Tag Archives: family

. . . where mom cleans us up in gin rummy! Stay tuned . . .

The Mother Chronicles 2 of 3

Leave a reply

From Nürnberg to Düsseldorf — with a card shark !!!

After a couple of days wandering around in Nuremberg, it was time to head to our ancestors’ old stomping grounds near Düsseldorf: North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany.

We had the good fortune of arranging a home exchange in Düsseldorf’s hip MediaHarbor district (oder MedienHafen). Mom was a good sport about the apartment with a view being a walk-up.

First stop? The pad for a round of cards!

le creuset orange

Cern, I got to go to CERN !!!

2 Replies

Years ago, a young Jewish man left Yugoslavia just in time.

It was 1943, and in the words of Henry, the then almost 16-year old boy, “I just made it.”

A Quaker group was helping children (up to 15-years old) escape Eastern Europe. Once they arrived in the United States; it was up to other organizations to take over. Luckily for Henry, he was introduced to Joachim Prinz, an infamous rabbi who had stood up to the Nazis in Berlin. Now living in New Jersey, Rabbi Prinz introduced young Henry to the Michael Stavitsky family. Soon Henry was living with the Stavitskys and continuing his education.

Fast forward to February 2012. Henry, now in his 80s and a Professor of Physics at NYC, invited this lucky traveler for a visit to his home outside Geneva. One of the scientists working on the ISOLDE project, Henry periodically spends time at CERN.

How in the heck did this Southern-born and Southern-Baptist-raised woman receive this invitation?

Marriage. Purely a connection by marriage. I just happened to marry one of Michael & Evie Stavitsky’s two grandsons.In 1986, Henry generously flew to Tennessee for our wedding. Towing a heavy flaming-orange Le Creuset cooking pot, he and his wife Norma gave us one of our all-time favorite wedding gifts. (We’ve used it almost EVERY day of our over 20-year marriage!)

Though I saw Henry only once after our wedding, we maintained contact. Being a good Southern gal, as well as a proper Kappa Kappa Gamma, I made sure to include our distant aunt and uncle in our annual holiday missives. Good thing! Because this trip to CERN and my visit with Henry will remain one of my absolute solo-travel HIGHLIGHTS!

Thanks Henry for your generosity, good company, and yummy-yummy meals!

Throughout the city are information placards which accompany actual segments of DIE Mauer, the wall. Germans speak of THE wall as opposed to the wall or a wall.

Berlin 2012 Photo Recap

Leave a reply

Has It Been TWO Years Already???

Two years ago, I had the honor of spending some solo travel time in Germany. It was awesome. I was there to improve my German (i.e. increase my vocabulary).

But looking back now, I realize it was also about continuing to learn how to live in the present.

The NOW.

THIS moment.

I made Lightroom galleries before of my fav pictures from difference portions of my trip, but now I have access to a groovy plug-in that let’s me do it here. In my Blog Glob. Yahoo! I LOVE some plug-ins!

So, without further ado, the Berlin part of my trip. : )

Susan and Dad at Daytona Beach, Florida 1960s

Gratitude

2 Replies

I just participated in a really inspiring writing workshop called Karma Free Writing.

For the closing, we were invited to post a video of us reading something we’d written (for the workshop or previously). What came to me instead, are the words to the five minute video shown below. The photos I selected from thousands of photos I’ve taken during my travels, as well as ones my husband and I have taken during our daily life.

Enjoy!

 

Troll Sj Kauai

Thank You

2 Replies

There are so many ways to say thank you.

So many things to be thankful for.

When I lay on my bed (and this could be anywhere in the world), one of my favorite things to do is give thanks.

I may pass in and out of “wakefulness,” dozing now and then, and still, what I return to is Thank You.

Thank you to my parents for allowing me to be born through them. Thank you to my sisters for being such good friends and watching over me. Thank you to my husband for the joy of sharing my life with him. Thank you to Fido, our firstborn, for allowing us to experience a playful, ball throwing life. A life which also included a death, his death. That experience I recognize now as a tap on the door of my heart. A waking up to all that matters. Life itself. And death which is such a part of life too. And his kid sister, Rocket Girl, who he led us to when he visited me once while in dream-state.

