Friday, April 26, 2024

It has been 2 years since I've last posted so when I came across my blog serendipitously this morning I felt like I wanted to write a post.  As I am feeling a bit contemplative this morning the subject matter will vary. 

Reconnecting with my blog forced me to realize, once again, that time waits for no one. In October I turned the ripe old age of 70.  Artie and I are approaching 50 years of marriage in a few weeks, and to celebrate we are heading to Europe soon to do a Danube River cruise, something we had to
postpone 5 years ago when the water levels were too low on the river. Our children are in their 40s which is so hard to conceive, and our grandchildren, now ages 15, almost 19, and almost 20, are turning into wonderful humans. Our beloved Standard Poodles are aging as well.  Beau is 10 and Feuers is 12.

All I can think of is what a blessed person I am. Despite my struggles with depression and anxiety, I have the greatest life. I wake up to the most beautiful skies, even on cloudy days. I live in a place filled with God-given beauty all around us, and I never take advantage of or ignore how lucky I am.  I have people around me who genuinely care about my well-being and have been my strength on those days when things aren't the best.  I have found all sorts of love since our move to tiny little Marquette. I have rekindled my love of painting and photography and living in this beautiful part of the country has contributed to that.

When we moved here I had my reservations about moving into a village of 155 people but promised myself I would try to make a good and fulfilling life here.  Enter the great friends we met at Pub 'N Prime, the former Supper Club we frequented and miss so much.  Suddenly meeting people was so easy, so fluid, and so fulfilling.  As the wife of the Village President, I knew I would meet new friends and I did.  Next, I found the Princeton Women's Club and suddenly I was part of a group of 20+ women who strived to help others.  I recently was elected to a third term as club Secretary and couldn't be happier.  Then came the Marquette Historical Society where both Artie and I became members and eventually Directors on the board.  Joining a group of people who share our love of history, the Historical Society has become an important part of our lives.

Being a permanent resident for almost 6 years has opened my eyes to so many things, mainly my value to others. I have had some eye-opening experiences when "old" friends have seemingly forgotten me and moved on, so to speak, but in this journey, I discovered who my "PERSONS" are.  What a gift to find that out.  I have learned that people can become instant good friends and it feels great to live within their circles.  I would be foolish to omit saying I miss "home" a lot - especially not seeing my kids and grandkids but technology has kept us connected and we try to see one another at least once a month.  Those visits are NEVER long enough, but the million photos I take are there to remind me how much I love them all. 

Living in a place where restaurants are closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, shops that open and close when the owners feel the need, having to travel 45 minutes to get to stores and restaurants is our new normal and we are used to it.  Living here has tested my patience and enhanced it at the same time.  

When I was a teacher our goal was to create lifelong learners.  I hope I created many.  I am now that lifelong learner and while it has sometimes been difficult, when I pause to reflect, I am learning every day,

Until next time,

Renee

Living the WI Life 4/26/2022

 Living the WI Life 4/46/2022

I'm BACK!  I stumbled upon my old blog purely by a serendipitous "accident".  A friend posted on Facebook about Googling herself and found a wonderful photo memory of her mom and her that was published in a local newspaper.  So, being the curious one I am, I Googled myself.  Low and behold my blog showed up!  I have not done an entry for many years and I suddenly realized how much I missed it and how cathartic it was for me to write it.  I love writing and this was always a wonderful outlet for me and my many musings about life.  I thought about what I might write and decided it was very appropriate to write about my life in WI.

Back in 2013 Artie, my sis-in-law Sue, brother-in-law Vince and I came to Green Lake to spend a weekend at Miller's Daughter Bed and Breakfast.  The B & B was so charming, as were the owners.  When living in Janesville for a short stint of 15 months we discovered Green Lake and the Heidel House and loved the area.  We began dreaming about a second home - and that was all it was - a dream.  Little did we know how one weekend can change the course of your life down the road.  

We did a lot of shopping and ended up in Princeton (which turned out to be prophetic for Sue and Vince).  We entered a lovely shop called "Johnny Crow's", a very eclectic vintage wares store. Sue, knowing how much I love vintage homes (our home in Janesville was a Painted Lady Victorian home, restored lovingly by the previous owners)came rushing up to me with a flyer and said, "I found your home!"  I looked at it and saw it was a real estate listing for our current home.  I showed it to Artie and we both agreed we wanted to see it if possible before we returned home.  We called the realtor (the Biermans) and we were able to get a showing.  Much like my reaction to entering the Janesville home, my heart skipped a beat.  It was charming and we both fell in love, not only with the home but its proximity to Lake Puckaway and the size of the property.

We did not take any action on putting a bid in, choosing instead to mull it over.  After two weeks of thinking about the house and not being able to get it out of our minds, we called for a second showing.  We drove up and made our decision to place a bid.  In typical WI fashion, we did not hear back for several days. Not being used to this style of real estate negotiations.  After some back and forth phone calls, we settled on a deal and our dream was in its infancy.

