A Work in Progress...: Christmas 2009

A Work in Progress...: Christmas 2009

The Church of Swiffer

My mother was a clean freak. She was the only woman I knew who cleaned before the cleaning lady came. Never was there a dish in the sink, a bed unmade or dust on the furniture. If you opened a closet, clothes were hung, covered and grouped in like colors. Her shoes were kept in the original boxes and the linen closets were tidy and organized. Even Mom's "junk"drawer was tidy. If you are old enough to remember the TV show "The Odd Couple", my mom was the female version of Felix Unger. I realized she may have a slight 'problem' (what we now call OCD) when she started removing the screen from the kitchen faucet, soaking it in ammonia and scouring it with a tooth brush.



Mom could remove spots from just about any fabric and had the BEST smelling laundry in the world. There was nothing like taking a shower at my Mom's house and pulling out one of her bright white towels which were fluffy and soft and always smelled of Downy. When people ask what the washing instructions were on a new piece of clothing, I replied "Take home to my Mom for washing". Frankly, being raised in such a sterile environment was just too much pressure for me, so I never tried to keep a home like hers. I was never going to be like her, so I never tried. Mom was one step away from the plastic sofa covers. Her solution was to purchase leather and never let my dad or the kids lay on it!! Playing with kids, relaxing and sleep were far more important to me than clean faucet screens.

Make no mistake, however, I know how to clean. She taught me well. She once bought the kids a present--miniature cleaning tools....a broom, rake, mop, and a stand up plastic vacuum. The kids were probably 7, 5 and 2 years old. She said they must be taught the importance of a clean house. The first thing that Matthew did with the broom was to run down the hallway and knock down all the pictures which hung on the wall. They, too, know the merits of a good dose of Pine-Sol because they remember cleaning day at Granny's.

By the time she married my father, Mom was afforded the luxury of hiring someone to help with the cleaning. That's right, help. Mom worked right along side the housekeeper making sure things were done her way. The hallway was scrubbed down with Pine-Sol weekly to remove kid fingerprints. She said her house was the only one in the world that had foot and fingerprints on the ceiling. Really? At Casa Clementino, ammonia was a staple and she always had two vacuums....one for the bare/wood floors and furniture (always a Rainbow, with a cap full of Pine-Sol in the water reservoir) and an upright for the carpets. Nothing gives me a memory rush of home like a stiff whiff of Pine-Sol. For some, the smell of warm cookies or rosemary chicken baking in the oven will give you the warm fuzzy feelings of home. Not me. It's Pine-Sol or Lemon Pledge. Although Mom was a fabulous cook, she cleaned way more than she cooked. When I miss my Mom all I have to do is bring out the Pine-Sol, scrub the toilet and it's as though I've had tea and scones with her.

The new millennium has brought many things to the world of housekeeping which have made things easier--especially for the woman who works outside the home. I must admit I'm always suckered into buying the latest cleaning product which claims to clean your shower without scrubbing. Frankly, I've never found anything which cleans my shower better than good old Comet and me, naked in the shower scrubbing the tile first, then finishing myself off with a shower. It just doesn't work any other way. I've also discovered that Pine-Sol really doesn't clean....not like 409, Comet or Oxy Clean. But, Pine-Sol tells the nose of everyone who enters the house that you ARE cleaning. It's a lot like garlic hitting a hot saute pan, your brain knows something great is about to happen merely by the smell.


When the Swiffer products hit the market, I wasn't quite ready to drink the Kool Aid. I caved about a year after they were introduced and was pleased how the dry Swiffer cleaned my hardwood floors. I have to admit that I would Swiffer the floor with my dust buster in one hand to suck up the "big dust". Not a bad system and it was much easier than dragging out the vacuum. Moreover, we all know that a broom just doesn't do the trick when you are sweeping dust bunnies and dog hair.

