966 who had a "mobile" phone. It was far from the pocket gems we use today. This sucker was physically mounted to the floorboard of the truck, had a rotary dial, a hand-set which was connected to the base with a spiral cord (just like a land line) and an antenna. He paid premium dollars for that luxury, but he had work from San Rafael to Eureka and he was in the car a lot. It was not a luxury, rather a necessity.

Mom, who was terrified and distracted interrupted my play and told me that Gary had been in an auto accident. She said I needed to come immediately with her as I was being dropped off at the Stinson's and Joe would take me to school. I was in the Second grade and Joanne Stone was my teacher. I did as I was told and when Dad arrived we all squished into his new white El Camino. It was a tight squeeze, Mom, Dad (in his prime) me and that HUGE phone! The Stinson's house was only 2 blocks away. Jo greeted me and fed me pancakes and packed me a lunch. It was a big deal to get a "homemade" lunch as my Mom's idea of making lunches was "Hell". She was sick and tired of the routine by the time I started school and I was always sent to school with lunch money. A hot breakfast and a homemade lunch made me feel special. I was sure that my brother was bruised, and assured myself he'd be fine and off to school I went with Jo's daughters.

It wasn't until I saw my brother, Michael, arrive at school sometime mid-morning that I knew things was terribly wrong. Marion Elementary School was only three blocks from our house and he had walked there to retrieve me. He broke the news to me as we walked up Vallejo Avenue, long before there was a sidewalk, curb and gutter. What a difficult task for a 16 year-old! I knew the impact of the news he delivered because while walking, he let me hold his two fingers. He never let me hold his hand in public and although I had turned 7 earlier that year, he was already a Sophomore in High School. Public displays of affection weren't cool--especially with your little sister. I never quite understood why they took me out of school only to arrive home to see my mother screaming and out of her head with grief. The house was full of people and everyone was witnessing my mother's breakdown. Why did I have to be there? Were I the parent in this situation, I would have left my child at school to enjoy the last few hours of normal she would experience for a long time. That generation of parents, however loving, smoked, drank, made our formula out of Carnation milk and Karo syrup and didn't think a lot about things which psychologically affected their kids. Sometimes I'm amazed that we fared as well as we did (at least from my house) given the parenting mistakes which were made.

Make no mistake. I'm not whining about my childhood or about the mistakes of my Mother. I have long forgiven her for her shortcomings as a Mom and loved her in spite of her selfishness and mental illness. What coping skills she had (which weren't great to begin with) were seriously compromised when she accepted the fact that her first born was taken from her. She spent the rest of her life believing that God took Gary from her as punishment for her sins. Had she any grasp on faith, maybe the fact that God sacrificed his ONLY son for our eternal life could have been a comfort. It wasn't. She took Gary's death personally.It was tremendously sad how much she suffered! It is my absolute belief that a parent should NEVER have to bury a child. I witnessed, first hand, the sorrow and grief which follow a tragedy of that kind. For several years following the accident, my Mom looked a lot like Vivi in the "Secret Lives of the YaYa Sisterhood", just before they sent her to the Bin. She was that pretty, too. She stopped eating. She threatened to kill herself. She even told a friend she would kill her remaining children as to not leave them behind. She spent hours at the cemetery, fists pounding on the wall of Gary's crypt. It was like a bad Lana Turner movie.

Of that pivotal day in October, so long ago, there is a lot of which I don't remember. I do, however, remember Charlie Brown. For 30 minutes that night I was in that pumpkin patch with Linus. As I sat crossed legged on the grey military housing tile floor and watched the characters come to life, I fell in love with Vince Giraldi's incredible music. I don't remember the names of the people with whom I shared that experience. They were virtual strangers to me, but had offered to take me and away I was sent. After the program, when they put me to bed in the strange smelly house and I longed for my family. I desperately wanted to be anywhere but in a shitty (asbestos-filled) house on the Base. It started out to be a normal Thursday morning and the events which occurred scarred our family for the rest of our lives.