Because we were in IL we drove up for the closing, which was on September 11, 2013 - Artie's birthday.  We brought Guinness along and he even came with us to the closing.  The bank employees were enamored with him, bringing him treats and coming in to pet him. We had rented a truck that contained as much as we could put in it, including our mattress, and our WI adventure began in earnest.

Much about our lives changed from that day on, mostly good, but peppered with some sadness as well.  We lost Guinness at age 14, my mom passed away, and I had a couple surgeries, as did Artie.  But in general, we were blessed with more happiness than sadness, a lot of it due to our little white house in the tiny Village of Marquette.  Beau came into our lives in 2013 and became my world. Because Artie could work remotely we could spend a few weeks at the house at a time.  A lot of renovations took place and we reveled in the many changes that made the house our own while maintaining its valued integrity, something we both felt passionately about.  We added a second amazing Standard Poodle when we rehomed our sweet and crazy Feuers. 

We also discovered we shared our home with a special "resident". Strange goings-on kept occurring with no practical reasons for their happening.  Clock arms sticking straight out, clocks on the floor when we would come up, items moved, and more.  Because we were students of the history of the original owners and those who followed, we decided our "roommate" was Georgia, a previous owner.  Having nothing other than a photo that showed a devilish smile and twinkle in her eye, we accredited the harmless shenanigans to her.  Georgia has had her fun with us, but thankfully has never appeared nor has done anything harmful.  We decided to simply co-exist and are still dealing with her playfulness to this day.  While an owner of this home she would come from Oregon to spend summers in it.  She LOVED the house and she was responsible for the screened porch that was added (and has since been removed during one of our renovations).  Georgia didn't want to leave her home and we can see why.

Our focus and the "outsiders from IL" was to assimilate with the village residents and what a joy that became.  We met so many awesome people and with several, we became instant friends - hanging out at the old Pub 'N Prime supper club, which has since closed.  Pete and Laura's fabulous restaurant became our weekend place to go (sometimes two evenings on the weekend). Pub 'N Prime is responsible for most of our friendships and we are eternally grateful.  Through our visits to the supper club, we joined the Marquette Historical Society (where we are now trustees/directors) as well as becoming active in the village in general.  Artie was asked to fill the position of Village President which was being vacated.  He accepted and filled the remainder of Pete's term.  Recently he was re-elected by ballot.  Artie has given his all to our village and spends hours weekly trying to write grants to help our little community.  He serves on many local county committees as well.

In September of 2013, we became permanent residents of the Village of Marquette. It was my husband's dream to retire here and we made it happen.  Not gonna lie.  While we love our WI friends it was a gut-wrenching move for me. Artie flourished in his new environment.  Leaving our children and grandchildren, our many friends, and our "old lives" was much harder for me.  Because I am a creative junkie our area provides so many artistic experiences for me that it eased my transition and allowed me to accept we would now be a 2.5 hour drive back to IL.  There are more days that fill my soul with happiness and the beauty that is WI, than days when my heart aches for "home".  My Nikon gets a workout and my studio hums with the vibes of creativity coursing through my veins when the painting urge strikes.  Thank you, Grandpa Rossi and Mom for your creative DNA that made its way into mine. It has been a lifesaver for me.

I am not quite a "Cheesehead" by any means, will NEVER not be a Chicago Bears and Chicago Cubs fan, but I have embraced what it means to be a Wisconsinite.  People are "MIDWEST FRIENDLY" for sure.  Can't wait to see what our future holds.  ON WISCONSIN.

 

Saying Goodbye to My Mom 2/2018

Saying Goodbye to My Mom - Lores Louise Lillia Rossi Guagenti

Two months ago my life was changed forever.  My mom passed away after a short battle with pneumonia, dehydration, and congestive heart failure.  She had been visiting my brother and sister in law in Arizona and it was her third week of being there.  She was having such a good time visiting and soaking up the warmth of the AZ sun.  And then life changed on a dime.  She became dehydrated - she was never much of a drinker and didn't realize she should drink more in arid areas.  She ended up in the hospital.  The call came from my brother that my sister and I should get on a plane as soon as possible because things were looking grim.  Cheryl and I couldn't have expected what we saw when we walked into the hospital.  Mom, usually able to battle back from everything, lying helplessly in the hospital bed.  She slept a lot those few days we were there, but we relished the moments she would awaken and be lucid for a bit.  We took those moments to tell her repeatedly how we felt about her, the love we had for her, and thanked her for all she had done for us.  The nurses told us that as people near death they are still able to hear, so we made sure we kept things light and included her in our conversations, each of us secretly praying she actually COULD hear our words.  She entered hospice on the third day my sister and I were there.  Several times we thought we were losing her, but she kept returning to us, refusing to give up - this was the woman we knew and loved.  This was the woman we were certain would fight this and be coming home again.  But reality told us she was slowly leaving us.  There were tears, of course, but we kept reminding her that Dad was waiting for her on the other side, as were her parents and loving friends.  We could tell she was torn.  She didn't want to leave us, but she did want to be reunited with her loved ones, especially my Dad.  It was hard to watch her struggle with the battle between life and letting go.  When her body finally made the decision, she relaxed in repose, with the most peaceful look on her face.  My Dad had come for her and after all the years of missing him, she was back in his arms for sure.

