The Loss of Robin Williams

When Robin Williams died I mourned his loss by watching movies he was in. I excitedly introduced my kids to Mrs. Doubtfire and was internally joyful when they fell in love with her and laughed at her antics. 

I was very saddened by Robin Williams’ death, but I was not surprised. What I mean by that is that “we” never know another person’s pain or sorrow unless they choose to share them with us; and we all have pain and sorrow. Maybe it’s my counselor brain speaking or just my life experience, but I am never truly surprised when someone attempts or commits suicide, deeply saddened yes, but never surprised. 

What affected me the most about Robin Williams’ death is how he devoted his life to making other people laugh and cheering other people up during their darkest hours. All while he was deeply saddened himself, dying slowly on the inside. His comedy (and from what I have read since his death) his truly kind, thoughtful and generous inclination to help others was a mask he created, in my opinion without having known him, in an effort to make himself feel better, and I don’t mean in the way that some people who have a lot give to those who are less fortunate as a way to make them feel better for having so much. No, I mean in a way that his pain grew inside his head while his heart gave so much to so many.

I have read stories about him requiring that people who were homeless be given jobs on his job sets. I read a story about how giving he was in his home city of San Francisco. In one such story I read he would drive up to a kid run car wash and ask what school they were from, what they were raising money for and then would pull out all the money in his wallet and say he didn’t have time to get his car washed all while handing over the wad of money in his hand. On more than one occasion I have read how he has helped people who were homeless get jobs. 

While Robin Williams was making millions of us laugh (and cry) he was making a difference in so many other people’s lives in such a way that those of us who paid $5, $7, $9 or more to watch his movies couldn’t even imagine.

Also since his death people all over the internet have been posting quotes from his movies; words that he spoke in a script about suicide. I wonder if he even remembered speaking these lines among the millions he spoke in front of a camera? 

Robin Williams hung himself after years of millions of us hanging onto his every word. I hope that Mork, Mrs. Doubtfire and Patch Adams among the many others he remarkably played removed themselves from Robin Williams at the time of his death making way for eternal peace to reside inside Robin Williams the person, father, husband, and son…..na nu na nu

I think he would have wanted me to end with a laugh :)

Soccer

I was impressed with myself by posting a few times in July and then August came. Not sure how the entire month passed by without posting, but it did. OK, maybe I do know. I’ve mentioned before how I “write” a blog a day in my mind. It’s the sitting and typing, which sounds absurd to myself since I’m on my computer more than a few times a day.

OK, enough procrastinating and excuses; let’s get to the writing.

As my daughter was in soccer practice tonight I wondered how the word soccer came about. I agree with the rest of the world that soccer is football, honestly it’s the best named sport there is, it doesn’t get more obvious. FOOTBALL is played with your foot! No hands allowed (except if you’re the goalie, but there’s exceptions in every sport, right?). But this time I began wondering where the American name of “soccer” actually came from. I thought about googling it and then sharing what I found with you, but decided instead that if you were as intrigued as me you could search for it yourself….something else for you to do.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

On Facebook I see people write statuses wishing people happy birthdays who aren’t even on Facebook and therefore will never seen it. I have read heartfelt statuses to friends and family who have died. There is no Facebook in heaven in my friends (at least not my heaven). Although mistaken for a private journal Facebook is incredibly public. 

With that said I want to wish a very happy birthday to my most loyal reader of my blog - my dad! I will not disclose his age, although I’ll be the first to admit he doesn’t look it. Working hard, both mentally and physically, his arms show muscles of a much younger man. His stories, that are easy to listen to, are what show his age. Stories about flying on airplanes when security was minimal and there was no need to show up hours before your flight. Although being the punctual person he his, I do have a memory of being dropped off at an airport three hours before my flight. He has stories about growing up in a time when hanging out the gas station was what guys did. A place to talk about cars and girls too, I assume, because after all back then the gas station wasn’t just a place where you filled your car up, it’s also the place the mechanic actually worked on your car too. He has stories about working in New York City during a time when the mob was at its height…..and that’s all I’m going to say about that, because this blog after all is quite public as well :)

My dad is the one who will send me an email reminding me I haven’t posted anything to the blog in awhile, so being that I just posted yesterday, it may be awhile before he sees this. But, I’m sure he’ll see it before my card arrives in his mailbox (oops, time slipped away, sorry Dad, it’ll get there within the year). 

My dad is social, but chooses to live in his house quietly when he isn’t out visiting with the mailman, bank teller or other people he runs into throughout his day.  My parents were divorced 28 years ago and I figured he’d remarry when hell froze over. That was before he met Lisa a few years ago. He found a woman to listen to his stories, and live quietly in his house with, all while supporting her to reach her dreams; most recently of learning how to drive and get her driver’s license! On the day of their late October wedding there was a blizzard; I wouldn’t call Connecticut hell, but it sure did freeze over that day. The following year there was a hurricane on their anniversary. I guess this is the woman he was suppose to grow old with, one birthday at a time! 

Happy Birthday, Dad, I love you (as do most people who know you)!

Soup Market

Last week’s market was a soup market. That’s what I call the farmer’s market when I walk up to it and smell onions and dill and see carrots. That’s when I know it’s time to make my chicken soup.

Random Things on My Mind Right Now

1. We “adopted” a Monarch caterpillar and after almost two weeks it remains to be alive! It’s grown from 1/2 to 1 centimeter, I hope it makes it to become a beautiful butterfly or I will feel incredibly guilty for saying, “yes” to my daughter after she found it and asked to bring it home. I later realized it was 

2. Before moving we put many of our things into storage and after a month it was broken into. A month later we emptied it out after moving. We have discovered a few things missing, but the only thing I miss terribly that creates a lump in my throat is our guest book. Not from our wedding, but from our guest room in our old house. My mom (who I got the idea from) wrote in it faithfully whenever she came to visit. Even my dad wrote in it. Each entry was a personal letter to my family and besides sadness I am in complete confusion on why it hasn’t turned up and hope that it just miraculously appears one day…..SOON!

