Category Archives: Father’s Daughter Moments

Enough said…

Rules of the Road

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Driving north on Washington Avenue in my hometown yesterday I heard, before I saw, the fire trucks headed my way.  As the line of cars ahead of me began to slow and move to the right the first truck came around the corner, screaming sirens, lights flashing and here comes someone alongside me on the left trying to pass.  The fire truck had to swerve a bit and hit its horn, if you thought the siren was loud this horn made it perfectly clear he should get the hell out of the way.  I don’t know what came over me, perhaps it was the thoughts of my Father on this anniversary of losing him nine years ago, perhaps it was the stupidity of this jackass but I couldn’t help launch into a blistering tirade on the rules of the road.  From the confines of my car I wanted to know who the hell this stupid bastard (a favorite expression of my father’s for use in cases just like this) thought he was putting these people, who were volunteering to race into a burning building, in danger.   As I started my tirade the next truck came toward us and this guy must have caught on and jumped in front of me and slowed down a bit.  On I went with my tirade, making it perfectly clear that under no circumstance should you ever put these people in danger and that you should summon up all the respect you can for the people doing this job for no pay both on and off the road. I was pretty animated. The man in the car ahead of me thought he understood why I was carrying on and offered that I go ahead of him.  I assured him he could go and it had nothing to do with him cutting in front of me.  I would rather he be in front of me.  My father always pointed out that people like him, before we had any understanding of Karma, were accidents waiting to happen and it would be best if you could see them when they made their last wrong move. Then you could react and avoid being caught up in their bullshit (he was a fan of that word too).

These were my Father’s words but certainly not at this decibel (ever) or with this ferocity (ever).  When teaching me to yield to emergency vehicles he simply stated that he never wanted to hear that I got pulled over for not doing so.  There was no drama, just the facts of a small town where you might get pulled over, you might not get a ticket, but your family would surely hear about it at some point. Probably at the bar over a beer shared after work one day. Life in a small town for a daughter, of a Father that everyone knew, that was a bit “high-spirited” could be a little precarious.  He knew what he was up against.

These were just the unwritten rules of his road.  They were written somewhere I’m sure but for me they were his.  My Father drove for our local dry cleaner for 40 something years and when he had spare time he went for a ride.  He loved to drive.  When he could no longer drive, I had the unfortunate business of taking his beloved license from him; he loved to be taken for a ride.  He knew all our local roads and he taught us any number of unwritten rules, like always know several ways to get home, pull as far to whichever side you are turning so the guy behind you can get around you, always use your signal, and never use your horn.  If you can yield to a delivery man you’ll make his life easier.  To this day I let the “working people” go ahead of me.  Never be the last person through the one lane anything, hang back let the other side go. Be that person that enjoys the road and leave the hysterics to the other guy.

I’m sure the unwritten rules he gave me were different from the ones he gave my sister.  I remember him getting in the car with me for the first time and saying where should we go.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know I had already been driving for several years.  Someone always had a car and I learned what I could from them.  I could do a mean jack rabbit with my friend Paul’s 62 Falcon with the shift on the column…but I digress.  My sister always talks about some double line rule that will always take you home.  I never had that particular discussion with my Father, we each had hand tailored discussions based on our personalities and our age difference.

I get my love of driving from him, I drive wherever I can and these days he would be over the moon to see what I’m driving.  I know like I know I can get home from anywhere and made it my business to put the girls in the car and explore my new neighborhood as soon as I could.

I’m glad he wasn’t around to see the advent of texting while driving, or putting makeup on while driving or the ever present road rage.  He used to drive during the day and be surrounded by “housewives and money hungry salesmen”.

He used to say that the best he could hope for on a busy day is that the school bus would be in the rearview mirror.  Yeah, that’s still true for me too. And yeah, his driving lessons, his driving legacy are secure, how often I wish others knew and followed them. Miss you.

 

 

Time Passages

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“I avoid looking at the clock, fearing the slow passing of time that will only seem slower if I watch its progress.” Michelle Zink

Except for today, of course.  I know you think this is going to be my annual “I want my hour back” rant but not so much this year.  I have to say there were a few very profound happenings this week that seemed to wake (yeah I know) my ass up.