My life was changed when I was introduced to the Swiffer Sweep and Vac. It is a rechargeable Swiffer dry mop, with a dust buster type vacuum attached at the middle. Essentially, you put the disposable cloth on the bottom of the Swiffer and what the cloth doesn't pick up, the dust buster does. This puppy weighs maybe 2 pounds and is the most amazing thing I've ever used for my floors. It sucks up hair, dust, gum wrappers, lint, granulated sugar, foil off of Hershey's Kisses, glitter, flour, rubber bands, twist ties from the bread, and of course, dirt. It is awesome to use on the bathroom floors; dry cloth gets hairs and powders, and the vacuum gets the rest. Pushing this little puppy around the house makes me feel like Samantha on the old show, "Bewitched". I always loved it when she could make the vacuum clean by itself. She and Jeannie had the same techniques, but I have my Swiffer!

Now, I have to admit I'm not a big fan of the wet/mopping Swiffer system. The cloth just gets dirty too fast and you can't clean a floor with a dirty sponge. My Mom mopped the floors twice, once to clean, once to rinse. I'm happy to report that the Swiffer Sweep and Vac is so great that my broom now lives in the garage. My trusty little green Sweep and Vac is always plugged in and at the ready. It is important that you clean the reservoir and the filter regularly.


I would have never purchased a 40 dollar floor sweeper, had it not been for Kate's mother-in-law, Jami. Jami shares her home with three dogs and she loved her Swiffer and we all know that word of mouth is the best advertising. Once I purchased my own Sweep and Vac, I was a convert. I love this product so much that when I see someone in the store considering the purchase, I walk up to them and give them my personal testimony. I've sold three systems to complete strangers telling them that they will not be disappointed by this gem. I gave one to my friend as a 'hostess' gift during one of my visits. I wasn't the least bit afraid that I would offend her by giving her a vacuum/sweeper, because this product was just too good and I had to share it with her. She, too, is now a member of the Church of Swiffer. Praise the Lord and pass the Pine Sol!! We have long discussions about how the Swiffer has changed our lives. She will call me after cleaning her floors and tell me how great thou art! I love to purchase the Swiffer Sweep and Vac as a shower gift for a new bride. After all, you only use a crock pot once a month, you'll use this puppy everyday and will feel like someone turned water into wine when you are done.

I often wonder what my Mom would think about this amazing new system. I believe her cleaning was a form of personal suffering because she was never one to use short cuts. She was old school and you couldn't have clean without elbow grease, pain and Pine Sol. Cross your legs Mary Frances, we only have three nails! Alleluia and Amen!

The Frosting on the Cupcake

Today is November 1st. I know this beause Dave and I just finish our monthly discussion about too much month and not enough money. Although I try to focus on the positive stuff.....the beauty of where we live, the fact that Dave HAS a job for now, my beautiful grandbaby, granddogs and children, I still cannot seem to let go of the 'small' stuff. I'm tired of the continual financial struggle, the failing economy and the political ads and canidates who have done nothing but stall and point fingers.


On a brighter note the San Francisco Giants have won the World Serious! Exciting stuff even for someone like me who could care less about professional sports. Let's face it: everyone is a baseball fan in October. When one of the playoff teams is from your area, it's like going to the cupcake shop and getting a frosting shot!


Tomorrow is election day and I'm looking forward to the end of nasty bickering, misleading commercials (which do nothing but confuse us) and election mailings which make my recycle can runnith over! I'm sick of the intrusive phone calls, too. Perhaps it's best to call it a night, and pray that tomorrow is a better, brighter day. If not, I'm headed to the cupcake shop for that frosting shot....I'll take mine with a Metformin chaser!

Amazing Grace

When my father lay dying, my dear friends sustained me. They listened to my troubles, cooked meals for me, schlepped my kids and even cleaned my house. Their greatest gift, however, was their continual prayers. During the fall of 1994 was the first time I experienced, what I now call, Amazing Grace. Perhaps I had felt Grace before, but in 1994 I had a name for it. It was something identifiable. Moreover, I knew from which direction it came--the prayers of my friends and loved ones. During those last days of my Dad's life, I experienced the single most important epiphany of my life. It was the first time I ever felt the prayers of others. There were times I actually felt the chill of the Holy Sprit pass through me. It was the first time I ever truly surrendered to the will of God, which wasn't easy.

