Be Funny, It's Your Money

This was, according to my aunt Heidi, how my grandfather used to answer the phone.  :)  Today it has been two weeks since his funeral, and anecdotes like that one are now able to make me laugh without then crying too.  Progress!  It's been a rough month.  I still haven't completely unpacked the luggage I'd taken home for the services.  I still haven't tackled the mountain of laundry in the bedroom either.  I have gotten real mail out to family, though, and emails and texts, as well, and even found my somehow-now-thirteen-year-old nephew Dylan a birthday card with a drawing of a pickle on the front and a message inside of, "You're a big Dill!"  ♥  (Remember his first day of kindergarten!?  Sweet Baby Dyl!)  Life, then, goes on, and so do I, finding love and smiles--even in my salads--as always.  And my grandfather would approve--all the better. 

Sweet Vickie

This past weekend marked five years since a most-precious reunion.  In July 2011, Vickie of the Red Hair and Sweet Smile traveled from New York to attend my younger brother's wedding, and her visit marked the first time we had seen each other since I was a baby. 

I'd heard about sweet Vickie all my life because she is Mom's best friend from high school, and she and Aunt Laurie have long been dear friends, as well.  Vickie's husband Mark was best friends with my uncle Warren, Aunt Laurie's husband, and my aunt and uncle would eventually name their son after him.  These are bonds that began in the 1960s for them all, and I grew up hearing stories of their friendships.  Mom and Vickie used to ice skate behind Vickie's parents' house, and "Ohhhh, of course, Vickie had this gorgeous ice skating outfit," Mom would remember, laughing.  "She was just darling, a little snow bunny!  And there I was, probably in one of my dad's old sweatshirts. . . !"  Mom always loved Vickie's name too.  "Victoria!  Victoria!!  And I was just 'Chris.'  She always seemed so glamorous!"    I would look through Mom's old pictures and yearbooks and think they were all glamorous, these classic beauties with their sweet smiles and 1960s hairdos. 

"If we can't at least live near each other, we'll keep in touch by writing," Vickie had signed Mom's high school yearbook, knowing my parents were soon getting married.  And it was a promise they kept.  Mom and Vickie have been exchanging letters and cards since 1970.  One winter while I was in college, Mom mentioned to me that Vickie's mom had died, and I asked her for Vickie's address.  My friend Sommer had died the year before, and I had a newly-formed, and already permanent, soft spot for people feeling the particular hell of fresh grief.  I mailed a letter to Vickie, a card back from her soon appeared in my dorm's mailbox, and so began our own correspondence.  Until 2011, though, we all hadn't seen each other since I was a newborn, and Aunt Laurie and Vickie hadn't seen each other since sometime in the 1980s.  Summer 2011, then, what a sweet moment to see, finally, these three high school friends together. 

And I finally got to meet this kind and funny person I'd been keeping in touch with since 1996!  We all spent a wonderful afternoon together the day after the wedding too, visiting some more back at my parents' house.  So much laughter between everyone, and as Vickie, Mom, and Aunt Laurie all noted, it was as if no time had passed.  They just picked up where they'd left off in-person all those years ago.  ♥ 

A few months later, I framed my favorite photo from that weekend's visit and sent it to Vickie with a card.  Could Mom have possibly guessed as she passed her newborn daughter into her best friend's eager arms in 1977 that they, too, would become friends?  But life is sweet, and such things do happen.  And that is the Vickie story, one of promises kept and of love expanded.  

To friendship!  ♥

Together

This dear card--with its printed message inside of "Life's a journey.  'Glad we're in it together!"--will soon be sent to Aunt Laurie.  While I was finishing my last post, Mom called to tell me that my aunt was in the hospital with sepsis that had spread throughout her body, and even late that night when Mom called back to update me, Aunt Laurie's blood pressure was still only 80 over 40.  Terror.  I spent Thursday and most of yesterday dreading Mom's next phone call, choking up as I mailed another card to my sweet aunt from the post office yesterday afternoon, praying for more years and decades more with my faithful pen pal of an aunt.  

