Poppy

There is no question this week. Just a request that you write something down, call someone you love, do a good deed without expectations, maybe eat a giant bowl of full fat ice cream. Or stale marshmallows if that's all you have.


Jon's father passed away suddenly on Tuesday night. He was a really good man. Soft-spoken, smart, humble, exceedingly committed to his family. He existed on a different, better plane than most of us, above the nonsense that seems to dictate my life. He was simple, but not simple. I realize that doesn't make sense. Steady, gentle, kind.


Jon has been sorting through forty years of memories to write a eulogy. Lots of great stories that capture his father's character and reveal his honorable, easygoing nature. 


Then I had to bring up the only time Jon remembers him getting truly, awfully angry. The one and only time. We were in high school and I pierced Jon's ear with an ice cube and a Mickey Mouse earring. (It was the 80's!) That regrettable incident didn't make the speech, but it is funny to reflect upon because we were dumb and Poppy was right.


Rest in peace, Poppy. Give my mom and sister a big hug. Thank you for Lu and Edy's blue eyes, for forgiving the whole pierced ear thing, and for raising a son who is so much like you in every important way.

The SECRET of my sock drawer is actually SURE.

We bought our house six years ago this month. Of course, I know this fact, but I don't really think about it from year to year. Until it gets so hot that I reluctantly switch on the air conditioning for the first time. In an instant, it's 2006 all over again. I'll explain.


I'm an air conditioning hold out. I like to wait until it's super uncomfortable and Lu is boiling in her bed on the third floor. Then I break down while grumbling about the big old house I grew up in and its lack of central air. We were tougher. Never complained. (What I don't reference is the giant window unit we cranked at night and how when you walked by it on the landing of the stairs, you had to duck or get an arctic blast in the ear.)


To be honest, it wasn't just Lu's begging that made me budge last week, it was also Bunsen's old dog breathing, panting, gasping. It's very sad, but also intensely bothersome. So on went the air. And with it, a sudden involuntary flashback. It's crazy how connected our memories are to smells. The smell of our air conditioning (which isn't bad, by the way, just a subtle change) takes me back to our very first summer in Wayne, the thrill of a new home, new friends, new everything.


What smells bring back memories for you?


My childhood smelled like Bounce fabric softener, Pledge, Channel No. 5, Niagara starch spray and cloves. Also, the ever present (and probably brain cell altering) pool chlorine and the surely toxic old paint my dad meticulously burned and scraped from the exterior trim of our house. I remember talking with him through my bedroom window while he stood atop a ladder and burned and scraped, burned and scraped.


I started a subscription to Seventeen Magazine when I was thirteen. I think that's the way it goes. At thirteen, seventeen is an exhilarating promise. By seventeen, you're over it. It was the era of the scented Swatch Watch and there was a scratch 'n sniff ad in every issue. I swear, I can still summon that yummy magaziney scent! Here's the ad – thanks internet!!

In high school, we were all expected to embrace real perfume and I was never one to go against the grain. Even though I despise real perfume because my nose is so, so sensitive. Every "good girl" wore Anais Anais and every "public school boy trying to be preppy" wore Polo. Lots of Polo in the halls, on the bus, in the gym at the dance mixed with the pungent odor of glossy floor polyurethane. Polo to me will always conjure thoughts of nervous hands clinging and awkward, rhythmless swaying among bleachers.


My eventual high school boyfriend (not him again!) didn't wear cologne. But he did wear the same deodorant, Desert Spice Sure, every darn day for years and years and years and that is what I love about him – the consistency, the commitment and the smell, which was nice and desert spicy.


Fast forward to our first years of marriage. Without warning, Desert Spice Sure was suddenly gone from the grocery store shelf. What's a wife to do? Several additional, yet unsuccessful, retail excursions were followed by a lengthy phone call to the Proctor and Gamble consumer hotline only to learn that Desert Spice was discontinued, gone forever. Fortunately, Jon had hoarded a few so he (we) had the chance to slowly say goodbye while gently phasing in new brands.


When he got to the very end of the very last stick, I stole it. Now it sits in my sock drawer. 