Being touched by Grace is amazing in and of itself. It can happen quite unexpectedly--holding a newborn baby or singing with 500 kids--you never know when you will feel that rush. In those days leading up to my father's death, it was as if a miraculous plan unfolded before me. People appeared out of nowhere....notes arrived sending greetings and love which helped me to realize that I was not alone in this journey. Grace filled me with the strength I needed to listen to my father, his stories, his deathbed 'confessions' and regrets. Before Grace, I couldn't listen to him talk about the hard stuff, like, "When I die...” which was stupid because he WAS dying. Both of us knew he never would survive his sentence of Colon Cancer. The illness took his larger than life personality and he no longer told the stories which made me double over with belly laughter. It was as if his jovial spirit was reduced to last minute instructions and leaving nothing unsaid. What remained was a fragment of the giant man who protected me--the man who never met a stranger--who had just entered into retirement and had projects to complete and wine to make. He went from healthy to sick to terminal too quickly.


The Grace I received the night he left my world was tender and intimate. As I stood beside himt holding his hand and singing to him, he passed to the other side where our celestial family greeted him. It was as though I could see the reunion of Dad with his parents, siblings and my brother Gary. I could see how his face relaxed when he was greeted into their waiting arms. The privilege of holding his hand while he slowly stopped breathing was a pivotal point for me. I learned on that night that dying isn't the end for anyone who is loved. The years of grief taught me that people imprint your sole and although I believe there is a heaven, I also accepted that night that part of our "eternal" life is that which is kept alive by the love one we leave behind.

I was pregnant with Maddie Marie the night we kept the vigil by Dad's bedside. When his spirit left his body, the life within me stirred. Although, I was only weeks into my pregnancy and physic logically it was impossible to feel her stir, I did. Grace helped me to still myself and recognize what was happening. The child who stirred in my womb is now 15 and she tells wonderful stories about the Papa Clem who died before she was born. She is, yet another, shining beacon displaying the eternal life of my Dad.

Today, my dear friend is keeping that same vigil with her father. My heart is heavy tonight, because I feel her pain. Whenever one of my friends looses a parent, it brings all of these memories flooding back to me. I think not just of my father, but my mother, and my sweet mother-in-law. What weights heavy on my heart tonight is knowing firsthand the sadness my friend feels. I feel the same helplessness she experienced when she tried to comfort me when my parents died. There really is nothing you can say to someone who is at the bedside of a dying parent. At times like these, words are meaningless and trite. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: You will never get over the death of your parents. Yes, you will heal, accept and go forward; but your heart will be broken at the time you become an adult orphan. Hearts heal. Scars remain forever.

I'm sad to report, my dear friend called me last night to tell me of her Dad's passing. It was funny, because I had just said a short prayer for his comfort and for strength for his family. Callin' all angels......asking for Amazing Grace. My prayer tonight is Simple: "Thy kingdom come, thy WILL be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Help us dear Lord to listen and be present in all that we do, but most of all, Lord, bless us with your grace as we accept the things we cannot change. Amen."

Madelyn's Toast For Her New Brother-in-Law

What follows is the speech which Madelyn deleverd PERFECTLY on the day of Katie and Brent's wedding. I'm envoking mother privledge and reprinting her words on my blog....

For those of you who don’t know me I’m Maddie Katie’s little sister. You probablycan’t tell because we look nothing alike!

Katie and Brent, or Wayne and Dragon as I like to call them, have been together for seven years. I’m 15, so if you do the math, I was 8 when they began dating. It is easy to say that I have few memories before Brent became part of our family. The first time I met Brent was on one of our yearly trips to Mt. Shasta. When we arrived at the motel the first day none of the 'big kids' would play with me. At one point, I was in the pool all by myself wishing that I had a friend to play with me. But, when Brent arrived the next morning, all of that changed. He played with me, made me laugh, and that year began the tradition where Brent began launching me from the shallow end to the deep end of the pool. I believe that year he also sported a hot pink sarong and a "do rag" for the first time. When I was 9, Brent taught me to pump a keg of beer. It was really cool to return to 5th grade after summer vacation and be the only kid who knew how to tap a keg.

