It is only natural when one year is ending and another beginning, to look back and reflect. The air if full of talk about what we did, how we did it, and how we will change in the new year. In thinking of this yearly ritual, I wonder why we only assess our lives yearly. That being said, I still look back at 2011 with all it’s ups and downs and think, what does 2012 have in store for me and mine.
Reflect: Lessons I learned in 2011
1. Kindness can come from where you least expect it.
2. That which does not kill you, truly does make you stronger.
3. I can no longer party like a rock star.
4. Laughter until you cry or pee your pants is awesome.
5. Honestly actually feels good and does not change the way someone who truly loves you feels.
6. Unconditional love....period.
7. Parents are cool and I want them around all the time.
8. Live life one moment at a time, otherwise it is too overwhelming.
9. Live music feeds the soul.
10. The love I feel for my family, friends, and Husband is more than I could ever imagine.
2011 was an interesting year. Overall, I am so thankful for the life I have and all the people, experiences, and opportunities that I have been given. So, for 2012, I do not want to make a typical resolution.
Renew: What to look forward to in 2012
1. Simply live ever moment to the fullest.
2. Look forward not back.
3. Say “yes” more often.
These three simple themes will be my mantra for 2012: Live, Love, and Laugh.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
I've gone missing
Lately, I have been reflecting on the person I was 15 years ago. I constantly dream of that time and seem to romanticize it a bit. Have I lost my former self? And if so, can I get it back?
My life, me, in Arizona, was free. Or, at least I thought I was free. The only responsibilities I had were to go to college and go to work. And both those things were completely negotiable if there was a party, a Dead show, or hell if I had a hangnail. In Flagstaff, I felt home, at least for a while. My biggest worries were will I make enough in tips to go to the Monte Vista and drink? When I left Flagstaff, I was fed up. I knew that if I stayed there, I would become a barfly at best. Now when I look back on that time, I see it differently. I was spontaneous. I didn't think of the consequences, I just did it. But now I often think, was I a poser?
My life now seems in total conflict of who I was or at least who I thought I was. I work for a large bank. I have a 401K. I am going to be a Mom. And crap, I even pay my bills on time. I find myself sucking up, kissing ass, etc....and all I want to do is shower it off! Who am I? Where did the "cool" me go?
After much thought, I realized that the former me is not lost. I may work for "the man" but I do it for a good cause. I still enjoy a great live show, but I just stay out of the mosh pit now. I still live in the ghetto. Now I just do it by choice.
I also realized that that time, that place doesn't exist anywhere anymore except in my head and the head's of the other people who where there. I did not appreciate it while I was there and in it. But, it was special. It was magic. I am a firm believer that you are right where you are supposed to be at all times. So, I may not be willing to camp out for a Dead show for 3 days in the desert anymore, but it is not because the former me is lost. It is because the current me knows that Jerry isn't going to show.
My life, me, in Arizona, was free. Or, at least I thought I was free. The only responsibilities I had were to go to college and go to work. And both those things were completely negotiable if there was a party, a Dead show, or hell if I had a hangnail. In Flagstaff, I felt home, at least for a while. My biggest worries were will I make enough in tips to go to the Monte Vista and drink? When I left Flagstaff, I was fed up. I knew that if I stayed there, I would become a barfly at best. Now when I look back on that time, I see it differently. I was spontaneous. I didn't think of the consequences, I just did it. But now I often think, was I a poser?
My life now seems in total conflict of who I was or at least who I thought I was. I work for a large bank. I have a 401K. I am going to be a Mom. And crap, I even pay my bills on time. I find myself sucking up, kissing ass, etc....and all I want to do is shower it off! Who am I? Where did the "cool" me go?
After much thought, I realized that the former me is not lost. I may work for "the man" but I do it for a good cause. I still enjoy a great live show, but I just stay out of the mosh pit now. I still live in the ghetto. Now I just do it by choice.
I also realized that that time, that place doesn't exist anywhere anymore except in my head and the head's of the other people who where there. I did not appreciate it while I was there and in it. But, it was special. It was magic. I am a firm believer that you are right where you are supposed to be at all times. So, I may not be willing to camp out for a Dead show for 3 days in the desert anymore, but it is not because the former me is lost. It is because the current me knows that Jerry isn't going to show.
Phoenix
Phoenix
People have asked to get some preview of the book I am working on. So, here it is. Obviously, names have been change to protect people's privacy. I hope you will read with an open mind and heart.