I know you're questioning my stability, but one whiff delivers an avalanche, a deluge, a vivid barrage of memories. Good ones. First love mostly and the feeling of being young, happy and hopeful. With this sweaty guy.

Jon's parents are purging their stuff. We now have lots of photo evidence and newspaper clippings documenting his sporting career and other gems like a VanHalen 1984 wallet with nothing but a phone number stuffed inside. Play-ah!

Most people find salty beach breezes and sunscreen memory-inducing, as well as evergreens at Christmas and apples in the fall. 


We're getting a new car at the end of the month. I took it for a test drive and it totally comes with that new car smell, which is very chemical in nature but strangely reminiscent of rice pilaf. I've been saying that for years.


There's also bug spray and camping trunks lined in cedar. Charcoal grills. Garlicy bagel shops that remind me of a silly summer job. The very occasional waft of tobacco smoke and visions of my Pop Pop sticking his pipe behind cables that ran along our church's stone wall before plodding inside for Sunday service.


College was all about stale beer and patchouli-wearing-earthy-types seeking expensive liberal arts degrees. And Tranquil Breezes, the melon and cucumber lotion from Victoria's Secret that I'm sure they no longer sell. Loved the way it mellowed the stale beer and stood up in both principle and soft fruity coolness to the stinky "hippies." (No offense to any of my friends who had a hippie stage.)


Lu was born in January and I happened to have a Yankee candle that was minty and sweet. Every winter, I try to track it down, but they've changed the name more than once. Frustrating. It's "Jack Frost" now, maybe? Whatever it's called, once lit, it evokes memories of our first tentative steps as parents, of tiny, tiny diapers and baths in the kitchen sink, of hibernating indoors, of watching my baby sleep and weeping from the ample hormones and awe of it all.


When I'm a very old lady living in a posh nursing home (thanks to consistent, committed Jon and years of conservative saving), I will have my nurse fetch my Desert Spice Sure or light my minty sweet Yankee candle no fewer than ten times each day. Then I'll close my eyes and do some sensory time traveling. Then I'll get a pedicure, eat fancy caramels and read a book. Aging is a privilege. If I make it to a posh nursing home, I'm totally living it up!


P.S. A clever headline that also rhymes = heaven.

Happy Evolved Mother's Day!

Mother's Day. Thoughts?


I have a complicated relationship with Mother's Day. I hated it for many years. It made me surly and bitter. For a long time, everyone else my age still had a mother. Someone who called and cared. I didn't appreciate the annual reminder of the relationship I was lacking.


Then I became a mother myself. Suddenly and miraculously, the ridiculous holiday made sense. "Wait, you want to honor me for my efforts? Sure!" The more gushy the card, the more clichéd your expressions, the better.


Since my birthday is on the 21st and our anniversary is three days later, I have been known to consider May my month. Start to finish. I like that. A lot. This year, I went all in and boldly declared it MomMay. On MomMay the 1st, I started asking Lu and Edy if they'd saved up for gifts or planned any elaborate parties. Lu, as Lu does, rolled her eyes with great overemphasis. But Edy, I soon discovered, began stockpiling homemade presents and cards. This confirmed two things. First, that Edy is awesome in every way and second, that Edy spends a lot of unsupervised (but apparently productive) time in the basement.

I hope you get what Edy obviously, and so sweetly, missed. May mania is my attempt to be silly and light. The pendulum swing. The burying of – and then the dancing upon – old, achy feelings. 


Self analysis is one of my greatest hobbies. I am incredibly self aware. For instance, I don't understand how people can leave their shopping carts in the middle of the grocery store aisle and not realize that other people can't maneuver around. I always park with room to pass. Always.


Besides shopping cart etiquette, self awareness has also led me to conclude that I probably harp on loss too much. It is the platform on which I've built my (tiny) business and it is the theme of this blog. I'm sure it gets tiresome reading about it. We all have loss. What makes mine so special?


I also constantly worry that my inspiration will be perceived as exploitation of my sister and her story and that would destroy this fragile writer.


Then last Sunday, another woman died. A very young mother with a fabulous family who had a slew of doctors ignore a slew of symptoms. It made me think that maybe my self awareness was rather selfish and that her message and her willingness to lay it all out there, is more important (way, way more) than my over-interpreted feelings.