Throughout the years Brent attended my volleyball games, Christmas, even my graduation from 8th grade. He also attended all of my musical theater performances at Cinnibar, without complaining. He is seated at our Sunday table every week, unless he has to work or he and Kate are out of town. After dinner, while my siblings and I are arguing about whose turn it is to do dishes, Brent is the first person up to do the dishes and is usually done while we are still arguing. At our house, if you do Sunday dinner dishes, you’re welcome anytime. Dishes aside, if I had to pick someone for my sister to marry, it would be Brent Kidder. Although I've loved him like a brother from the first day we met, today makes it "official" and I couldn't be happier. Love you guys! Please raise you glasses and toast my Brother-in-law and Sister, Mr. & Mrs. Brent Kidder.

The Fabric of Family

It is common belief that people are individuals. The letters DNA represent single cells which create no two people alike (except for identical twins). Due to my lack of formal education, I am not one to argue the scientific evidence of an individual’s DNA profile. Although evidence exists that we are all “individuals”, I believe no matter how scientifically different we are, the history of ‘who we are’ and ‘where we come from’ can be the marker of the person we become. In other words, if we all agree that we are genetically different; the one thing that bonds us as humans is our history. The stories told from generation to generation, not only mold us into the people we eventually become, but also weave together the fabric of a family. The bond that links you to your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof. In truth, family is what you make of it. It is made strong, not by the number of heads you count around the Sunday table, but by the stories you share, the traditions you keep, the love which you show to one another, the ability to forgive and accept, and by the hopes for the future you have both as individuals and as a family unit.

Seven years ago, Katie and Brent were brought together by two friends. Little did they know on that summer evening in 2002 that 63 years earlier, in the small one-horse town of Novato, California, their great-grandparents crossed paths: His owned a grocery store in old town Novato; and hers were dairy farmers who had relocated to Novato from the San Joaquin Valley. The young sweethearts from the new melinimuim never knew that on the night HIS grandmother met HIS grandfather, she was on a date with HIS future bride’s great uncle? Any closer, they could have been related and none of us would be here today!

Katie and Brent were born in the same town, never attended the same schools, yet were raised in houses less than 5 blocks apart. Throughout their courtship, their similar backgrounds and familial history were the perfect foundation for their new life as their own family unit. They established a home, educated themselves, matured and now come before us to celebrate their future as a family…..not just the family of Mr. and Mrs. Brent Kidder, but the joining of the Kidders and the Heizers two families who have intertwined together for generations and are now sealed together for eternity. In every conceivable manner, the family is a link to our past and a link to our future

Vows do not hold a marriage together. What holds a marriage are mere threads—hundreds of tiny threads—which sew people together through the years. That is what makes a marriage last…the threads, the fabric of our family, the history and most importantly the evolution. Today is not just the union of Katie and Brent; it is the joining of the Kidder and Heizer families. The threads which bind us are blessed by those who came before us, because when we honor Katie and Brent, we honor all who came before….the ones of whom we tell the stories.

If you look deeply into the palm of your hand imagine you see your parents, your grandparents and all of the generations of your family which came before you. All of them are alive at this moment. Each is among you today. Katie and Brent, you are the future of our families joined here today. When you join hands to say your vows you do so with the blessings of all present today.

May God bless you and keep you always.

NOTE: On the day I read the above reflection to the guests and wedding party, a beautiful Monarch Butterfly flew over the heads of those seated.

The picture is of Katie's Great Grandparents, Rufus and Sadie Griffin on thier wedding day.

Never, never, NEVER....

I have a beautiful custom made pillow, thanks to my dear friend. It is adorned with hand-stitched miniature flowers and emerald leaves and has a ruffle around the outside. It is my version of a security blanket. When hunkering into bed, it's the perfect size to tuck into and support a place that hurts (be it the ache in your back, the pain in your knee or the spasm in your neck). It brings me as much comfort as my friend who created it. After my family, it is one of those items that I would first grab as essential, if I awoke to a house fire. Between the elegantly stitched vines of flowers it bears the first commandment of the Mom Creed: "Never, never, NEVER fuck with my kids.". Some would think such a thing in your home is vulgar. I display it proudly and consider it a warning to anyone who dare to hurt, manipulate, betray or otherwise inflict pain on any of my children.