Thank you.

Life. The greatest gift of all.

Life. All that really matters.

And thank you to You, my friends on this planet. For I recognize in each one of you a Divinity, a Perfectness. For you are a child of creation. For you are Life itself.

And with that gift of life, which we each here are experiencing comes the responsibility (I think) of appreciation. Appreciation of simply being alive. Breathing. Being. Living.

And now, as I return to my day, I once again give thanks.

* * *

I just felt that there are those who may read this and think, “Who is this willy-nilly silly gal who gives thanks for everything? How corny she is!”

To them I say, “Yes, I love corn. Because from corn we get so many wonderful things!”

Cobs once served a purpose we thankfully no longer need. : )

And I’m not talking about the making of mattresses.

And corn just tastes sooo good!

Yes, I love corn.

Yes, I love silly.

Yes, I love life.

And I have this f e e l i n g, YOU do too. : )

Hugs to you all,

-Sj out

p.s. And thanks D’Anne and John for the  i n c r e d i b l y  fluffy and delish pastries!!!

A Face in the Crowd

4 Replies

Last night I attended Mars, Pennsylvania’s 104th Annual High School Commencement. The speeches by the students were particularly good. A surprise? I suppose. I hadn’t been to a high school graduation in years. When I graduated, I probably was too busy thinking about the sleepover later that night at a friend’s lake house, or what I was going to do that summer, or how my Dad was (he’d recently had a biopsy performed on his chest; it was benign : ). So I have no idea what my friends said when they spoke years ago. (Sorry Mary and Marti!)

But last night I remember.

Adam Golden gave a playful talk making 13-oral twitter feeds of advice for his fellow graduates. He mentioned that there were 40,000 high school graduation ceremonies taking place around the country. “Is that true?” I wondered. So I googled it and found that it’s right, more or less. According to this ed.gov site, the exact number is 37,100. But I imagine there are other schools around the country that are essentially off-the-grid. Okay, 40,000 secondary schools; I’ll take that Adam Golden.

Think about it. 40,000 schools with students donning cap and gown (or at least holding some type of a ceremony). 40,000 schools setting up chairs, microphones, and diplomas. Across the country, families are gathering (or not : ( to honor their special child. I googled further and found that the high school graduation rate is the highest it’s been in 3-decades.

So what does it mean? What does it matter that 40,000 schools are holding graduation ceremonies?

Completing high school is an important rite of passage in our culture. So much so, that if someone doesn’t graduate, they’re considered a deviant. A flunky. A failure before they’ve even started.

Last month during the Walk for ASL, we had the honor of attending a Shabbat service at Congregation B’nai B’rith. Part of the Friday night service focused on their congregation’s high school graduates. Wow. Those kids were amazing (based on the answers they gave to questions posed by the Rabbi and their general zest for life). I left the service feeling honored to have been given a glimpse of our future.

The same thing happened last night.

I left the Mars High School auditorium buzzing with the graduates’ excitement. Excitement for the future. Excitement for the unknown. Excitement to start their life.

The face in the crowd? My niece, Katie. She’s heading to Auburn this Fall and will be continuing her studies, her journey, her life. Godspeed Katie!

And in September, my husband and I will visit our foster son in Cambodia who is also graduating from high school.

A face in the crowd.

Someone you know. Or not. But regardless, Someone.

A Someone with a dream. A Someone who deserves a chance. A smile. A hug. You name it.

Whatever it is, you have it to share. We all do.

-Sj out : )

Church in Paris

It’s off to France I go . . .

Leave a reply

In 1999 after taking a month long trip to Europe with my parents and oldest sister, I decided that I wanted to learn French.

