Category Archives: Inspirational

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          ~What a comfort it is to know

that I have yet to meet my greatest love

I find strength in that fact and relief to realize

that no one has ever filled the gap

to gain that eternal notoriety

as the one to whom I compare the rest.

          ~I feel confident in understanding

that this time I have spent in mediocrity is not wasted

but is, instead, a learning and testing ground

providing me with the wisdom to recognize you when I see you.

          ~After the near tragedy of almost believing

that it was over for me

this thing called love.

         ~Nearly forcing me to almost consider

that my life would dissolve into

the catastrophe of forever looking back instead of forward.

          ~What a challenge

thrilling in a way

to understand that you’re still out there to be discovered

And that when I find you I’ll suddenly know

that it’s you.

          ~I’ll know that this transitional time

of loneliness and wanting was worth it

that there’s no more someday

only this day and each day after

as the pieces finally fit

and make sense.

          ~That with you, in you, through you

I am home.

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WASTING AWAY…

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IMG952235The only good thing about walking Bella on this cold, dank, miserably rainy day is that there are no other dogs in the park to contend with, meaning Bella is calm and my shoulder won’t be yanked out of its socket. You’d have to be crazy to walk on a day like today, but if we weren’t all crazy, we’d just go insane. It’s not really the only good thing about the day, though. The thing I like best about a rainy day like today (besides booze in the blender) is the way my imagination runs wild and takes me to another place and time where I can blissfully daydream about living another life as I defy gravity. 1213121327

Most times I escape to a place that’s usually South and mostly sunny.  White, sandy beaches, clear blue water, good music and happy people dancing in honky tonk bars.  No shirts, no shoes? No problem!  Today I’m wasting away in Margueritaville on the cozy little island (or is it?) of Key West. Cozy isn’t really a good adjective…crazy, maybe…would be more fitting. Tonight I’m dancing to an Eagles wanna-be band at the Hogs Breath Inn where a flirtatious man with a cute smile once whispered in my ear that he’d dance with me in a heartbeat if he weren’t there with his girlfriend…WHAT?!?! Naughty…

I stroll through the quaint streets and little shops surrounded by lush, colorful vegetarian. (Damn, I just blew out my flip-flop!) I visit Hemingway’s house and run my hand along the walls of his little studio above the garage where he wrote his classics.

Wedding-Key West 158 I breathe in the musty air, hoping a bit of his brilliant spirit will enter mine. I pet the descendants of his many cats and wish I had a home such as this where my cats could meander about safely and freely. I close my eyes and dream. Wedding-Key West 154

I’ll toast him in his old haunts tonight…Sloppy Joe’s…and while there maybe enjoy a cheeseburger in paradise!

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Wedding-Key West 170Later on I hop a boat that takes me to an island with an outdoor bar and restaurant on the sand lit by tiki torches.  I sip unusually decadent mixes of exotic cocktails and enjoy the faint music playing in the background highlighted by steel drums.  I remember a story I once heard about a man who worked as a powerful but stressed-filled CEO who gave it all up and ran away to become a bartender at a beach bar.  Brilliant idea, I think.  I wonder if the man serving me my drink is him.  I wonder if I could get hired…1214120844

I stroll the promenade in the moonlight. People are coming and going…all at ease and having fun, unwinding on this tiny key lime slice of tropical paradise. I go back to the house, which is painted in brilliant colors, adorned with tropical furniture and artwork.  I’ll have a house like this of my own some day. I sit out on the lanai closing my eyes and listening to the sounds of the night and then wake to the annoying “cock-a-doodle-do” of the roosters that roam aimlessly about.

Bella barks abruptly at a squirrel she spies scaling a tree (or is it a rooster?!) and rattles me back to reality.  She splashes in the puddle, transforming me into a muddy mess. Reality bites…

So pardon me while I search for my lost shaker of salt. I’ve learned that if life gives you limes, make margueritas.  Sail on…sail on…sailor…Wedding-Key West 107

CHANGES

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Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Oh, look out you rock ‘n rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Pretty soon you’re gonna get a little older
Time may change me
But I can’t trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can’t trace time

I wish I knew what kind of changes David Bowie was going through when he recorded the song “Changes” back in 1971.

