May 21, 2013
May 14, 2013
Success: A Poem
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Found online, posted in honor of Moms everywhere
May 12, 2013
There are no words today.
Happy Mother’s Day to all.
May 12, 2013
Throughout life, we meet many people, and make many friends. But we only get one first, best friend. And if you’re lucky, that person is your mom.
I was that lucky.
If we shared one thing in common, she and I, it was a love of words. At the age of 12, as I lay in my hospital bed recovering from surgery, Mom slept by my bedside every night. By day, she and I would play word games, and do her beloved New York Times crossword puzzles together. She taught me all the tricks to cracking even the trickiest clues, and happily watched as I learned to arrive at the answers I’m sure she already knew.
As I grew older, I got better at solving even the more difficult puzzles. I remember now how we’d commiserate — the beginning of the week was always easy, but come the weekend, the clues were tougher and sometimes, even impossible to solve. Just a few short weeks ago, this time as I sat by her hospital bed, I began to do what’s normally a pretty tough Friday puzzle, which I’d brought to pass the time. I filled in a few squares, then some more, until eventually (to my utter shock) I’d finished the whole thing.
We were the only two in the room, and as she slept I leaned close and whispered in her ear.
“You brought me luck.”
I didn’t mean just that day.
I meant always.
~ With love and gratitude, to my good luck charm, now and forever. ~
May 6, 2013
Growing up, I wondered about my family’s origins, as so many of us do. As the youngest in a big Italian family, most of whom have “Roman profiles”, I studied my face in the mirror a lot, as a child. I had my father’s nose — that much was clear. But I was always proud to say I had my mother’s eyes.
True, mom’s eyes were pretty to look at. But it was the way they saw the world that made them truly beautiful.
My mother had, and used to tell me I also had, something she called ‘the artist’s eye’. Whether setting the perfect holiday table, or wrapping gifts in her own unique way, or planning parties in her beautifully manicured backyard, she saw and brought out the beauty in everything. And if it wasn’t there, she created it.
Mom also had one of the most adventurous spirits I know. We’d be out doing errands together on a typical day, and she’d suddenly say, “Let’s take a drive.” More often than not, it was to the beach. We might not take the most direct route, and now and again we’d make wrong turns and get a little lost. But we always found our way. We’d get out of the car, look at the water, take in the smell of the sea air for a while, then get back in the car and go home.
As my mother’s daughter, if I take one piece of inspiration from Mom’s wanderlust and sense of adventure, it is this: It is not the destination, but the journey that matters. And hers was spectacular. While much shorter than any of us would have liked, her life’s journey was filled with love. It was meaningful. It was memorable.
Thank you for everything, my beautiful Mom. I love you always.