For many years following the accident, my mother wouldn't allow herself to be in the same room as the Charlaie Brown Halloween special. In fact, Halloweens, in general, were pretty awful for the remainder of my childhood. Late October always brought the anniversary of Gary's accident and my mother's dreadful depression which forever haunted her. There was a time in my life when I resented the fact that my Mom couldn't "mother" us after Gary's death. She was too consumed in her own grief to realize what was happening to her remaining children. Looking back as an adult, I considered that selfish. When you are a mother, you should never let your own sadness enable your ability to comfort your children. I didn't realize that other Mom's were capable of this until well into my 30's. There were even women we knew who suffered the same loss who didn't seem as full of dispair as my Mom did. If nothing else, my mother's mistakes hopefully were an example of what "not" to do. Once I got over myself, I realized that she did (as she always had done) the best with what she had. In hindsight, it was easy to identify and say the proverbially phrase "I'll never do that to my kids...". Every parent on the planet has said this at least once. Of course, I pray with all my might and wish with all my wishes that I'm never tested in my mothering skills like my Mom was. Anyone who has lost a child to a cemetery knows it is loss you never overcome.

I don't know who will read this blog. Hopefully, at some point my children will. The reason I tell this story is so they'll know from where I came. My history greatly affects their history...and so on. Although I cannot make my children's mistakes for them, as much as I'd like, they have to know the tragedies of life, however devastating they are, can be overcome. You can never have perfect joy without experiencing terrible sadness. There has to be markers in your life. If you believe this you will be able to recognize on your darkest days, that there will be light and joy again. Like the song says, "The sun will come out tomorrow...."

I love Charlie Brown and Co. Frankly, I think it is unAmerican not to. The fact that over the many years of the comic strip Charlie and Co never grew into adults appeals to me. I love the fact that in the later cartoons the few adults who were depicted sounded like "wa wa wa". I still hear like that somedays. And like many people, when I hear the music, I'm still the seven year old girl I was when I discovered Charlie Brown. Arn't we all?

Rainy Days and Tuesdays

October 13, 2009


I awoke today to the sweet sound of raindrops. The wind chimes were at full throttle, and Sparkey refused to go out because he HATES to get his feet wet. He insisted on coming with me when I left the house this morning for my usual latte. I caved and let him go with me and he was thinking "dog park". I even TOOK him to the parking lot of said dog park and he jumped out so excited to be there, only realizing it was pelting rain and wind. What little tail he has quickly dropped between his legs! He was a sport, and did pee, but was glad to see home and his dry bed atop the Tempurpetic! My dog is a whore! He lives to be petted, walked and fed with a healthy dose of cookies at proper intervals.



I LOVE the rain; especially the first rain. California has been ravaged by work furlows, property foreclosures, failed businesses, wildfires and drought. This rain feels like it's a start to quelling the disappointment of the past two years. The media kept predicting this storm. My reply to all who would forecast the coming relief of rain was simple: The prediction of rain is coming from the same people who say the economy is turning around. Frankly, I'm of the belief that the more the local news media hypes up a storm, the less chance we have of actually seeing precipitation. Needless to say, today's wake-up call of traffic jams and water on the road was a delightful welcome. Let the rain begin!!



My first order of business after Sparkey's pee and my morning latte was a pot of chicken stock on the stove. There's something about having the windows steam up from simmering soup on a rainy day that is total bliss for me. I have this intense need to feed the world from my stock pot. Okay, not "the" world, but MY world. There's this innate part of me that believes I'm healing someone when I make soup. I cannot make soup like regular people--you know, just enough for 4 to 6 people. I always start out saying to myself , "not this time. I'm not going to make enough for a starving country--just enough for tonight's dinner". After all, I'm always pushing the envelope serving Dave soup for dinner. It's not his favorite thing. He rarely complains about anything he's fed from my table, but I know that soup isn't his thing. For instance, he won't go to a restaurant and order a cup of soup.



I think the thing I like the most about soup is that it cleans out the vegetable drawer and the fridge while quenching that need for comfort food. It's simple. It's like recycling, reusing Sunday dinner for another meal. It's aroma therapy for the house and comfort for the cold body on a rainy day. I know Dave won't complain tonight when I feed him soup, mostly because after 12 hours in the pelting rain, you need something to warm up your body. Make no mistake however, he's not going to be asking lefty over soup tomorrow--even if it snows!

