Mar21

BOLOGNA AND CHEESE, PLEASE!

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It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, and I’m craving a bologna and cheese sandwich on white bread…mmmmm… What is wrong with me?!?  Everyone knows it’s not really good for you…especially those with high cholesterol levels, who will remain nameless. Don’t even tell me what it’s actually made out of because I don’t want to know.

When I was a little girl, bologna (I’ve always been baffled as to why is it pronounced with an “e” at the end when it’s spelled with an “a.”) and cheese was my lunchtime mainstay. I’d open my little red lunch box, which resembled a miniature barn because I was crazy about horses, to find my perfectly wrapped bologna and cheese sandwich lovingly made by my Mom with a small bag of potato chips and a peanut butter Tastykake for dessert. Life doesn’t get any better than that! This went on for most of grade school, although my Mom would try to get me to eat other things.  Peanut butter and jelly got too soggy, and I was a picky kid so nothing else would do. If it wasn’t bologna and cheese, I just wouldn’t eat it. “You’re going to start looking like a bologna,” Mom would say. Then I’d spend a good amount of time trying to picture in my mind how that would change how I looked. I was a gullible kid. She also told me I had to eat the crusts of the bread because it would make my hair curly. I once had a fight with a classmate in second grade because she told me that wasn’t true. How dare her challenge what my Mom said. And why was curly hair so important anyway?  This, however, didn’t stop me from my addiction. On weekends when I wasn’t in school she would fry it up in a pan and melt the cheese, (I’m drooling right now), put it between two pieces of Wonder bread (don’t you wonder how I’m still alive) with a squeeze or two of Heinz ketchup, and I was in heaven.

Growing up, Loeffler’s bologna, made in Trenton, was the only kind my Mom would buy. There was nothing like it. The others were all “junk” in her words. (As opposed to the junk they put in the other bologna?!) Recently, however, I’ve discover Thumann’s bologna since Loeffler’s isn’t readily available where I live. It’s almost as good, sliced very thinly, and a plus is that it is skinless, whereas Loeffler’s has the thick skin you have to peel off. Didn’t know I was such a bologna connoisseur, did you?  I know this is more than you ever wanted or needed to know about bologna.

Well, its lunchtime somewhere in the world, so excuse me while I fry up some bologna with lots of American cheese in a large dollop of butter, put it on a slab of white bread and devour it as my blood thickens.  Hopefully, it won’t come to a screeching halt.  But if I do keel over, at least I’ll have a smile on my face…and a touch of ketchup on the corner of my mouth.

Mar19

Like a Failure

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Some days that’s just how I feel. This is one of them. People keep saying the economy’s getting better, but to someone out of work for some months, this really doesn’t ring true.  I don’t ever remember it being this hard, and all I keep hearing is the bad stuff.  He lost his job…they lost their business…the only work she can find is for minimum wage at a job that’s physically hard on the back, not to mention the ego – or what’s left of it…he’s on unemployment again…they’re losing their house…too old…too young…not experienced enough…too experienced…not a good fit.  If this is what I’m hearing, how is the economy not in the toilet?  Is the upbeat talk about unemployment numbers really just a political ploy to brainwash us…again…

Gary Busey once said failing was:  Finding An Important Lesson In Needed Growth

I’ve always found this to be true, but presently I feel like I’ve learned all the lessons I need to know.  I’m good with lessons for now. What I need is an income…a place to go…work to do. That’s what we all need, isn’t it? And we need it now before the American dream becomes a long-forgotten fantasy. 

I’ve kept “The Value of Failure” in my paperwork for awhile and review it from time to time for a positive perspective.  Hope it helps you today if you are someone like me, struggling to make sense out of how I ended up here from there.

 THE VALUE OF FAILURE

Failure is a normal and natural part of achievement.

When the failures come, learn from them and then move quickly along.

Failure is not the worst thing that can happen.

The worst thing that can happen is to let the fear of failure prevent you from ever doing anything.

 If your top priority is to avoid all failure, then you will surely fail.

For only by accepting and living with the possibility of failure can you succeed and achieve.

Failure is not the end of the world.

It is merely another step on the pathway to fulfillment, wisdom and achievement.

 Though you would never intentionally set out to fail.

When failure does come, the best thing to do is to gracefully accept what has happened.

That will enable you to gain the most positive value from it.

Then you can move right along to the next step,

and soon you’ll be a long way past the failure,

filled with more wisdom and experience.

Let failure be, and achievement will surely come.

 — Ralph Marston

Mar14

Top of the Mornin’ to Ya!