When I talked with Mom again last night, she said Aunt Laurie was doing much better and a Sunday hospital-discharge is even a possibility if she continues to improve this weekend.  Uncle Warren reported that when Aunt Laurie was at her sickest the other night, she said she could see angels standing around her hospital bed.   I don't know how close we just came to losing her, but I can imagine--all too vividly now--and it's been a few days that have felt like a hundred.  

Before she got sick, Aunt Laurie had been planning to visit in July, and I pray we can all make it happen still, although I'll likely be blubbering all over her as we hug hello.  Goodness, this life.   

My Ballet Teacher Wrote Back!

"I do remember you with your beautiful hair bouncing until your mother pulled it back."  So funny.  How in the world would she remember such a thing?!  She just retired from teaching in December after having taught dance for fifty years, she reported.  And she signed her letter, "Love, Miss Karen."  Surely, we must have called her that in class instead of just "Karen" as I had been recalling.  My mom will probably remember.  She filled an entire note-card and it is all so sweet.  Oh my goodness, I will treasure this.  ♥

For My Ballet Teacher

Winging its way across the state in today's mail are a letter and photos for my former ballet teacher.  One contact led to another a few months ago, and I finally learned the last name of the beautiful lady who taught ballet in my elementary school cafeteria thirty-four years ago.  Now that the kind and lovely Karen of my kindergarten memories had a last name and then an address, I was able to put words to paper finally and thank her for this sweet part of my childhood.  After school however-many days a week in 1982, my classmates and I would meet in the school cafeteria in our most basic workout clothes and ballet shoes and dance in a circle around ever-smiling Karen.  She is one of a number of people who graced my life as a child who was just undeniably Meant to Work with Children.  She was just so good with us--and you can see it in her face in these pictures. 

I still remember the basic ballet positions, although the classes now seem to have been at least as much a time for us all to run around the circle giggling and performing Disney soundtrack-accompanied "Mousercize" as they were an opportunity to learn to dance.  We thought we were all prima ballerinas, though, I'm sure, especially after all the lessons in long-sleeve t-shirts and sweatpants culminated that winter in our donning pink and silver satin sequinned leotards and tutus for our holiday performance at the high school.  My ballet shoes got lost in the shuffle at some point, but I still have my leotard and tutu--and they smell and feel exactly as they did when I first received them, I noticed while sorting some things at my parents' house this past fall.  There is nothing about me that will have made me memorable to Karen--she owned a dance studio in addition to offering these introductory classes in the schools, so I am just one of the hundreds of people who have enjoyed her teaching and sweetness over the years--but she and the joy of her after-school lessons have been fondly remembered by me --and by my mom, who also thought my instructor was fantastic ("Just to be able to coral all you girls, let alone teach you to dance. . . !")--all this time, so Karen will soon be receiving a thank you card and these pictures.  And I hope they find her well. 

♥

My Parents Make Me Laugh

My parents' Christmas card arrived yesterday with the above note from Mom enclosed.  My laughter turned into cackling pretty quickly at this.  This crazy month.  Since she wasn't able to drive to get out to shop on her own the first few weeks after surgery, Mom's behind with All Things Christmas this year. 

Then I got to the end of Dad's included note and laughed again.  He clearly hadn't forgotten my "demotion" in his last note. 

'Too funny all-around.  Both blessed and charmed, I am.  ♥

Thanksgiving Mail

I only mailed out a few Thanksgiving cards this year, but it was still a treat to spend even that little bit of time catching up and placing Snoopy-in-Pilgrim-hats stickers on envelopes.  

Today's Charming Thing

I called home to tease my dad after reading his and mom's latest letters (and gift of contents/treat labels for holiday baking ♥), "You signed your letter with your NAME!" I laughed, and he said, "What?!  Instead of 'Dad,' you mean?  Oh!!  I'm sorry!"  We had a good laugh that I had been downgraded--and via letter!  so cold!--and I am still smiling over it.