Happy Birthday, Dave!

Tomorrow is Dave's birthday. Don't ask me what number because I'd have to do the math. We'll be celebrating on Sunday with the kids and tomorrow I will prepare him a feast of steamed clams, locally made french bread, as well as an attempt at my "Mother's Salad". Anyone who knew my Mom, new she made a killer salad. Nailed it every time. I cannot recreate this salad no matter how much I try. I always said it was the vinegar, but I've got "the vinegar" and the oil and everything else (even the Accent'), and it always tastes off. It's Dave's favorite salad, so to commorate this special occasion, I, Connie Clementino Heizer, will, yet again, attempt to recreate my "Mother's Salad". Who knows, I may get lucky! Perhaps this proves my theroy that things you cook directly reflect your personality. It's like giving the 10 people the same recipe and somehow they will all come out different.


I turned 50 this year and I've witnessed the Towers crumble, snow in Petaluma, war in the middle East, the election of Obama and I've done it all with Dave by my side. He's the first person I think about when I witness someone being an ass hole, admire the silhouette of the Sonoma Mountains or see a beautiful sunset. He's my best friend, my partner and often times my caretaker. My life would be significantly different had I not had his humor, brevity or loyalty. He is the one that 'completes me' and often times when he does so we are laughing so heard that EVERYTHING hurts! We've experienced bad times, hard times and sometimes we were so broke we couldn't pay attention. I love him with all my heart and soul and the greatest gift he gave me were our kids. There has never been a time that I doubted his goodness even when he says the cure for everything is to shoot it, fire it or level it with an atomic bomb.


I believe that saying I love you is, perhaps, the greatest thing you can tell someone. It has great meaning and invokes such wonder when you say it when you are 14 or 24, but you really know love as you get older. That bond of what you have experienced through decades together exposes the ups and downs of a relationship. It strips people down to their inner core and when you say "I Love You" after 31 years, it means so much more than just the mere promise of love. It means, I'm going to be there when we are broke, have medical emergencies, when our kids have trouble or if we wind up living in our car (well, we have a Suburban so we'd have a bit more room...haha)

The greatest gift that Dave and I share are our children. We take great pride in them. We have invested time, energy and even money to ensure that they were given the tools to be successful. They are all good human beings, with kindness, manners, work ethics and wonderful humor. My hopes for them are simple; faith, hope and love. Sunday dinners will hopefully provide an environment for you to come together as a family and be able to break bread together. The Sunday table is, after all, our family altar. I pray that the example I've given with the estrangement of my own siblings will make you try harder with yours. There will come a time in your life when you have no one else who knows your stories, besides your siblings, and a few friends and distant relatives and of course, your partner.


Dave, I thank you for your love and partnership. We've experienced tough times along the way, and always landed with our feet on the ground. We will emerge from this current recession/depression and we'll be okay as long as we have each other and our kids. We may be eating hamburger for Sunday dinner and drinking KoolAide from wine glasses, but at least we'll all be together. Our experience tells us that you can't have good without the bad. With struggle comes perfection, just like the moth becomes a butterfly.



Happy birthday, I love you!

Fernando Clementino 1927--1994

September 23, 1994



Its is not over for Dad, his journey home has only begun.



When Dad was diagnosed with cancer seven weeks ago, we began our journey through a hot barren, desert. At times, it felt as though we would shrivel from the elements which were thrown at us day after day. Personally, I felt as though getting out of bed each morning was the most difficult task which I encountered. It was as though each day the news got worse. One day at Mass I asked God if I would ever hear good news again. After many hours of prayer and contemplation, it occurred to me that the beauty was there if I only choose to recognize it. Then it was as if a light flipped on. I suddenly realized that we had the opportunity to present my father with the greatest gift of all--the ability to show him an example of unconditional love.