Changes, changes, changes…life is full of them. Good, bad, indifferent. You change your looks, your hair, your location. You grow up-changes. You graduate from school-changes.  You get your first job-changes. You meet Mr. or Miss Right-changes.  Mr. or Miss Right turns out to be Mr. or Miss Wrong-changes.  You meet another Mr. or Miss Right-changes. You get married-changes.  You have kids-changes.  You get divorced-changes.  You lose your job-changes. You lose your money-changes. You lose your house-changes. You get another job-changes. Get your money back-changes.  Get another house, maybe-changes. Then you meet another Mr. or Miss Right, maybe-changes.  Or maybe not. You move again-changes. On and on and on it goes.  Changes here; changes there; changes everywhere.

They say that change is good, and that is mostly true. I think it’s hard.  Hard and stressful and unsettling.  But that’s just me. Maybe I’ve had too many changes. I could use a little constancy. The winds of change blew my family’s way again this past week…another move…another readjustment…another life-altering change. But it was a good thing, all in all, because things as they were could not continue. So it was bound to happen – more upheaval, more readjustment, more changes. All good for the most part.

And the most awesome thing I have found about change is that it’s not forever.  It’s usually only for awhile, and the time you have while settling in is comforting.  But before you know it, change happens again…and again…and again…whether you’re ready or not. The key is in your ability to keep standing no matter how hard that wind hits you, or if you should fall, it lies in your ability to get right back up again. After all, the end is just the beginning…there is always another path.

So get yourself a fresh start – look ahead, not back. Change.

 

BAD THINGS HAPPEN FOR GOOD REASONS

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I was kind of mad at God last night. I felt that a really bad joke had been played upon me, and the freakish coincidence in which it happened blew my mind. I couldn’t imagine at the time why He would allow such a thing to happen.

On a beautifully warm, sunny day I made my way to a popular place in Pennsylvania where quaint little shops and fun eateries line sidewalks along the river.  I was meeting up with my daughter, who was visiting from Florida, and her friends.  It was a 1 ½ hour picturesque drive to get to where I was going – to the state in which I used to live.  We had a nice lunch and happy conversation, and then ventured onto the sidewalks for some browsing time. At one point I was left alone on the sidewalk with her friend and baby as the others went to put some things in the car. The sidewalks were jam-packed with tourists.  I was enjoying people-watching. And then, suddenly through the bustling crowd emerged a familiar face – the ex-husband with the woman he left me for.

It was the first time in over 3 yrs that I’d seen him – since the day I found out and told him to leave. I stared at them for a moment, and then looked away.  My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t know what to do or say. Then my zodiac sign of Cancer personality did what I knew best to do – retreat. I ignored him and pretended I didn’t see him. I’m not sure that he saw me, even though he glanced back. Maybe he was playing that same game of denial we both knew so well.

I felt the scab of healing rip off, and I couldn’t stop the bleeding. When my daughter found out, she was livid. I’m sure she was scouring the streets for his face and practicing what she would say, as I was. I regurgitated my feelings of anger. They asked if I wanted to leave, but I would not let him ruin my day. They hugged me and looked at me with sadness – maybe pity. I remarked that if I didn’t have bad luck I would have no luck at all. But that, in fact, is not the case because my life since then has had more blessings than I can count. One immediate blessing was that we never saw him again.

forgiveness2My chest was tight with anxiety and pain that night. I called my aunt who knows me well and also talked with my older daughter as we rehashed what happened and searched for a meaning. It was good just to talk, unload and get reassurance, but there was no answer to my question of why.

Later that night I picked up a book I had recently purchased called “Ten Prayers You Can’t Live Without” by Rick Hamlin. I turned to the chapter on forgiveness.  It was there that I found my answer. It said that working on an old grievance can be a guilty pleasure, self-justification, a repeating refrain in our heads.  Our hurts can so define us that letting them go is like erasing our personalities, a frightening prospect.  It went on to say that forgiveness is like the bell in a church tower.  You pull on a rope and let go but the bell keeps ringing and ringing, slower and slower until it finally stops.  When we forgive someone, we take our hands off the rope.  But if we’ve been tugging at our grievances for a long time, we mustn’t be surprised if the old angry thoughts keep coming for a while.

I’ve wondered why I can’t get past this. I seem to be standing still in my life and enjoying the pity party I’ve been throwing for myself.  Now I finally realize what I have to do.  I need to forgive him in my heart. After all, I take responsibility for part of what went wrong, but now I have to let go of the rope of hatred and bitterness so I can live my own life once more.

