I heart pink grapefruit

Why I didn't grab the grapefruit spoons is beyond me. You know, the ones with the bamboo handles and serrated edges. Dad and I were the only ones in the family who ate and even liked the tangy breakfast fruit. A real “eye-opener”, especially when it squirted in your eye, which was every time we ate it. Pink grapefruit was my favorite. Something about the color drew me in-of course, anything my Dad liked, I liked too. The “Red River” pink grapefruit were sweeter than the regular grapefruit, but we customarily added sugar anyway, giving the otherwise smooth and slippery refreshing treat a little texture. The saw-like scoop of the specially designed grapefruit spoons separated the individual juicy sections from the rind, sometimes bringing the thin, bitter membrane along with it. “That's where all the vitamins are” Dad would say with a squint. That was the moment when the inevitable squirt of acid would land right smack in the middle of your eyeball. You couldn't blink fast enough, half knowing it was coming and being equally surprised by the AM shock to your system. “Really Dad?”, I'd ask sarcastically, rolling my now stinging eyes. Like I was going to believe anyone who chronically told me food myths, usually about things I didn't like to eat. “Eat your Brussels sprouts, it'll make hair grow on your chest”. Yea, like every little girl wants that to happen. “How do you expect to grow-up big and strong like me?” was another Dad-ism intended to entice us into eating anything any child would turn their noses up at.

Truth of the matter is that the most beneficial nutrients of the grapefruit are in the fleshy lining of the rind. Dad just knew these things. He was a plethora of common sense knowledge he'd proclaim with a twinkle in his eye, making his statement of fact less believable. His delivery was characteristic of his Irish roots. His older, near twin brother was ironically a Pediatrician, granting him both the credibility and similar gift of stretching the truth. I loved my Uncle. It was he who instructed my Dad to let me eat anything I wanted after catching me snitch the curled chocolate off the cake on the buffet before dinner. “Latest word from Harvard...” I remember him say from the next room. Whatever study he quoted was ammunition I used for a time, but was most powerful in my Uncle's house.

I still prefer dessert before dinner but find myself exercising great constraint. I have grown to love fruits and vegetables and always have fresh produce in my house. This grapefruit was intensely naturally sweet which was a welcome surprise. A better surprise than having it squirt in the eye - especially with contacts. I prefer to juice grapefruit since I don't have the special spoons. Either way, it's appreciated more when you have to work for it. As Dad would say, “Here's mud in your eye”. Cheers!

Because I'm the Mom, that's why

I have vivid memories of being age four, three, two and even as early as one. My mother said that wasn't possible. She used to say things like that, like her description of a “teetotaler”. “What's a Tea Totaler. I'd ask, thinking it had something to do with drinking only tea. “It's someone who doesn't drink”, she stated. Well, to a preschooler, I literally thought that meant they didn't drink anything and surely they would become desperately thirsty. I could not perceive how that was biologically possible.

Another of my earliest memories was the viewing of President Kennedy on T.V. as he lay in state. The whole country seemed to be standing still, suspended in time. A few short years to follow we witnessed broadcast of the Vietnam war on the same black and white T.V., that played-out in stark contrast to the safe and protected life my Mother provided me through her colorful explanations.

With my 3^rd and last grandson's upcoming 1^st birthday, I reminisce with the thoughts and accompanied feelings I first experienced a lifetime ago. I wonder what memories will permeate the boys' young minds whilst growing up. I think about the little things my parents said or did that made such a profound impression, echoed in almost everything I still do to this day.

Yesterday marked the seven year anniversary of my father's sudden death. I shared his last minutes with him as he asked about my one and only daughter with whom he had a deep and devoted relationship. Mom serendipitously left this plane at the exact same time of my daughter's birth, on her 13^th birthday. They referred to one another as “Angel Friends”. Nearly seven years later, dad and I said our customary “goodbyes” incorporating our secret handshake. My daughter too learned the secret handshake she ritualistically performed with her “Krampa”. My father never knew his great grandchildren as he passed just one brief month before his granddaughter became pregnant. These milestone events reminded me that our “secret handshake” is the most memorable gift I can give to Sean and his brothers, as our patented connection, binding us all forever. 

Grandma's Blankets

Brandon's 1st Birthday Quilt

Everyone who knows me knows that I am a “pen and paper” kind of person. When my bank teller offers me more pens, I gladly accept them knowing they will be used. Writing things down is a more dependable way of saving information. As my Grandsons were born, I wondered how I was going to share of myself with them. I considered all the wonderful links and photos and comments, often about them, and how I would preserve them in some sort of a scrapbook. Video tapes were the rage when my daughter was born, however; the equipment with which to view them is obsolete. I wanted to create an electronic scrapbook to preserve the memory of their youth and those who participated in their lives. Social networks such as Facebook are an ever changing 3D collection of visuals and personal commentary that cannot be saved. I wanted to give them something tangible, to hold and feel and experience with all the senses, for years to come. Websites come and go and hyperlinks are as fleeting as the disposable computers and discs used to store such information. Who knows what future forms of communication will be like. 
 

