Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

Holiday Hysteria

Maggie is just a bit "Holiday Hysterical," trying to get Christmas shopping done that was only started, um, yes, YESTERDAY.  Add exhaustion to that and the fact that I have full charge of a 21 month old now (at least for a couple of months) who sleeps in my bed with me all night, kicking me, banging heads with me and howling for his binky, and well, I'm looking pretty frightening these days.  Not to mention I took up a conversation with the Christmas tree the other morning as I crawled under it to give it it's morning dose of coffee (water).  Dazed and squinting and feeling the pressure of Liam leaning over my shoulder, I backed out from under the looming conifer and apologized.  To the tree.  For talking to it.  Then I told myself to snap out of it.  And took Liam to the kitchen to make the real coffee.

With that said, I'm sitting her clacking on these keys while Liam sleeps (in my bed) not 8 feet from me.  I think I am going to join him for a nap because, otherwise, I may start talking to light switches.  So here's last year's rendition of Christmas, re-posted, just in case I don't get back to the computer anytime soon:

As we ready for our big trip back east for the holidays, I am feeling a bit off-kilter, perhaps a bit tilted.  It's that adrenalin rush as you race through the mall, trying to be polite when someone takes your parking spot, waving a hello and a smile at the driver who flipped you off for no good reason and reminding yourself that you love everyone.  After all, it's Christmas, people!

By December 19, I had two gifts purchased and decided that, after my daughter came home from work, I was going to hand over her son and take off like a woman with her ass on fire, running for the nearest puddle, i.e., the mall, to quench the insatiable Christmas fever/hysteria.  Two days later, I had 8 gifts purchased and my husband and I were doing push ups, readying ourselves for the triathlon that lay ahead, which included high bars, sprints, and several emotional nose dives as we sped off to the mall to allegedly finish our Christmas shopping.

As it turned out, we finished in second place.  We came close, so close, to getting our shopping done, but the woman ahead of me in Penney's took First, stating that she had already finished her shopping a month ago and was just getting underwear for herself, for crying out  loud.  I mean, who in their right mind goes shopping for underwear during the insanity of holiday shopping?  Wear your husband's for awhile if you have to.  And the woman behind me had just begun her shopping (Third Place, i.e., Loser.  Snort).  

Anyway, it was dinnertime, we were hungry and I have had a lingering virus since Thanksgiving that has been clinging to me like that nightmarish date I had almost 30 years ago when I finally peeled him off of me, called a cab, and, when he came running out of the club after me, I told the driver there was a $20 tip in it for him if he ran him over.  Apparently, the driver didn't realize I was only kidding.  I mean, who would have thought I was serious and even if I was, who would act? Luckily, no one was hurt and I never heard from the clinger again.   

Getting back to the present, as I said, I was hungry.  Making dinner was the last thing on my mind.  In fact, as we strode through the parking lot in search of our car, I was about ready to throw myself in front of one of those maniacs vying for a parking spot when Druck suggested we eat out.  

"What did you say?" I asked, snapping to.  "I said, let's eat out."  "Thank you, Jesus," I sighed.  "My name's not Jesus."  "Well, thank you anyway."

We drove down the road a ways and I spotted a place.  "Let's go there," I said, motioning to what looked like a cute little diner, but, as we got closer and I sat back, eyes closed, Druck drove right past it.  "What'd you do that for?" I glared at him, my stomach rumbling, my body aching and my voice all but gone.  Druck exhaled patiently and said, "There are two ambulances in the parking lot.  One on either side of the building.  We're not eating there."  "We're NEVER eating there," I said emphatically, as I leaned back again and watched for the next eatery.  

We finally decided on a Coney Island, something that is popular in the midwest. Coneys are small diners, usually with standard menus at each.  They have a variety of Greek food such as gyros, Greek salads, tabouli and various other Mediterranean dishes.  In addition, they always have chili dogs, hamburgers and fries.  And they are very affordable.