My neighbor Eva said a verse in Italian to me the other day that her father used to say to her.  It means “Bad things happen for good reasons.”  Yes, the process I went through to end that marriage was hard and bad, as was seeing him yesterday, but I feel like I can put it behind me now for all the good reasons to come.

There are no coincidences. God knew exactly what He was doing when he let me see him yesterday with her. It wasn’t some twisted practical joke after all. I woke up feeling better today about everything. Like a heavy weight was lifted from my chest. Today I’m washing my hands, taking a deep breath and moving toward the light.  Another plan well done, God!

100 BLOGS!

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As I write this today, I am celebrating my 100th blog! This is it – the 100th slice of my life shared with you! I hope you’ll allow me a moment to digress from the usual, and I trust with all my heart that you won’t view this as narcissistic.

When I first set out on this journey to find an outlet for the things I wanted to share, I had no idea how this would play out.  All I knew was that I wanted an outlet for the things floating around in my head. The dilemma was where and how. I’d had more than one 🙂 rejection for submittals to newspapers and magazines over the years since, to use a well-worn metaphor, publishing is a very hard nut to crack. (sorry) But I did have some luck with certain articles. I am also confident that blogging has led me to a current stint as a newspaper columnist.  me

In the beginning, November 2011, my daughter Megan suggested a blog spot in WordPress, and that’s where this journey began. I was surprised at how easy it was to get started and was elated to finally have a place to let my freak flag fly! Would anyone read my blog? I questioned.  Would anyone care? But then…what a rush!  My first “like.”  My first “comment.”  My first “follow.”  So many surprises from so many different people!

The broad spectrum of followers is mind-boggling.  They come from all walks of life – healthcare providers, moms, dog and cat lovers, chefs, neuroscientists, singer/songwriters, students, actors, retirees,  teachers, comedians, models, fashion designers and artists to name a few. I have reached people from all over the United States, and worldwide – England, Germany, Italy, France, British Columbia, India, Australia and Estonia!  It’s amazing to realize that someone in England is enjoying my blog with a cup of tea and a crumpet or that I’ve made a good friend from New York City whose life is so eerily parallel with my own that I can almost call her a soul mate!  Then there’s my cousin in Tennessee reminiscing along with me about Easter Day at my grandparents’ house as she reads, or the Roman man who writes his blog in Italian, to the Australian Dad raising a child on his own. It’s the “WOW” factor for me!

This site has unwittingly become a history for my children as well, although I don’t think they realize this quite yet. As I share stories about myself, my parents and grandparents, I hope they will take things to heart and discover the true beauty of their heritage.  Blogging has allowed me to be silly one day and introspective the next.  I’ve not only been able to share my views on everything from bologna to Prince Harry, but my insights on day-to-day life – hopes, fears, dreams, children, crazy pets, love, marriage, yummy recipes, the sadness in the loss of a loved one, weathering a major hurricane, faith in God! All of which I have discovered, have a commonality worldwide.  Pet blogs are the most liked;  inspirationals are the most commented on.  One way or another, I’m getting through to so many on so many different levels, and it fills my heart with gratitude to each and every one of you who have taken time out of your busy day to take a look.

So in a word – thanks.  Thanks for reading and liking and commenting and allowing me to share my world with you.  Thank you for giving me this outlet to make you laugh or cry, think or reflect, believe or imagine, consider or suppose. Whether you live in India, or two houses down, you mean more to me than you’ll ever realize, and I feel honored to think of you as my friends.

PERSEVERANCE

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The word perseverance is defined as “steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success.”

pineconesOn my daily walks here in New Jersey, I often see pine cones, remnants from the hurricane winds and fallen trees, that have been shaken to the ground. They seem to be lying in a dormant state without much purpose. Yet in 18-24 long months, new growth from the seeds produced in these very tough and spindly exteriors will appear. I also see buds starting to peek out of the earth as spring slowly arrives. Flower bulbs that have been planted deep within the earth, and have persevered through harsh winter cold, winds and snow, are slowly making their way to the surface.  Soon they will burst into dazzling blooms, brilliantly coloring the earth. This is perseverance in all it’s glory.