February

"Did you know," inquires my dad in his last letter, "that ice-chipping is much worse than snow-shoveling?  Well, it is.  75 lures later, I still have three weeks to kill before March 1st--my sanity cut-off date.  Pitchers and catchers report coming soon.  Cardinals are singing.  I'll cling to any ray of hope. "  Indeed.  I wasn't minding winter until this past week but now feel like I've gotten the gist--If I were in Boston, I'd say I've more than gotten the gist.  We got hit by our own three-feet-of-snow blizzard here in February 2010, so I empathize--and am ready to move on to spring.  This photo. . .after a mile-and-a-half walk a few days ago. 'Have been in a rotten mood all week, and it's not like me to be in one for this many days.  I blame the wind, the slippery sidewalks, everyday life nonsense in general, phantom wisdom tooth pain--they were removed thirteen years ago, but now and then, the site of one missing tooth starts aching--and lack of enough real walks.  Blehhh!  I echo Mom's postscript-drawing in Dad's letter below. 

My younger brother turns thirty-three today.  It is my father-in-law's birthday too.  And by Saturday, a small package containing chocolate-marshmallow hearts for my niece and my nephew and a copy of this sweet book will reach my niece Alyssa--of bat-and-cat-drawing fame--who turns eight this weekend.  Both my grandmothers, Mike's niece, a great-aunt, and my older brother have all had birthdays this month too, and each circled cake-and-ice-cream date on the calendar is a bright spot in this otherwise dreary month.  And thank God for that.  ♥

Thanksgiving Fudge and Frogs

The sore throat I dodged a few weeks ago has returned, so the Thanksgiving mail I'd hoped to send out this week remains a stack of blank cards and unaddressed envelopes while I laze about trying to nurse myself back to better health.  We'll see how tomorrow looks.  Tonight I'm remembering this package of maple-walnut fudge I mailed to Aunt Laurie a few Thanksgivings ago.  (I think this was the recipe I used.  The fudge was quite rich, but good.)   My sweet aunt is not really a frog-collector, or to be more accurate, she is not really a frog-collector of her own volition.  As a kid, I told my mom that since her older sister's favorite color was green, we should start her a collection of something that color, and frogs were what I came up with--!?--so for about thirty years now, long-suffering Aunt Laurie has received frog-themed nonsense from me.  ♥  In 2011, I taped this Kermit inside the turquoise pencil case I filled with the fudge, and one Thanksgiving, a magazine clipping of a photo of Kermit-as-a-Macy's-Parade-Float adorned her card's envelope.  Fudge-making likely won't be happening here this week, but I hope to mail out a Thanksgiving sticker-ed card or two--and at least one bit of mail with some smiling green silliness for my dear aunt.  

Mail for Mr. V

I am not quite on the ball with Halloween card-mailing this year, but I have a few things ready to send out.  I'll be getting just a few cards mailed today, I have a tiny box of cards and candy ready for my older niece and my nephew, and I had the book Where Is Baby's Pumpkin?  shipped to little niece Bianca a couple days ago to mark her first Halloween.  (The online book preview showed the baby peeking around an orange gingham curtain--

--and how could I have resisted?!)  Today's outgoing mail also includes a combination Halloween-thank you card for Mr. V, one of my fifth and sixth grade teachers.  He was one of my favorites and one of the best.  I've found what I'm hoping is really his address and have now offered my long-overdue thanks, which makes me happy.  

Mr. V was a sharp dresser and loved dogs and baseball--this was the era of the mid-late 1980s New York Mets and Darryl Strawberry, of whom there was a poster on one of Mr. V's classroom walls--and if I'm remembering correctly, the snazzy red car in the teachers' parking lot was his--but we students loved him because he cared about us, enjoyed us, and was simply one of the good ones.  He was the first teacher who really encouraged my art skills.  I painted or drew a picture of my Beagle in his class one day, and he not only praised it, but also took it over to a teacher who was visiting his room at the time--the equally wonderful Mr. M--and showed it off to him too.  Tradition at our elementary school was that each year, a couple of the sixth grade students were selected to illustrate the cover of the yearbook.  Instead of simply telling me in class the next day that I had been one of the two chosen student-artists, he knocked on the door of the other teacher's classroom I was in at the time--this time, dear Mr. G's--and asked if he could speak to me for a moment--He wants to talk to me?!  In the hall?!?  What did I do?!  I didn't do anything!  When I stepped into the hall, I found my best friend standing beside him, adding to the pure thrill seconds later when Mr. V announced that she and I would be the ones designing the yearbook cover.  He could have just waited to tell us in class, of course, just as he could have notified us separately, but no:  Instead he created a moment, and it was, clearly, a memorable one.  It is that kind of "small" kindness that stays with a person.  