Thanks
By 1990, I was dying slowly, intentionally, literally. Phoenix was hot. Don't let people tell you "it's a dry heat". No matter how dry 126 degrees is, it's above all else unbearably hot and miserable. Phoenix was an Eagles album cover. It was wavy with heat on the horizon of palm trees, stucco buildings, and strip malls. There wasn't any grass except for golf courses. I was tired of driving, sitting, and listening to the sound of the road.
I was scheduled to attend Glendale Community College and major in Finance. But why, I have no idea. But, I think mainly, I was searching for someone to save me from myself. I wouldn't find that someone in Phoenix, but I did find Isaac. He was as messed up as me, and FUN. He loved to drink. The night I met Isaac, I was drunk and high from hunger. He thought I was beautiful and I hated myself. We were a perfect match.
Glendale Community College and Doc Oz, my abnormal psychology professor, ultimately saved my life. I had an odd schedule of classes: Finance, Accounting, 2D Design, Spanish, and Abnormal Psychology. I signed up for abnormal psych as an elective. The first day of class I was hazy, hung over, and drinking a big gulp…breakfast. Doc Oz came into the classroom of approximately 40 students, me being the oldest at 24, and told us to each share something about ourselves that was abnormal. I was terrified. I can't share. I can't speak in front of people. Hell, I can't speak out loud when I am by myself! People judge me. I judge me. I can't. I can't. I can't. But, I had to. And, it was okay. I talked about the time when I was only 16 and my boyfriend, friends, and I broke into a bowling alley that was being built and started a bonfire. I told my story and he moved on to the next person. She had a crystal meth habit in high school. It was uneventful. I didn't die.
The semester progressed, not effortlessly, but surprisingly okay. I participated. I was involved. I was fascinated. Crazy made me feel sane, and at home. It made my world make sense. I went to school from 7 a.m. to 12 noon. I took a nap ant then went to work from 3 p.m. to midnight. I would get home at 12:30 a.m. and Isaac would be waiting for me…drunk. I would have some wine to wind down and go to sleep with Isaac. It was simple. It was sad. But, it was mine. And, I felt as loved as I could. And then, I passed out for the first time.
Our abnormal psych class took a field trip to the state mental hospital. It was very exciting, at least to me it was. It was hot as usual, and the bus trip seemed long, but of course I had my big gulp. We were herded in like cattle through the areas that we were allowed to see. For the most part, everything was very sterile and somewhat "cleaned up" for us. But, then we went to the children's ward. There wasn't anything grotesque or shocking, but ther was a sense of hopelessness. The room seemed not as tall as normal. It was small. I tried to separate myself from the group and hug the back cinderblock wall. There was a display of brochures next to me that I tried to focus on…abuse, attention deficit disorder, bulimia;…I started to slide down the wall. I felt paper and metal. Then, I saw Doc Oz's face. "Are you okay? Do you want to go outside?" he said. I must have said yes. It's unclear to me now. But, Doc Oz and I went outside on the steps of the children's ward at the State Mental Hospital in Phoenix. "Are you pregnant?" he asked me. And all I could think was….am I that fat? "No, no, I'm not pregnant. I probably just drank too much last night." That excuse seemed to appease him. We resumed the tour. I succeeded in covering up my secret. So, I must be okay. Right? I am. I am okay. Isaac hasn't noticed. And Lola and Henry are oblivious. They are in love.
Lola wants me to love Isaac. And by love Isaac, I mean be "in love" with Isaac. Henry is an alcoholic and so is Isaac. We could commiserate together. I can't love him. Not really. I can only spend every night with him, and hold him, but I don't have love to give to anyone. I just can't. I have another lover. But, my apparent lack of love is causing tension with everyone. It's unbearable. I have acquired a tic. It's odd. I chop carrots. I buy carrots in bulk from Mega Foods on 67th avenue and chop carrot sticks whenever I am home. I clogged the disposal with the peelings. Lola thinks I am crazy. I am sure of it. But, for some reason, the repetition of the chopping motion seems to calm me. I wrote my final paper on obsessive compulsive disorder.
Our final project for Doc Oz's class was to pick a disorder that we identify with and write a paper on it. I picked OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't pick the disorder that is eating me from within because I still think I have hidden it so cleverly. I can hide my pain from the real world with OCD and carrot sticks. If I can chop enough carrot sticks to clog the disposal, I can mask the real pain. I got an A.