Once I really looked, I realized we could demonstrate to him each day he lived that HE was our greatest priority. We could show him that no matter what, we would make him our central focus. We were able to witness a vulnerability and sweetness about him that was once hidden beneath a rough exterior. I saw tenderness between my parents that erased any bad memories which had accumulated during their 38 years of marriage. These sweet memories would sustain my mother forever. Although my family was thrust into a situation which seemed like a nightmare, we were supported by our friends and family members. In the most difficult of times, we were able to draw upon that strength. The prayers and support of our friends was vital in our daily routine. Yes, we were walking through a hot, barren desert, but often times, there were roses blooming right there in our path. I am so thankful for the beauty we encountered along our way. It was rare and magnificent. During many of the bad days, we would be blessed by a visit from a friend, a call from a family member, a card in the mail or a hug from a loved one. "Friends form a circle of strength and love. With every birth and every union, the circle grows. Each Joy we share adds more love. Likewise, each crisis faced together makes our circle stronger." My dad was most definitely encircled by the love and support of his friends. He was most joyous when in the company of these friends.



The early days of Dad's illness were difficult to accept. It was watching the most vital human I knew slip day after day. While he was hospitalized after the surgery, Dad was given large amounts of morphine for pain control. About four days after his surgery, I called Daddy from my office to check on him and let him know that I would be down to see him later that afternoon. When he picked up the phone, he sounded so weak..so sleepy. I asked him how he felt and he replied in a voice that was unfamiliar to me. "I'm so tired, Buppie...so, so tired.". Dad sounded as though he was falling down into a large black morphine pit and was just barely holding on.

I asked, "Dad, I'm coming to see you in about two hours. Can I bring you anything?"

There was an immediate pause and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. He then began to talk, his speech still tentative, but I could sense his brain was sending a message to his mouth. Then, as though he was climbing hand over hand out of that deep pit of pain and medication, he perked up..

"Yeah. You can bring me something.". By this time he was beginning to sound like himself. "In my office desk, top drawer on the left, there are some business cards which say 'J & D Trailer Sales. Bring me one of those cards."

Thinking that perhaps he was dreaming, I confirmed his request. He informed me that he, in fact, needed this particular business card because he had sold a trailer to one of the nurses during the week. Now, I was the one who was dazed and confused.

I asked, "A horse trailer?"

He replied, "Yeah. I sold a trailer this week and I need that business card so this lady can call these people. I need to call them to give them the specs and to let them know that I'm sending this lady down."

My confused reply revealed the smile on my face through the connection. "So, are you working off commission now?"

He said, "Hell yeah! They give me a hundred bucks for each customer I send them!"

When I arrived at the hospital, with business card in hand, I told Dad that he was the only person I knew who could undergo major surgery and generate a sales commission in the same week.

Dad's reply was one of his favorite sayings, "Hey kid, if you're not first, you're last!".

It was at that point in time I realized exactly how blessed I was. My father was one of a vanishing breed. He didn't possess a formal education and, at times, his common sense overruled his tactfulness. But, he was a survivor. His fortitude, resourcefulness, courage, strength and humor prevailed over everything--including cancer. Defeat was not in his vocabulary. The material things that my father leaves behind are many, but the memory of his vibrant spirit will live far beyond the things we can see and touch.

My father COULD have been a man confined to a 40 hour per week job, with a comfortable salary and a good retirement. But, he wasn't. He was an example of someone who possessed a great passion for his career which helped to create communities for people to live and raise families. He conducted business with an integrity and honesty which is sorely lacking in our present world.

He COULD have been a man who avoided strangers and never cultivated friendships. Instead, he was a man who never met a stranger. There was always an instant connection with each person he met. The guest books from the wine cellar are filled with signatures of people whom others would have considered mere strangers, but Dad considered them friends. He possessed a phenomenal loyalty to those friends and stood by them through crisis, sickness or trouble. He always gave good, sound advice in simplistic terms and helped many people throughout his life establish businesses, build homes, make career changes, post bail, or execute practical jokes.