Fifth grade was the year of our using microscopes for the first time too, and he shared our excitement as we saw insects and who-knows-what-else up-close for the very first time.  When I asked him after class one day where he bought the tiny lights for the microscopes we used in class, he answered at-length, but all I remember now is that he said that even the little Christmas tree string lights' bulbs would work.  That was the first year science ever interested me:  I asked my parents for both a cookbook and a microscope that Christmas.  There remains the feeling, almost thirty years later, that we all went through the fifth grade together:  He experienced it right along with us, as it should be.  And my gratitude is much bigger than I could ever express in a greeting card, but he'll be getting one in the mail this week anyway, and I hope it brightens his day as he brightened so many of mine.  

♥

Postscript from Dad

This succinct note from Dad appeared on the back of one of Mom's envelopes last week.  ♥  One of the benefits of not being one of my parents' local kids--my younger brother and older brother live twenty-five and fifteen minutes away from them, respectively--is that I have almost twenty years' worth of their letters.  We write to each other weekly--letters from both Mom and Dad were tucked into the envelope that arrived in yesterday's mail--and along with our letters usually exchange hometown news stories clipped from their paper, comic strips, decorating and gardening ideas from magazines, photos of my apartment projects, Mom's photos of her and Dad's gardens, paint chips, wallpaper and fabric scraps, flower seeds, occasionally a few dollars of what we call "fun money" to buy a magazine or flowers or other enjoyable "just because" thing with, and recipes we think the other will like.  It is the letters that are most precious, of course, and I've kept every one since the very first in 1995.  (I've kept all but maybe ten pieces of all the personal mail I've ever received, for that matter.)  Mom is not as sentimental as I am and rarely saves any of her mail--Alas! for my future biographers!  ;)--but I have boxes and bags full of it, and knowing that I have all these letters carefully packed away is a special joy. 

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. ~ Annie Dillard

♥

Dad and the Val-Mark Corporation

I don't think my dad has ever received a store-bought card from me.  Starting when I was a kid, I've always drawn his card--he's the only one in the family who gets these goofy things--and the tradition continued yesterday with the mailing of his 2013 Father's Day card and care package.  Each year's Father's Day and birthday cartoon reflects some current in-joke or happening between us.  This year's was a depiction of him proudly standing beside the mantel he built for me and Mike.  He is, of course, clad in a Pirates baseball t-shirt and denim cut-off shorts.  (This is what he's almost always wearing in my drawings.  It's part of the tradition.) 

Another--and more integral-part of the hand-drawn card tradition is my tagline on the back:  "Val-Mark:  ♥  When you care enough to make the very best."  I considered that pretty clever when I thought of it as a kid.  Now, it's just tradition, and tradition must be upheld!  Dad knows it will always be there on the back of all of his cards from me. 