Isaac….he calls to tell me to dress up and he will pick me up for our final date. He doesn't say "final date", but it is. I am moving. Moving on. I am moving to Flagstaff, Arizona. Phoenix is too hot and I think Lola and Henry know my secret. Of course they know. But, I am going to move to Flagstaff with my friend Duncan. But, tonight, I will be with Isaac. We went to the Hyatt revolving restaurant in downtown Phoenix. I don't remember what we ate, but I do know what I felt. I felt special. More special than I have ever felt in my life. He was a drunk, but he had passion. It pierced my soul. I got lost when I went to the bathroom because the restaurant rotates around while the center stands still. Isaac found me.
Isaac got a room in the Hyatt for us to stay the night. The view was beautiful and we had champagne. He gave me roses and told me he loved me before he passed out. I wonder to this day, if he remembers.
People have asked to get some preview of the book I am working on. So, here it is. Obviously, names have been change to protect people's privacy. I hope you will read with an open mind and heart.
Thanks
By 1990, I was dying slowly, intentionally, literally. Phoenix was hot. Don't let people tell you "it's a dry heat". No matter how dry 126 degrees is, it's above all else unbearably hot and miserable. Phoenix was an Eagles album cover. It was wavy with heat on the horizon of palm trees, stucco buildings, and strip malls. There wasn't any grass except for golf courses. I was tired of driving, sitting, and listening to the sound of the road.
I was scheduled to attend Glendale Community College and major in Finance. But why, I have no idea. But, I think mainly, I was searching for someone to save me from myself. I wouldn't find that someone in Phoenix, but I did find Isaac. He was as messed up as me, and FUN. He loved to drink. The night I met Isaac, I was drunk and high from hunger. He thought I was beautiful and I hated myself. We were a perfect match.
Glendale Community College and Doc Oz, my abnormal psychology professor, ultimately saved my life. I had an odd schedule of classes: Finance, Accounting, 2D Design, Spanish, and Abnormal Psychology. I signed up for abnormal psych as an elective. The first day of class I was hazy, hung over, and drinking a big gulp…breakfast. Doc Oz came into the classroom of approximately 40 students, me being the oldest at 24, and told us to each share something about ourselves that was abnormal. I was terrified. I can't share. I can't speak in front of people. Hell, I can't speak out loud when I am by myself! People judge me. I judge me. I can't. I can't. I can't. But, I had to. And, it was okay. I talked about the time when I was only 16 and my boyfriend, friends, and I broke into a bowling alley that was being built and started a bonfire. I told my story and he moved on to the next person. She had a crystal meth habit in high school. It was uneventful. I didn't die.
The semester progressed, not effortlessly, but surprisingly okay. I participated. I was involved. I was fascinated. Crazy made me feel sane, and at home. It made my world make sense. I went to school from 7 a.m. to 12 noon. I took a nap ant then went to work from 3 p.m. to midnight. I would get home at 12:30 a.m. and Isaac would be waiting for me…drunk. I would have some wine to wind down and go to sleep with Isaac. It was simple. It was sad. But, it was mine. And, I felt as loved as I could. And then, I passed out for the first time.
Our abnormal psych class took a field trip to the state mental hospital. It was very exciting, at least to me it was. It was hot as usual, and the bus trip seemed long, but of course I had my big gulp. We were herded in like cattle through the areas that we were allowed to see. For the most part, everything was very sterile and somewhat "cleaned up" for us. But, then we went to the children's ward. There wasn't anything grotesque or shocking, but ther was a sense of hopelessness. The room seemed not as tall as normal. It was small. I tried to separate myself from the group and hug the back cinderblock wall. There was a display of brochures next to me that I tried to focus on…abuse, attention deficit disorder, bulimia;…I started to slide down the wall. I felt paper and metal. Then, I saw Doc Oz's face. "Are you okay? Do you want to go outside?" he said. I must have said yes. It's unclear to me now. But, Doc Oz and I went outside on the steps of the children's ward at the State Mental Hospital in Phoenix. "Are you pregnant?" he asked me. And all I could think was….am I that fat? "No, no, I'm not pregnant. I probably just drank too much last night." That excuse seemed to appease him. We resumed the tour. I succeeded in covering up my secret. So, I must be okay. Right? I am. I am okay. Isaac hasn't noticed. And Lola and Henry are oblivious. They are in love.
Lola wants me to love Isaac. And by love Isaac, I mean be "in love" with Isaac. Henry is an alcoholic and so is Isaac. We could commiserate together. I can't love him. Not really. I can only spend every night with him, and hold him, but I don't have love to give to anyone. I just can't. I have another lover. But, my apparent lack of love is causing tension with everyone. It's unbearable. I have acquired a tic. It's odd. I chop carrots. I buy carrots in bulk from Mega Foods on 67th avenue and chop carrot sticks whenever I am home. I clogged the disposal with the peelings. Lola thinks I am crazy. I am sure of it. But, for some reason, the repetition of the chopping motion seems to calm me. I wrote my final paper on obsessive compulsive disorder.