Dad COULD have been someone with few interests. But, we all knew he wasn't. He was someone consumed with his wine making, his horses, his beautiful home and teaching his grandchildren solid work ethics. The most beautiful memories that his grandchildren will possess will be images of him in the cold, dimly lit wine cellar, raising a sharp knife with his large arm to cut down a stick of salami hanging from the rafters where it dried. I can still see the grandchildren lined up waiting for him to slice the salami and tell them a story. The next generation of Clementino children will hold memories in their hearts of their "Papa" chopping fire wood, gathering eggs, feeding the animals, driving tractors, building barns, moving hay--all the simple yearly tasks in which he included them with great joy. They will always remember Papa and Granny's home as a place where they could run with freedom and be completely safe. They loved to assist with the essential chores which made the ranch a home.

Dad's friends COULD have been the quiet, studious types who contemplated the meaning of life. But, they weren't. We had the joy of meeting some of the most colorful and delightful people throughout his life. Most all of these characters came to be constant members of our extended family. To grow up in a home where laughter, hospitality and friendship was always present was a gift in itself. The friends who entered our home had done it all and seen it all and in spite of it all, survived laughing with huge hearts.

The night my father died Mom and I were by his side helping him to make the journey to meet our family and friends who had gone before him. Underneath Dad's bed was a clock radio which Mom had placed several days earlier. The volume was turned down very low, yet I could hear the lyrics of the song playing, which I sang to my father as I said good-bye. "We'll sing in the sunshine, we'll laugh everyday, we'll sing in the sunshine, and I'll be on my way." As I sang the final verse, Dad took his leave. I was consumed by the warmth of the sunshine from heaven above.


In closing, I would like to say that our parents give us life, nurture us when we are infants, enlighten us as we are children, guide us through our teenage years and sustain us as we are adults. The best gift I've ever received was the opportunity to assist my father in his most important journey--his journey home to the sunshine of God's love. It felt so right to help the one who was responsible for my birth, with his birth to eternal life. It makes the circle of life complete and reinforces my faith in God's plan for us.

You Never Stop Being a Mother

I remember when my Mom was sentenced to the Alzheimer's facility. I'm sure no one can forget the first day they leave their child in daycare or Kindergarten. Well, leaving your parent behind in a skilled nursing facility is a lot like that, only WAY harder. When you leave a child, you leave behind the promise of new experiences and undiscovered adventures the day will hold. Your mind quickly flashes to circle time, snack time, art time, and outside play time. When you leave your parent behind in a facility which you've screened, interviewed and thoroughly inspected, you know it's the beginning of the end. The day we left my Mom was tragically heartbreaking. She was frightened, confused and fought us like a 5 year old. She hallucinated a lot in the beginning, and her dreams were so vivid she really thought she was being attacked in the night. When seeing bruises that you know are more medication related than abuse, you begin to wonder....and quickly change your mind recalling the careful screening you and your family did which exposed nothing negative.

After a few weeks, Mom would exhibit and occasional good day. One day when I arrived I found her following the cleaning cart instructing the housekeeping team. Always being an ultra clean freak, she was obviously over-qualified for her new "consulting" task, but the fact that she was already losing her ability to talk was probably a good thing. Although Mom's speech skills were seriously compromised by this time, I'm sure the cleaning woman learned a few things. They'd give mom a duster and let her do the pictures in the hall. Of course, in mom's real life a feather duster was considered a cop out. Nothing was every really clean unless you did it by hand with a good cloth and some Lemon Pledge or Pine Sol. She was a firm believer that the only thing Feather Dusters did, was stir the dust around. I hate it when she turned out to be right! Every time I use my Swiffer, I wonder what she'd think of it? Of course, I thinks it's the best thing since Oxy Clean! (which sucks, because that came out after too...). When getting warm fuzzies about my mom it's never over the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies. However, let me smell a good dose of pine sol and I'll weep like a Italian widow!

When Mom, however, settled into the "facility" she would be happy to see a familiar face. It goes without saying that was a tough time in my life, and inevitable she would always pick up on my sadness. She would try to find me a clean-made bed among the residents rooms and tell me to take a nap while she watches the kids. She once asked me out of the clear blue sky if I needed money. Funny thing was I really did!

