The Christmas card that never could (yeah, I totally missed the mark AGAIN this year!!)

The Kids: "Our phones don't seem to be working!!"

The Parents:  "Its a Christmas miracle!"

From All of Us: "Hope your holiday is merry and bright. We love you all very much- even if we can't communicate it daily!"

The Bells

2009

Bah Humbug!

Our community holiday tree has been up and decorated since October.


In early November I walked out of a retail store when I realized they were playing Christmas songs (and I was singing along, not even thinking about it).


Earlier in the week the kids woke up and began to play Christmas music as they got ready for school. I asked them as nice as I could to just close their door.

Driving through town last night I passed two trucks that were going super slow- annoyed, I passed and only then noticed they were hanging up the town decorations for the holidays.


Today the mailman delivered our first Christmas card of the season and I had to admit that perhaps it was time to reevaluate my stance on the matter. Its just that after pushing the "holiday spirit" out of my path for what has literally been months now, its no wonder it is so hard to finally let go and let it in. But I will try, cause I am obviously losing the battle here.


Happy Fricken Holidays Everyone! 


...Now shall we start planning for Easter?!

Kindergarten to College in two seconds flat or how to survive the day you realize your child is no longer into cartoons and crayons

On your first day of kindergarten you were assigned a green square to sit on while your teacher took roll. Your Grandmother drove over four hours to be there and capture the moments of her first grandchild on that monumental occasion. Together she and I stood in the back smiling, and wiping away tears along with all the other parents that day.

You wrote your name for the teacher, your first assignment, by first going across the page with vertical lines. It looked like a row of sticks on the page, confused I began to nervously look around and bend down to whisper the directions again thinking you had not heard correctly. Before I could say anything you went through and filled in horizontal lines, left to right, between those vertical ones and created the letters that became your name. Brilliant. My son is brilliant.

You came home and we filled in the days that turned into the years that led us to this moment of me standing in line for fresh Orange Juice and a banana so you could have brain food and I could feel like I am still a part of something you need to get through your day. Where you now stand, inched taller than I, with the face I kissed a million times as you slept, now barely recognizable through the face I see next to me.

I have my mommy moment and gasp at all the days in between that led us here. From kindergarten, to first grade and beyond. From the days of Babe and Blues Clues (with Steve!), to the weeks you insisted everyone call you “Ash” (from Pokemon). I am beside myself remembering in a flood of emotion all the moments, suddenly so fresh, that are actually years old. How can I have forgotten the crazy obsession you had with the collectable cards you carried in that three inch binder you took with you wherever you went or the “hit clips” you would listen to and sing along with swearing to me that the Backstreet Boys were “the bomb”? 

From that first day in September with the backpack bigger than you to where we now stand today, where I will leave you with your two freshly sharpened pencils and a calculator as you take your first test for college. College. My son. Brilliant.

Catalina Island, how I spent a week there one day

Whenever I can steal some time for myself I usually do it with my camera. Having kids and endlessly capturing their lives is a hard habit to break after so many years of being allowed to do so. As teenagers they want very little to do with a lens anywhere near their vicinity. Going against them is only asking for eye rolls and huge sighs that seem to stop life in its tracks.

So I have taken to animals, landscapes, shoes, anything I see and will want to maybe see again I capture on film disk. I have also begun taking some photography classes as well as joining a few local groups who also enjoy shooting up the environment and expanding their photographic knowledge. Previously I had written about a great event Canon put on at the San Diego Zoo (here) and just recently was able to participate in another Canon event “Canon Captures Catalina”. It was a weekend venue beginning pre dawn on Saturday and continuing through Sunday filled with photo ops, great workshops, and plenty of walking that would put any stair-master to shame. As usual, Canon had all of their great cameras and lenses to loan and play with throughout your fantabulous adventure. Best part for me was that my Mom mentor and lifeline joined me on this husband/kid free weekend of bliss.

Now I could write about all the things we discussed, getting caught up on all the family biz and the various aches and pains we each have been dealing with but lets just summarize with what was discussed in Catalina stays in Catalina. 

What I will say is how wonderful it is to have come full circle with my Mom. I know I didn’t make it easy growing up, and as a single Mom she did her best filling in the shoes of what should have been done by two parents. I was not an easy child by any means, my never ending quest to see just how far I could push the limits left us many times at separate ends of the house trying to get as far away from each other as possible.

But now being with her and being a Mom myself, it is so wonderful to be able to sit across from her and be her friend. I had a wonderful weekend walking, taking pictures, learning, and laughing with her by my side. 

These days the only limits I set are the endless ones I put aside for her should she ever need anything from me. Thanks again Canon for a wonderful event! Props to you as well Mom- I know I didn’t say it near enough as a kid.

                                                                         Favorite shot of the weekend

Pickles, Passings, and Pink Pastry Boxes To Go

I went to lunch with my Grandfather today.

We sat in the same dark green vinyl booth we have eaten at for years.

Munching on pickles packed in small wooden barrels placed before us, I looked across the table and found myself staring through the same thick black rimmed glasses he has always worn.

He waited for me to look over the menu, which I always did, even though I had memorized the menu years ago and had, the whole drive up (over an hours time), to think and decide on what I would be ordering.