Why?
Well, why not?
Before that trip with my family I did zero preparation in the language. Zero. I speak German and I know how much time it takes to learn a language. The thought of trying to learn just a little before the trip seemed ridiculous because I knew how much time it would take to learn something, to be able to have a back-and-forth with a French person. So I did zip. Nada.
After several weeks of not getting what we really wanted for breakfast (coffee, I’m talking the kind of coffee we really wanted), I took my sister’s phrase book and came up with something to use one morning in Annecy.  And it worked! For the first time on the trip we got large American-style coffees–black for everyone except me, cream and sugar for the youngest). “Now that’s more like it,” Dad had said.
Did I keep learning during that trip?
No. It just seemed pointless.
At first.
Then my little pea-sized brain started churning and thought, “Why not? Why not learn French?”
I had subconsciously checked “Learning a Language” off my list of things to do in life. I hadn’t even realized that I’d done that, but I had.
So, I put it back on the list and got busy. Well, sort of. In the midst of my “real” life I would manage to put in an hour here and hour there with my wonderful textbook which came with cassette tapes (a good thing, or I never would have gotten an inkling about the correct pronunciation. French pronunciation has nothing to do with how it’s spelt when you’re thinking as an English speaking person). Complete years would pass without me doing nary a thing to reach my goal of being able to speak French conversationally.
In June 2008 I realized that my “deadline” was approaching (in 1999 I’d set the mark of 10 years as my goal for being able to carry on a conversation in French) and that I needed to kick this learning program in the butt. I got on-line and found a school in Lyon that seemed perfect. I had a heart-to-heart with my husband and he said he’d support me 100% in reaching my goal (which meant that he’d be willing for me to go to France without him and that he’d carry on our business alone for that month). I booked 4 weeks in Lyon at this school starting in January 2009, set-up our flights using frequent flyer miles (Our? Yes, our. The plan was that I would study in Lyon for 4 weeks and then my husband and I would meet up somewhere in France where I could use my new found skills. We’d do a home exchange for another 4 weeks; surely we could find people who’d want to spend a month in Hawaii. Wouldn’t you want to spend a month in Hawaii?), wired the money and then couldn’t quite believe that it was really going to happen!
What comes next is the posting of many, many letters that I wrote to friends and family around the world during my stay in France. I didn’t even think about writing a blog at the time. My brain was too full with new French words and grammar for anything else. Also, there was a point when I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be able to do the trip . . . but you’ll have to read the earlier entries for the why of that. At the time, I was doing well to just keep it all together.
It was an incredible trip and I invite you to join me. I look forward to meeting you along the way.

Go In Peace and Worry Not, Hallelujah

1 Reply

date: Dec. 10, 2008

subject: This is VERY long. You may want to print it before you read it . . .