The point is that even though I was now her "caregiver" she still could read me like a book. She may have been wearing a diaper, but she was not going to stop being my mother. Several times she asked about my brother, Gary (who died in 1966). When she asked about my Dad, who had been gone for nearly 6 years, I responded through tears when I told her he was busy making wine. It was the first time I was happy that my Pop wasn't there to witness what was happening to Mom. It was difficult enough to support Mom while Dad was 'sick'. Had the places been reversed, it would have been impossible to give him comfort. He was always the bigger than life guy. You know what they say about the "big guys"...they fall harder. Work hard, play harder. It's funny when you are facing the end stages of your parents' life, you thank God for small blessings.

The diagnosis of my mother-in-law, Anna in 2006, with Pulmonary Fibrosis, was somewhat easy to take since she responded to the treatments so well. Even when the treatments brought on the Diabetes, she pushed through and became vigilant about taking care of herself. She got a little 'sassy' with all the steroids, but it just made her funnier. It was sweet when she would voice an opinion--especially when she was defending the Republican Party during Obama's run. Hearing her strong opinions was something she never really did up until she was older. It only proved that under that demure, sweet, apple-doll face, she was a spitfire.

Recently, Ann was hospitalized with another debilitating realization that this illness would eventually take her life. She was stoic and brave when the docs told her that although she wouldn't die from this latest set-back, this illness would eventually take her life. She was faced with making decisions about her end of life, while she was still coherent and well enough to fight. She is a strong woman, from feisty stock who lived through a lot in her life and never complained--even a little! Yet, when she was in that hospital room, surrounded by her children and grandchildren, she was still quite in charge. She was still the "Mother".

I am forever grateful to God for giving me such a "perfect" mother-in-law. She has always been the Grandma who colored with the kids, never forgot a birthday and who was always there to help. I only hope I can be that kind of Mother-in-Law and Grandma that she has been to all of us.

Mother's Day

Perhaps my favorite thing in life is enjoying my garden. If anyone asked me what single feature I most enjoy from my garden, most would say my response would be my pond. Yes, I adore my pond and my fish (Lucky, Jaws & Co). I enjoy sitting in the hot tub and hearing the trickle of the waterfall that Dave and I built (not once but twice). The pond is its own ecosystem, it cycles and the fish hibernate, breed, eat, thrive, then magically begin to hibernate again in the winter. In fact, fish are the easiest pets to keep. You don't have to feed them for three months of the year!

I have to admit I love the life of my pond, but my single, most favorite feature in my back yard is my Dwarf Meyer Lemon Tree. We planted it Mother's Day 2002. Katie purchased it with her own money from Lydia and Oscar Riveria, brought it home and we all planted it. I'm sure we were a sight out in the back yard planting that little, scrawny stick of a thing. It had a couple of blossoms on it, but Oscar insisted that Katie take some food for it and said "Tell your Mom to feed it!". I did feed it for the first two years. Like my children and my fish this little tree has flourished and grown strong. It's survived frost, cold winters, high winds, several floods and more than one global warming heatwave. Yet, each year it produces more and more fragrant blossoms and of course the fruit is magnificent!

I cherish my Meyer Lemons. It's a bit like having fresh tomatoes, once you've had a fresh Meyer Lemon you can't bring yourself to use another kind of lemon. They are about $6.00/lb retail. The wellness of the tree only reflects the memory of planting it long ago--Maddie was in Kindergarten, Dave's butt-crack was showing out of his favorite grey shorts and Matt was "helping" (kind of the way Bruno helps me plant annuals!). Each time I look at that tree I see us as a family (before significant others, fiancees, before my "bad patch"). Right now my tree is full of blossoms and each time you walk in the back yard, the fragrance makes you stop and inhale until you are light headed.

So, dearest family, here is my wish for Mother's Day 2009. Lucinda Sue is giving (yes at no cost...) a fountain for the front yard. It will stand in between the two Japanese Maples in the front patch of the walkway. It is beautiful and very heavy. The only thing I want for Mother's Day is to have this fountain moved and placed in the yard. I you feel you must spend money, gift certificates to a local nursery would be great--but not necessary. I need help with two strong guys to lift the concrete fountain from Lucinda's back yard, transport it to Casa Heizer, unload it to a spot (and have my bird bath moved). I may need a bit of soil, but with the help of some manpower and ingenuity I'm certain that the 4 of you can get this thing moved and working (with little help from your poor father who is sick and tired of doing shit around the house!).