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“Top of the Mornin’ to Ya!” my dear friend Mr. Murphy would shout out in greeting. “And the rest of the day to yerself!” I’d reply in a terrible Irish brogue. He would belly laugh, which would make me happy.  Éirinn go brách!

Mr. Murphy – Bernard John Murphy – was my best friend, mentor and confidant. I addressed him always as “Mr. Murphy,” although in later years he insisted I call him John. I was a mere 19 years old starting a new job at Ingersoll-Rand when our paths first crossed. I was just a kid, and he a seasoned 50-something patent attorney happily married to Margaret “his bride” of many years and father of 11 children. We hit it off immediately, sharing a quirky sense of humor which sparked a lifelong friendship. We reveled at pulling practical jokes on each other and co-workers on almost a daily basis.  He made that job the most fun I’ve ever had in the workplace.

My own father was very serious, and we never really saw eye to eye. Mr. Murphy stepped up to become the fun paternal figure who understood my hopes and dreams and encouraged me every step of the way.  We shared the love of writing, and through the years I received countless letters and notes and newspaper clippings from him.  I saved each and every one. Every now and then when I’m missing him, which is often, I’ll go through my stash of his letters, pick one out and he is with me, talking with me, encouraging me, stroking my ego and making me feel like I can do anything in the world I set my sights to do. He always made me feel special.

Couldn’t let March 14th – Mr. M.’s “natal day” as he would call it – go by without a shout.  His birthday, although a few days short of March 17th, is synonymous with his favorite and most revered holiday St. Paddy’s day. In 2006 I flew to Indiana to surprise him for his 80th birthday and to celebrate St. Paddy’s Day with him.  We wore green, ate, drank and laughed until we cried, sharing corned beef and cabbage, Irish soda bread, Guinness and Bailey’s Irish Crème. It was a grand celebration, and that special time will be etched in my heart forever. It was to become the last time we would spend together. His kids, who share his sense of humor, listed me as his adopted twelfth child in his obituary.

So I make a toast to you today on your special day, my dear friend, and until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand.

Mar7

MY MOM

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Stephanie Marie

I’m feeling pretty sad today, even though the weather is warm and sunny and spring-like.  I’m missing my Mom. Today would have been her 89th birthday. But she’s gone – she passed away on September 15, 1996.  It was sudden, even though she was sick.  I just did not see it coming and was in shock and mourning for quite some time. It was the day she was supposed to move in with me, and preparations for her homecoming abruptly became funeral arrangements.

Sixteen years have raced by in the wink of an eye.  So much has happened with my family and with me. Things are so different now. I would love nothing more than to sit down with my Mom and have a glass of her famous home-brewed iced tea and a piece of her cake with sweet icing and just talk awhile. She didn’t say much or give her opinion often, but when she did, she was right.  She was a good listener.  I wish I could have her here to listen to me now because I could sure use someone to talk to.  I’d like to tell her about my daughters – her granddaughters – whom she loved so much and was so proud of.  I’d like to tell her how well they turned out and what great lives they live. She would have been so proud to see them graduate from college.  She would like their fiancées and would joke around with them.  She would have loved to be here for their weddings and to help pick out their bridal gowns.

I would like to have the opportunity to tell her she was right about quite a few things, mostly about my ex-husband. She did give her opinion on that, but I didn’t listen. I don’t think she would say “I told you so.”  She would be more like, “it’s his loss, not yours.” She would be sad to know that I lost my job but proud that her son, my brother, stepped up and helped.  She would be concerned to hear about my troubles these past few years, but she would tell me patience is a virtue and that everything would turn out alright.  She would tell me to pray to God and ask the Blessed Mother to intercede.  I thank my mother for my deep faith in God.

My Mom was kind and gentle and sweet. She lived simply and never wanted for much. She was a nurturer, sort of like how I turned out to be.  She took plates of food to elderly neighbors and always had the neighborhood kids over for lunch or dinner. Our house was always opened, especially in the summer which was like camp for my cousins.  She was a great cook and baker, and holidays were amazing.  I wish I could go over her house one more time for an Easter feast or Christmas celebration.

Time passes much too quickly, and some days you’re left with an aching heart wishing you could be with those who have passed just one more time. Today is that day for me. Happy Birthday, Mom.  Thanks for being a great mom. I miss you.

Feb20

Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

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Spring is in the air.  Birds are chirping, robins flitter around, and green sprouts prick through the earth with the promise of new life. Yet, it is only the last week in February.

I remember a similar time of year 28 years ago – February 27th to be exact. The weather was just like today, and I saw my first robin of spring picking at the ground outside the hospital door as I arrived to deliver my baby. The new life would be Megan Marie Margaret Morton. 

