Goodbye, Mom

I got a 3:00 o'clock phone call early Sunday morning -- one of those calls that makes your blood run cold. For me, a middle of the night call can only mean one of three things: 1. somebody dialed the wrong number 2. somebody got hurt 3. somebody died. For me, it was number three. It was my sister, Vicky, on the other end. She lives in Baton Rouge and wouldn't think of calling in the middle of the night. Our mom, she said, had died in a violent car accident - side impacted by a Suburban (she drove a Toyota Corolla) as she turned left out of her subdivision onto a busy street.

For us it's been a sad and chaotic time. My mom lived in Michigan and so we packed up and drove out to her home to tend to funeral arrangements and the legalities of death.

The hardest part, for me, was going into her house for the first time since she'd died. A cup of tea on the counter had chilled. Her cat was crying for food. Mail had collected in her box and everywhere I looked I sensed my mother's presence. Only one thing was missing -- my mom. I cried. I wanted to give her a big hug and tell her how special she was to me, how much I loved her. Not that I didn't tell her that every time I talked to her.

So, we try to remember my mom how she was -- the good times and the many kind and wonderful things she did for so many people. She volunteered for The American Cancer Society, for her church where she worked in their office and always made newcomers feel welcome. When an elderly neighbor suddenly found herself widowed and alone in the world, my mom brought her dinner each night and often sat watching television with her to keep her company. When another elderly friend lost her sight, she drove her to the doctor's and ran errands for her. My mom sold Avon but, more often than not, became good friends with her clients, bringing them baby gifts, housewarming presents etc. My mom never forgot a birthday, an anniversary or a special occasion until the past few years when she began showing some early signs of dementia.

My mom was born in Manchester, England, the youngest of five children. During WWII she was evacuated to the countryside to live with a farm couple, Mr. and Mrs. Beddoes, at their home in Shropshire (Manchester was being bombed by the Germans). The house was over 700 years old and had a cobblestone kitchen floor and a big pump at the kitchen sink. It was the first time my mom had ever seen apples growing on trees, picked blueberries for pies or held a baby chick in her hands. After the war was over, she returned to Manchester. Eventually she met my dad, a reporter and editor for The Manchester Guardian. Before long, my parents married, moved to Canada and then the US and settled outside of Detroit where my sisters and I grew up. In 1993, she became an American citizen, something she studied hard for and was very proud of.

We were proud of her too. More than anything, though, we miss her.

Stick To Your Apples

Well, I finally finished my enormous still life. It's nearly four feet long and two feet wide. Actually, I don't know the exact measurements but it required a lot of time, paint and hair pulling. The silver pitcher itself gave me fits. I must have spent three four to five hour sessions mixing and mixing to get the color right and then mixing some more in an effort to make it look metallic. My palette was a smear of umbers, yellows, blacks and blues. Then the green apples began to turn yellowish. Painting has it downside. Fruit and vegetables rot, flowers wilt. I always get paint over me - my hands, face, legs - you name it. Some of the paints aren't really safe -- namely the cadmiums which are heavy metals and penetrate the skin. I run to the bathroom many times during the course of a painting session to wash up.

There were many times when I got frustrated and almost painted a big X across the entire board, times when I felt like smashing it on the ground. But where would I have been then? No, to get something the way you want it, you have to persevere. Nothing comes of nothing, as somebody sang. The same applies to writing. If we give up on our work, then we have nothing to show. So, stick to you apples.

I'm off now to the studio. I talked with Robert yesterday who told me there's still a small problem with a couple of the apples. "It's worth spending a little more time on them." He gives us plenty of encouragement but never lets us get away with sloppy work either. I'm grateful for that.

Stopping Home

Last week, when Derek made his way into New York State, he called. Could he bring some friends home for a few days? Of course, we said. So, my husband drove to Harriman State Park and picked up him and three of his hiking friends, and brought them all here for a brief sojourn from their arduous journey. So, we had Widowmaker, Cheeze, Katerpillar, Matt and Udog ( possibly the most well behaved dog I've ever met) stay with us for a few days. Matt found Udog in a state park last year, beaten and starving. He took her in, had her spayed and nursed her back to health. Now she accompanies Matt on his hike along the AT. She even carries her own little doggie backpack containing her food and leash.

Cheeze hails from Wisconsin, home of the Cheeseheads, hence his name.

On his first night camping on the trail, Widowmaker pitched his tent under a dead tree. That night a storm toppled the tree onto his tent. He was all right but it a close call. He was immediately dubbed Widowmaker.