Dear Friends,
Dad died Monday, December 8th at 11:15 a.m. His passing was very peaceful.
As many of you know, Dad went to St. Mary’s Residential Hospice center on Wednesday, December 3rd. Within an hour of his arrival, he wanted to lay down and take a nap. He never got out of the bed again. Late that afternoon he did awake and have one last latte with his best friend, Reese. Our sister-in-law Sheila sat with him early Thursday morning and joined him for his last meal (which he only partially ate, he had enjoyed his real last meal during our impromptu picnic the day before). Afterwards, he had no more interest in food.
Mom stayed with him Wednesday and Thursday nights; Hannah, Friday night; and I, Saturday night. The three sisters then stayed with him Sunday night. As he slept he slowly withdrew from this world. The hospice books told us that he was preparing himself for separation from this world. The books also spoke of someone lingering only if they have any fear of death or “unfinished business.” To ease his release, we each told him in our own way that it was okay for him to go when he was ready. “We are all fine and you don’t need to worry about us. We will take care of Mom.”
The nurses thought that Sunday was most probably the day. Jan arrived from Pittsburgh, and some other family members also gathered. As I wrote to you earlier, in the late afternoon of Sunday, the immediate family and Dad’s best friend gathered around Dad to read his favorite Psalms (121), sing some hymns (albeit in our pitiful but loving way) and share good DAD stories. As you can imagine, as we all spoke fondly of Dad, belly laughs came as well as tears.
Dad’s last night was peaceful. He slept comfortably and even began to snore in his more typical way. I made my nest in his wheelchair with its deluxe $400 cushion–tipped the chair way back and set my feet upon an adjacent pillowed chair. Hannah took the not-so-very-comfortable reclining chair. Jan set up her camp at the table where she was finishing 10 pages of photos with relating copy . . . pictures of Dad as a kid, Dad with his grandchildren, Dad at the beach, etc. (remember, she’s the Creative Memory pro).
Just about when Hannah and I had managed to sort of relax for half a moment, Jan said, “I need some copy.”
“That’ll be Susan,” Hannah replied.
The last thing Jan was designing was a large poster. She wanted to add a few lines about Dad. The first two sentences came easily, then it all just started sounding incredibly hokey and NOT like Dad. I said to Hannah under my breath, “He could also be ornery too.” Hannah burst out laughing and said, “Put that in, I like it.”
We three kept working on it when I said, “Well, we all know that Dad’s not your average bear.” That made the cut too. I volunteered to take the guff from Mom when she reads it and tells us it’s not proper (earlier in the evening she’d told us, “I don’t want any of that digital nonsense at my funeral. It’s just not proper!”)
Dad’s last morning (in this world) was incredibly peaceful and beautiful. Mom and Tony (Tony graciously offered to take Mom home Sunday evening) arrived around 6:30 a.m. Jan has just laid down on the small 2 person couch a few hours prior. So she proceeded to move to a more comfortable couch down the hall in the family dining room, I took her place on the small couch. About an hour and a half later after a deep, deep sleep, I awoke to find myself in the room with just Dad and Tony. Mom and Hannah had gone to IHOP for breakfast. I was awake but just deeply exhausted, so I chose to stay comfortably cozy on the couch with Dad’s tennis quilt wrapped around me (Hannah gave Dad this, his quilt on his 87th birthday on the 8th of March earlier this year.
It’s very colorful with tennis rackets and balls woven into the design, as well tennis type prints throughout). Tony was simply sitting at Dad’s side holding his hand. He then pulled out his ukulele and played a variety of pleasant tunes. He also began singing (something that you who know Tony know he rarely does). It was beautiful.
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
When he started playing “Michael row your boat ashore” I couldn’t help but join in and sing. “Hallelujah. Michael row your boat ashore, hallelu . . .u jah.”
Next came, “Daddy loves us and we love him, Hallelu . . .u jah. Daddy loves us and we love him. Hallelujah.” Followed by, “Go in peace and worry not, Hallelujah. Go in peace and worry not. Hallelu . . u jah.”
Tony continued to play and sing. “Oh when the Saints, go marching in. Oh when the Saints go marching in. Oh how I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in.”
I contemplated getting up and going to Dad’s side but thought, “No, he knows how exhausted I am and he’d want me to rest.” I then closed my eyes and gave thanks to Dad for his wonderful early birthday gift. As I remembered him singing and then bursting out laughing, “Happy Birthday me again Daddy!” (a unique trait of mine–since childhood I would ask Dad, “Happy Birthday me again Daddy!” and he would), Dad sent me another gift. I don’t know how else to describe it but to say that within my very core I felt my father’s presence. He was within me, yet separate from me. With my eyes closed yet fully awake I saw his right arm (which was also my right arm) rise up and show me how he had held me in the palm of his hand when I was newly born.
And then I knew (I suppose this may sound presumptuous to some, but I really felt it in the core of my being) what he’d been doing for the past four days as he slept, he had been going through memory after memory, looking at it, cherishing it and then moving on.
I stayed in my cozy nest for a few minutes more before Tony sat down his ukulele and joined me. Still reclining and wrapped in the quilt, I draped my legs over his. We cuddled and I told Tony what Dad had just shown me.
A few minutes later, my brother Dayton arrived. He asked if there’d been any changes. “No, not really. He’s resting well and breathing more calmly. But his feet are very cold now.” Dayton checked them and said, “One’s cold and one’s warm.” “It keeps changing,” I replied. Jan then returned from her nap in the family dining room. She readied herself for a shower and disappeared into Dad’s bathroom. Dayton sat down at the table to open his address book for numbers of friends to call. Tony and I stayed snuggled on the couch.
“His breathing has stopped,” Dayton said as he rose from the table and went to Dad’s left side. Tony and I got up and stood next to Dad’s right. We waited and maybe 15 seconds later there was a very short exhalation, more like a muscle spasm really. Dayton rapped on the door and called for Jan to come out. There was one final puff and he was gone.
I cradled Dad’s head and sang, “Go in peace and worry not, Hallelujah. Go in peace and worry not. Hallelujah.”
Mom and Hannah came in the room maybe 30 seconds later. We held hands and gathered around Dad and gave thanks for his life.
I’ve wondered at times whether it was appropriate for me to write such personal thoughts and experiences to you all, but then your replies would come and I’d feel a confirmation of how connected we all are and that you DID want to be informed of the changes . . . . I thank you ALL for “being there” in spirit and remembering my family in your thoughts and prayers. I know I’ll miss my Dad, but I can’t help but feel so very thankful for his very full life, and for the time we got to spend with him saying goodbye, and for his quick departure. And mostly, I am just so very thankful for getting to have him as my father.
And as if this missive wasn’t long enough, I’d like to end with a bit of humour. It ends up that his older sister Hannah was mistakingly included in the “preceded by” section of the obituary (she’s still alive). No one, and I mean NO ONE, caught it before it went to print! (Please realize that Dad died at 11:15 a.m. on Monday and the deadline for the obit was 4 p.m., I think it’s amazing we got anything in there on the same day at all. Well yes, we had a draft written, but still . . .)
So, guess who called yesterday morning saying, “I’m still alive!”
We’re all calling it a Freudian slip . . .
love and hugs to you all,
aloha,
Susan