3. I love playing games and often wish to have a monthly game night, I think I would enjoy it even more than my book club. Hmm, I may have to move forward with this idea.

4. If I lost my phone I think I would get over it quickly, but instead it’s almost always near me. Why the extremes?

5. I’m really hoping that I can find the flower I want at the farmer’s market tonight, but am afraid that July 18th is too late to go flower shopping.

A Patriotic Independence Day to Rival Others

On July 4th my Facebook status read as follows, “I had the honor of watching 101 people become United States citizens yesterday, one of whom is a good friend. The ceremony was wonderful, emotional and my kids even got to be a part of welcoming our newest citizens by giving them their own American flags. My first reaction upon seeing the group was pride that this is what American looks like = diversity! We are a lucky country and the ceremony left me wondering and hoping that I am using my born citizenship wisely and to its fullest. Happy Independence Day!”

 One of my dearest friends texted me a few weeks ago to invite me and my family to her husband’s citizenship ceremony in just two weeks. That was the notice they were given. My immediate reaction was, “Of course I will be there! What an amazing opportunity for my kids and I to witness! A once in a lifetime opportunity*!” I, unfortunately, have missed two other milestones in her life and promised her and myself, that I would not miss this one. Her husband is a sweet, calm soul who was born in Zimbabwe. My husband, unfortunately, was unable to be away from work during this time so the kids and I trekked out on our first road trip together sans dad. What followed was a weekend of amazing memories and experiences.

Picture it: Indianapolis, IN, July 3rd, pulling into a parking lot just moments after our friends, surprising our soon to be new citizen who did not know we were coming.

The ceremony took place outside on the lawn of the President Benjamin Harrison home. Under a tent, 300 seats were placed, including 101 for our country’s newest citizens. We chose the last row where behind us grew a gorgeous maple tree with peeling bark and low branches. The tree looked to be 100 years old in my untrained eye and the four kids (my two, theirs and another friend) played around and on that tree in such a picturesque way. 

Just before the oath was taken, the judge presiding over the ceremony invited all elementary aged children to come forward and take part in the ceremony. As she called each country represented the individuals were instructed to stand and a child would approach them, hand them a small American flag, look them in the eye and shaw their hand.

My children were fortunate to hand out about three flags each and this is when the tears built up. To see our children, not just mine, but the country’s welcome new citizens to our country, the oldest being 74 years old was heartwarming. Prior to the start of the ceremony when everyone was in line I just thought, “THIS is what American looks like; different skin tones, different hair colors and different accents.” 

I thought about my two grandmothers who immigrated to the United States. My maternal grandmother in 1928 from Poland at the age of 11 who became a U.S. citizen in 1964, unbeknownst to her children, who always assumed she was a citizen. My paternal grandmother’s story is a bit more vague. Born in 1906, according to family stories it only became known that she was born in Russia, even to herself, when she applied for social security! 

To read more about the citizenship ceremony in Indianapolis: http://www.indystar.com/story/news/politics/2014/07/03/indianas-new-us-citizens-see-land-opportunity/12183159/

* After the excitement passed I “remembered” that my Dad’s wife, my kids’ Nini, is in the middle of the journey of also becoming a United States citizen, having been born in China. I look forward to one day witness her day of naturalization as well.

Meet Tiffany

In 1977 my parents built their dream house. Just before I turned two years old we moved in. My mom bought a Tiffany light for this 1970s color-schemed house. In the kitchen for ten years hung this red, orange and marigold yellow light over the table that sat on a linoleum floor of similar colors surrounded by marigold yellow appliances. 

After we moved the decor changed to paisleys and blues and greens, with no place for Tiffany. She was hugged in multiple layers of bubble wrap and moved into the attic. Eventually she and the other contents of the house moved south in 1999. 

Sometime in the early 2000’s my mom came to visit me in my home in Wisconsin. We were in my kitchen surrounded by walls of an updated marigold yellow color and valances hung over the windows filled with crimsons, olive and subdued oranges and yellows. It was at that moment she thought about Tiffany and told me she would look great in this kitchen and she wanted me to have it. I have no recollection of how or when Tiffany wrapped in her bubble wrap blanket moved into my attic. There was no road trip between WI and FL, so she must have moved here in 2009 on the U-Haul truck I drove after my mom passed away. 

Nearly five years later she was moved into a new home and unwrapped to reveal numerous panels cracked and one missing. To put it frankly, Tiffany was in deep disrepair. I knew she had cracks, but had no idea the extreme until recently. To my surprise it didn’t take long to hear about Old Hickory Stained Glass in Onalaska, WI where a man named Bob had been creating and working with stained glass since 1976, around the time Tiffany was likely born. I never met Bob, he was a behind the scenes kind of guy, but my expectations and hope were high. A few months later I picked up Tiffany only to discover she was beautiful! Yesterday she was hung in my new kitchen of the same yellow walls and I am convinced this kitchen was built for her, more so than the one my mom remembered her in.

After 27 years in storage she hangs with dignity and grace, a centerpiece restored by an artist who was able to match her glass nearly perfectly simply because his years of experience rival her age. I was told he was amazed she was still around, these pieces were not built to last he said, he reinforced her and I believe was in awe of her as I was told if she begins to sag he will happily reinforce her again.