We went in and took our seat and a waitress resembling the bimbo played by Cher on the Sonny and Cher show (do you remember her - the dangling earrings with the little ball on the ends, wild glasses and the gum chewing?) approached our table.  "Can I get you something to drink?"  she asked through thick lenses.  I ordered a hot tea and, as Druck opened his mouth to request a Diet Pepsi, she scampered off.  "Did you want something to drink, dear?" I asked, smiling.  "I guess not," he said sheepishly.  She returned and stood at our table long enough for him to order his Pepsi and scampered off again.  We ordered our dinners quickly as she stood, one leg severely extended to the side in an almost dramatic display of her impending departure.  Our food arrived quickly, as did the check, and we each enjoyed a Greek salad, conversation, laughter, and then headed for home to assess the financial damage and to count gifts.  We still have this policy of matching, gift for gift, what we give our children.  As for Liam, well, he's gonna make out like a bandit this year.

Like all Christmases, this Christmas is a time I spend reflecting on the year.  A time I choose to think about all of the positive things in our lives rather than the sometimes almost insurmountable challenges.   I am grateful for my beliefs and for embracing the reason for Christmas that so many people forget about.  I thank God for His blessings and for the people He has brought into my life. This year has been one of the greatest years of all, welcoming little Liam into our lives - a child who has changed so many lives for the better.  His smile is more brilliant than the morning sun and his laughter is contagious.  I am astounded by the people who have come alongside of us and who have offered assistance for Liam. Babysitters, friends, single moms, prayer partners, women and men alike, rallying around a small child named Liam who came from Alaska with his mother on a moment's notice, and who has touched so many lives in such a short period of time.  

To quote the words of a very wise man, "God Bless Us, Everyone!"

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Turning 50 - Part Deux

I was going to write an entire saga about turning 50.  But, at 50 years of age, I don't have the energy.  Or the wit.  Or even  the memory of what I ate for dinner last night, so having a 50 year old try to recall what occurred a couple of weeks ago is not going to happen.  Instead, I'll leave it to photos as proof.  Or, who knows, maybe the memories and the writing will just start flowing.  After all, I did take my "50+" vitamin this morning.

Here is a photo of the gown I apparently wore to the office that morning.  I changed into regular clothes after awhile, mostly because I was cold.  Plus, while I have to admit there are times when I enjoy shocking people, an office building is not the place to wear an evening gown.  But, dang-it, I try to wear this gown whenever I can because I like to dress up - even though it's a rare occasion (or there is rarely an occasion to put it on) - mostly because we are not jet setters.  So that means we don't get featured in big spreads in the newspaper when there is some sort of ball and people who think they are important go to rub elbows with other people who think they are important and then they all think they're important and then, those of us looking at the photos in the newspaper think they must be important, and it's a huge ego boost.  That's not my life.  

But I did get a big surprise.  Druck announced he was taking me to Chicago for the weekend to do whatever I wanted.  And that included, if I wanted, getting my own room while he slept somewhere else, like, say, on another floor.  I decided I'd like to share a room with him but thanked him for the option and, as the time to depart got closer, I told him I'd rather go to Grand Rapids.  This was because Grand Rapids is 2 1/2 hours away and Chicago is 5.  Since we weren't leaving until Friday night and we had to return on Sunday, I wanted to shorten the time in the car as much as possible. 

We stayed at my favorite Grand Rapids hotel, The Amway Grand Hotel, which is one of the most beautiful old hotels I have ever been in.  It reminds me of a lovely hotel we stayed at in Nice, France a few years ago but, I must admit, I like this one better.  We ate divinely at the 1913 Room where they set something strange in front of me and I stared at the waiter, dumbfounded.  I don't even remember what he called it.  But it comes prior to your soup and salad (which also has some sort of name to it, but again, I am not one of those who normally goes to the ball so I don't know the lingo).  Druck knows this stuff.  He dines elegantly with scientists from all over the world on a regular basis.  He knows what intermezzo is during a meal, for example.  So he explained to me what everything meant.  Snort.  And, while Druck and I dressed up in all of our finery and I even brought my evening gown (which I have had for about 13 years but have only worn 4 times), I decided not to wear it and instead decided to just wear a simple black dress with black beads, matching earrings and bracelet.  Druck looked dapper in his suit.  Neither one of us take good photos and Druck has been way overworked and incredibly stressed.  And he left his hair gel at home by mistake.  Gasp. But believe me when I tell you that the man is gorgeous.  Has the body of a 30 year old, a brilliant mind, incredible wit and humor - and dimples to die for.  Did I tell you how he left his hair gel at home?  DOUBLE GASP.