Lisa was only 24 and had much to manage with a young son and a terminal disease. But she didn't cower. She accepted the spotlight, though nervous and sick, solely for the sake of others. Isn't this the epitome of what a mother does? Creating a legacy that will promote good in the world beyond your life?


Interestingly, it was also last week that Gail's daughter continued her quest to be tested for the BRCA2 gene mutation. She called Fox Chase and was surprised to learn that they already had her name in their system. Gail, who initiated the original testing and compiled all the family history, had created a file knowing two things – that Nicole would someday benefit from her hard work and that she'd be long gone when her daughter did.


I'm not going to hate on Mother's Day anymore. And I'm not going to hyper-celebrate either... though MomMay is fun to say. Stop the pendulum. Instead, I will use the holiday as a reminder to get out of my head, gain confidence delivering information I know to be true and important, and try – in big and small ways – to make an impact that reaches beyond the years of my life.


I will do it for Gail and I will always remember Lisa.


The first link below is an interview with Lisa from last September. It will break your heart, but it will also empower you to listen to your body, trust your instincts and not take your health or your life for granted. 

Lisa Loonstyn Golden was laid to rest today. To honor her courage, consider a donation in Lisa's name to the Sandy Rollman Ovarian Cancer Foundation.

http://philadelphia.cbslocal.com/video/6237213-talk-philly-the-ovarian-cancer-foundation/

http://www.sandyovarian.org/

"Give me your best Luther tickets!"

Last week's post still haunts me. I knew it would. I feel the urge to amend, change, rearrange the entire list. Of course, there are many more albums and artists who influenced me. I was in Genaurdi's yesterday and heard "Hungry Like the Wolf." Oh, how I adored Duran Duran. Pouty Simon Lebon and guitarist John Taylor with his flippy, frosted hair. I am always pleasantly surprised by the music in Genaurdi's and have been known to sing along in the cereal aisle. Unfortunately, Genaurdi's was just bought by Giant. Lots of people are worried about change. I don't care if your produce quality tanks, just keep piping the happy tunes. Make my day brighter with a friendly flashback and I will gladly ignore your browning broccoli crowns.*


Since we're on the topic of music, I've decided to keep it going. 


What are the most memorable concerts or live music shows you've attended?


This was more fun and less pressure than last week's list, which I can't even talk about without cringing.


Bryan Adams 1984
"Oh, thinking about our younger years..." I thought "Heaven" was the best song ever invented and Bryan was surely singing about me and my math class crush. Though our "younger years" would have meant preschool. I bought one of those white over-sized t-shirts with big, block letters that read BRYAN ADAMS on the front and RECKLESS on the back. Then slept in it until the letters peeled off. More famous "cousins" of this look include the Wham! CHOOSE LIFE t-shirt from the "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" video ("You put the boom boom into my heart! Yeah! Yeah!") and the FRANKIE SAYS RELAX classic.


Billy Joel 1985? (Too lazy to Google for accuracy.)
My parents gave my brother and me tickets in our Christmas stockings. It was very exciting, better than gum and underwear, but felt a little odd. Going to a concert with your brother is very nearly like going to the prom with your brother. We weren't in a group. Just the two of us. Listening to music. Our seats were in the last row of the highest section at the (RIP) Spectrum. Turn around and touch the wall.


Genesis 1986
I went with friends and have zero memory. Must have been a blast?! If you went with me, please let me know. I'm putting it on the list because I miss Phil Collins' voice.


U2 1987
This was a huge outdoor concert at (RIP) JFK stadium. It was complete anarchy. The fun kind. Went with my friend Heather. We abandoned our seats one second into the show and simply hopped onto the field. It was right before Jon and I started dating and I guess he was "into" me. Sigh. The feeling wasn't mutual... yet. I saw him and quickly moved on, closer to the stage where I climbed on the shoulders of a very tall Upper Dublin swimmer. Ouchy. Feeling hurt and seeking revenge (?), Jon likes to brag that he made out with four girls that night. Lovely.