Our final project for Doc Oz's class was to pick a disorder that we identify with and write a paper on it. I picked OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I don't pick the disorder that is eating me from within because I still think I have hidden it so cleverly. I can hide my pain from the real world with OCD and carrot sticks. If I can chop enough carrot sticks to clog the disposal, I can mask the real pain. I got an A.
Isaac….he calls to tell me to dress up and he will pick me up for our final date. He doesn't say "final date", but it is. I am moving. Moving on. I am moving to Flagstaff, Arizona. Phoenix is too hot and I think Lola and Henry know my secret. Of course they know. But, I am going to move to Flagstaff with my friend Duncan. But, tonight, I will be with Isaac. We went to the Hyatt revolving restaurant in downtown Phoenix. I don't remember what we ate, but I do know what I felt. I felt special. More special than I have ever felt in my life. He was a drunk, but he had passion. It pierced my soul. I got lost when I went to the bathroom because the restaurant rotates around while the center stands still. Isaac found me.
Isaac got a room in the Hyatt for us to stay the night. The view was beautiful and we had champagne. He gave me roses and told me he loved me before he passed out. I wonder to this day, if he remembers.
Write Love
On January 16, 2010, I felt hopeless. It was the MLK holiday. I had the day off because when you work for a bank, you have every holiday. One of those perks you get when you work for "the man". I was miserable inside, but was getting by....barely. That night I sat on the couch and drank. I drank wine. I drank cheap, red , rot gut, box wine. And I kept drinking because too much was never enough. And like many other nights, the wine was not enough to numb the ache and dread I felt inside. I made a decision that at the time seemed to be a way to escape and finally feel relief.
When I woke up, thank God I woke up, I was somewhere I did not recognize. I was confused and beyond groggy. Paul was with me. I had to answer a series of the same questions. I had to turn in my jewelry and clothes. In return I was given scrubs and socks. I was escorted to a dark room where a stranger was already asleep. I took the other bed which had a blue plastic mat, much like a kindergarten nap mat, and a plastic coated pillow. I fell asleep. I am not sure how much time passed.
When I woke up again, I was scared. I did not understand where I was...but I knew I did not want to be there. My roommate did not want me there either. She yelled at me when I woke up, "You snore! Do you know you snore?" I did not answer her. I knew I snored but was in no mood to deal with someone.....anyone. I wanted out of this place. I wanted out immediately. I was scared and thought I did not belong in this place with people that seemed quite frankly on the edge. This was NOT Celebrity Rehab. But, I was there on a mandatory 72 hour stay. I could not leave. I could not check myself out. I was forced to deal with myself sober.
To Be Continued
When I woke up, thank God I woke up, I was somewhere I did not recognize. I was confused and beyond groggy. Paul was with me. I had to answer a series of the same questions. I had to turn in my jewelry and clothes. In return I was given scrubs and socks. I was escorted to a dark room where a stranger was already asleep. I took the other bed which had a blue plastic mat, much like a kindergarten nap mat, and a plastic coated pillow. I fell asleep. I am not sure how much time passed.
When I woke up again, I was scared. I did not understand where I was...but I knew I did not want to be there. My roommate did not want me there either. She yelled at me when I woke up, "You snore! Do you know you snore?" I did not answer her. I knew I snored but was in no mood to deal with someone.....anyone. I wanted out of this place. I wanted out immediately. I was scared and thought I did not belong in this place with people that seemed quite frankly on the edge. This was NOT Celebrity Rehab. But, I was there on a mandatory 72 hour stay. I could not leave. I could not check myself out. I was forced to deal with myself sober.
To Be Continued
Friday, September 16, 2011
I would rather wear myself out with a smile
Lately, I have been crying a lot. Not always a bad thing. It is a release. It is sometimes unexpected. It is an expression of love. While riding around in the car, I was listening to Edwin McCain and the song “Let it Slide” came on....one my favorites. And the lyric ‘I would rather wear myself out with a smile’ struck me. Mainly because, the crying has been exhausting me....even more so than why I am crying. Crying has actually made my eyes burn, made me so sleepy I feel like I could fall over, and even given me the feeling of broken ribs. Frankly, given me the feeling of being ‘Broken’.
So, when I heard the Edwin McCain lyric I thought, when was the last time I wore myself out with a smile, had a gut wrenching laugh, acted like an 8 year old, or smiled in secret. A few times came to mind....