Christopher's 1st Birthday Quilt

I thought about how to be with our Grandsons when we were apart. They live so far away so we exchange phone conversations and photos and even videos at the click of a button, but that is no replacement for feeling, hugging and holding. I decided to make small simple quilts that were durable and meant to be used, while hopefully lasting into adulthood.

My Grandma Feeley's Blanket

My Grandmother was crippled with arthritis and crocheted all day, every day as both physical therapy and distraction from her painful disability. She crafted the most beautiful but functional blankets, pillows, scarves with matching hats and mittens, slippers that we looked forward to every Christmas, and even handbags from bread bags! My Sister and I had a one-of-a-kind collection of fabric art we wore with pleasure. One Christmas I received a matching blanket and pillow that was my absolute favorite. I treated it with great care, hoping to pass it along to my own Daughter some day. When that opportunity became a reality, I couldn't part with it. My Grandmother passed away when I was still in Jr. High and what seemed to be an endless supply of crocheted goods came to an abrupt end. It was then I learned to never take anything for granted. 
 

I am not a gifted needle worker and never figured out how to crochet, after many patient attempts by my Gran to teach me. I have her hooks and looms anyway, in the event I should be magically inspired. Instead, I found Teddy bears and designed matching quilt-style blankets to present our grandchildren on their first birthdays. This week is the birthday of our first Grandson, who will be 6, and I was reminded of my “tradition”. Our third Grandson is turning 1 in March so it's time I start sewing my final blanket of green and navy blue to match his “Brooksie Bear” we found a year ago.

"Brooksie" Bear

Jessica Feely Photography

I was searching for my Uncle Marshall on line last night, to no avail. Coincidentally, the search produced a match to a product called “Behind the Blanket”, blankets made with love by Grandma Feely for her first Grandchild, Marshall. Grandma Feeley was the name of my Grandmother, too, my Uncle Marshall's Mother. Behind the Blanket makes quilt-like blankets, with a therapeutic twist to stimulate the senses. Inspired by her Grandson, Marshall, who was born with down syndrome, “Behind the Blanket” was also born. He called it his “Touchy-Feely” blanket as it was made with materials having different textures and colors and patterns to stimulate sensations in a warm and loving way by his Grandma Feely. I still feel my Grandma Feeley's love and warmth in the cherished blanket she made me. I hope our Grandsons will sense our love shared through their blankets for years to come.  Happy 6th Birthday Brandon!

Memorial Candy Cane

When I was about 3 years old, Santa (a.k.a. the Mayor at that time), lifted me on his knee and asked what I wanted for Christmas. Not knowing how to respond, I glanced over at the tree dripping in lead tinsel and an inventory of ornaments, spotting one that caught my eye. “A candy cane” I said emphatically. Santa blinked and nodded simultaneously with approval.

A few weeks later, there was a knock at the front door. A friend of my parents' stopped by unexpectedly. Mr. Bullard was a very tall, large man who had a terminal smile sculpted across his face. It was his most prominent feature that stood out opposite his deep blue eyes and balding head. He proceeded to sit down on the floor, “Indian style” and address me at my eye level. His strong arms moved from behind his back as he presented me with the biggest, giant candy cane any of us had ever seen. The candy cane was a colossus of twisted red and white confection no less than a yard long and an equal match for my height and weight! For a seemingly lengthy time, no words were spoken, just gasps and chuckles in ecstatic disbelief. There was much chatter about how to best consume it and how it would conceivably last a lifetime. The story and the memory behind his generous act have and will continue to last as long.

Mr. Bullard was a Father, a business owner, the founder of Habitat for Humanity a philanthropist by nature and, Mayor of Timberlake. I grew to learn that being the Mayor that year, Santa was able to make good on my Christmas wish. What I didn't understand at the time is that he had lost his wife of many, many years, just a couple of weeks before. In spite of his profound grief undoubtedly amplified by the holidays and his unique Mayoral duties, Mr. Bullard listened to a mere child and made a special point of fulfilling my modest request in the grandest and most thoughtful gesture . The real gift came realizing that years later. He had the largest heart of anyone of my Parent's many wonderful friends I was blessed to know. Just before he passed away, I stumbled upon the largest candy cane lawn ornament, that had his name written all over it. I missed what would be our last visit by just a day, but knew in my heart the connection we shared all those years that will last forever.