Megan was born with a spring in her step and danced to the beat of a different drum.  She was an unusual child with a wild imagination which included her imaginary friend Jenny.  Creative, artistic, easy-going and playful would be words to describe her – a happy little girl with a big grin. Megan loved to dance, performing in her first recital at the age of 3 to the song “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.” The recital was held at the War Memorial Building in Trenton, New Jersey, which was a huge venue. And there was my little Megan dancing barefoot on the big stage sporting a yellow polka dot bikini…and red toenail polish. She smiled broadly during the performance and shook her lace-ruffled derriere in the finale. She was a natural on stage, and I was sure she was destined for Broadway!

Megan grew up fast and went through all of her life stages with a lot of theatrics.  Her teen years were challenging, and yet she finished out high school with flying colors as a soccer player, cheer leader and half-time dancer. She went on to college, and her graduation day found me aching with pride for the woman she had become.

Being with Megan for her 28th birthday celebration this year will include bridal dress shopping. Soon she will take on a new role as wife to her wonderful Matt and the next chapter of her life will begin. Maybe someday they will have a tiny dancer of their own.

Megan has been a joy of a daughter and has made me so proud to be her mother.  I most admire her fearlessness in taking on new adventures in life, and her no-nonsense directness in telling it like it is.  She is honest and trustworthy and never gives up – no matter what. She is a breath of fresh spring air in the midst of winter…with red toenail polish.

I love you, Meggie Marie.  Happy Birthday!

Feb14

The Bachelor – Is He Worth The Bite?

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“The Biggest Idiot on the Face of the Earth” award goes to:  Ben Flajnik.  I am so done watching that stupid show!  I am talking, of course, about The Bachelor.  At the moment I find myself asking why I allowed myself to get involved in this program with this dope and these ridiculous women in the first place.  I’ve wasted precious time I could have used to twiddle my thumbs. His choosing the shallow, self-centered vixen Courtney over beautiful, smart and funny Emily has just done me in. I’d like to smack him with that rose!

And when it comes to love, who goes scuba diving in shark-infested waters to get a rose?!?!  I mean, they bite! Or who would jump out of a helicopter into a 500 ft. cavern in the ocean to prove to this guy that they love him? Or who climbs to the highest point of the Golden Gate Bridge or hikes up treacherously steep steps to the top of a temple in Belize to have a picnic lunch?  How do you possibly descend those steps without getting a major case of vertigo anyway?  I’m stymied. These are the things I think of while I’m watching the show, and yet, like a car wreck, I can’t look away.  These beautiful women who seem intelligent and have interesting careers, cry and weep like middle schoolers over this dorky guy as if he’s their last chance on earth to find true love. They cat fight and back stab and degrade themselves. All for what? For mop-topped Ben in his rumpled clothes, day-old stubble and goofy smile?! Let’s face it, he’s no George Clooney.

I know I’m rusty, but if this is what you have to do for a little romance these days, I’m out. I know I’m getting old and have a 28-year-old track record that crashed and burned, but I wouldn’t do any of these death-defying shenanigans for anybody. I must be the most boring woman in the world because I wouldn’t dream of swimming with sharks even if I were surrounded by scuba divers with guns. I would not EVER get into a helicopter, let alone jump out of one in mid-air into the ocean.  Seriously, are you kidding me?!  I guess I’m just a big drag because most of the stuff they do on this show I wouldn’t dream of. The only thing I would be willing to do is to fly off to these tropical islands and drink pina coladas on the beach all day. I’m good with that.

I know you won’t believe me when I say I am a true sucker for romance.  I’m a pushover for every chick flick that comes down the pike. I would love nothing more than finding my Prince Charming (as my Aunt Joan would say) someday. This is surprising considering my history, but we won’t go there.  I love flowers and heart-shaped boxes of candy and declarations of true love, but I wouldn’t climb the Golden Gate Bridge to get them.  I’m looking for love to enter my life a little less dramatically.

 My Aunt Joan, in a moment of frustration, once told me she didn’t want to live without her husband Stan.  He was quiet, loving and completely devoted to her.  They were each other’s second chance at love, and they nailed it without ever skydiving out of a plane! That’s the kind of love I’m looking for – the quiet, steady kind you can’t live without, not the kind you have to kill yourself over.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Feb7

ANOTHER TIME…ANOTHER PLACE

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If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?

This question was posed by a friend on Facebook.  Someone commented:  Fear.  Another person commented: Does that stand for False Evidence Appearing Real? The first thing that came to my mind was:  Survival. 