Enjoy A Picnic Whenever & Wherever It Appears, for It May Be Your Last

Leave a reply

date: Dec. 7, 2008

subject: The “end” is near . . .

Dear wonderful Girlfriends,

Dad’s course really took a turn on Thursday . . . he has begun his journey and the “end” is near. Jan, Hannah and I (the three sisters) are here in the room (Jan brought her computer, turned it on and found that there is Wi-Fi here) and we’re staying the night together.

Earlier, the entire family (the four kids; my husband, Tony; Dwight, Hannah’s husband; Mom and Dad’s best friend, Reese) gathered around Dad and sang songs, read Psalms 121 (Dad’s favorite) and #130. We then each shared many, many good memories. It was truly beautiful.

Then we sat down to a dinner of salad and hamburgers that Dayton brought (we hadn’t had a “real” meal all day and everyone was ravenous). We obviously don’t know when Dad will go . . . but we feel it’ll be when things quiet down. Mom said very comforting words to Dad including, “I know you’re tired Clyde. It’s okay to go . . . we’re all fine, you don’t need to worry about us.”

Yes, of course I’ll miss my Dad; but at this moment, I can’t help but feel so very thankful for the good, long life he’s had. He has obviously touched so MANY people. What a gift my siblings and I have had to have him as a father. I will carry him in my heart forever . . . when he was ill and I was still at home, I carried him perched on a pedestal in my heart as I went for bike rides . . . now I feel like he’ll have a permanent place there.

Love to you all and mahalo for your many, many wonderful and caring emails.

Susan

p.s. There’s one story I didn’t share . . . our last “picnic” with Dad.

Tony was driving Dad and Mom from the Patricial Neal Rehab center in downtown Knoxville to St. Mary’s hospice facility in the north part of town. Jan and I were in Dad’s Subaru Baja truck. Jan had asked Dad if he wanted to stop at a drive-through for lunch. “No, “ he adamantly replied, “I want to go straight there.” But after we passed a Wendy’s, Jan’s cell phone rang. “Dad wants to stop for lunch,” Mom said. We all turned around and pulled into a Wendy’s.

We parked side-by-side and went inside to order lunch. It was a beautifully clear day (amazing how that has happened on the days when Dad’s been in transit . . . it’s been so cold and rainy on all the other days). Tony, Jan and I piled into the back of Mom’s Toyota Avalon. Mom sat in the driver’s seat and Dad in the front passenger seat.