As a woman, as soon as that sperm and egg join, you morph into protection mode. From that moment of conception, at least for me, the words "Mother" and "Protector" became synonymous. While pregnant, you read books, eat right, exercise, give up coffee and whatever vices you once had to protect the child growing in your womb. You follow your doctor's orders, clean and childproof your home and install a car seat. Once your child is born, you are keenly aware that you're number one job is to protect that precious child until the day you die. Between teaching them to walk and helping them ride a two wheeler, you protect your child from bruises and scratches and an occasional school yard bully. The protection instinct of a mother is stronger than a any superhero, and if provoked can be meaner than a pit bull in pearls and lipstick.

That feeling becomes more intense as your child grows up. Not only will you take a bullet for your baby, you learn to be tough when there is a lesson to be learned. The lesson stuff, at times, feels like that bullet pierced your heart--usually when your child is somewhere in their mid-teens. As your children grow into young adults, you wait for that life changing epiphany when they actually say, "Mom and Dad you WERE right!". I distinctly remember the day of my personal epiphany. My father smiled, adjusted his hat and with a twinkle in his eye, he said (with a smile), "How about that! The OLDER you get, the SMARTER I get!". I remember it like it was yesterday...we were in his wine cellar, drinking from huge glasses filled with his latest vintage while we ate a salami. He reminded me of that day many times over the years, perhaps as revenge for the times I thought he was wrong about almost everything.

It is a beautiful thing when, as a parent, you witness that moment of enlightenment, and it is from such experience I speak. It is somewhat like an out of body experience and you realize you have to step back and allow your "baby" to hit their stride. The first time you watch your child spread their wings, is as though you are seeing them for the first time. The immeasurable pride of watching your child achieve a milestone is a feeling which completes you as a parent--make no mistake, however, the Mom Creed stands firm. Although your children will grow into adults, own real estate and vote in the general elections, your protective instincts will remain in tact. That's the thing about my pillow, it will never become outdated or out of style. Once a Mother, always a Mother.

When I look back at the past twelve months, I flashback to birthdays, Vanessa and Frank's wedding, laughter at the Sunday dinner table, Maddie's Cinnabar performances, my sunflowers, Christmas morning and the beautiful harvest moon. I've watched my son turn 21 and continue to excel in his studies at college. I've seen Katie complete her Student Teaching and receive her California teaching credential. The passing of my sweet, gentle Mother-in-law was all too profound and, in itself, life changing as I wait for the birth of my Grand baby, Lily. In less than 3 weeks, I will watch my beautiful Katie take that walk down the isle and officially become Mrs. Brent Kidder. The snapshots flash quickly in my mind--these Kodak moments in my head....smiling faces, beautiful faces, immeasurable graces.

San Francisco is a Very Nice Place to Visit

I went to school with a girl who could burp the phrase; "San Francisco is a very nice place to visit". When I was in 7th grade I was awed by her talent and always aspired to learn her secret. She was a grade above me, and hung out with some of the "cool kids". I had seen the seventh grade boys admire her God given talent. I learned at an early age that most boys, regardless of the generation, think it's cool when a girl can burp louder than they can. If you don't believe me, ask my daughters Katie and Maddie. Better yet, ask any of the boys with whom the girls attended Jr. High and they will tell you of their talent. Now that they are more mature, when people hear them burp (myself included), they stare in utter disbelief. People usually do a double take when they've witnessed their phenomenal 'gift', attempting to get their heads around these perfectly coiffed young ladies burping like pre-pubescent boys. It didn't help that I encouraged them while they were growing up by giving them a 1-10 score when they proved their aptitude (something I finally had to stop doing because Madelyn was quite gifted--never below an 8.5--and was soon was without filters so we had to stop the burping yoga). On a recent visit to her old school, one of Maddie's former classmates (a boy) didn't remember her, but quickly remembered and said, "Hey, you are the one who burped the loudest in 4th grade. I remember you!!". It's hard to stand out in a Catholic school where everyone wears dockers and plaid jumpers.