Just think, I will be able to lay in my bed in the summertime and hear the sound of water through my front window. When I get up on the middle of the night, the soothing sound will lull me back to sleep with happy memories of my children making such a wonderful thing happen (and I won't have to hear you're Dad bitch!).

I know, I don't want much!

5/21/2009

Update: My fountain is up and running (well, when Dave doesn't unplug it to save on the electric bill!!).

Maria Clementino Novak 1920-2009

Eulogy for Maria Novak
Spoken Graveside
Novato, California
February 5, 2009


There is a song from the Broadway musical “Rent” which says there are 525,600 minutes in a year of a life. Aunt Maria lived 88 years. Now I won’t pretend to know how to figure the math for two reasons. One. I’m a Portagee. Two. I’ve chosen the wrong kind of footwear today to even begin to calculate the minutes in my Aunt’s life. Perhaps you are wondering why I’ve chosen to focus on the minutes rather than months, or years. It’s because this remarkable woman saw so much and experienced a kind of life that many only dream about. She lived every minute of every day. And when her time was over, she slipped away from us very quickly wasting no time. Like she once said to me, “Kid, getting old ain’t for sissies!”.

The passing of our beloved aunt leaves not only leaves an empty spot at the family table, it marks a shift in the generation. She was the keeper of the family flame. She was the teller of the family stories. Nothing illustrates that better than her home. When you first turn onto Colleen Court, you immediately know which house is hers. It has certain brightness to it. The garage door is always open when she was expecting you. When you walk into the back door you immediately smell the “Aunt Maria” smell--furniture polish with a hint of moth balls. After wiping your feet on the series of throw rugs, she will either put on tea or serve you lunch, either will be served from her best china and silver. While she puts on the final preparations, I always take time to look at the treasures:

There was the picture of my father, eternally smiling and happy on a Trail Blazer ride.

Uncle Edwin and his Beloved Mules.

My grandparents on their wedding day.

Aunt Maria posing with her “Billy Goat” (wearing her Gucci scarf, lipstick, rifle on her shoulder and snow up to her butt). I believe she took him down in one shot and he lived on top of the piano next to the tiffany lamp and the Waterford Vase…until recently when he went to live with Kenny and Clairette.

There is the HUGE elk on the wall and it doubled as the hat rack for her hats which she loved to wear and in which she always looked fabulous.

There was the foxes, the bearskin rug with the head attached, chicken, the precious antiques and my personal favorite the wolverine. He sort of reminded me of her, small, mighty, fierce—His snarl said Don’t mess with me!

There were pictures of my Grandparents dairy operation in the San Joaquin Valley.

A color picture of the Queen Elizabeth 2 on which she sailed around the world in state room 1052. (the same number of the house on Fifth and Vallejo Street that she and Uncle John built).

Once the tea was ready, and we had admired the humming birds outside the kitchen window, we would settle in for a chat. I always felt safe at her house because there was a loaded shotgun by the front!

As we sipped our tea, she talked about growing up with three younger brothers, about the two that died, about how hard she worked when she was younger. She told me how she taught her father to write his name after she learned to write herself. She loved to dance and would dance with her brothers at the Portuguese festivals. They were all great dancers. She told me about remodeling Trumble manor and when she and Uncle John purchased the “mansion” it was condemned. The pictures were startling proof of the now beautiful sentential.

She introduced me to scotch. She insisted that it always be drunk from a crystal tumbler. In fact, I have her to thank for experiencing my finer like things like crystal and china rather than ‘saving’ them. I never drink from a crystal glass or a china cup that I don’t think of her. She said that beautiful things are meant to be used. She was right.