First and foremost my dear friend Paul sent a wonderful email (after attending a school presentation by his daughter Greta) entitled The Secret of Time:

Today the 4th grade classes at Race Brook School presented their research and enactments of famous people in history.  Our Greta was Betsy Ross, and aside from the great job she did on her research and memorizing her speech, she personified the most famous flag maker from Philadelphia perfectly.  She even answered questions about Betsy in first person, and was very proud by how impressed everyone was with the flag that she had sewn on her very own “real” sewing machine that she got for Christmas.

 Greta As Bestsy Ross

Most of all she tested Dad’s ability to keep smiling and not succumb to the urge to burst into tears.  There’s a very fine line between being happy to be alive, and becoming overwhelmed by the realization of riches that have been bestowed upon us, and just how precious each day is.

Now the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.  James Taylor

Somehow Paul always has something happening with his family in March.  It’s a time I walk softly and carefully and sensitively lest I fall on my knees from missing my Father.  He’s gone nine years already. Already? See what I mean about the passage of time.  Anyway, each March my friend Paul elaborates on something that he is doing to cement his legacy to his family.  More so, I see him creating “father’s daughters” and I couldn’t be happier.  For them and for him.  It gives me strength to watch a Father bring everlasting memories to the children in his life.  I remain in awe of him.  And I appreciate his sharing me right through the end of March.

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To add to the family theme I was honored to attend my dear friend Cookie’s grandchild’s baby shower.  Baby Cook.  So, of course, I did what I do in all matters Cookie, I hid behind the camera for fear of becoming a whimpering nut to capture the day and regret that he was not a physical part of it.  It was beautiful, she is beautiful, they will carry on the family name in some way (the baby’s sex is a surprise!) with notions of Cookie in the back of their minds.  This is the most validating indication of the passage of time, it’s natural and beautiful and fulfilling for legacies both past and present.

Later Muriel and I actually howled telling stories of when they were all kids and how her Father’s memory lives on and on and on.  Ironically it was a story of a family tree.  Truth, my friends, remains stranger (and a helluva lot funnier) than fiction.

So this morning I awoke missing an hour.  I walked the girls, made my coffee and treated myself kindly.  I didn’t piss and moan once about losing my hour.  Nicely my sister (who has lived with the rant far longer than anyone) brought me a wonderful gift of lox for my Sunday bagel and it was a delicious treat.  I’ll never get this particular hour back, but I must say after this very long, very cold, very snowy winter I am thrilled to be writing this with sun still shining and Spring on the way.

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No, I won’t get this hour back but I will get an hour back.  What a gift to look forward to:

Time does not pass, it continues”   Marty Rubin

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snow

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The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches….E.E. Cummings

How soon we forget. It’s winter.  I have heard more bitching and moaning about the snow this week than I have in quite some time.  Mostly from people snug in their homes with laptops and fireplaces and fresh brewed coffee and their kids.    From retirees that can’t stand another minute…what is so urgent that the snow is cramping your style?  Just curious.  And from my mother who refuses to even look out the window at it all the while watching the 24/7 coverage of it on the news and grabbing her rosary for anyone stuck or stranded or who’s house lost power. God love her if she lets her guard down for just one minute the world would….who knows.

It’s true, snow doesn’t give a soft white damn but have we really lost track of the soft white part?  You know the beauty, the fury, the magnificence of all that snow?  Have we lost track of the nostalgia?  There was NO SUCH THING as pre-announcement school closing when I was a kid (God how I hate typing that).  My dentist and I had this discussion on Thursday, when he confirmed my tooth was indeed fine, that we waited with anticipation for the siren to go off at 6:30am when school was closed.  As I may have written before, pandemonium in feety pajamas broke loose in my house.

My father couldn’t stay home because he had that kind of boss but he knew how to drive in snow and taught us how to drive in snow.  His big problem became all the people out and about getting in his way.  Same problem the plow drivers have when someone is valiantly trying to make it to work in the office.  The office, not the hospital right, the office.  We never had the luxury of having him home on a snow day but now fathers are bundling up the kids and going out to play.  That is an awesome part of snow.