After the concert, I found my sister in the throngs of people heading to their cars. This was like a divine miracle in the age before cell phones. Going home, we sat in standstill traffic forever, but folks were happy, friendly and – if you were Jon – seizing the opportunity to grope one last stranger.


Cars 1987
Another band I miss. Went with Jon and his friends (of course) on our one month anniversary. This date I know for sure - November 17, 1987. We took the subway and thought we were so urban cool.


(RIP) Luther Vandross 1991
This could very well be the best experience on the list. My college roommate, Sarah, and I were sitting around watching tv one afternoon when we saw a commercial promoting a concert that was happening that night. Like in a couple of hours. We decided to drop everything and go. Just go. To see Luther Vandross!


First, we went to Houlihan's where we were both waitresses. (I was the world's worst, by the way, and didn't last long.) We enjoyed our half price meals with lots of free extras. We then took our bellies-full-of-potato skins and drove straight to the arena. Sarah walked up to the ticket window and said, "Give me your best Luther tickets!" We grabbed our tickets, went inside and were swiftly led to the second row, center stage, surrounded by rabid Luther fans. No lie. The sequins from the back-up singers' dresses fell on our laps and I stuck them in my pocket. It was outstanding. And so silly. And so perfect, start to finish.


The Super Bowl Half Time Show 2001
Jon audited the Ravens in Baltimore from the inception of the franchise. Every year, he would take the CFO golfing and somehow finagle a betting situation that resulted in Super Bowl tickets. Every year. I've always said, when it comes to sporting events, Jon possesses the perfect storm of drive and luck. We were at the baseball game where Cal Ripkin tied Lou Gehrig's streak. We were there when the Phillies won the World Series. And we've been to many Super Bowls.


I'm not a huge football follower, so all the activities surrounding the game, and especially the half time shows, were my main focus. Until the Raven's went in 2001. My devotion to the team had everything to do with their backstories. I knew that the punt returner's infant son died in childbirth and that's why he points to the sky after a touchdown. And how the quarterback was never expected to amount to much. Jon knows, if he wants me to care about a game of any kind, he needs to explain how this player or that goalie grew up in the projects or saved a houseful of abandoned pets from a four alarm fire.


So in 2001, I was an actual fan of the team... and then the (runner-up) love of my life, Sting, played the half time show... and then the Raven's beat the Giants. Memorable indeed!


Kenny Loggins 2004
My one and only trip to Vegas. We flew out on Jon's client's private jet – and flew home sitting backwards on Southwest.


Jon had loads of business meetings so I hung out in our very posh room at the Paris Hotel until his boss's wife coaxed me to attend a Kenny Loggins concert. It was a super intimate setting where you could yell out requests. "Danny's Song!!" 


I enjoyed the venue, though it was awkward, but not impossible, to rock out. We sort of stood in front of our seats and swayed and clapped. I remember thinking, "If only I could throw back four to six stiff drinks, I'd boogie up a storm. Danger Zone!"


Bruce Springsteen 2009
I went to see Bruce Springsteen with my middle-aged sister, which is way better than a concert with your teenage brother.


It was an outdoor show on a beautiful night. Bruce is an incredible performer with true rock star stamina. He was about to turn 60 and referenced his age and the fact that his wife wasn't there that night because his daughter was going to her prom. You know I appreciate personal tidbits! Mix that with good company and a gorgeous sunset... 


I really should go to more concerts.


And that's all, though I'd like to give a shout out to the Mann Music Center and the (close to) 1,000 concerts I attended illegally. As mentioned in a previous post, my sister Gail would buy us beer and we'd sit on the hill outside the fence and listen to James Taylor, Neil Young, the Monkees, etc. Eventually the cops on horseback started patrolling the area and then the fun was kaput.


Final comment. At only 14, I did not attend Live Aid, but the concert was still a huge deal to all kids in the Philadelphia metropolitan area. I was at a swim meet for most of the day, eating jello, dreading my events, and listening to a crackly radio broadcast.


* I am 100% sure that grocery store chains have conducted research and held focus groups to determine the right music to appeal to their average shopper. Me, the tired mom. This is annoying and fantastic simultaneously.


It's stuck in my head and should be stuck in yours, too.