The great thing about being married to someone for almost 29 years is that you are so comfortable with each other that if a belch sneaks out unexpectedly, it's not like you have to worry that he's never going to call you again.  He doesn't even look up from his plate as you surprisedly hold the cloth napkin to your lips and glance around the room to see if anyone else noticed.  Thankfully, the chamber music must have been loud enough or perhaps the other patrons thought there was some calamity, like the dropping of a huge pan, in the kitchen, that it seemed ok.

We spent a lovely day Sunday soaking up beautiful weather and touring the Meijer Gardens.  This place is incredible.  We had been there once before but it has something like 180 acres of grounds that are lavishly overflowing with incredible botanicals of every kind.  I wanted to go again to see more. One of these days, I'll post photos from that.  Maybe.  Or I'll just move on to something else.

My sister-in-law was right when she told me that there's something about turning 50.  You realize that most of us have lived half of their lives and you realize how important it is to live the second half (or quarter or two-thirds) more wisely.  I want more time with my grandson.  I want quality time with my husband.  I want some things that are just not tangible.  And I aim to get it.

When I stood up and faced 50 head on, I realized that I have been with Druck longer than I have been without him.  It's not always been easy.  But he is the man I love.  He knows me.  I know him.  And he accepts me like no one else.  Because, hell people, I can finally admit that, at age 50, if this guy has stuck around all these years, he is a Saint.  Mostly because I am different than probably anyone he's ever known.  And perhaps that's why he's stayed with me.  He'll take the weird-ass crap from me just so he can experience the incredible things I bring to him every single day.  Because sometimes the things I bring to the table are worth a laugh or two and break up the monotony of everyday living.  Like the day I called him at work, all unnerved because I had been thinking about estate planning. "Dear?"  "Yes," he sighed.  "I was just thinking about the fact that we still have a mortgage on this house and what if something happens to both of us and our kids don't know what to do and they don't care and, well, you know, they probably wouldn't know or wouldn't care about the fact that if they didn't pay the mortgage, the house would be foreclosed on and the taxes have to be paid, you know, and I just think they'll lose the whole house.  What are we going to do about that?"

After a short sigh, a little pause and some agitated breathing, he said, "Who gives a shit.  We'll be dead.  We won't care.  They're on their own." "Oh, ok.  Right.  Thanks." I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the phone and he went on.  "Now you go run along and call me back when you think of something else to worry about."

Click.

Click.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Happy Thanksgiving

I know.  I haven't written much lately.  I've been suffering from some major anxiety that wakes me up at 3 am and keeps me there until about 20 minutes before I'm supposed to get up.  Then, having fallen into a nice comfy sleep, I reawaken an hour late, jump out of bed screaming, ripping my pajamas off and flinging them onto Druck's head as I make a rush for the bathroom.  I swear that man is a saint.  Doesn't know what hit him until he pulls my blue puffy cloud flannel jammies from his right ear.  And then he remembers.  He's married to me. 

This morning I awoke at 3:45, heart pounding and feeling sick.  Mostly sick because I ate a huge bowl of lentil soup, a bowl of tossed salad and two bowls of ice cream right before bed.  That's not usually the norm (eating right before bed), so don't email me and tell me that's why I'm waking up at all hours of the night in a panic.  I know most of why I'm in a panic. 

Today's panic probably had something to do with the networking meeting I have at 7 am (which I have to leave for in about 5 minutes and I have no idea where my shoes are), the packing up of the car, the arrival of my daughter and grandson at 10:30.  The appointment I have at noon, the wishful hoping that whatever Liam gets presented for lunch, he will eat so that we can then get in the car and GO. 

Heading to New York.  Hubby is already there.  Son will be holding down the fort (please, God, please...sigh) and having dinner with his girlfriend's family. 

