Home is not just the place where you happen to be born. It is the place where you become yourself. ~Pico Iyer.

Is one’s homeland the country where s/he was born or the country where s/he was raised?  Does it matter?  That was the question my colleague posed to her class. To me they are one in the same since I was born and raised in the United States.

If I think back to my grandparents who were immigrants I would have to say in some/many ways they may have longed for their “homeland” the country of their births – Poland and Italy.

My grandmom Ferrante probably was the clearest on what her feelings were on homeland.  She came from Italy and met my grandfather when she was just 15.  They married when she was 17 ½ , had nine children, and built successful businesses – an ice business, then coal, and finally an oil delivery company.  My grandfather often returned to Italy to “show off” his good fortune or fruits of his hard labor to his family and friends “back home”. He wanted to retire and go back and live in Italy permanently. Grandmom, however, had a much different idea.  She told him, “You made your money here. You will spend your money here.” She was not going back and leaving her nine children and ever growing gaggle of grandchildren.  She was home.

What do you think?  What is your homeland?

                      #SOL17

Embrace each challenge as an opportunity for self-transformation. ~Bernie S. Siegel

Week one on a walker – I really have turned into my mother!

When the voice on the other end of the phone told me I would have to use a walker for at least a month, I cried.  I cried for the uncertainty that would not be resolved until I got to see the doctor two days from then.  Then I began to feel ridiculous because I knew this would only be a temporary situation that I was blowing out of proportion.  Yet I know I have a right to feel how I feel.

I have learned that I need to depend on others and ask for help.  That is not my strong suit.  I realize that needing help does not make you weak, but it does force you to open up and show your vulnerability. I am grateful that I have an understanding principal and colleagues who would do anything for me.

Being on a walker makes everyday tasks a chore.  Things I have taken for granted are now difficult.  My bathroom doors are now not wide enough.  I must shimmy the walker in sideways.

Getting my fluffy terry cloth bathrobe back on the hook in the bathroom requires me hang it “just right” over the front of the walker, so that I don’t trip over and cause more damage to my pelvic fracture.  Sleeping is now a challenge because I like to sleep on my right side which at the moment is impossible, so I spend most of my night trying to get comfortable on my back or on my left side.  Certain movements cause pains that wake me from the little time I do sleep. Chronic pain and chronic fatigue could be a recipe for disaster.  But I am trying to take a page from my mother, and grin and bear it. She has had arthritis since she was in her 50s, and now she is 89.  Mom never complains; she is happy everyday.  I’ll keep you posted!

 

 

 

In the middle of difficulties lies opportunity. ~Albert Einstein

I have been walking with a cane for the past week, and it has really given me a new perspective on life. My ailment has yet to be diagnosed after four chiropractor appointments, a trip to Urgent Care, one hip x-ray, a visit to the orthopedic doc, and an MRI.  In full disclosure, the MRI was just last night, so I should give it a little more time.

But that is only one frustration.  Using a cane is tricky if you want to do it properly – making sure that the correct leg moves with the cane.  Everything is so much more complicated with the cane.  I usually carry my purse on my left shoulder, but that is almost impossible with a cane in my left hand.  I am use to carry bags like a pack mule or an octopus. Now I need to make more trips with less in my hands.

I am sure I have a lot more to write on this topic, but I am too tired to collect the rest of my thoughts.  Then I think to myself – how tired those who have real disabilities are at the end of every day?  I take so much for granted.  What opportunity is this situation  handing me?

“Music replays the past memories, awaken our forgotten worlds and make our minds travel.”
― Michael Bassey Johnson

 

‘Tis the season to be jolly…easier said than done. It is so easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of preparing for the holiday season that you don’t even stop to enjoy it. This was me last week. It was the end of the grading period, and I had a ton of grading to get finished. That coupled with me over-extending myself as usual was a recipe for high anxiety!

Music came to the rescue! My sister, sister-in-law, and I spent a lovely evening at the assisted living facility where my mom now lives. It was their tree-lighting event, and they had invited families to join residents for a sing-a-long and refreshments.

I had stopped and bought a Santa hat and an elf hat, so that my mom had a choice of accessories. She wore Santa; I wore the elf. Although my mom was already dressed for bed when we arrived at 6:00 PM, we got her out of her pjs and into a Christmas sweatshirt complete with a jingle bell necklace. We told her we were going out, and she just came along for the ride….literally. We took her down in her wheelchair so she didn’t have to make the long trek down with her walker.

Once we were all gathered in the Garden Room, the song leaders began the sing-a-long, and that’s when the magic happened. Looking around the room you could see one elderly resident after another joining in the singing. These are women and men who couldn’t tell you what they ate for lunch that day, or how to get back to their rooms, yet they were singing those Christmas songs word for word. Mom was having a great time singing and clapping along to the music. She even rang her jingle bell necklace at appropriate times! I don’t think she missed one word.

The brain is a funny thing. It can fail us on many levels as we age, yet it holds so many memories that are ingrained and cannot be forgotten – song being one of them. It was so good to see Mom enjoying herself along with the other residents. It was a glimpse of the mom I knew from so many previous holiday seasons.

So this Christmas may not be perfect. My house may not be magazine worthy. My cards may not get out right on time. I may even forget something on my “to do” list. That’s OK. I will be remembering the simplicity of that sing-a-long, and I will remind myself to enjoy the little things along the way – a child’s face when seeing Santa, time to curl up with a Christmas book, listening to the beautiful songs of Christmas, or maybe that cup of cocoa. And it all started with a visit to Mom!

 #SOL

 

And suddenly you just know…It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings. ~ Meister Eckhart.

Thank you to the mother-in-law I never met on the occasion of my husband’s 60th birthday.

My husband’s mom died suddenly when he was seventeen – just one month before we started dating. Over the years I heard countless stories and saw many pictures of this woman whose life was cut short at age 49.

One story I hear almost every year at this time is the story of Chuck’s family’s emigration from Italy to America in 1956. While emigration to the US could be many people’s story, his is unique in a couple of ways. First of all, his parents and four siblings were scheduled to travel at a later time, but plans changed, and they ended up coming to America on a ship that docked on May 12, 1956. The ship they were originally slated for was the SS Andrea Doria which collided with another ship off the coast of Nantucket, Massachusetts on July 25, 1956 and resulted in the death of 46 people who were on board.

An opportunity presented itself for the family to travel earlier, so they took the opportunity. No big deal right? Well it was a very big deal because Chuck’s mom was pregnant with Chuck (her fifth of six children) and was too far along to be travelling by ship to the US. The family did not want to separate or take the chance of missing the opportunity to come to America. So they told a little fib as to how far along his mom really was in her pregnancy. She wore a big coat to hide her size whenever she left her cabin.

Five days after arriving in their new homeland, Chuck’s mom gave birth to her fifth child, her fourth son. The joke for many years was since he was born in the US he could be president some day!

So today – 60 years and five days after that memorable arrival, I thank the mother-in-law I never had the chance to know for her bravery and determination, and for raising such a fine man. She was determined to keep her family together and make the sojourn to this new land as a complete unit. She was brave to make that trip being so far along in her pregnancy. I can’t imagine worrying everyday about the chance of going into labor and delivering a baby on board ship. Most importantly, she raised a son who knows (among countless other things) the value of hard work, that family comes first, and that love is eternal.