Of course, Aunt Maria was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I ever knew. Young. Middle aged. Old. She had “it”. She was so beautiful and had such a presence she arrived somewhere 30 minutes before she actually walked into a room. She had a posture and grace that turned heads. Of course, I’ll bet the men who looked at this raving beauty didn’t know she could shoot like a marksman, ride a horse, shoot a deer, field dress said deer, make a stew (or sausage) and if they did further research could find her big game kills record listed in among Boon and Crockett.

Times have changed. We have cars that run on electricity and homes that are powered by solar. Everyone has a cell phone and the president carries a blackberry handheld computer. Most cars have GPS computers to guide drivers to their destinations, but for me the biggest change is the vanishishing breed of men and women like Maria Novak. Maria and her brothers were raised in a time and place where a handshake was a bond. They called a spade a spade and made difficult decisions with careful consideration and discernment. They didn’t do things because of politically correctness, rather politeness was their guide.
They made sacrifices for their country in the times of war and if called upon would go to battle. They worked hard. They played harder. Theirs was the greatest generation. Although our generation has the technology, I don’t believe we’ll every achieve their greatness.

Today my place at the table has moved. I join my cousins as we take our place at the ‘grown-up’ table. No longer will we eat in the kitchen from the mis-matched plates off the card table and folding chairs. We can’t cry over spilled milk.

There is nothing left to say except. Would someone please pass the wine?



Connie Clementino Heizer
Petaluma, Califonria

The Brave New World

We witnessed history yesterday. I flipped the TV on at 4:00am to watch the early inauguration coverage. I saw the beautiful Michelle Obama in her lovely shade of yellow walking with her handsome husband on their way to the prayer service. Then the cameras panned on the sea of people. The visual was unbelievable. Almost two million people there to witness history. Madelyn was home from school sick and and I insisted that we watch the inauguration together. Grandma left the room in a huff. She still holds firm that President Obama (or Boom -Boom as she calls him) has no legal US birth certificate, lied about bringing home the troops and is a thief...but it's not at all about being "black".

Okay. She's 76 years old. Her generation couldn't have been wrong. She's a lifetime, die-hard Republican. I, too, am a card carrying member of the Republican party. However, she absolutely REFUSED to watch any coverage of the inauguration during the day. Matt, Madelyn and I witnessed the historic event, saw the beautiful girls, Sasha and Melia in their J Crew coats, Grandma Robinson, (Michelle's Mom) and Dr. Biden in her CFM red boots. It was my version of the moon landing with my two younger "children". I went to the dog park with the boys later that day and people were talking about the historic day--most everyone was in good spirits, ready for the change. I must say that the pains in my chest from months earlier when the banks were crashing and the CEOs were raiding Wall Street were replaced with feelings of hope for the first time in months.



Don't get me wrong. I believe the Greatest Generation is dying. I acknowledge, quite sadly, that world is a mess. America was once a super power and is now slipping far behind. We've got a lot of work to do within our infrastructure. I believe a new beginning can only help. Today, I found myself picking up at the dog park (why not? It starts with me, right?) It seemed like people were a little nicer and felt a little lighter load. I came out of a parking place in Kmart going the wrong direction and when another driver came toward me, I put my hands together begging forgiveness and he smiled and waived. Usually people are ready to slam into me like Kathy Bates in "Fried Green Tomatoes". When I pulled into Lucky's and found a premium parking place right by the front door. Now, I know the President didn't sign legislation for me to park at the front door, but the world outside seemed a little nicer, better, newer.

Throughout my day, those I met were friendlier--except for Grandma who pouted in her bedroom all day. She vows that "Boom Boom" is a lire and a thief and she "ain't gonna watch any of this nonsense". So we'd lure her from her room with the promise of the "Ellen DeGeneris Show" then someone (Dave) would come home and change the channel back to Obomaram. She slammed her cane on the ground and with a big sigh, back to the room she'd go. She was PISSED. But it got me to thinking...of my parents and how pissed they'd be. Well, I for one was glad to see the village idiot leave the white house. It was none to late.

The light rainfall today gave everything a nice wash. It made everything look anew. Great metaphor for the new days to come in Washington. We'll make it. We just can't have everything NOW! We'll have to take a few lessons from that Greatest Generation. Patients.