This weekend, I was invited to be part of Katie's bachelorette weekend in San Francisco. We were to meet the girl posse at the Westfield Mall in San Francisco. Somehow I pictured this mall as being just outside the City with a 6 story parking structure. WRONG! Like Tony Randall said in the "Odd Couple", "When you assume, you make an "ass" out of "u" and "me." The Westfield Mall is downtown San Francisco on Market Street and is actually the old Emporium building. Perhaps if I had asked more questions, I would have known, but I just "assumed". Because I'm not a shopper and purchase a lot of clothes on line--and could care less if I ever visited a 'mall' again--I was unaware that this shopping center was smack dab in the middle of the busiest street in San Francisco. Although, I've driven in the City, I've never navigated Market Street unless I was in the backseat of a cab or on a Muni Bus. I'm basically a country girl who prefers a leisurely drive on the back roads or a walk around Shollenberger Park (bird sanctuary) as a perfect day out. I'm somewhat claustrophobic, hate the idea of getting into a dressing room with a huge mirror and strip down to try on clothes (which look like crap on me anyway)! Who needs the humiliation of changing clothes in front of a huge mirror? Not me. Definitely, not me!

I dress pretty simply and would rather have a root canal (with gas) rather than shop at a mall. I am, however, forced to visit the local shopping centers a couple times a year (usually at Christmas or in the fall). The visit is either to the Ipod store or to get a gift for one of my kids. Whatever I need I can pretty much buy on line or at our local stores. I love shopping in small historic districts. The architecture fascinates me, the living history is all around and the shopkeepers are friendly. I like more unusual things which you discover in antiques shops or boutiques. I have a lot of physical limitations which are aggravated by walking around, carrying heavy bags and, frankly, I feel more like a milk producing cow rather than a lady doing lunch and the mall. Somehow the shopping gene that I should have received at birth, was replaced with the burping gene. I'd much rather be out digging in my yard than go to a mall. Basically, I can get stuff done in the yard (without looking at myself in a mirror), wear whatever I want and get in my hot tub when the pain arrives. I'd rather walk around the dog park with the boys than power walk through a mall, purchase something at 5 different stores (only to have to hoof it all the way back to where you parked the car). But, I make exceptions--like when I need something to wear for a special event. Or, when I want to bond with one of my daughter's who will literally shop 'til you drop. Of course, I usually drop in under three hours, maximum.


When we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge on Saturday, we were excited about the perfect weather and our girl's day adventure which lay before us. Sunlight glistened off the bay, there was a slight ocean breeze, clear sky and perfect temperature to walk around without a coat. When I rolled through Chinatown, I took a deep breath when I saw people walking the sidewalks 4 deep. I was quite happy that I didn't have to go there because it looked like a old King Kong movie. After we arrived in the thick of the financial district, the view of the sky was hidden by the skyscrapers, but the weather was still perfect. It was Saturday and there weren't many people on the streets. Once I got on Market Street, I realized that I was in the middle of a driver's hell! There were more people on the streets than in Chinatown, Cable Cars, Muni Buses, Cabs, bicycles, beggars, street merchants and lots of people (both pedestrian and motorists) who figured that a red light was a suggestion. After driving around the city for 45 minutes, we finally found a garage, parked and headed up to meet the girls. I was a bit frazzled, but with the help of Kelsy's Iphone and navigation we were finally where we were supposed to be. We went to lunch straightaway and I had a glass of wine, found purple Crocs and a skirt at Nordstroms. After watching the girls try on shoes--which were beautiful, but I would have NEVER been able to walk atop, even when I was in my early 20's--we had ice cream and headed to "Forever 21". Yeah, that's me....Forever 21! It was so CROWDED there but Maddie needed jeans. Again, I thanked God that Kelsey was with us so I didn't have to go into the fitting room which was a ratio of 6 rooms per floor!

After we finished up, I was quite ready to get home. We walked about 8 or 10 blocks, only to realized that we had made, yet another, wrong turn (only this time on foot). We doubled back, eventually found my car, and headed to O'Farrell Street to retrieve Maddie and Nessy for the ride home. From the time we left the Mall, it took us an hour to find O'Farrell Street (O'Farrell Street is only about three blocks from Market). So, there I was, lost in San Francisco and about 2 inches away from a full blown panic attack. I pushed the emergency button on my OnStar system and told the agent that I needed help. In the mean time, I was dodging cars, getting horns honked at me, had someone flip me off and kept driving around in circles trying to find a place where I could make a right hand turn. Eventually, the Onstar agent got me to O'Farrell Street, and we were on our way home.