Gut wrenching laugh almost anytime the word KAK is used- It originated while Sandra and I were visiting Kris in England. It came about because of a hacking noise I made while drinking port.....KAK. But, somehow, the word morphed into something beyond us. We used it in place of everything. It became it’s on language. It became total laughter, loyalty, and love.
I often act like an 8 year old - I do this by singing. Not just singing songs, although I do sing songs that I make up, but I also just sing what I am doing. Or sing to the dogs how much I love them. Sing to my Husband....and sing the only line I know to one song constantly.....”Oh Sheila”.
I smile in secret quite often - I smile when I watch my Husband listen to music on his headphones. I can see his love, his passion, his soul. I don’t need to hear the music to know that whatever it is it touches him deeply....and that makes me happy.
So, enough of the exhaustion of crying, let’s all laugh until we pee our pants!
So, when I heard the Edwin McCain lyric I thought, when was the last time I wore myself out with a smile, had a gut wrenching laugh, acted like an 8 year old, or smiled in secret. A few times came to mind....
Gut wrenching laugh almost anytime the word KAK is used- It originated while Sandra and I were visiting Kris in England. It came about because of a hacking noise I made while drinking port.....KAK. But, somehow, the word morphed into something beyond us. We used it in place of everything. It became it’s on language. It became total laughter, loyalty, and love.
I often act like an 8 year old - I do this by singing. Not just singing songs, although I do sing songs that I make up, but I also just sing what I am doing. Or sing to the dogs how much I love them. Sing to my Husband....and sing the only line I know to one song constantly.....”Oh Sheila”.
I smile in secret quite often - I smile when I watch my Husband listen to music on his headphones. I can see his love, his passion, his soul. I don’t need to hear the music to know that whatever it is it touches him deeply....and that makes me happy.
So, enough of the exhaustion of crying, let’s all laugh until we pee our pants!
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Old Things are New Again
In looking through an old journal/sketchbook tonight, I found a short story that I wrote about 10 years ago. Thought I would post it. It is rough, but for some reason, it still makes me smile. I hope you enjoy it!
"A Charmed Life"
The reading of Great Aunt Fontana’s will took 25 minutes. I did not know her, although I was her namesake. My mother had always wanted to name a daughter Fontana, at least that is what my Uncle Lowell told me. Both of my parents were killed in a car crash on the way to the hospital to have me. I was the sole survivor of the crash . My Uncle, on my father’s side, and his wife took on the responsibility of raising me and followed my mother’s wishes to name me Fontana.
Until May 2, 1997, when Reggie Fox Attorney at Law called me, I assumed there was no family left on my Mother’s side. No one had ever tried to contact me. When I found out it was my namesake who had passed on, my mind begin to reel with thoughts of a great fortune, estate, etc...but mostly questions. Reggie Fox told me that Great Aunt Fontana had been hospitalized in Boston since October 10, 1966 and had not spoken a word since that day. I knew this date well. It was the day my parents died. It was also my birthday.
Reggie talked on to explain, “She communicated only through notes. Yesterday, May 1, she requested a piece of legal size paper and a slice of red velvet cake. She was found later that evening. Her will was written on the legal paper with the empty cake plate on top."
The anticipation was killing me as I heard the words, “and to my beloved great niece and namesake, I leave my charm bracelet and journal:. I maintained a calm exterior but the voices in my head were screaming, “did I really sit in this sweltering office to come home with a state fair trinket and some senile, cat loving, old woman’s ramblings!”
Once home, I flung my “bounty” carelessly across the coffee table and retreated to the pantry to find a trusty bottle of Merlot to console myself. The heat of the wine felt good and took the edge off my appalling lack of family and inheritance. I had hoped to come back with some clue of were I came from, or at the very least some monetary gain. With the second glass of wine poured, I begin to feel guilty about my selfishness.
The sun was just beginning to set as I flopped down on my couch to inspect the bracelet and peruse the journal. The bracelet had and elegant deep purple velvet pouch with a gold drawstring rope. Surely, this case had more value than it’s contents. I dumped the bracelet onto my lap and fanned out the charms. There were a total of five: a silver baby shoe with my mother’s birthday 5-1-45, a sliver of blue-green sea glass, a silver diploma, a paintbrush and palate, and a silver heart shaped locket. The bracelet had not been polished and the charms were worn. I placed it back in it’s pouch and turned a lamp on to read the journal.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1945
My sister Sophie had a healthy baby girl today named Cassie. She has red peach fuzz hair and the greenest eyes I have ever seen. When Sophie drifted off to sleep, I stole away from the hospital and bought a silver baby shoe charm. I am going to have the date engraved too. Sophie will love it. It will be hard for her to raise a little girl on her own, but Cassie is an angel. They are going to stay with me until Sophie can get on her feet. My little house by the ocean will be cramped for a while, but well worth it.