This year's card was nestled in a shoe box between a letter and some recent photos, a couple wrapped gifts, and a bunch of edibles.  An Almond Joy or Mounds bar appears somewhere in all his birthday and holiday gifts from me.  Once when I was staying with my grandparents for a few days in the summer, the day my parents were to pick me up happened to be my dad's birthday, and my grandmother asked me as we were out shopping the day before what I'd like to get my dad for his gift.  She just smiled as I went to a checkout line to grab a candy bar, and I overheard her telling my dad the next day, "I asked Val what she wanted to get you for your birthday, and she said she always gives you one of those?"  She sounded bemused, but I wasn't embarassed as I listened-in because Dad's response was something along the lines of a kindly laughing "Well, yes, it's tradition."  ♥ 

Dad's Beagle-and-heart-covered shoe box is winging its way toward him as I type this and should reach him tomorrow.  And until his August birthday rolls around, the Val-Mark greeting card industry has again closed up shop.  ♥

This Year's Easter Cards

I wish I'd thought of this a week ago, as now the race is on to get these mailed out in time for a Saturday arrival.  I didn't see any packaged Easter cards in the stores this year that interested me, and late last night, it occured to that a simple rabbit silhouette would look sweet against these pink, yellow, and green plaid notecards I already had.  I looked at a few silhouette images online, drew an outline in pen, and then began painting.  I'm happy with (most of) them, but I wish inspiration had struck sooner.  I haven't decided on what-all I'm making for Easter dinner or dessert yet either.  'Definitely not my most-organized holiday ever, but there are still a few days for me to get it together. 

2013's Valentines

I've always thought of Valentine's Day as the highlight of post-Christmas winter.  Just when the season seems endlessly cold and bleak, Valentine's Day arrives with its cozy reds and warm pinks and its gifts of love and flowers and pretty sweets and kind words.  A little girl in my care at work last week put two and two together while we were making cards and exclaimed, "Hey!  Val!  Valentine!  VALentine!"  I told her that the fact that my name is in it was part of the reason I loved this holiday so much when I was her age. 

 I love it now for better reasons, rest assured.  Since I didn't have my first boyfriend or even date until I was 24, my love for the day was never about dolling up for a romantic dinner out or finding the perfect present for a man or any of the other things we're too often told are the point of Valentine's Day.  It is for me a whole week of finding and making cards, catching up on letters, looking up recipes, deciding what to bake and which tablecoth to use, admiring the stores' displays of flowers and sweets, and marching through snow to the post office to send my stamped and stickered greetings.  I set what remains my own record my freshman year of college by mailing 44 Valentines, but even years like this one, when payday was the day after and the holiday was a more low-key affair, simply sitting down with a cake recipe and a few cards, stickers, and stamps before me was enough. 

 I mailed out Aunt Laurie's card and then realized I'd forgotten to include a frog somehow, a Valentine's Day tradition she has graciously come to accept over the years, so I created a second little card and walked back to the post office with it so it would arrive on time.  

Aunt Laurie's own card arrived Thursday and was more of her amazing paper art.  Remember the incredible scrapbook she made for Mike's and my first anniversary last April?  Lately, she has been crafting these house cards--"Cottage Cards by Laurie," she labels them, inside a heart-shaped tag that hangs from the chimneys--with windows and doors that open to reveal images, the recipients' names, and other little surprises.  

 This Valentine's Day's sweetest surprise came from my friend Tina, who is also my friend Sommer's sister.  In a big red heart-covered envelope was not only a long letter, but also recent pictures of her and her family, a handmade fabric Valentine card, and a puffy cinamon-scented fabric heart to hang.  Tina and I have shared the most heartbreaking moments over the years, so to be exchanging happy hearts still twenty years after we met is now the sweetest gift of all--and one that likely delights Sommer.  ♥  Life is such a wild ride. 

 An exchange of cards and a small carrot cake for us here Valentine's night, leftover cake the next few days, and Valentine's Day/Week has now come and gone again.  Love to you all, and here's to a happy March.  ♥

Sunday Before Thanksgiving, From Birds to Bedtime

'Got up hours before Mike this morning.  'Walked to Target hoping to find one of the $1 "L♥VE" Christmas tree ornaments I'd seen on their website before the Black Friday shopper hoopla begins later this week and they all get snatched-up.  I found two, one for the tree and one to keep out year-round.  And two little birds to add to my flock that flutters against our red gingham curtains.  At our old apartment, we had a view of both the backyard and side yard and could watch Cardinals, Robins, and Chickadees (←my favorites) flit around for the seed we would scatter for them, but our new apartment has no real yard and sees no birds, so for now, it's an ever-growing collection of curtain birds.  'Picked out some Thanksgiving cards and Snoopy-themed Thanksgiving stickers to mail out tomorrow.  'Found four plates and two books at Goodwill.  Have I mentioned that I actually hate shopping?  I try to do as much online as possible.  After today, I am aiming for one more Target trip for Christmas gifts and hoping I can finish the rest online.  I usually succeed at this.  'Definitely a "Far from the Maddening Crowd" person.  