When I was in my teens, the world was my oyster. I was full of lofty hopes and dreams and believed that they would all come true. I was sure it was just a matter of time – being in the right place at the right time. In my twenties I worked at a job that I thought was temporary to make money to pay my bills just until my real life began. I squeezed in classes and training to prepare for what I was born to do while working a full time job at something else.

I never quite got to where I wanted to be. I lost the passion or missed the boat or didn’t try hard enough or just gave up. It was such a long, drawn out evolution that I don’t really remember the exact pinpoint that deflated my visionary balloon. Instead of choosing my destiny, I let destiny choose for me.  I eventually met someone and focused in another direction. I got married, had kids and my thirties and forties were years filled with raising a loving family. My job became the resource for paying the bills and providing. It became what I would be doing for the rest of my life. I worked for my kids – lovingly and without reservation. My life was set into a pattern of family, friends, job, and responsibilities. The lofty things I used to want to do were pushed way back into the crevices of my mind.  

In answer to the question:  I did so many things I didn’t like to survive…to provide.  I like so many things I didn’t do because there wasn’t enough time or the means to do so.  It all revolved around survival, so that’s my final answer.

Every now and then the burnt-out embers of my dreams filter through the denial in my mind, and my heart flutters at the remembrance of my long ago hopes of what could have been, if only.  Maybe another time…another place.  Who knows?

Feb3

SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW

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What is it about a rainbow that fills everyone with hope and joy?

My mood was kind of gloomy yesterday as I took my dog Bella for her morning walk. To the left of me the sky was ominously dark, threatening a major storm, but to the right the sun was shining brightly, peaking through bunches of white clouds.  As I turned to walk back to the house, a rainbow magically appeared stretching from the dark mass, over the roadway into the sunny portion of the sky. I have to tell you my heart leapt as a broad smile formed on my lips.  The gorgeous, colorful beauty of it made me feel as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.  I tried to decipher the beginning from the end as a light, misty rain began to fall.  A honking car pulled over to me and two smiling elderly women shouted out, “Do you see the rainbow?!!”  Further down the road another neighbor came running with her camera to get a better look, “Wow!” I passed two children waiting for the bus.  “Look, I pointed upward – look at the beautiful rainbow! It means it’s going to be a wonderful day,” I told them. I left them smiling and gazing upward at the mystical formation.

A rainbow is defined as an optical and meteorological phenomenon that causes a spectrum of  light to appear in the sky when the Sun shines onto droplets of moisture in the Earth’s atmosphere, taking the form of a single arc. Rainbows caused by sunlight always appear in the section of sky directly opposite the sun.

Some people think of rainbows as signs from God. I just heard a story on TV last night of how a woman believes that when a rainbow appears, it is a sign that her beloved deceased husband is watching over her and their children.  She went on to say they have appeared at monumental times since his death at family milestones. I actually thought at the time I was listening to this story that it had been a long time since I saw a rainbow.  Low and behold – the next morning it came! Some even believe there’s a leprechaun waiting with a pot of gold at rainbow’s end!  As for me, I think it’s just another of God’s amazing creations that blesses us with the promise of eternal peace and happiness, giving us a reason to be joyful with the promise of good things to come.

Jan31

Do Pets Go To Heaven?

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My Sweet Girl, Molly

(Prelude:  I recently saw a Facebook post from someone whose beloved pet had passed.  The remembrance of my own grief welled within me, and I thought this essay I wrote at the time might bring comfort to those who have suffered the loss of their loving companion.)

I listen to the rhythm of my dog Molly’s gentle breathing as she sleeps peacefully. I stroke the baby softness of her ears.  I want to hug her, but I’m afraid she’ll awake and have another seizure.  So I watch her slumber and tenderly hold her paws in my hands as she sighs heavily. How I want to freeze this moment in time because I know I’ll never get it back.  And my heart aches because I just can’t fully grasp the fact that after eight years of unrelenting love and steadfast loyalty, she’ll be gone.

Molly was a happy yellow Labrador retriever with a unique intelligence and brightness in her eyes.  She was everything that was good and pure.  She was never without a silly grin and a big, firm kiss for you, along with a constant wag in her tail. I was forever under her watchful eye as she followed me wherever I went. Anything I said or did was of the utmost importance to her. She listened intently whenever I spoke to her, cocking her head sideways and trying so hard to understand what I was saying.    She watched me do my daily household chores like it was the most interesting thing in the world and stood guard at the door of the bathroom when I showered.  Each day she walked me to the door as I left for work and waited patiently for me watching out the window until she saw my car pull back into the driveway at night.  She then bounded enthusiastically as I entered the house, covering me with doggy kisses.  She had unlimited patience, always satisfied with whatever attention I could manage to give her.  She was good-natured to a fault even through the shots and torment of the disease of diabetes and the seizures that ensued.  Accepting her passing was hard and left me grief-stricken.