I bought 2 slices of red velvet cake.
Journal Entry
January 5, 1946
Cassie took her first steps on her own today! Sophie was not here to see it because she was waitressing at the “Crab House”. I work during the day and take care of Cassie at night. She i a delight. I wish we could have a hundred just like her.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1946
Today was Cassie’s first birthday, but Sophie did not come to her party. I found a note from her when I came home from work. The velvet pouch containing the charm bracelet was beside the letter. She left Cassie and me. She said “ the pressure is too much for me....Fontana, you know ho to love and take care of Cassie better than I ever could... Don’t try to find me.” So, now I am a Mother. I will make sure Cassie grows up knowing her real mother and how much she really did love her. I will tell her stories of our childhood. She will know who she is and where she came from. All girls need to know their Mothers.
We had a red velvet birthday cake.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1950
Today was Cassie’s fifth birthday. We spent the day on the beach. It was the perfect mix of warm wind and salt. I cannot believe it has been so long since I picked up my journal. Raising Cassie has been both a joy and a heartache. She yearns for her Mother, although she has no memory of her. The Sophie she knows is from pictures and stories of the past. Shortly after Sophie deserted us, I received notice of her death. She was found in a small motel outside of Yarmouth. She was in a blood drenched bathtub with a picture of Cassie and me in her hand. I arranged to have her cremated and spread her ashes off the tops of the dunes in Chatham. She always had dreams of flying. I wanted all her dreams to come true.
Cassie found a piece of sea glass and gave it to me. She called it “hard ocean water.” We had red velvet cake and grape juice in wine glasses.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1963
Today Cassie not only turned eighteen, but she became the first woman in our family to graduate high school. When Sophie and I dropped out to help our mother make ends meet, I swore that if I ever had a daughter, she would have the opportunities I did not. I could not be more proud of my dear Cassie. She is so charming, shy, and talented. She inherited her Mother’s stubbornness. She loses herself in her paintings. I find her every afternoon with her easel set up on the shore. Some days the wind is so strong I think she will blow away. But, she plants herself firmly and will not be moved. She will need that stubborn strength and determination to embark on the rest of her life. I cannot believe my little carrot top has a diploma.
We had red velvet cake and champagne.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1964
Cassie left for Italy to study Art. I am filled with so many emotions both sad and joyous. I do not know how to live without her. She assured me that she would only be gone a year. I know this will be an experience that will change her life forever. She is braver than I could ever hope to be.
We had red velvet cake, Chianti, and tears.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1965
Cassie came back just as she promised. She was not alone. Cassie brought a young man back with her. He is an American, from New York, that was traveling through Europe. He saw Cassie late one afternoon painting. He described a scene that was as familiar to me as my own face. I had witnessed the same scene every day throughout Cassie’s young life. I know the love he feels for her because I have felt that love since the day she was born. It was easy for me to tell that he would be good to my Cassie. He had seen her soul and embraced it.
We had red velvet cake and cappuccinos.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1966
I have been frantically working on Cassie’s wedding dress. She and Patrick will be married next month on June 1. Their happiness makes me happy and content. Content that I have raised a strong woman who has found her soul mate. The will have a tough road ahead of the. The baby will be here before the end of the year.
The wedding dress glided onto Cassie’s slightly rounded belly, then fell around her ankles. It was just loose enough to accommodate the pounds between now and the wedding. She looked like an angel. I saved a swatch of the silk to put in a heart shaped locket.
We had red velvet cake, milk, and laughter.
That was Great Aunt Fontana’s last journal entry, but as I turned the page I got a wonderful surprise. There were photographs mounted and captioned for each birthday of my Mother’s life. The tears begin to well up in my eyes as I turned the pages and read; 1st Birthday, 2nd Birthday, 3rd Birthday, ....to 21st Birthday. The picture of my Mother on her 21st and last birthday sent me into wailing cries mixed with boisterous laughter. She was in her wedding dress. Her long red curly hair was wild, her belly was slightly rounded with me, and she had a huge piece of red velvet cake in her hand. I could almost hear the merging sound of Great Aunt Fontana’s and Cassie’s, mom’s, laughter!