'Annoyed Stuffed by taking his picture while he sat on his window perch, but his posture was so cute and the trees in the neighbor's yard so glowing, I couldn't resist.  He spent last week determined to rub his nose against every corner in the apartment and is now black and white with a gray-until-all-his-fur-grows-back nose, but he is as adorable as ever.  While I was at work one night last week, he played fetch with one of his cat toys with Mike, trotting down the hall with the toy in his mouth and then returning to the living room with it.  I always tell Mike that if Stuffed didn't have claws, I'd be tempted to walk around holding him like a toy all day long, he's just so soft and cuddly and so purely CUTE, my favorite stuffed animal come-to-life.  'Love, love, love this shy little soul.  ♥

'Got my Thanksgiving cards ready to mail. Last month, I pressed a bunch of colorful leaves into the pages of a book to include in future letters, and they're now preserved in Thanksgiving mail with transparent tape over them.  I only remembered at the last minute today to buy Thanksgiving cards, so to end up even this on-top-of-things tonight is a pleasant surprise.  I volunteered to work Thanksgiving again this year so I can have Christmas off instead, so it just really hasn't been on my mind.  Mike will be spending Thursday with his family, and he and I will have a Thanksgiving dinner together sometime next week, I suppose.   

'Went out to supper with Mike and had two of the best iced teas I've had since Summer of Sun Tea (and Humidity) 2012.    Everyone in our section of booths at the restaurant tonight was so appreciative of the server and so pleasant toward her and with each other, it made our simple meal out even better.  The last time we went out to eat, everyone in our section was treated to an elderly woman in the booth beside ours who squawked at the harried server--who was a good ten yards away from her at the time--"What happened to the sour cream I was supposed to get THIRTY MINUTES AGO?????"  Grrrrrrrr.  The server handled it like a champ and later joked about it with us, but rudeness like that just makes my blood boil.  It is soooooo much nicer when people are just pleasant to each other.  "You know, we're living in a SOCIETY!" as George shouted on "Seinfeld."  Mike and I did enjoy barking variations of the elderly woman's line at each other for awhile after returning home tonight, though.  "What happened to the [drink/snack/napkin] you were supposed to bring me THIRTY MINUTES AGOOOOOOO?!!??"

'Admired my umpteen layers of clothing while I waited for Mike to get a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts for the walk home after supper.  I love this weather.  The stars were out as we walked, and it was just breezy enough to feel brisk and not so cold that it hurt our throats to breathe.  The houses were not yet decked-out in holiday lights as they'll start to be later this week.  For the last Sunday this year, their only glow came from interior lights and nearby street lamps.  A few pumpkins still sat on porch steps.  We only shared the sidewalks with a few people who were walking their dogs, which reminded us, at it always does, of the time we were walking some of the same streets only to find a tiny dog that had broken free of its fenced-in yard, and while we waited for the owners to meet us at the street we'd called to tell them we were on, I sat on the sidewalk holding the little dog and it rested his head on my thigh as if settling onto its pillow for the night.  So dear.  The puppy's name was "Coco," the owners told us when they arrived to take him home soon after that, so now every time Mike and I walk in that area, we recount the Coco story to each other and laugh about how, even though he was lost and had never seen us before, Coco had promptly snuggled his teacup-size head onto my lap.  ♥  

'Talked with Mom and Dad tonight and emailed a couple friends.  And now Mike has gone to bed and I am up late, as always, with my books and more iced tea beside me before I join him.  The blue floral skirt here is part of the desk re-do I've been working on, a story for another day.