To all, I wish you a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with love, warmth, laughter, joy, peace and no anxiety.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Turning 50

Well, I did it.  I survived turning 50.  I'll be writing more next week on the subject after I return from my weekend getaway with my husband.  Basically, Druck has labeled the entire week my "birthday festivities week," and it has been laden with chocolates, long-stemmed roses, more flowers, chinese food, candles, books, kisses and romance.  I can't wait to get on the road at around 5:30 today to see what else is in store for me.

Until then, please keep coming back.  I have a few good recipes here, and some very funny older posts.  Some serious ones as well.

And remember, 50 is the new 30!  My new mantra...

Proposition 8

Liam loves cows.  And baby kitties.  Occasionally, he will do his "Oo, Oo," point at the computer and say, "Cowies?"  So I bring up Youtube where we happily browse for mooing baby cows and their mamas.  And he especially likes a video of a kitty jumping into a box.  It never fails to amaze me how children can watch the same thing 5,276,982 times, look at you and say, "Again?"

Something to note about Youtube is that when you initially bring it up, there are some featured videos posted as stills.  Last week, on the very front of Youtube was a still of Jack Black in Jesus drag.  The caption read, "Prop 8 - the Musical." 

As I started typing in the search for "baby cows," Liam pointed to the still and said, "Jesus?  Oo.  Oo."  I said, "No, honey, that's not Jesus."  He insisted and started bouncing in his seat and jabbing his finger at the screen.  So we played it.  He was thrilled to see Jesus on the screen and I was thanking God that he had no idea what they were singing about.  There were cast members from Saturday Night Live, Neil Patrick Harris, and a variety of other actors putting on this 3 minute skit.

Fast forward to Friday morning.  Druck is in the bathroom engaged in his morning constitutional and Liam is at the computer insisting we take a look at Jesus again.  While the musical is playing and Liam is bobbing to the beat, suddenly, a bellow comes from the other room.  "What are you letting him watch????"

I scampered to the bathroom door, hands clasped, and nervously said, "It's ok, dear.  He thinks Jack Black is Jesus."

"What?"

"He's only 20 months old.  He has no idea what they are singing about.  He just likes the beat."  I exhaled loudly and rushed back to the computer as they sang and danced across the stage singing about Prop 8 and separation of Church and State. 

Before getting to the computer, however, I dropped to my knees and held my clasped hands to my forehead, whispering, "Lord, God?  Please don't hold this against me.  He thinks he's seeing Jesus.  It's good that he loves Jesus.  Please, please, don't hold this one thing against me.  Please?"

When I looked up, Liam was happily bobbing to the music and, when it ended, he turned to me and said, "Again?"

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Getting Commercial

OK, I'm going to get a little commercial on you here.  I just did some research and am shocked at what I read.  Did you know that most baby products, skin care products, fragrances, deodorants, toothpaste, etc., contain either phtalates or paraben - or both? "So?" You might be saying as you get ready to click to a more entertaining blog.  But wait.  For your sake, please read on.  And I won't get commercial on you until the end.

Phthalates.  Phthalates are esters of phthalic acid and are mainly used as plasticizers (substances added to plastics to increase their flexibility, transparency, durability, and longevity). They are primarily used to soften polyvinyl chloride.  People are commonly exposed to phthalates, and most Americans tested by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention have metabolites of multiple phthalates in their urine.  How does this  happen?  There are many ways, but what most of us are unaware of is that they are contained in baby products and hair and nail care products.  Why?  Many cosmetic companies use this chemical regularly in everyday products  because they cling to the hair and nails to give perfumes, hair gels and nail polishes more staying power. Are you kidding, you ask???  NO.  Do your research. Long term effects of usage of products containing phtalates include damage to the liver, kidneys, lungs and reproductive systems in animal studies.  But the FDA doesn't regulate this and companies are not required to put include this on their labels. 

Phthalates can be absorbed through the skin or inhaled. So the next time you are spritzing your hair or painting your nails - think about it.  Your scalp and nails are absorbing this lethal chemical.  And what's worse is if your kids are hanging around, they're breathing it in as well.  Not good. 