You and I also persevere through many of life’s challenges. You persevere through childhood as you grow budsand develop into the person you were meant to be. Then there’s school where you learn and develop and test so that you may have a place in the world to work and share your talents. You persevere through the military – months, maybe years of deployment in harsh conditions away from your home and family in order for freedom to ring. Maybe you face serious injury and sickness where you have to fight to survive one day at a time. Then there’s difficult relationships and marriages that are slowly deteriorating and can go either way, along with the loneliness that ensues as you struggle to stay together or not. Women persevere through 9 months of body changes, weight gain, fatigue, mood swings and the birthing process in order to proudly hold their newborn child. Some people go down the road of alcoholism and drug addiction where they must choose one way or another to rise above it or not. There’s financial hardship, job loss, unemployment and job searches that make you feel like you don’t belong anywhere anymore, but, nonetheless, you continue on with the hope that you will find your way to a successful future.

On that first Good Friday Jesus persevered through betrayal and humiliation, grave pain, suffering and fear as he was mocked and beaten and nailed to a cross to die a slow, agonizing death. He persevered through two days in the tomb until that brilliant Easter morning when He fulfilled the prophecy of the risen Christ in all His splendor.

cross 2Perseverance is also defined as “a continuance in a state of grace leading finally to a state of glory.” Christ’s suffering ended; so will ours. Maybe all of this persevering is our cross – something we need to endure so we can learn to have faith and trust in God. If we do it right and use these common denominators of faith and trust through all of our hardships, we will attain that state of grace and join Him in that final state of glory.

Happy Easter.

THE GUIDING LIGHT

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It was a foggy morning as I made my way up to the bay on my morning walk. On a clear day I can see Long Beach Island across the bay, along with the Barnegat Lighthouse at the inlet. But today the bay was shrouded by a heavy blanket of dew, making it impossible to see even 20 feet past the shore. Was the lighthouse there at all?  Where was the guiding light from it’s tower?

Some days are like that. You trudge through the haze, not really knowing if you are going in the right direction, since you can’t see past the confusing murkiness of your future. There is only silence and fog and questions without answers. You feel directionless, like a ship being tossed in the waves. On these days you wonder if your prayers are being heard, let alone answered, or if God is even listening at all.lighthouse3

But then, everything suddenly becomes transparent. You see the bright beam from the lighthouse tower piercing through the mist, and beckoning you to go one way or the other. Things fall into place and now you know which way to turn. You feel the guiding Hand of the Captain on your shoulder as He steers your ship into the harbor. One way or another, your prayers are answered. The fog lifts and gives way to the vision of where you’re supposed to go…to the place you’re supposed to be.

FOREMOTHERS (FOREFATHERS – PART 2)

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Yes, in case you’re wondering, foremothers is a word, and my foremothers were strong women and survivors of one of the most devastating periods of our history – the Depression.

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Eva, Coicia and Veronica

My grandmothers had beautiful names. Eva, my Dad’s mom, was a gentle soul with a big heart. She raised nine children in the worst of times, in poverty, with little of the comforts we enjoy. My Dad told me stories about their struggles that would make your heart bleed, along with the fact that my paternal grandfather was not the kindest of men. Still, my grandmother was not hardened by her circumstances. She was described as sweet and loving and protective of her children and friendly to her neighbors. In the midst of poverty, she managed to share her food with her hungry neighbors, providing an open house on Fridays for her delicious plotsky, which are Polish potato pancakes. Potatoes were the mainstay during that time. I don’t know too much about my Grandmom, such as when she came to America or how. But what I heard of her later in my life was only the fondness shared by her family, friends and neighbors. She died at the age of 56 from a heart attack. I was only 2 years old at the time, so, unfortunately, I don’t have any recollection of her and only know of her from the stories that were relayed to me later.

Veronica, my Mom’s mom, is also a vague sketch in my memory, having passed of an aortic aneurism at the age of 62. I was eight years old at the time. She was a woman with a deep faith and unwavering values that she passed along to her eight children. I do have memories of visiting her at her home, sitting down at the old-fashioned, ceramic/wood kitchen table – just me and her. I can still see her looking down at me with her kind smile. I loved this time together, talking with her and answering the many questions she asked. I only later realized as an adult how precious that time was since there were always so many other people milling about the house.  She always gave me her undivided attention and seemed very interested in what I had to say.  Even though the conversations escape me – her attentiveness remains etched in my heart.  She always had Swiss Miss cake rolls when I came over, my favorite.  I would pick off and eat the chocolate, unroll the cake, lick out the cream, roll it back up and eat the cake. (Yes, I was a weird little kid! 🙂 ) Sometimes she made her scrumptious lemon meringue pie with fluffy white meringue layered higher than the pie itself – YUM! She was happiest when she was feeding us, and was all about the food and the comfort it brought. I continue her legacy, since feeding my family and friends remains one of the greatest joys of my life.