Just as he had in the past, he pushed the Matzo Ball soup and ordered from the server two macaroon cookies to go, one regular and one dipped in chocolate. They would come sometime during the meal placed on our table next to the silverware and half empty plates, tucked securely inside the same pink pastry box they had be placed in for years. I would take these with me when I left, place them next to my seat as I drove back home and savor them and their memories the following days.

Maintaining our well worn path of traditions I stared at him and asked him about his life. Where he grew up, how he met my Grandmother, and on a few occasions stories about his son, my father, who I lost when I was five- the day he dropped me of at school and decided to never come back.

I would listen as he started slow but steady in remembering his youth, hard as his childhood was he would always smile through the stories of his struggles as it was those choices and decisions that would carry him into meeting my grandmother, his Clara. His joy.

His gaze inevitably grew distant as he talked, laughed, and even cried within his memories. I love being able to become a part of his past during these lunches. Even the moment of the stark realization that brings him back to us sitting together when only moments before he was swept away in 1950 makes me smile.

“Its always so good to see you” he always says. “Your visits bring back the love of my life although I could never truly do so, it is so very easy to forget the little things that built our lives together each and every day” and even though it is clues to my father that I long for it is always the stories of my grandparents that end up sweeping me away. These are the stories that cause him to pause more, wipe his eyes and smile.

My Grandmother passed away over twenty years ago when I was twelve. I recall my mother sitting me down and telling me of her passing, though because of my fathers choices I knew very little of his family while I was growing up. Most of my memories of my grandmother are through my grandfather eyes, long after they had actually occurred, and many before I was even born.

Grandma was Jewish, a vast difference from my Grandfathers catholic upbringing. Together, they created a life for each other, shared traditions, and grew their own lives into a family. It was his love for her why we always came to this place, her place with the Matzo Brie and Potato Pancakes. The reason why after two decades he continued to honor her by eating Kosher.

They raised three children, lived for each other and loved completely. I become witness to that over bagels and lox staring into the eyes of my Grandfathers past and I am honored for the chance to know that there was good there.

Yet todays lunch was so very different than those before it.

My heart full of their memories and my belly stuffed with too many pickles I found myself looking across the table to an empty booth and I began to cry.

“I miss you” I said.

“I know, but its okay, it’s all the way its supposed to be”

“That doesn't make it any easier”

“It will someday” he whispered- and then like he did one year ago today, he was gone.

I blinked and he was gone.

I went to lunch to honor my grandfather today. I sat in the same dark green vinyl booth we had eaten at for years.

Pismodise

PISMODISE is a combination of the words "PISMO" and "PARADISE" . A timeless phrase that describes her fun, magic, and fantastic scenery!

We have survived yet another family vacation! (... and as long as the children insist on being teenagers it will most likely be our last.)

For weeks I had prepared for the trip in anticipation of spending eight uninterrupted days with the kids camping, surfing, kayaking, and dune riding in beautiful Pismo Beach California.

In what I see now was clearly a warped fantasy of my own delusions I looked forward to cool brisk mornings with fresh coffee and bacon sizzling on the grill. Long walks on the beach as we searched for shells and perhaps the famed Pismo clams. Evenings would carry us into the night as we gathered around the fire and laughed, played games, and munched on S’mores and other goodies that seem to taste better with a bit of ash and smoke mixed in.

What I discovered however was that somewhere along the beautiful California coastline of our home and the Pismo Coast Village RV park where we were to stay the four wonderful children I had been thinking of in planning this vacation had morphed into.. brace yourself... TEENAGERS.

Ipods. Cell phones. Texting 24/7. Every single one of them had somewhere else on their mind and it took all my strength not to implode right there next to the dominoes and deck of Uno cards. Quickly I collected all electronics and explained that each day there would be three ten minute windows of time where they could check messages, text back friends, and listen to their choice of music. Thinking I had won the war I eagerly sat by the fire and prepared for what I was sure was going to be a fun night of reconnecting via the old fashioned way- no batteries, internet, or plugs required (Yeah I was THAT misguided).

What I saw when I looked up were four children huddled each in their own chair, hands in their pockets, faces drawn down and glaring beaded eyes that simply rolled each time contact was made. Nothing, I mean NOTHING could bring them back. I had played the dice, positive that it would all fall in my favor I just hadn’t planned on the united front that four teens can emit by simply sitting there and grunting one syllable responses.

We were all in bed by 9:00 pm.

In my optimistic ways I just figured it was due to the long day in the car. Tomorrow would be different, right? Ha.

The entire week was a game of tug a war between the kids and the parents, overall I would say it was a tie game in the end. I mean we may have never had the memorable night around the fire telling stories and singing camp songs (yeah, I know my imagination does go a little overboard sometimes. I blame it on my Mom and John Denver) but we did have some great moments both playing games and tackling adventures around town. As much as I bitch about teenagers I do love each and every one of them (Like eighty percent of the time).

...and its Okay Katie, we can go on another vacation next summer I was just kidding.

X-Rated Chowder Hour

Am I the only one who sees something wrong with this wall mural painted in a family restaurant that boasts a famous recipe of Clam Chowder?

Sad thing is the kids are the ones who pointed it out and insisted on taking the pictures.