As I slowly regained my composure, I put the charm bracelet around my wrist. I opened the heart shaped locket to find a yellowed piece of silk. I felt a clam. The calm was knowing my Mother, my history, and my Great Aunt Fontana. Great Aunt Fontana had give me a priceless inheritance. I had a sense of belonging and love as I had never experienced before. I also had an overwhelming craving for red velvet cake.
The reading of Great Aunt Fontana’s will took 25 minutes. I did not know her, although I was her namesake. My mother had always wanted to name a daughter Fontana, at least that is what my Uncle Lowell told me. Both of my parents were killed in a car crash on the way to the hospital to have me. I was the sole survivor of the crash . My Uncle, on my father’s side, and his wife took on the responsibility of raising me and followed my mother’s wishes to name me Fontana.
Until May 2, 1997, when Reggie Fox Attorney at Law called me, I assumed there was no family left on my Mother’s side. No one had ever tried to contact me. When I found out it was my namesake who had passed on, my mind begin to reel with thoughts of a great fortune, estate, etc...but mostly questions. Reggie Fox told me that Great Aunt Fontana had been hospitalized in Boston since October 10, 1966 and had not spoken a word since that day. I knew this date well. It was the day my parents died. It was also my birthday.
Reggie talked on to explain, “She communicated only through notes. Yesterday, May 1, she requested a piece of legal size paper and a slice of red velvet cake. She was found later that evening. Her will was written on the legal paper with the empty cake plate on top."
The anticipation was killing me as I heard the words, “and to my beloved great niece and namesake, I leave my charm bracelet and journal:. I maintained a calm exterior but the voices in my head were screaming, “did I really sit in this sweltering office to come home with a state fair trinket and some senile, cat loving, old woman’s ramblings!”
Once home, I flung my “bounty” carelessly across the coffee table and retreated to the pantry to find a trusty bottle of Merlot to console myself. The heat of the wine felt good and took the edge off my appalling lack of family and inheritance. I had hoped to come back with some clue of were I came from, or at the very least some monetary gain. With the second glass of wine poured, I begin to feel guilty about my selfishness.
The sun was just beginning to set as I flopped down on my couch to inspect the bracelet and peruse the journal. The bracelet had and elegant deep purple velvet pouch with a gold drawstring rope. Surely, this case had more value than it’s contents. I dumped the bracelet onto my lap and fanned out the charms. There were a total of five: a silver baby shoe with my mother’s birthday 5-1-45, a sliver of blue-green sea glass, a silver diploma, a paintbrush and palate, and a silver heart shaped locket. The bracelet had not been polished and the charms were worn. I placed it back in it’s pouch and turned a lamp on to read the journal.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1945
My sister Sophie had a healthy baby girl today named Cassie. She has red peach fuzz hair and the greenest eyes I have ever seen. When Sophie drifted off to sleep, I stole away from the hospital and bought a silver baby shoe charm. I am going to have the date engraved too. Sophie will love it. It will be hard for her to raise a little girl on her own, but Cassie is an angel. They are going to stay with me until Sophie can get on her feet. My little house by the ocean will be cramped for a while, but well worth it.
I bought 2 slices of red velvet cake.
Journal Entry
January 5, 1946
Cassie took her first steps on her own today! Sophie was not here to see it because she was waitressing at the “Crab House”. I work during the day and take care of Cassie at night. She i a delight. I wish we could have a hundred just like her.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1946
Today was Cassie’s first birthday, but Sophie did not come to her party. I found a note from her when I came home from work. The velvet pouch containing the charm bracelet was beside the letter. She left Cassie and me. She said “ the pressure is too much for me....Fontana, you know ho to love and take care of Cassie better than I ever could... Don’t try to find me.” So, now I am a Mother. I will make sure Cassie grows up knowing her real mother and how much she really did love her. I will tell her stories of our childhood. She will know who she is and where she came from. All girls need to know their Mothers.
We had a red velvet birthday cake.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1950
Today was Cassie’s fifth birthday. We spent the day on the beach. It was the perfect mix of warm wind and salt. I cannot believe it has been so long since I picked up my journal. Raising Cassie has been both a joy and a heartache. She yearns for her Mother, although she has no memory of her. The Sophie she knows is from pictures and stories of the past. Shortly after Sophie deserted us, I received notice of her death. She was found in a small motel outside of Yarmouth. She was in a blood drenched bathtub with a picture of Cassie and me in her hand. I arranged to have her cremated and spread her ashes off the tops of the dunes in Chatham. She always had dreams of flying. I wanted all her dreams to come true.