My parents' wedding day - November 21, 1948.

My parents’ wedding day – November 21, 1948.

It was a hot summer’s night on June 6 when we got the call that she had passed. I had just finished watching a television show called McHale’s Navy. I recall being so incredibly sad, crying uncontrollably. My Mom’s disconcerting grief continued for a very long time thereafter, and it was upsetting for me to watch her heart-wrenching sadness. As it turned out, I would grieve my Mom’s passing in the same way.

My family members are not noted anywhere in the history books for having done lofty things in their lives.  But to me they are heroes. They were honest, kind and true, and they lived their lives in excellence with a strong faith, doing the best they could with what they had. I am very proud to be the third generation of such strong, loving, family-oriented survivors. And I realize that even though circumstances in life do get tough from time to time, I am ever reminded by these old pictures and memories of my forefathers and foremothers that I, too, can survive when the going gets tough. I am glad and grateful for these stirring memories brought about by a bag of old vintage pictures that unknowingly revived my fledging spirit with hope.

Forefathers and Foremothers

Forefathers and Foremothers

Potato Plotsky

2 cups coarsely grated peeled potatoes

3 large eggs, lightly beaten

1 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon grated onions

1 1/4 teaspoons salt

1/4 cup vegetable oil

Heat oil in a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat.  Drop spoonfuls of the potato mixture in the skillet, then spread into 3-inch cakes about 1/4 inch thick.  Fry until browned on the bottom, turn and cook the second side until crisp, 3 to 5 minutes each side.  Drain briefly on paper towels.  Service with sour cream or applesauce.

FOREFATHERS – PART 1 – THE BASS PLAYER

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My Grandpop

My Grandpop, the bass player in the band.

My grandfather played bass in a band at night for beers and tips. I just found this out about him last night from my cousin Sharon who came over for a visit. She said my grandmom could always tell a good night’s earnings by the barometer of his inebriation, which did not make her happy! Until yesterday I only knew him as my “Grandpop”- a man who worked in a Bayer aspirin factory in Trenton his whole life, toiling to care for his wife and family of eight children. He was someone who walked to work or hitched a ride because they couldn’t afford a car –I don’t believe he ever drove.Sharon brought over an assortment of old pictures she found in the attic and gave them to me.  I was immediately transported into the past as I rummaged through these precious vintage photos…into my heritage and my history.

Jan Kramarz sailed from Poland as a boy on a ship he proudly proclaimed by name – “The Victoria!” He was a handsome man with a thick head of hair and a wry smile. He had a funny sense of humor and loved to tease us, which he did with a twinkle in his eye and a wink. He met my grandmother through a friend and joked about marrying her one day. He was only kidding, but she thought he was serious (or so the legend goes). So he found himself in an odd dilemma as he used to describe it, one in which he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. He used to say he felt bad because she thought he seriously wanted to marry her …so he just did…What?!? Were they ever in love? I’ll never know. They were kind of stoic in their behavior towards one another, but everyone was in those days. They did somehow manage to have eight children (in love or not) – four boys and four girls (my mother born fourth in succession) and they all lived in a two bedroom, one bathroom (which only had a toilet and footed tub – no sink) row home in the Polish section of Trenton on Pennsylvania Avenue. The house perpetually exuded warmth in an earthy kind of way with the homey smells of bread baking or kielbasa and ham cooking. Grandpop used to love sneaking into the basement to smoke his beloved cigars – not a pleasant aroma at all I discovered when I snuck up on him one day.

Grandmom Veronica Pisaczyk and Grandpop Jan Kramarz on their wedding day

Grandmom Veronica Pisaczyk and Grandpop Jan Kramarz on their wedding day

One of Grandpop’s pleasures was tending to his small garden in the tiny 12 x 25 foot backyard. He grew assorted vegetables, but his crowning glory was his giant sunflowers in the corner of the yard near the shed that grew to be six feet tall with heads a foot round. I remember looking up at them as a small child and being in awe. To this day they are my favorite flower.My Grandpop was a hard worker and a good man, but I don’t think he had a lot of fun in his life. I think it was all work and struggle, especially during the Depression. But he was a pleasant man and a talker and was always glad to see his family.  He loved it when his kids and their spouses and families, which included 16 grandchildren, jammed into that tiny row home for the holidays, even though at times there were so many of us that we spilled out onto their small front porch and sat on the steps. There was always plenty of Polish food for all of us to savor and Polka music blared in the background from their transistor radio. He and the men in the family used to toast “nostrovya” as they downed glasses of schnapps.