Because I've been lost more than any two individuals, I knew that I wasn't on my way home until I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. San Francisco is a difficult city for a country bumpkin like me to navigate. Vanessa even suggested, from the back seat, that we go home via the Bay Bridge (WAY out of the way). Her logic was that she could navigate Hwy 680 and we could take the "long way" home. It was then and there I put my foot down and said I was NOT (under any circumstances) going to go home and admit to Dave that I once again, crossed the Bay Bridge when coming home from San Francisco. I will NEVER recover my image of a strong, self-sufficient woman after the last two times I took that route home. I guess my guardian angel had enough of my profanities and bad attitude, when, almost if I had blinked, we found the water's edge. I saw the Embarcadero, and felt like it was a shining beacon ready to lead me home. I knew it would, eventually, take me to the bridge and back to Sonoma County. Of course, not until we drove through "Pier 39", "Fisherman's Wharf", and two street fairs. I now know that from the Embarcadero you turn Left on Bay street to get to the bridge. Frankly, I cannot find Fisherman's Wharf on purpose, but I knew it would get me back to the bridge. The Golden Gate was a welcomed sight, but when we crossed the county line at San Antonio Creek, I felt like Moses was leading me to the promised land.

I'll never be a "City" girl. I love the things which are there; the museums, the theatre, the park, the tourist attractions, even Market Street, but next time I go there, I'll make sure I know where I'm going before I leave home. Moreover, if we are going to Market Street, I'm taking the Ferry and a cab. Perhaps it's all about getting older, but at least I've learned one of my first, of I'm sure many, limitations now that I'm over 50. It was a ride that I'll never forget. When I leave this world, hopefully I'll be remembered for some of the good things I've done. Burping may be one of them however, I will rest in peace knowing that Katie and Maddie will fulfil my legacy. I'll never be remembered as a 'girly' girl and I'm quite certain I'll died never mastering the art of reading a map. Besides my job as a mother, I hope I'll be remembered as someone who not only laughed at, but also learned from her mistakes.

Friends 101

When I was a young girl my mother told me that if I was lucky, I would be blessed with true friends. She was referring to the kind of friends on whom you can call any time of the day or night. These are the kind of loved ones who become your surrogate siblings. You can trust them with a secret and for the most part, have no problem traveling with them. Good friends will tell you when you have lipstick on your teeth and laugh with you when your butt looks too big in your jeans. Perhaps the best part is that a TRUE friend will gently remind you to lighten up when you take yourself too seriously. I remember hearing Mom's description of a GOOD friend; someone who was loyal, didn't judge you and who would help you no matter what the circumstances. Surprisingly, my Mom didn't have many women friends with whom she was that close. She told me that if I was lucky, by the time I was in my 40's I might be able to count those special friends on one hand. She had those kinds of friends--not many--but true friends on whom she could confide and who loved her unconditionally. Of course, like most of life's lessons, I thought she was wrong. I couldn't imagine limiting all of my friends down to just 4 or 5! After all, I was in High School at the time and I had lots friends and even more acquaintances


Dave says that a good friend is someone you can call in the middle of the night --in the pouring rain when you have a flat tire on the north bound lane of the Golden Gate Bridge--and he will be there no questions asked. Given that Dave's a guy, and we all know they don't bond with other guys like women do, I'm quite happy that we agree completely about friend guidelines. Of course, there are friends who come into your life when you least expect them. Oftentimes, people wander in to your life quite randomly--a customer, a co-worker, a roommate. Mom told me that she met some of her best friends when she was raising her kids and that I, too, would do the same thing. The quite profound experience of being a parent changes you from the second you know you are pregnant. By the time your first child is born, you find yourself in the maternity ward, wrecked and tired from delivery, but the second you hold that child and see her face you are changed. I remember holding my first born, gazing in her beautiful pink face, breathing in her scent, touching her soft skin and admiring her beautiful heart shaped lips when a knock at the door interrupted my moment. It was the Hospital Chaplain who showed up to offer me Holy Communion. Although I didn't deliver in a Catholic hospital, I had checked the "Catholic" box on my admission form. That poor padre had his hands full when I lectured him on the miracle of life which I cradled in my arms. I refused communion, but lectured him nonetheless.