Scientists at government agencies in both the U.S. and Canada agree that exposure to the chemicals could cause a wide range of health and reproductive problems in people.  A recent study by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) found that five percent of women between age 20 and 40 had up to 45 times more phthalates in their bodies than researchers initially hypothesized. CDC found phthalates in virtually every person tested, but the largest concentrations -- 20 times higher than the rest of the population -- were found in women of child-bearing age. Meanwhile, another study, led by Dr. Shanna Swan of the University of Missouri, identified developmental abnormalities in male infants correlating to high phthalate levels in their mothers’ bodies.  What can you do about it?  I'll tell you at the end of this blog when I go commercial on you.

Parabens.  Parabens are found in almost every skin care product I came across in my bathroom cabinet.  This is one reason I don't use them anymore.  I use them for another purpose (see further on down).  Parabens are a class of chemicals widely used as preservatives in the cosmetic and pharmaceutical industries. Parabens are effective preservatives in many types of formulas. These compounds, and their salts, are used primarily for their bacteria killing and fungicidal properties. They can be found in shampoos, moisturizers, shaving gels, personal lubricants and toothpaste.  They are also used as food additives.  And they are found in large numbers of baby care products. 

There is scientific research showing that parabens have been found in breast cancer tumors and may contribute to the cause of breast cancer and other types of cancers.  

Let's face it - our skin is the largest organ in our bodies.  Don't tell me you didn't know that.  If you didn't, take a look at yourself.  It is a living, breathing, functioning organ that does all kinds of wonderful things for us.  It not only absorbs oxygen and helps to rid the body of toxins, but that beautiful organ that we take care of with all kinds of lotions, fragrances and deodorants, absorbs everything we put on it.  Everything. 

So what can we do about this?  Buy products that we know do not contain these poisons.  It truly  makes me wonder about the rise of autism in this country when I read how these poisons are absorbed in the body and can cause reproductive defects and birth defects as mothers are totally unaware that what they are putting on their hair, nail and skin is toxic, not only to them, but to their developing fetus.  Of course, time and research will be the answer.  Until then, we can do the necessary things to protect ourselves and our children.

And now for the commercial:  Arbonne products do not contain any phthalates or parabens.  They are botanically based, thoroughly researched, natural products that work.  I became a consultant two years ago because I loved their anti-aging products.  But as time went on, I became a fan of their balancing cream which has eradicated my hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings and other things that are a major pain to a menopausal woman.  I love that their makeups and nail polish are phthalate and paraben-free.  I love their shampoos and their health products.  And I keep the bad products that are cowering in my bathroom cabinet to bring with me to my demonstrations to show others how simple things such as shower gels, lotions and hair products contain poisons that, over time, will tragically effect your life and the lives of your loved ones.

You can see more about Arbonne at their site.  If you contact me personally, I will give you a 20% discount on your first order.  I believe in their research and the products they offer that much. And it doesn't matter where you live.  We ship via good ol' UPS. So email me and I will give you unlimited access to all kinds of great things - that will not poison you or your children.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

When Pigs Fly

I have no idea if I had the swine flu or not.  I think not.  But people are so crazed over this swine flu thing that they think anyone who is sick has it.  And, well, I'm one of those people who is on that hysteria wagon - except when it comes to me and whether or not I had it; I simply worry about everyone else. 

Now, some 10 days since the onset of this thing, I still have vestiges of the cough, the sore throat, the glassy eyes, and the state of confusion.  Scratch the last part of that sentence.  I am ALWAYS in a state of confusion. The illness simply justified it.

I took a photograph of myself about 5 days into it and sent the photo, via text message, to my sister-in-law.  That was the most frightening photo I have seen in a long time.  Of anything.  And my sister-in-law is recovering nicely in a rest home where they promised her that the satanic photo was completely destroyed and an exorcism of the highest caliber was performed on her phone.  And they guaranteed that no one would ever hurt her like that again.  At least that's what my copy of the restraining order said.

That photo was so scary that it had to be only through blind love that my husband, children and grandchild could remain in the same room with me.  Not since I saw the previews of "Throw Momma from the Train" have I been so frightened.  In fact, I never watched that movie for the sheer fact that I couldn't handle seeing the woman who played Momma.  She freaked me right out.  When the previews would come on the television, I'd be all over the couch feeling around the cushions, the pillows, my husband's hair, looking for the remote to get that off the screen.

