Carry on Tuesday: It’s a kind of magic

By some quick trick of aging

English: “Fraternal Love” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

my children have grown from teeny tots to the young adults they are today.

I do not miss them as they were; I miss myself and how they made me feel.

It is my loss only, a selfish loss.

Cherished like a queen, I could do no wrong, I was the only one who could heal them,

emotionally, physically, with a kiss and a made up, whispered, chant that would allow them to fall asleep.

An extra special band-aid and healing cream that, as promised, would not sting.

I could make them giggle, tell them stories, surprise them with “I Love You” presents,

I appreciated every hand I held until they wanted to stop.

“Your children are not your children” I always read

I prepared myself in advance.

My goal as a parent was to make them strong, like trees, to bend their branches, to have solid roots,

to be good people, people who make a difference in the world.

We encouraged our children to play a sport or to play an instrument but we did not force them,

many people criticized us,

but we were happy with our choice.

Our goal in life was to have happy children, good, strong young men and women

who would give of themselves to others, to do the right things, to give back to the world.

My children are my gift to the world.

I share in their pleasure, I have raised two wonderful young people.

It is, indeed, a special kind of magic.

On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Marianna, Kahlil’s Sister. Painting by Kahlil Gibran

Simple Pleasures

English: Fireplace. For more translations SEE BELOW (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I like walking on the beach and collecting seashells. I love watching the ocean, any time of year. Sitting in front of a fireplace watching the orange flames flicker and dance in front of me; I sit so close that I feel the warmth of the fire on my cheeks, safe enough not to get burned. Familiar music playing that I sing along to, I used to burn candles but I don’t do that as much anymore. It used to be comforting and pretty but I’ve outgrown that. My dad used to buy me a candle for my birthday every year. Since he died eleven years ago, my mom and my sister try to do that, it’s so sweet but not the same. I love their intentions though, I appreciate it.

I’m looking forward to the special sweetness of a pit-free clementine, the happy, simple snack that I can just grab and peel. That is one easy part of the winter that I like. The winters are long here, way too long for me so I try to think of specific things that make it better like my home-made pea soup with smoked ham pieces and plenty of carrots so that it has a smoky-sweet taste. Or my home-made chicken soup that comforts us when we have colds and feel like eating nothing else. Our son used to crumble up Saltines by the handful and throw them into the soup so it was thick, the consistency of gruel but tasty. In the winter, I drink hot chocolate, in a steaming mug, sometimes with marshmallows for an extra treat and I bake my famous banana bread, with chocolate chips and raisins. I bake it for three out of the four cousins; my daughter will not try it.

I like having a flashlight right beside my bed every night and a tissue clutched in my hand. On my bookcase, along with many, many books I have photographs of my son, my daughter, my dog Lexi, and our deceased dog, Callie. There is our informal “engagement” picture of my husband and myself grinning so happily at the world. There is a basket of seashells that I collected from Florida and Rhode Island that I play with every now and again. I look at them all the time. Our dog, Lexi, lies on my bed, across my legs and sighs deeply and happily.

I have an anxiety disorder and recently I was so lucky to find a Psychiatrist who is lovely and gracious and someone who will not just dole out anxiety medications but will talk and listen. I told her today I picture her and her assistant as Glenda the good witch, all pink tulle and smiling eyes. I do not take this lightly having seen a couple of really creepy people. This is something I hold special in my heart, that there are still a few good people on earth, that do good things, whether you have the money or not. They will work with you to figure it out, there ARE a few people to believe in. I am grateful for you; thank you for helping me believe that there are good people left in the world. I am grateful and blessed.

Dedicated to M.E. and B.

An Open Letter To Lindsay Lohan

Image via Wikipedia

Dear Lindsay,

I am not a reporter or a tabloid hunter, I don’t have anything to do with Hollywood or acting, modeling or AA. The only thing I over indulge with are oatmeal raisin cookies, and the occasional (not THAT occasional) Almond Joy bar or half a piece of baklava. It won’t end me up in rehab or the Betty Ford Clinic but it does make my clothing too tight and uncomfortable. I wouldn’t be able to be a plus-sized model, I’d need to probably go up to a double plus.

That said, I can deal with emotional eating and extra pounds; I’m not twenty anymore so even though it doesn’t make me happy, I deal with it. I’m sure women in their 50’s can relate to me. I’m a parent of two teenagers, a boy 19 and a girl 17. I’m not a saint and either are they but we cope as best we can. My son has done things I don’t approve of, I’m sure my daughter will do the same. Thus ends the comparison. We’ve instilled good values in them, they are bound to make mistakes, but we will be here, always, to help them get it right with every ounce of our being and love.

You were a sweet, adorable kid. Don’t believe me? Watch The Parent Trap again. You got turned around. Turned around again and again and so fast that you seemed not to have a childhood or an adolescence or two strict parents on the same page. You have made mistakes, tried (feebly, in my own opinion) to correct them and failed, tried and failed again and again. Listen up, there’s hope, you are not Amy Winehouse. Yet.

I’m not being mean or cruel or trying to blame. I am begging you to wake up, leave your friends that party with you and move on, and most importantly, move AWAY.  Don’t care about Hollywood or movies for the time being or modeling. Just think about being clean, and whole, loved and TRUSTED. Turn your life around while you can. Don’t lose this chance. Please.

I’m not your mom, I’m not even a fan but I implore you to think about what you have been through and where you are going. You must know a lot of rich, DOWN TO EARTH celebrities that don’t live in Hollywood or NYC anymore. Reach out to them. Better yet, is there anyone that can help Lindsay, actors, philanthropists, solid, strict, good people-who don’t drink or use drugs and that have real values and appreciate life? Reach out to Lindsay, please. How about Rosie O’Donnell or Ellen Degeneres? The seem like sweethearts to me. If you know them CALL them or knowing them, RETURN their calls. I know, to my dismay, that Oprah is in a different place than she was once but I bet if you called her for help, she WOULD help you.

You are invited here, to our tiny house, but it would not be what you are used to. Maybe that’s a good thing. My husband may kill me but you can stay with us, upstairs right next to our bedroom in a tiny spare room. I wouldn’t rat you out to the press or to anyone. I would help you learn to trust again. There are people out there that you can rely on, you need to find them. Stick with them and they will stick with you.

Please don’t be the next Amy Winehouse, there is no need for that. You have a chance while so many terminally ill people DON’T. You have a choice. Now, get honest and get real, dye your hair, change your name and come over.

P.S. you would not be exempt from loading the dishes into the dishwasher or any other household family chore.

P.S.S.  My husband said it was fine.

From A Concerned Parent