First Dad devoured (and I mean devoured) his chili. “Yum, this is good!” he said. Then he devoured his burger. Again, “Yum!” Next followed the frosty and a milk. At one point I said in my typical optimistic way, “This is fun!” Dad burst out laughing. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him thinking, “You always have so much fun Susan doing the simplest things.”

That was our last picnic with Dad. What a gift!

That was on Wednesday the 3rd. Later that same afternoon he said he was tired. He’s been sleeping ever since. The two booklets that Hospice has on hand have been incredibly helpful in describing the journey he’s currently on. And reading them, we realized that he had begun the journey several weeks earlier. I think my Dad in his ever tenacious way had been giving every moment ALL of his energy. Once he arrived here he could feel (I think) this special place’s spirituality and that he had arrived at a safe haven. What a gift we have been given. May this and all hospice facilities continue to be blessed for the wonderful care and compassion they provide so many people.

Love to you all

Bonnie Meets Clyde

Leave a reply

date: December 5, 2008

subject: Dad’s in a wonderful hospice facility now . . .
Dear Girlfriends,
I sent this note to a few of you on Wednesday. I don’t know why, but on Wednesday I didn’t feel ready to send it to you all; but you’re all part of the family now, so I thought I should pass it on . . . An update will follow in a few . . . .
And as some of you know, today is my birthday. I’m on my way over to be with Dad. Hannah’s there now. Things have changed and he has one foot in the next life . . . we’re happy he’s sleeping peacefully. Early Wednesday morning he sang Happy Birthday to me . . . we hugged, he talked about my birth . . . I’m very blessed.
love to you all,
Susan
written 12/3/08:
We moved Dad today to St. Mary’s in residence hospice . . . As I was putting Dad’s right leg on the ground in preparation for a transfer from the car to the wheelchair, he said, “I don’t want to go in.” Tears were running down his face. I stopped what I was doing and made room for my sister Jan to sit in the wheelchair, which was right next to the car. Tony sat in the driver’s seat next to Dad and I kneeled in front of him. He talked and cried; we comforted him and hugged him. After a bit he said, “Okay, I’m ready to go in.” He’s so concerned about being “abandoned” inside this place . . . we reassured him that we’re not abandoning him and that if he’s really unhappy there, we’ll figure out a way to be able to bring him home. He said, “I have no doubt that you wouldn’t do that, you ALL have so much gumption.”
My man knew exactly what to say, “Clyde, we all learned it from you. You’re our role model. You’re a very strong man.”
He turned to Tony and said, “Thank you.”
(*)
Poor Dad . . . in September he won a 3-hour tennis match in a national tournament and now he’s essentially a paraplegic with terminal stage 4 cancer . . . it’s been a lot to absorb.
We’re continuing to take it one day at a time . . . right now T and I are scheduled to return on the 11th. I may extend my stay . . . I’ll see.
When we left Dad this late afternoon (Mom’s sleeping over with him on this first night in a new place) he was really looking the worse we’ve seen him . . . he was chilled, then got warm and seemed feverish, he just seemed so . . I don’t really know how to say it . . so, uncomfortable. He said he was in pain but he didn’t know where. His hands were so swollen. We left him with his feet elevated and hands resting on his chest. I hope he and Mom have a restful night . . . will keep you posted.
aloha, Susan
(*) What I didn’t write at the time because it took all I had to simply write what I did, was that once Dad had made up his mind to exit the car and enter what he knew was to be his last resting place, he put on his smile and noticed a nice looking, petite blonde volunteer in a Christmas sweater who had just stepped outside of the building into the bright sunshine. She approached my Dad with a huge grin on her face. Dad, ever the flirt, grinned right back.
“Why hello there!” she said, “I’m Bonnie and I’m happy to meet you.”
“Bonnie,” he said, very matter-of-factly, “Well, you know what my name is, don’t you?”
She looked puzzled and replied, “No, I don’t.”
“Well it’s Clyde, Bonnie.”
They enjoyed a moment, which us outsiders can only imagine. And with that, he entered the hospice facility.