With that said, you know I won't post that photo here.  In fact, I deleted it right after I sent it to Robin and regretted sending it to her immediately after doing so, and for good reason, as previously stated.  I'm not photogenic as it is and with the flu, accompanied by a 5 pound weight loss off of a 125 pound frame (due to the flu), hair that hadn't been styled (at the time) in 4 days (I showered, ok? But there was no use of hair products for 10 days straight), skin that was pale, lips dry and cracking, and one eye seemingly bigger than the other (can eyes have swollen glands???), well, truly, I was a sight all right. 

And the older I get, the worse I respond to symptoms.  Like the coughing.  The other day I coughed so hard, I peed in my pants a little.  When it happened, I froze while in my "cough-induced doubling over" pose (not to be confused with yoga's Downward Facing Dog) and felt my eyes get as big as dinner plates (even the one with the swollen gland).  Could it be?  Did I?  How bad is it?  As I hobbled, cross-legged to the bathroom and peeled off my pants, it wasn't so bad.  But it took time because I wasn't going to re-dress without a shower.  20 minutes later and as the second wave of coughing descended, I was prepared.  I sat on the couch, cross-legged, my hand between my legs, with pressure applied.  Now is that crazy or what?  But it worked.  Had anyone walked in the door at that moment seeing me bent over, legs entwined like a pretzel, holding my privates, and coughing until my eyes watered, they might think I was performing some type of masochistic sexual maneuver.  Only thing is, I wasn't enjoying it.  Not one bit.  And it was obvious.

What I learned from this experience is that the flu, like so many other things that come and wreak havoc in our lives, serve a purpose.  They humble us.  Because when we're sitting as still as possible, holding our crotch, coughing until tears fall like rain, and a booger the size of New Hampshire has apparently settled itself just inside your right nostril, right where a swipe of the hand won't catch it so you have no idea it's even there because you're too afraid to even look at yourself in the mirror, but the Green Peace guy at the door can't seem to speak proper English through all of his stammering because he is so upset about that booger the size of New Hampshire that, try as he might, he can't take his eyes off of it, kind of like not being able to look away from a bad accident, and you think that the reason he has scampered off is because you vehemently say, "No solicitors, PLEASE.  I'm sicker than a dying dog on it's best day," and you close the door, dust off your hands as if you've had some freaking accomplishment that day because, for crying out loud, you can barely get off the couch let alone answer the door and chastise a Green Peace guy.  And then when you finally decide to go into the bathroom and give yourself that smile of confidence in the mirror as you pass by on your way to the toilet, you stop in mid-gait and realize that something bigger, more powerful and more heinous than any words you could ever say were what scared off that Green Peace guy.  

And, after slinking back to the couch for Round 3 of your coughing seizures, you realize that nothing can be more humbling, more bubble bursting, more self-esteem deflating than a booger the size of New Hampshire.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

New York Travels

I attended my high school reunion last Saturday night for a few hours and then went and finished the evening at my neighborhood reunion down the street.  Yes, this is a photo of me singing "Wild Thing" like no one has ever heard before.  And no one, once they've heard my version, ever wants to be able to hear, think or remember ever again.  In fact, I've heard of people being institutionalized for a period after listening to my singing.  Mostly for psychotic episodes that seem to be laced with a pining to ram sharp objects into one ear and out the other.  I guess you could say my singing should come with a warning label attached - kind of like prescription drugs.  "Not recommended for pregnant or nursing mothers as there have been instances where miscarriage occurs or lactating ceases.  If you are over the age of 35, deafness may occur accompanied with a longing to harm or maim anyone blocking your path to the door.  May cause vomiting if ingested audibly for more than 15 seconds.  If diarrhea, fainting, head spinning or hair loss occur, stop listening immediately and contact your doctor."  This particular evening, I saw none of those occurrences, but I think I saw the wait staff giving inoculations at the rear of the bar just prior to my taking the stage.

It seems that life always has bizarre twists and turns to it, but the older I get, the more I believe that some of us steer into strange odysseys all on our own.  Mostly because we welcome variety and partly because, at least for me, the less I worry about what others think of me and the more I care about not suppressing who I am, the better off I am emotionally. That's not to say that in every instance I can let my hair down and be myself.  But I'm learning.