The guys camped out on our den floor, grateful for a hot shower, some home cooked meals and a chance to rest their weary feet. Derek took them across the bay to Sunken Forest, Fire Island where they gazed at the ocean and took a quick swim in the chilly salt water. Salt water, by the way, has wonderful healing powers and the dip in the ocean helped to heal their sore feet. If you think of the ocean as a big Epsom Salts bath and you get the general picture. On their last night here, Widowmaker, who attended cooking school, whipped up a chocolate mousse to die for and we treated them to a Long Island specialty -- spaghetti with Littleneck clam sauce. The next morning, Dennis drove them back to the trail and they continued on their trek northward.

Derek, by the way, is now in Vermont where last night the temperature plunged into the upper 30s. This is July? Today he'll be going over Bromley ski area -- a place we skiied as a family many years ago.

Sad News

Some sad news. This past weekend one of my former students died in a motorcycle accident. Apparently, he was drunk and when his friends took his car keys away from him he took off on somebody's motorcycle and lost control, hitting the side of a store. He was booking so it couldn't have been a pretty sight. I'm glad nobody else was hurt or killed.

Jonathan was basically a good hearted guy. He was good looking, charming, talked incessantly and was a gifted athlete. He was also impulsive and his parents were not very involved, at least academically. He had some learning disabilities. I hate this kind of news. I've had other former students die. Two were shot in drug deals gone bad and another died of AIDS. They were all basically good kids with terrible parents.

When you've been teaching for a while, this happens. You lose former students. It comes with the job. Some make it and some don't. My husband taught math for so many years and he lost students as well -- to accidents, disease, suicide and one heroin overdose of a truly gifted pianist. Losing a student never ceases to shock us. All you can say is, "What a waste of a precious life."

When you work in an elementary school, though, as I do, you almost feel that you've lost one of your own. I see these kids every six schools days from the time they enter kindergarten until they graduate in sixth grade. In some small sense, I feel I've helped raised them. If only we could do something to prevent these tragedies.

Meme: Eight Things About Me

Okay, Linda tagged me so now I have to reveal 8 facts/habits about myself. Then, according to the rules, I'm suppose to tag eight other people but I don't think I can. Anyhow, here goes. Hope nobody nods off.

1. I was born with dislocated hips and had to wear a brace until I was two -- when I also learned to walk.

2. When I was little, my hair was blond.

3. I drink eight or more cups of tea every day.

4. When I was in sixth grade, I was voted the service squad leader of the year. I still have my armband and my certificate from the Lion's Club of Wayne, Michigan.

5. I was the first member of my family to ever attend college.

6. I'm good at puzzles and word games -- crossword puzzles, Scrabble, word jumbles, anagrams etc. One of my very favorites is Balderdash. Anybody else ever play this? It's a riot!

7. I have a birthmark on my right thigh shaped like an ice cream cone. If my dad could see that birthmark when I was a teenager, it meant my skirt was too short and I had to change my clothes before I left for school.

8. I lift weights 2-3 times a week and can leg press 270 pounds.

See, I am so boring. I don't know a lot of other people in cyberspace I can tag who Linda hasn't already tagged so I'll just say I did this for the fun of it. Is that all right, Linda?

Summer Solstice

So, here it is, June 21st -- the last day of work and the first day of summer. How often, I wonder, does the beginning of one thing follow on the heels of another? Think of it. For me, the close of the school year signals the beginning of a fresh start -- two months of freedom from classes and getting up at the crack of dawn to buck 30 miles of traffic both to and from work.


I'm thinking about all the things I want to do this summer. Resume running and biking. Do some plein air painting. Plot out the rest of my novel and write, write, write. Savor the salt air, the ocean breezes, lose myself in some great books, meet up with some friends. A lot of my colleagues take classes during the summer but not me; I prefer to chill out. I need the mental and emotional break from the grind. Anyhow, I took a lot of classes during the course of the school year. This fall, I and another librarian may teach a class on picture books at our district's teacher's center. I'm actually kind of excited about it and am already thinking about how I'd like to organize it.

Anyhow, here's to the next eight weeks. Time to kick back and sleep in till at least eight every morning. Sounds like heaven.

A Piece of Good News

A few days ago I received an email from the SCBWI (the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators) saying that my poem had been selected the winner of their writing contest. I was shocked! My poem? Surely they had the wrong person. I'd entered a few of their contests in the past and never received so much as an honorable mention. I read the email again. Nope, it was my poem. I won a year's free membership and publication on their website (www.scbwi.org). They wanted me to send them a brief biography.

After a while, I began wondering exactly how many people entered that contest. The challenge was to write a rhyming poem no longer than four stanzas ending with the word June. Maybe they only received a handful of entries. Yesterday the SCBWI published the winning poems as well as the winning illustrations. According to the website, they received over 250 entries so I guess I had some competition after all.

It's been so long since I've won anything that I'm still in a daze. Pinch me, somebody.