I’m blessed to have my Stowe Lane family coming to my rescue.  Best sight ever was Muriel showing up for “payment” after cleaning off the 12” of snow from my car we got in the first round.  I didn’t even know they were out there and I certainly had no intention of going out until the “email” came.  One bottle of wine, two cans of Coke, a quart of sauce and half a loaf of bread (ready for the oven) later my debt was paid.  Love those two.

Don’t think I’m not guilty of becoming that person.  You know the one.  We get the “email” from our property manager pronouncing us all get out and clean off our cars as soon as possible so the snow removal people can clean up the parking lot.  She gave the usual dos and don’ts but the gist was getting your ass out there ASAP.  We’re a pretty good group, all of us bursting out the door like something out of Dr. Seuss with our brooms and brushes and shovels and scrapers.  Dressed in our layers and big boots and funny hats and mittens.  We’re quite the sight on Stowe Lane.  So we’re all done and moved over to the already clear spots from the morning and we wait and we wait and we wait and now people are starting to come back home.  The next email goes something like; yesterday we got 18” of snow, then rain, then more snow.  Ok, we’re listening.  And the guys are concentrating on the streets.

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No they’re not.  The guys haven’t been seen since early in the morning.  The guys are still at the beginning of the complex because they didn’t believe the weather forecast and are trying to use their existing equipment and manpower to clean up the after effects of a blizzard. Really?  They shovel a shovel-width path all around the complex completely ignoring the handicapped spots (not that anyone living on the second floor is really handicapped but I digress) then they bring one snow blower, one. OK, don’t give me that line about how over worked they are and their concentration on the streets when you should be asking where the rest of their equipment and manpower was.  Yes I did send her pictures; yes I did mention that at least some of my maintenance money should go to the residents who were cleaning out the handicapped spots.  And YES the bobcats and plowman and backhoes did show up 15 minutes later.  Oh my God I have become that person…

Meanwhile by Saturday my sister was calling it “day three of the hostage crisis”.  Granted she might have done something to her back (not shoveling as she has an angel of an upstairs neighbor for that) but she was also enjoying a good book, getting back to cooking albeit Sandra Lee style as she calls it, and the very genuine phone calls from work wanting to know how she’s doing.

While I was cleaning up and digging around my car on “email” day I had an interesting conversation with GI Joe (he’s a former marine with a story). By interesting I mean more than the usual pleasantries, I try to duck him since I found out he went to Brockport with my ex brother in law.  While he’s moaning about the snow I remind him that Rochester might have been a little worse than this and he’s a former Marine made of tougher stock than most.  It dawns on him I might have something and switches to telling me about the steak he barbecued last night.  Seemed a bit serendipitous as his wife is usually very meek, let’s say. I smelled that steak cooking when I took the girls out.  It was a pleasant surprise in the middle of winter and it smelled damn good and I told him so.  I asked if he and his wife enjoyed their dinner….well um she is taking care of her sister who broke her wrist….I know like I know this was his version of pandemonium in feety pajamas.

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For me, being socked in on Stowe Lane is priceless, I work, I read, I cook, I enjoy the beauty out in the enchanted forest and my neighbors and going to bed early and a good bottle of wine and the quiet of the neighborhood when I poke my head out before anyone else.  I love what my camera sees and I love having the uninterrupted time for just a bit of nostalgia.  Still I too am longing for spring:

“The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.” ~ E.E. Cummings

Can’t wait to bitch about that when it gets here in thirty one days.

Kudos

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Cherry on TopThe art of the compliment, both giving and receiving, is essential to making your way in the world.  It gets you out of your sense of entitlement and brings you a human barometer of how you’re doing.  You don’t have a sense of entitlement you say…do you know how to accept a compliment with grace?  The “all in a day’s work” line isn’t it, the “oh I just slapped this together” line isn’t it, so how does one accept praise from others in the spirit of knowing that’s what you’re working toward while not wanting to seem conceited or dismissive?

Don’t deflect.  If someone is taking the time to voice that they’ve noticed your accomplishment, or found you engaging, or are happy for you or, or, or, don’t insult them by diminishing their praise. Now what do they do?  You’ve put them in an awkward position by making them second guess their choice.  And you know what, continue to deflect and watch the number of compliments your receive decline.