I arrived in New York Friday evening, via Canada, because it's quicker.  It's always interesting conversing with border guards.  I have gotten to a point where I like to "engage" them; especially after the time one guard ransacked my vehicle and picked through my bras, panties and socks like a chimp looking for nits.  You'd think I was built like Pamela Anderson and was hiding a bomb the size of South Africa in each cup the way he went through my lingerie.  Finally, I snatched my Victoria's Secret underwire out of his hands and said, "Enough already.  You saw the self-help book on the back seat, the Bible, and the book about herbal remedies.  Aren't you guys supposed to be trained in profiling?  My mom's sick, I'm praying, and I'm losing my mind.  That's all." He looked stunned and I felt like I was going to pass out -  because I knew that either I had crossed a line and was in big trouble, or he was merely a kindly soul, interested in women's underwear and willing to take pity on me - especially after realizing he hadn't found the Holy Grail of lacy, voluminous brassieres.  Instead, he'd gotten the booby prize (literally) in my hopeful, yet "still-commanding-a-presence," 34B's.  He decided to let me go, but not before recommending a good book to read about grief and dying. 

Just when it felt like I had been swallowed by a black hole and I'd never come out the other side to New York, I made it and was asked by that border guard whether I was bringing anything into the country valued at more than $1,000.  "Just me and my car," I said wearily.  Two days later, as I once again entered Canada on my way back to Michigan, the question was whether I was bringing anything declarable into their country.  "Just this huge pimple here," I said cheerily, pointing to the burgeoning growth between my nose and upper lip - something that began the day of my reunion and sent me into a panic.  I mean, I'm 49 years old.  I can't remember the last time I've had a pimple and now one decides to show it's ugly face on the day of my high school reunion some 32 years later?  High school memories seemingly were back with a vengeance in every way, shape and form.

When the guard continued to stare at his computer screen, never once glancing my way, I continued.  "Honestly, this one deserves a first and middle name," I chuckled and glanced up the highway.  He darted a look back, shook his head, gave me back my passport and said, "All set." 

Druck says to leave these people alone.  He says they get stand-up comedy (or drive-through actually) by thousands of people everyday.  I disagree.  Because I've had my own share of their version of stand-up comedy and so, it's the least I can do for these men and women who occasionally put me through the wringer with their idiotic questions and their own lame jokes.

Was it worth the trip?  Let me say that I vacillated as to whether to go or not up until the last minute.  Mostly because I don't do well in large groups and partly because I don't do well in small groups either.  I'm inherently shy.  If I were born a cat, I'd be feral, always watching from the edge of the woods, looking at the cats sitting in the windows inside their warm cozy homes, well-fed and loved.  I'd sit there, wishing I could summon up the courage to walk up to someone's patio door and see if they'd find me lovely and worthwhile and want to take me in.  But my feralness would take over and I'd fear the rejection more than the possibility of the door opening.  I'd rather stay outside the group and feel just a little cold and a lot lonely than to take a chance and see if someone would let me in.  Because, for me, rejection is more painful than frost-bitten nights at the edge of the woods.

32 years later, I took a chance and stepped inside the warm VFW hall where the reunion took place.  My heart pounded and I did only a little stammering. 

Unfortunately, earlier in the evening I had fallen asleep on the couch and woke up way late, uncertain as to whether it was 6:15 am the next day or 6:15 pm the night of the reunion.  Initially, I thought, "OK.  I slept through that.  No reason to cry over spilt milk."  Then when I realized it was 6:15 pm, I thought, "Too late.  Can't go.  Get some take-out and stay home."  After pacing back and forth for about 30 seconds, I decided to go, causing me to sprint around in a panic.  I was late to the reunion and, on top of that, I hadn't eaten much all day.  When someone walked up to me to say all kinds of nice things and engage me in conversation, I had a plate of food in my hand and my feralness took over.  Feeling faint, I talked for a minute and then said, "I have to sit down and eat before I pass out."  She nodded and I ran off to eat, but I discovered that I could barely swallow my food. I didn't see Margaret again that evening and I still wish I had connected with her.  I wanted to talk about so many things with that woman, and if things had gone differently (not dozing off, making sure I ate properly), I would have enjoyed her company. 