I know some people don’t understand the bond between humans and their pets.  There are those folks at the opposite end of my spectrum who think nothing of mistreating animals and using them for profit, whether it be for an ugly sport like dog fighting or for over breeding or warped entertainment.  I instead view them as gifts of God’s creation to be loved and enjoyed.

Before God created man on the sixth day, he filled the earth with animals of all shapes and sizes. I believe there were many purposes for this, not the least of which would be companionship on the journey. Church doctrine and theology teaches that only souls go to heaven, but the question that haunts me at this moment is, will I ever be with Molly again?  Heaven is supposed to be the ultimate paradise, and I couldn’t help but think that if God filled the earth with these beautiful creatures, why not heaven as well so that we may truly live in eternal happiness surrounded by the many joys they bring to us?  What would paradise be without them?

I was walking in the field behind my house the other day, missing the presence of Molly girl romping gleefully beside me, when I came upon two tiny fawns peering at me quizzically from under the brush.  I thought with a chuckle how Molly would have gotten a charge out of chasing them out and down the path.  I was once again seized with the heart-wrenching ache of grief.  I looked up to the sky tearfully and said, “Did you see those deer, girl?” I imagined her smiling down upon me with her silly grin, tail wagging wildly. 

Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs.  I believe that if I somehow warrant the kind of life that allows me entrance through those pearly gates of heaven, there will be my Molly girl, waiting patiently for me with that silly grin and big, firm kiss.

Jan28

NEW JERSEY – GOTTA LOVE IT!

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I went to pick up a take out order at a local Italian restaurant that was pretty much a scene from the Billy Joel song.  There were cute little round tables in a darkened room with votive candles softly flickering from each one.  I wanted to order a bottle of red, a bottle of white AND a bottle of rose and just hang around and drink in the romantic atmosphere.  I was at least ten minutes early and thought I’d have to wait around a bit, so when I approached the counter manned by a dark, hunky Italian in a tight tee-shirt (Ray, the owner), I was a little surprised to see my order sitting there. “Wow, is that mine already? I asked.  “You, Sue?” he questioned.  I nodded. “Yeah, this is it,” he said. “That was quick,” I commented. He answered emphatically, “Hey, we don’t screw around here.”

Only in Jersey.  Don’t you just love it?! I was born and raised outside of Trenton and this guy Ray is the kind of guy I went to school with – a Catholic school dominated by kids from the Italian section of Trenton.  Germani, DeAngelo, Tomasulo, Conti, D’Agostino.  These were the guys who propped themselves against their lockers wearing their white shirts, jacket and tie and with greased back hair cocked their heads sideways and murmured a dragged out “hhhheeeeeeyyyy” as you walked by.  No ego problems there.

I spent summers going down the shore and not to the beach.  We sunned and jumped the waves in Seaside Heights and walked the boards at the Park long before those obnoxious punks from the Jersey Shore show invaded and gave us a bad rep. I can almost smell the cotton candy and caramel corn wafting from the shops as I write this.  I am drooling for a slice and a Coke from Maruca’s Pizza. I can hear the wheels spin and the bells ding as the music pumps and blasts the roller coaster into oblivion. Take me back.  And who couldn’t love the birthplace of Sinatra, Springsteen and Bon Jovi; Nicholson, Travolta and Streep, not to mention me?!

Way back when I couldn’t wait to get out of Jersey for good.  I had a dormant hippie gene within me that just wanted to graduate and escape to California, which I did, but then ended up in Pennsylvania of all places.  What was I thinking?! Fate plays cruel jokes… Little did I know how much I’d miss this tiny, expensive, overpopulated state.

Now that I’m back, I’m loving it. I’m loving that all the people around me speak the same language with the same accent. It’s the only state where it’s understood that the plural of “you” is “yous.” So now when I say, “yous guys” nobody asks me where I’m from. The car insurance and taxes are high, not to mention the tolls on the Garden State Parkway.  Don’t even get me started on that.  But I love driving North and seeing signs for Toms River, Island State Park, Seaside Heights and Asbury Park or South to Barnegat and Atlantic City. Sometimes I have to pinch myself when I realize this is where I live again. I love that I’m here, right in the midst of all this familiarity I knew as a kid. Who said you can’t go home?

“Heh,” Ray called out as I left the restaurant. “You have good night, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yous, too,” I smiled over my shoulder to him and the waitress.

New Jersey – you either love it or you hate it.  One thing’s for sure, we don’t screw around here.