Nothing makes me unhappier than to watch people shy away from compliments.  I love giving them. I met a woman getting into an elevator recently that had the best red shoes ever.  I couldn’t wait to gush about them and she needed the boost to be quite honest. She started at really, you think so? And went on to I can’t believe you noticed them to I love them and everyone else is all they’re not really you.  She walked in head down and walked out all full of her red shoes, she worked them pretty good after that, all the way through the lobby.  Good for her.

I love compliments; it’s truly my barometer of how I’m doing out there. That, and thank you cards, sustains me through the year.  I’ve even got a top five list of them I reflect on when I’m not thinking that much of myself:

5. You never go somewhere the same way twice; you get from one place to the other differently than anyone else.  Love that! Because I am my father’s daughter, he explored every time he went somewhere. If I can take the “long way home” I almost always will because that was such an integral part of being with him.

4. You got a way of looking at things.  I sure do, I learned long ago that perspective is all you’ve got and as many times as mine has changed it has never strayed from the core of who I am.

3. Your home is so three dimensional. There is so much to look at. Our family friend, Jeanette, taught me that if you surround yourself with things you love that they will always match. If all I’m doing in my home is paying homage to her then I am happy but really if you’re not walking into your home and exhaling at the same time isn’t something wrong.  If you’re going to rejuvenate anywhere, shouldn’t it be your home?

2. There is a woman I work with that always greets me in such a way that I know she’s truly happy to see me.  Her compliment sticks with me every day whether I’m in work or not. She said I’m always so happy when you’re here.  It’s like having to go to a family event and finding out that fun cousin that everyone likes to sit next to is going to be there!  If I could have that effect on everyone I meet it would make me so joyful, it would mean I’m doing things right.

1. You can slap someone so hard they think they got a kiss.  I know, it doesn’t really sound like a compliment but it is.  If you can have the hard conversations with people and they can walk away feeling good about themselves, and you, then that’s a compliment.  I received this bit of insight from someone in the Foodservice business many, many, many years ago and it not only stuck with me but became part of who I am.  When defending people who work for you, when defending your position, when “counseling” the most thick headed in the bunch if you can stand your ground in such a way that you get what you need without destroying a relationship or a person’s morale you are indeed blessed.  I summon this bit of wisdom up whenever I can and hope that it will continue to serve me for the rest of my life.

The next time someone compliments you, simply, say, thank you.  Take it in and use it over and over again.  The more of these you receive the better off you, and others around you, will be because you’re doing the right thing.  As an added bonus those people noticing and doling out those comments will continue to do so keeping your barometer steady and on course.  I know like I know.

Sometimes the Touch of a Friend is Enough

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Every once in a while you are privy to something so tender between two friends that you can’t help but watch.  It’s so lovely that you have to smile.  Inevitably it’s between two people who have been friends for many many years and moved beyond the “life gets in the way” stage.  They leave themselves open to animated conversation and gentle touches of reassurance and openness and honesty without ever deflecting any feelings.  Hard to believe you can gather this from a brief few minutes in time but when genuine love passes between friends it is just so palpable.  You can almost smell the sweetness or the saltiness or the feistiness or the sincerity in the air around them.

One of my oldest friends, my summer sister Kyle, and I managed to steal a catch up weekend away in a little town named Skaneateles in the finger lakes of New York State.  I’m sure people have been in on some of those same conversations we’ve had ourselves over the years but this time the tables were turned. In a local bakery we watched two friends chat for a few moments and were captivated by the exchange.

I was lucky enough to have my camera on the table and managed to click a few shots of that conversation right from the table. I never lifted the camera to my eye.   As abstract as the shots are you can still get the feeling passing between the two friends.

One looking up at the other,

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the other leaning on the table. For what, support, emphasis, to hear better.  Could have been any one of those reasons.

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And then a hand on the others shoulder. As Jackson Browne said, sometimes the touch of a friend is enough.

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He went on to say, “Hold a place for the human race, keep it open wide.”  There are times when bearing witness to another’s gift of friendship renews your faith in the human race and increases your awareness of the gifts you have in your own life.  It was a fitting and wonderful few moments to have shared with those two friends without them even knowing but it was all the more meaningful in the glance we exchanged after the one left.  We know like we know how precious our gift is.