Afterward, I found myself wandering and talking to people and, as the night progressed, I felt better.  I felt calmer.  Because these were all good people.  Some told stories of things we had done together which made me realize that while I have changed over the years, many things about me haven't, and most of those things are quite comical.  

So was it worth it?  Yes.  In every way.  It reminded me that people change, people grow, we tolerate and accept more about ourselves and others.  We take each day for what it is:  a gift.  And we learn to share the gifts we have already attained with others, and learn not to fear rejection of those gifts. We also learn to accept the gifts of others graciously.

I can't wait for the next reunion.  Because next time, I'll set my alarm, will eat like a pig all day prior, and I'll look for my dear friend, Margaret.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

High School Reunion

 Leaving tomorrow for my high school reunion.  We're celebrating our 50th birthdays - not an actual "out of high school" milestone.  It'll be one of those whirlwind weekends.  Leaving tomorrow, driving for 7 hours.  Saturday will be spent with my dad during the day and the evening at the reunion.  Later that evening, I will depart there to meet up with neighbor friends to celebrate another reunion.  I'll drive home on Sunday.

I have not seen almost all of these people in over 30 years.  Thankfully, we have reconnected through Facebook.  I'll try to take pics of people, places and good food.  I'll miss Liam, though.  Each day with him has its own predictability flavored with brand new things: Liam running and hiding behind the sheers in the living room, standing perfectly still, hands clasped, waiting for someone to look for him.  If we don't come quickly enough, he'll call out, "Ee-yum (Liam)?"  It's our cue to drop everything and go look for him.  It's a little difficult when you can see him right there and he is watching with an impish grin on his face until we suddenly and amazingly find him. 

Yesterday morning, I made him pancakes for breakfast.  Afterward, as he sat atop the dryer watching Poppy iron himself a shirt for work, I stood and marveled at two of my three favorite men in my life (the third being my son).  When Poppy asked Liam if Grammy had made him pancakes, that beautiful child, eyes fixed on the ironing project, pointed to his little mouth and did a loud and emphatic, "Mmmmmmmmm!!!"  That said it all.  With one little sound. 

I'll enjoy my weekend but will be anxious to get back to my family. 

Until then, my wishes are for each of you to enjoy your own families this weekend.

- Maggie

Liam Dreams, Love and the Song at the End....

"Love is of source unknown yet it grows ever deeper. The living may die of it, by its power the dead live again. Love is not love at its fullest if one who is living is unwilling to die for it, or if it cannot restore to life one who has died. And must love that comes in dream necessarily be unreal? For there is no lack of dream lovers in this world. Only for those whose love must be fulfilled on the pillow, and for whom affection deepens only after retirement from office, is it an entirely corporeal matter." - From the Peony Pavilion

Love blooms - often from the moment we first set eyes on a person. Sometimes, the person is unseen - for 9 months.  And, as those 9 months drag on, we fall more and more in love with the little one we expectantly wait to greet. 

I remember my daughter asking me, "What if he has abnormalities?  What if he is born retarded or without some fingers or arms?"  I responded solemnly and sincerely, "We will love him anyway.  We will take care of him and nurture him and help him to grow in whatever manner we need to." 

I try to take a lesson from that in everyday life as well.  As we go through life, we encounter all kinds of people.  People with physical ailments, mental ailments, and some who are just plain different. We don't know their story.  We don't know why the cashier just can't make eye contact today (the love of her life just left her and to look into anyone's eyes might cause her emotional collapse?), or someone is riding our ass in traffic (rushing to the hospital to be by the side of a loved one?), or the teenager rushes past, knocking your bag of groceries to the ground (his Crone's Disease is acting up again?).  We don't know their stories.  So maybe it's best to just take some time to offer love in these situations.  By not angrily snatching the change from the cashier, by not flipping off the driver, and not yelling after the teenager. 

Believe me, we feel better for it when we let go of the anger and let go of the hate; when we accept life for what it is and realize that we are all in this together.

All for Love:  Copy and paste for a beautiful ending to today's post:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgDfzvQPDFM