There's No Place Like Home

How is it suddenly post holidays and the New Year?  Wow, the Fall flew by.  I measure time in several ways, such as: between dentist check-ups, football season, when it is time for the Masters, and how Christmas comes before I am ready for it.  Well, the Browns totally disappointed once again, but that is my normal so I just learned to enjoy my Sundays in the leather Lazy-Boy watching them fail.  And Christmas was very close behind a late Thanksgiving, however, I still managed to get the gifts bought, wrapped and sent and even made Mom's kolachi.  I did get a by from my sister on cookie baking but sadly, that means no frozen sour cream cookies in my freezer.  It is just not the same without a frozen Christmas tree to enjoy in February.  Decorations were at a minimum, but that is OK, because I headed to O-H-I-O for Christmas with family.  Which also means, since I have moved, that I have little to do but enjoy the fruits of others' labors.  I fear I am going to owe my sister and niece a lot of payback for all of their fantastic entertaining.

The view from the plane window upon approach to Hopkin's airport was foreboding, because the weather remained the usual Cleveland winter grey for the entire visit. But, if we didn't have the horrible winter weather to complain about, what, besides our faltering sports teams, would bond Clevelanders together so tightly?  Upon arriving at the airport, my first thought was, these people, even all bundled and pale in contrast to what I left, are my people! We are tied to a common denominator - we love our city and, perhaps, we love to complain about it!  Not that I would want to move back, at least from November through April, but visiting is still coming home.  Old friends, family and neighborhoods, I am attached to them forever.

Pelagic Poetry

Son Matt, and brother Tom visited for four fabulous fun days of flats fishing.  (Alliteration!)  It was wonderful, soothing, beautiful, exciting, trying and all in all good times.  Fish, motor the boat up to a dock, tie it up, hop off, sit down in a restaurant or bar on the water, have a Kalik and conch fritters and yammer about the day.  All good.  I live in a very special, and very beautiful place and as my husband, H-bomb says, "who lives like this?" 

Our last day was spent in the lower Keys fishing for Permit.  The water was slicked out calm as we headed out during a spectacular sunrise.   The area we visited is especially lovely with sandy bottom and crystal clear water.  Small mangrove islands surrounding us and nothing but blue sky and water.  But, Tom and I absolutely failed at the casting.  Poor Matt, sitting high on his poling platform spotted fish after fish and could we get the cast next to their nose.  NO!  It was pathetic.  And this type of fishing isn't sitting with a pole and line in the water waiting for your bobber to make some noise.  This is standing, searching and sighting fish and then ever so carefully trying to land the perfect cast so that they are not spooked and will grab the bait and then take off like a torpedo.  MAJOR FAIL on our part!

We got so slap happy that we began creating lines of poetry about our adventures.  Then, the push pole snapped, Matt fell off of the platform into the drink and the fishing was over.  We lolled about enjoying the beauty and headed to the No Name Pub on Big Pine Key to end a perfect fishing vacation with a pizza and beers.

I received an email from brother Tom with a poem he had completed about our fishing days.  I will share for those of you who love to fish and can appreciate it. 

Coincidences or Comforts?

The day after we learned of our brother-in-law Fritz Kramer's passing, my sister Mary Beth posted this photo and these comments on her Facebook page:

"Yesterday my brother-in-law Fritz Kramer, an inveterate cat lover, passed away unexpectedly. This morning I had just started talking to my sister on the phone when this tabby I had never seen before appeared out of nowhere on my deck and started rubbing against my legs, demanding pets. I don't think it was a coincidence."

Of course, in the heightened emotional state we were all in, we were in awe of this and I, with my skeptical nature, dismissed it as a comforting coincidence.  However, as the weekend of the funeral unfolded, there seemed to be just too many wonderful coincidences to not bring questions to my mind.  There were unusual sightings of bucks on the road, not once but twice, which was unusual in the DC area and astonished Fritz's family who lived nearby.  Just standing by the side of the road, looking majestic.  And while Harry and I were talking about Fritz with his wife, my sister Suzanne, in their living room shortly after our arrival in DC, two cardinals landed on the porch swing outside the window where we were sitting and began to cause such a loud chattering ruckus that we had to stop our conversation.  Suzanne said she had never seen that happen before.  We laughed, saying maybe Fritz didn't like what we were saying about him and was interrupting us.

Fritz's sister, Ellen, flew in from South Carolina and gave a lovely tribute as part of the memorial service.  One of her comments in the tribute was that as a child, Fritz had an orange cat named Sidney.  OK, I thought, that was very interesting.  But then she read this poem from a book of poems  that their family owned and from which they had chosen poems to be read at other family member funerals.  Ellen found this poem earmarked by a faded yellow post-it note by their sister Barbara who passed away some years ago and with whom Fritz had been very close that said "thinking of you" "B" and Ellen believed that was a sign that this poem was mean for Fritz.   My ears really perked up when I heard the last stanzas.

Three Poem s for James Wright

3.  The Rose

I had a red rose to send you,

but it reeked of occasion, I thought,

so I didn’t.  Anyway

It was the time

the willows do what they do

every spring, so I cut some

down by a dark Ohio creek and was ready

to mail them to you when the news came

that nothing

could come to you

in time

anymore

ever.

I put down the phone

and I thought I saw, on the floor of the room, suddenly,

a large box,

and I knew, the next thing I had to do,

was to lift it

and I didn’t know if I could.

Well, I did.

But don’t call it anything

but what it was ---the voice

of a small bird singing inside, Lord,
how it sang, and kept singing!
how it keeps singing!

in its deep
and miraculous
compose.

from New and Selected Poems,

Mary Oliver

Now I was convinced.   That somehow, through the power of love, or the universe, or karma, or God or whatever goes on after we die,  these were some sort of signs sent to those grieving.  Sent from above?  Who knows.  But who cares, because it stamped this life event with a memory, a story to share and a blessing of comfort on those left behind.

In Memory - Frederick W. Kramer (Fritzi)

My brother-in-law, Fritz Kramer, died unexpectedly following back surgery on August 28, 2013.  He has been a part of our family for about 50 years, so indeed, he is our brother.

Fritz met my sister in college at Miami University and they had what is known as a "Miami Merger".  They eloped before graduation because of my parents lack of support of their idea of marrying right after college and of course, that didn't start the relationship off well with my parents.  Or so I was told by Fritz who loved to tell a story and could, as such, manipulate the facts a bit to make it more interesting.  My memory was that he was accepted very quickly into the clan and was not the black sheep with my folks as he sometimes liked to suggest. And to prove my parents wrong, my sister and Fritz celebrated 48 years of marriage this past June.

Being five years younger, I was the beneficiary of suddenly having a very cool brother-in-law and sister who, after Fritz finished grad school at the University of Wisconsin, worked for the Federal Government in Washington, DC.  How exciting it was to go to DC at a time when protesters were marching against the Vietnam War ala scenes from Forrest Gump (and Fritz would have to drive past marchers slipping down in his car seat to hide his Army Reserves uniform on Reserve weekends which kept him out of the war mess.)  I remember staying in their urban apartment with the sounds of city life coming in the windows which was a far cry from suburbia in Youngstown, Ohio.  And subsequently, many visits over the years in their wonderful, old, charming Sears house (homes bought from a Sears catalogue and shipped all inclusive right to the building sight) in the NW area of DC - streets lined with shade trees, brick Georgian homes interspersed with homes with front porches, like theirs.  A wonderful neighborhood just around the corner from every imaginable ethnic eatery and hip storefront.

Fritz was a consummate host.   He was a great conversationalist - a great listener and a great talker.  He could amuse and entertain with his intellect, knowledge and great sense of humor.  He was very well read. He was witty.   He could tell a great story.  I am not sure the facts were always accurate but who cared - the entertainment factor was huge.  He was never in a hurry and he was generous with his time and with his hospitality. He created nicknames for people.  He named our home in Florida "Manatee Insanity."

He liked you or he did not, and if he didn't, my impression was that he didn't feel one iota of guilt about it, or for that matter, about anything.  At least he didn't wring his hands over things like the rest of us - he lived a righteous life and didn't need to explain himself.  In fact, I don't know too many people who were so comfortable in their own skin, who had such a good self esteem and really didn't worry about what everyone else thought.  He just assumed they liked him - why wouldn't they!

But the best thing to me about Fritz was that he was interesting.  My recollections of him are of the numerous obsessions he had and how they would totally take over his life.  You could NOT ignore them.  He would put them in your face, talk about them, show you them and somehow get you involved in them!  There was a long affair with Pee Wee Herman.  He knew all episodes of Pee Wee's Playhouse, could imitate Pee Wee down to the physical mannerisms and drove us crazy with all things Pee Wee.  I also remember a Texas phase which included owning many pairs of cowboy boots, and a passion for the movie Tombstone.  He could quote Doc Holiday and I cannot tell you how many times I viewed that movie with him.  And that led to a large antique gun collection.  There was also the Hess Truck passion and collection.  Tee shirt collections.  Maine Coon Cats.  Projects around his house.  His huge pond and waterfall in the back yard.  And on and on.  And last, but certainly the most significant after Fritz retired, was a long time love affair with Jamaica where he and my sister spent Februaries at Our Past Times in Negril.  Their love of Jamaica and that culture live all over their home.  Fritz has many friends there,  and the family at Our Past Times permanently carved his name "Reserved - Fritz" in his favorite table there in memory.  This past February he celebrated his upcoming birthday there and I designed this tee shirt for him following his specific instructions (another example of Fritz roping one in to his passions!)

During the funeral service, I was struck by how difficult it is to try and capture the essence of a person in 15 minutes of memorializing,  And I, of course, cannot do it in my blog.  I have a lifetime of memories of Fritz and I am very grateful for them.  I will miss this special person, this brother, this friend with his incredible attributes as well as his flaws and imperfections..  And when I see a full moon from now on, I will stop, say "moon's up" and think about Fritz who will be shining down on all of us.

Can I Get a Do-Over?

Grand kids, son Matt, and son Sam's friend Susan all left Sunday.  What a week full of activity, adventure, and commotion.  Beach, swimming, snorkeling, fishing, kayaking, shelling, boating, eating, drinking, laughing, and as the King of Siam said - etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

We started on Sanibel Island.  I have written about this place before.  I have been going there for over 40 years beginning with a trip there with my parents and first husband.  My sister who was in her early teens, our cousin, Doug, and I accompanied my parents.   The six of us drove to Naples packed in my parents sedan for a one week stay on Vanderbilt Beach.  That meant the trip was really about 5 days of vacation and four driving!  We fell in love with Sanibel.  Beaches strewn with shells, warm shallow water and a low key vibe reminding me of Island life.  I rented there for years, and now have a time share so we have our little getaway in place.  The highlight this year was the Houdini escape of Iggy the Iguana.  Harry transported the bright green little fellow from our motel grounds for the kids in a large drywall bucket (much to my protestations and of course, their delight).  After a couple of days, Matt decided to clean the bucket and provide fresh edible plants.  In the move to the new environment, Iggy leaped from the bucket and made a beeline to probably the only opening in the large screened in porch.  It was like the Shawshank Redemption with an escape that seemed planned for years.  With kids screaming, Matt ran out side to grab him but Iggy took a two story leap to the bushes below and was gone.  Oh, my, the tears!  Matt may never live the guilt down.  Was this an unconscious wish fulfilled?  We will never know.  I have a feeling Matt will receive an overnight box in the mail soon with a surprise inside for the kids from Grandpa (who, by the way, is tons of fun if you are 5 and 8). 

Another highlight was the Perseid meteor showers.  We made three nightly treks to the beach with drinks in hand and on the third night, were rewarded.  I only saw one incredible meteor because I left early being exhausted and absolutely covered in sand.  Have you tried laying on a blanket on sand quietly with an 8 year old boy?  About as easy as kayaking with him and going the wrong direction with other kayakers offering their unwanted advice on how to paddle.  Duh!  Do they think I really wanted to get hit in the head by low hanging Mangrove branches for fun?

We returned to Key Largo where living isn't too shabby either.  We took the prerequisite boating, off shore fishing and snorkeling trips, but for me the best day was taking the flats skiff (it can go in shallow "skinny" water) across Florida Bay to Cape Sable.  Isolated, primitive and at the edge of Everglades National Park.  Strewn with shells also and I gathered Angel wings and even a fishing visor that had washed up - score!  We fished and if you want to see nature in the raw, this is the place.  Dolphins, tarpon, birds, and life leaping and crashing about in such a pristine and primitive environment.  Amazing.  It was a great end to a day that started badly with tempers rising.  The boat trailer lights wouldn't work.  We forgot the kids life jackets.  But once we were launched and hit the nearby World Wide Sportsman store (you can boat up to it!) we were flying at 35 MPH across the open water, and around little islands, with a sky so large and blue it made all bad moods melt away.

The day after everyone left, and in post vacation recovery mode and nursing a bit of a cold which was a parting gift from my darling grandson Jack, I plopped on the sofa after work and dinner yesterday thinking I might, perhaps, possibly, hopefully find something stimulating to watch on television.

Scrolling through the TV guide on the remote it jumped out at me.  Seriously?  The title was "The Man with the 132 Pound Scrotum."  Right there in prime time.  Holy cow.   Take me back in time please.  I want to re-do vacation. 

 I found Jack asleep with his head lamp on.  Another gift from Grandpa.
Why do grown-ups lose their sense of fun?  When did you last go to sleep
with your head lamp on??

Small World Part II

Last June I wrote about becoming friends, through golf, with a woman and that we learned, after a dinner with lots of yakking and wine, that our parents both grew up in Bessemer, PA around the same time.  Recently, she found some yearbooks that belonged to her uncle and brought them to me.  I was able to find my Dad, aunts and an uncle in the yearbooks.  My Dad did not finish high school there because his family moved to North Lima, Ohio but I found his tenth grade class photo.  What was really fun to learn, was that one aunt was Valedictorian, my Dad was his class President and all siblings had scored as top three students in "mental ability exams."  No surprises.  We knew they were all wicked smart.  As a side note, my friend and I now teasingly call each other "cousin".  Her mom was best friends with one of my Dad's cousins.  I have to dig out the family tree.  And what is really funny, is that we are both as identically ditsy as they come.

Our Uncle Gerald, at the bottom, was faculty.  Three other siblings, my Aunt Betty, Uncle Lester and Uncle Clifford were not in these volumes.

Simple Pleasures

After hearing about the Boston Marathon bombing, and subsequently learning that an 8 year old boy was killed while waiting for his father to cross the finish line, I had to fight the sensation that I get when I am sinking into despair and sadness.  My own grandson, Jack, is 8 and I had just seen him that afternoon via Facetime out in his garage on a warm spring day, inflating his yard inflatables (yes, he is obsessed with them and has been for years) because he was supposed to be organizing and putting them away.  He had on a yellow short sleeve t-shirt and would stop his activity of blowing up a 10 foot high Brutus Buckeye, the mascot of The Ohio State University, only briefly enough for me to see the "shiner" he accidentally got when his eye collided with his friend while goofing around on the bus on the way home from school.  Those are the memories I want in my head.  Not the thoughts of a family dealing with unbearable grief over the loss of a child because of the act of some horrifically confused and disturbed individual.

I remembered that earlier in the day before I had heard of this most recent senseless tragedy,  I had taken a photo while golfing, of a little wild flower that was growing all alone near where my ball had unfortunately gone into a water hazard.  My golf game often suffers because of my lack of focus and my need to be constantly seeing what bird, or tree, or cloud formation is nearby.  This little beauty was new to me and  I was struck by the absolute perfection.  The contrast of the pale pink with the orange outlined yellow and the swirl stamen just thrilled me.  I thought of the Chinese philosophy of Yin and Yang.  The opposites that are in nature and in humans.  The good and the bad.  And I was grateful, once again, for the beauty that surrounds me, friends and family that nourish my heart and for nature for soothing my soul.