Is it any wonder that you need to find new friends when you become a Mother? Your single friends are still out at the bars when you are getting up for a 2am feeding. They are out cruising in their convertibles while you are walking the floor trying to sooth a baby with colic. When you are a new Mom you need a friend who knows about sleep deprivation, hormones, breast feeding and empty milk cartons at 4AM. The birth of my children brought wonderful friends into my life. The before-children friends remain, ever faithful; you see them less and talk on the phone more. Old friends know your history. They are people with whom you can talk without explaining all the ugly stuff of your past--because they already know the ugly stuff! Likewise, a new friend will listen to your history with a fresh ear and will share a perspective of your life-stories that helps you to reconcile your past to present.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for my friends--listen to them, cook for them, hold their hair while they vomit, help them bury a body, even give them a kidney. Having a good friend makes you want to be a better person. My friends have made a direct impact on how I have lived my life. I am better, in part, because of them. We are are like "Maxine" rather than one of the girls from the TV show "Friends", but with age comes wisdom. The roads we've traveled are many, the hills are steep, but the journey has been amazing. Thank you, friends, for the love you've given me through laughter and tears.

This picture is my Mom, Mary Frances Clementino and one of her best friends, LaVerne Robinson. Mom met Vern when my brother, Gary became a classmate of Kathe Robinson, LaVern's daughter. LaVern was a devoted friend to my mother for 40 years and made, undoubtedly, the BEST Pecan Pie ever!

The Crystal Nazi

I'm up to my elbows in glitter and Swarovski crystals! We began work on the centerpieces for Kate and Brent's wedding and my house has turned into a Swarovski Sweatshop. I have been to the craft store every day for eight consecutive days. I'm feeling a bit like I've joined a cult. That happens when you visit the every Michael's Arts and Crafts store in a 75 mile radius. I'm like the Crystal Nazi.

Somehow when this project was presented to me (about a year ago) I was distracted by the prospect of 24/7 bling and glitter. Now, however, I feel like a child worker from a third world country. Okay, not exactally like a CHILD, but....

We are making beautiful crystal trees from Manzanita branches, stripped, painted, doused with glitter then finished with crystals and sliver. They are quite breathtaking and the process has been fun. Everyone in the two families has had a hand in designing theses beauties. At this point, we have 10 trees complete, and have developed a rhythm. Good thing, because we have to make 32 total! It has become a family project--not just my family, but the Kidder's too! Dave has been home and has graciously stepped up to the plate to be my assistant. He has even learned to navigate the craft store. Let's face it, a craft store is merely a Chick's Hardware store, so he has a good point of reference.

Dave and I were out the door at 9:15 today and after my required stop for a Latte (three equals, extra foam), we were headed out Highway 37 to the Vallejo Michael's, then to the Pinole Michael's, crossed two bridges and three counties. We bought all they had of these stupid little silver things I'm using. One might ask why couldn't we access all materials at the Michael's in Petaluma? Because, we bought all they had. We also raided the Santa Rosa Michael's, and the one in Marin County. It's a wee bit like living in Mario World and your object is to collect as many coins as possible.

Don't get me wrong, the finished product is beautiful. It's been fun being surrounded by bright, shiny trees--especially when the candles are lit and light begins to dance. The time we've spent together has been priceless. The laughter and stories will last long after the glitter is gone. The trail of glitter begins in my garage, goes throughout the house, into the back yard, to the end of the property line and includes the koi pond. My car is full of glitter now that we've transported 10 trees back to Jami's for storage until June. There is glitter in my bed and today Sparkey (my 12 pound min pin) took a hit. I'm guessing that by next Christmas I may be glitter free. Maybe not. I'm looking at each bead strung as a blessing for my kids. Here's to Katie and Brent--may your life be blessed with light, love and happiness!