I think Grandpop was lonely in the latter portion of his life since my Grandmom died at 62 yrs. old. He used to sit and gaze out the front window or take walks around the neighborhood. I remember how happy he was when I visited from time to time, sitting and listening to his same old stories over and over again.  I now wish I would’ve written them down. He succumbed in his latter years to Alzheimer’s disease, but lived to the ripe old age of 94, passing on a cold winter’s day in January with that same full head of gray hair in tact.

For you Grandpop, from my garden with love.

My cousin told me that my Grandpop’s bass playing days came to an end when he broke his instrument trying to get his tip money out of the middle section of the bass, which is where they apparently stored their tips. He just couldn’t fix it, and I imagine that it must have broken his heart not to be able to play anymore. But since he had eight hungry mouths during meager times, buying a new instrument was out of the question. And so life went on…I wish I could’ve heard him play in that band, and I wish I could’ve danced to his music. I can just see him standing on the stage dressed in his best suit playing his heart out with that crazy smile – and I can swear he just gave me a wink!

 

 

 

A GENTLE REMINDER

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A stray dog wandered by my sliding glass door yesterday as I sat writing on my computer.  He/she was picking at the ground under the bird feeder, nibbling at bread crumbs that I had thrown out to the birds earlier.  Dog lover that I am, I jumped up and bolted into action.  First grabbing a bowl and some dog food, and then charging outside to feed him/her as my dog barked wildly and my cats scurried in different directions.

The dog was grateful for the food and ate ravenously.  I was able to get a glimpse of his dog tag, Spencer. “Hi, Spencer, I cooed as I petted him…are you lost?”  I ran inside and grabbed my cell phone, ran outside and plugged in his master’s phone number as he wiggled around me. “The voice mail of the number you have dialed is full.”  WHAT?!  So I memorized the address on the tag, ran inside and map quested the address.  Six miles away.  “What are doing six miles away from your home, Spencer?!”Sheila

I somehow maneuvered the dog into my car with a bag of biscuits and started my six-mile journey with map quest directions in hand.  When at last I pulled up in front of Spencer’s house, I was shocked to find that the lawn was covered with debris and a huge dumpster sat in the middle of the driveway.  I knocked on the door anyway, knowing it had to be vacant, and, of course, no one answered. I looked at Spencer’s pretty brown eyes as he cocked his head towards me.  “Now what, Spence?”  Just then a construction vehicle pulled up and then another.  I talked with the men about the home’s owners and asked how I could return their dog who was sitting in the back of my car.  Turns out the house had been destroyed during awful “Hurricane Sandy.” That name now makes me cringe. I wondered if Spencer had been misplaced since the storm.

The construction worker said he would try to contact the owners who were living, of course, in another location and gave them my number.  As I drove home wondering what I was going to do with this gentle, sweet beast, my phone rang, and I pulled over. “Do you have my dog?” a flustered voice asked. “Well, yes,” I replied.  “Where can I meet you?”  “Where are you?”  Ten minutes later I delivered the dog to the family who had been staying with friends not too far from where I live.  “My son let the dog out,” she explained, “and she got away.”  The kids ran out and happily greeted the dog.  The dog’s name, it turns out, is Sheila, not Spencer…she wore the tag from their old dog who had passed until they could get a new one for Sheila.

I walked away reminded that for so many people here in Jersey; life just has not even begun to get back to normal.  People are still misplaced, their homes are still disasters, their dogs are getting lost in unfamiliar surroundings, and they are not anywhere near leading a normal life yet.  I pray for Governor Christie and thank him for playing hard ball in trying to get funds into the hands of these desperate people so they can start to rebuild.  Why did Washington take so long to get this relief approved?  When will these people be able to move back into their own homes in their old, familiar neighborhoods, where their dogs can safely sniff around their own backyards?

I had almost forgotten about the devastation and the horror of what happened right here around me. We should not forget that life does not go on as usual for a large portion of our population, and thoughts and prayers and assistance are still so badly needed for so many. It took a sweet dog named Sheila to gently remind me.