“Gobble Gobble Gobble”

Every Thanksgiving as children, we begged our Dad to tell his now famous “Gobble gobble” story. He rolled his eyes and sighed, reluctant to share this not-so-happy memory of his childhood Thanksgiving. Over the years, we even corrected him while telling his own story. Imagining how our grown folks ever being young and disobedient was such a kick to hear after having spent a lifetime being told how good they were.

It began one cold November day while living in Wichita Falls, MO., a few days before Thanksgiving. Dad and his older brother were excited with the anticipation of a holiday when school was suspended and everyone observed a day of friendship and feasting. For hours on end, day after day leading up to the event, Dad kept charbling “Gobble gobble gobble” in his best turkey imitation. His Mother patiently reminded him to stop or his Father would have a say. Like all young boys, the repetitive sound was too much fun and since boys will be boys, he kept at it, “gobble gobble gobble”, all about the house. The night before Thanksgiving, his Dad, who was not quite as patient as his Mother and undoubtedly tired from his strenuous job, was tried by his youngest son's silliness, thus threatening him at the utterance of anything remotely sounding like a bird or any other barnyard animal. When Grandpa spoke, it was law. Dad was rather miffed at having been chastised by his Father and went to bed a bit chaffed, plotting his revenge.

When the sun came up it signaled the beginning of Thanksgiving Day with all the food and fun that was yet to come. His parents put on their coats and explained that they had errands to run, assuring them they would return momentarily while reminding them to be “good”. As Dad watched his parents back out of the carriage house garage behind their home, their Oakland Eight rumbling slowly past the corner of the old house, he felt a safe distance between himself and the “old man”, of whom he affectionately referred. Almost in the clear and certainly out of range, Dad felt compelled to throw up the dining room sash and yell out the window at the top of his lungs his best “Gobble gobble gobble”! With that came the screech of brakes and a slam of the front door which resulted in a very sad and silent little boy. From that day on, he never, ever dare say “Gobble gobble gobble” again, at least not while his Father was still alive. Grandpa died many years before any of us were born but we still had to coax Dad into sharing his ill-fated story.

As each of us grew older, college and marriage put distance between us. We always managed to send our holiday sentiments in a greeting card or a long distance phone call, reduced to 3 simple words in our familiar family code; “Gobble gobble gobble”!

Both our folks are long gone but we have children and friends who now know the story. With this Thanksgiving I wish everyone “Gobble gobble gobble”.

Guardian Pigeons

It was a beautiful day, almost Indian Summer like, even though it was still early for the eminent Fall. We were in central Ohio visiting my Mother-In-Law at her new residence. A three story Victorian-esque manor complete with a turret , gables and a wrap-around porch lined with crisp white spindled rockers. After strolling (more like rolling) back from our over sized lunch that satisfied our every sense, we stopped short of the door to pull-up a rocker and sit for a moment to admire the surroundings and the day. The sun had been shining and some clouds were moving in as predicted, but only to add to the dramatic fall skyline and contrasting colorful canvas where flowers were still in bloom and the grass still a vibrant green soft carpet leading up to the porch. The birds were busy feeding on seed from the nearby bird feeder banging off the side of the house. All at once there was a whoosh of ornithological activity when I spotted a pigeon perched on the edge of the steeply pitched roof line. Soon after another joined it, followed by more where they sat together looking at us, we looking at them, mimicking each other.

It wasn't until the following day that my husband shared an interesting story with me. He told me how his Father kept homing pigeons as a boy while living in Pittsburgh, PA. Periodically, his parents would take him and his pigeons out into the country to release the birds in free flight. The birds were often reported to be home before they arrived, hence the saying “straight as the crow flies”, or as in this case, “pigeon”. I believe he kept pigeons for many years, watching and learning from their behavior and interactions with the world. I suspect the pigeons that appeared spontaneously on Z's rooftop that day were also carrying a message, watching over loved ones like guardians.

Housewarming Blessing

When our friends recently purchased their new-old house in an historic part of the city, it reminded me of “going home”. In recognition of this event, I created a few herbal concoctions and composed this blessing for their home:

Bread, so that you may never know hunger

Wine, so that you may never know thirst

Pet Nutrients, to welcome all family members home

Bug Repellant, to prevent unwelcome guests, and

A Besom, to keep your threshold clean and to leap over hand in hand so that you may always know love.

They will be celebrating their 28^th wedding anniversary this weekend together, in the timeless beauty of their blessed home and the love, they share, with everyone.  Congratulations!