Cassie found a piece of sea glass and gave it to me. She called it “hard ocean water.” We had red velvet cake and grape juice in wine glasses.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1963
Today Cassie not only turned eighteen, but she became the first woman in our family to graduate high school. When Sophie and I dropped out to help our mother make ends meet, I swore that if I ever had a daughter, she would have the opportunities I did not. I could not be more proud of my dear Cassie. She is so charming, shy, and talented. She inherited her Mother’s stubbornness. She loses herself in her paintings. I find her every afternoon with her easel set up on the shore. Some days the wind is so strong I think she will blow away. But, she plants herself firmly and will not be moved. She will need that stubborn strength and determination to embark on the rest of her life. I cannot believe my little carrot top has a diploma.
We had red velvet cake and champagne.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1964
Cassie left for Italy to study Art. I am filled with so many emotions both sad and joyous. I do not know how to live without her. She assured me that she would only be gone a year. I know this will be an experience that will change her life forever. She is braver than I could ever hope to be.
We had red velvet cake, Chianti, and tears.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1965
Cassie came back just as she promised. She was not alone. Cassie brought a young man back with her. He is an American, from New York, that was traveling through Europe. He saw Cassie late one afternoon painting. He described a scene that was as familiar to me as my own face. I had witnessed the same scene every day throughout Cassie’s young life. I know the love he feels for her because I have felt that love since the day she was born. It was easy for me to tell that he would be good to my Cassie. He had seen her soul and embraced it.
We had red velvet cake and cappuccinos.
Journal Entry
May 1, 1966
I have been frantically working on Cassie’s wedding dress. She and Patrick will be married next month on June 1. Their happiness makes me happy and content. Content that I have raised a strong woman who has found her soul mate. The will have a tough road ahead of the. The baby will be here before the end of the year.
The wedding dress glided onto Cassie’s slightly rounded belly, then fell around her ankles. It was just loose enough to accommodate the pounds between now and the wedding. She looked like an angel. I saved a swatch of the silk to put in a heart shaped locket.
We had red velvet cake, milk, and laughter.
That was Great Aunt Fontana’s last journal entry, but as I turned the page I got a wonderful surprise. There were photographs mounted and captioned for each birthday of my Mother’s life. The tears begin to well up in my eyes as I turned the pages and read; 1st Birthday, 2nd Birthday, 3rd Birthday, ....to 21st Birthday. The picture of my Mother on her 21st and last birthday sent me into wailing cries mixed with boisterous laughter. She was in her wedding dress. Her long red curly hair was wild, her belly was slightly rounded with me, and she had a huge piece of red velvet cake in her hand. I could almost hear the merging sound of Great Aunt Fontana’s and Cassie’s, mom’s, laughter!
As I slowly regained my composure, I put the charm bracelet around my wrist. I opened the heart shaped locket to find a yellowed piece of silk. I felt a clam. The calm was knowing my Mother, my history, and my Great Aunt Fontana. Great Aunt Fontana had give me a priceless inheritance. I had a sense of belonging and love as I had never experienced before. I also had an overwhelming craving for red velvet cake.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
It Is Finished!
About a month ago, I embarked on a new project to recover an old office chair. It was very comfortable, but sadly very '70s. And it was not a fun and trendy '70s type. It was an ugly, green vinyl, brass studded type.
The first step in this project was to remove all the studs. Seems simple right? Well, not as easy as it looks. You need this special tool that looks kind of like a forked screw driver. (I do not know the technical name for it, but if you ask someone at Home Depot, they can find it for you.) You wedge the tool under the stu
d or upholstery tack, wiggle it, and pry it out of the wood. This particular chair had studs, tacks, and glue.....a real gem! Be sure to save whatever the old covering is, because you will use this to make your pattern. So, about 568 studs later, this is what I had.The next step was to add some extra batting. I wanted this chair to be extra cushy and luxurious. I picked the cheapest batting, but there a lot of choices these days. They even have batting that is made from recycled bottle and tires. I bought all my batting, material, and trim from Mary Jo's in Gastonia. If you have never been to Mary Jo's, plan to make a day of it. They have absolutely EVERYTHING!
I picked a beautiful Steele Grey Damask and a Steele Grey and Black trim. I opted to NOT utilize the decorative studs because they are just too labor intensive. I utilized the green vinyl to cut my pattern out of the damask. This is a picture at half way through:
If you have all your supplies, this is an easy weekend project. I did mine in phases and for only limited amounts of time, so a month had passed once it was complete. This is the final product. A gorgeous addition to my study.
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