We celebrated her life rather than holding wakes where so much sadness seemed to prevail.  We kept it to our family only, knowing this would be what she would've wanted.  All/most of us together around her.  Words of love and admiration were shared.  Yes, we cried, but we laughed too.  We knew we wanted to keep it light and speak of the good times rather than dwell on our sadness.  She would never have wanted us to be standing around crying!

My mom was quite a character.  An immigrant child who arrived in the US at age 8 at a very volatile time.  The Depression was in full swing, she had to learn English and basically be the adult in her family.  My grandfather, a carpenter, worked long, hard days.  My grandmother was a quiet, shy, scaredy cat.  My Mom assumed the role of the leader of the house in some respects.  She assimilated well and never expected a thing from anyone.  Her core of friends were the same.  They had such beautiful and loyal friendships that lasted until death.

My mother was a woman WAY ahead of her time.  A woman who never gave up, who fought for what she believed in, had a heart so full that sometimes I thought it would burst.  She never felt she had to depend on a man for anything.  She enjoyed life.  She enjoyed watching others enjoy life.  She felt pain when others were hurting and tried to help whenever she could.  She gave more than she could ever receive during her lifetime.  She tried to instill her strength upon us when we were feeling inadequate or incapable.  She gave us a good "kick in the butt" when we needed one.  The infamous "Italian Slipper" appeared a few times in our youth.

It is hard to lose a parent.  It was terrible when my Dad passed, but he suffered and we were glad he was at peace.  It was very hard on my Mom and she never got over the loneliness and void he left when he went to Heaven.  She really wanted to join him and lamented often about why she was "still here".  As loved ones and friends passed in the years following my Dad's death, she still wondered why she was still around.  We would tell her how lucky she was to be living such a full, relatively healthy life at her advanced age.  Not many people get to age 97 without being in a wheelchair, using a walker, having joints replaced, needing oxygen, etc.  My Mom had none of that.  Sure, she slowed down, particularly in the last 6 months of her life.  We noticed she slept more, said she felt "lousy" a lot.  As our family Matriarch she was a role model for us all.  She was proud to be her age and would tell strangers how old she was just so they could marvel along with us all.  

Each day brings a range of emotions for me.  I cry at odd times and smile at other times.  The hardest of times is the evening when I would call her every day.  When she was younger I would pick her brain about recipes, advice, helpful hints, child raising, and more.  As she got older the conversations were shorter and repetitive - "So what's new?" was her go to each night.  I miss those calls more than I ever would have dreamed I would.  I am angry with myself that I didn't tell her more of the mundaneness many of my days held.  She would have enjoyed hearing it. I know for the rest of my life I will harbor guilt at what I could have done better as her daughter.  I think that is part of being on the other side of death.  It helps me to know that my Mom loved me unconditionally.  How lucky I was to have that love.  

Two things have struck me since her passing - I will never hear her voice again, and no one ever told me how to live without her.

Rest with the angels, Mom.  I love and miss you more than you will ever know.

Worrying Empties Your Soul

Italian women worry.  It's what we do.  I have spent most of my life worrying.  I come from a long line of worriers, particularly my maternal grandmother and my mother.  The two of them worried enough for all of humankind.  I am the classic worry wart.  When I was a child I spent countless hours worrying about something.    I worried about death and dying.  I fretted about what was at the end of the universe.  My head spun at every noise I couldn't identify.  Test anxiety was my middle name. I was such a worrier that my third grade teacher, Miss Sperling, called my parents in to discuss it.  SHE was worried about my worrying!  Just knowing she and my parents cared about me seemed to take me out of the tailspin I was in at the time.  I have always been a thinker.  My mind never rests.  I think about everything and anything.  I think about thinking!

Let me give you some history of this worrying gene I possess.  My grandmother was the Prima Donna of Apprehension.  She came to this country from Italy and for many years suffered because she didn't speak the language and was quite shy.  Her struggles with becoming assimilated into the country seemed to make her ever more a worrier.  She came from Bologna, Italy, which is actually a rather large city.  But nothing was like Chicago at the time she arrived in the late 1920s.  Wild, crime ridden, fast-paced, busy...and all of this undeniably threw my grandma into culture shock of the highest proportions. Thrust into unfamiliarity, the challenges seemed to cripple her.  My mother, who came to America at age 8, had to grow up too quickly.  She took on the responsibility of learning English and teaching it to her parents.  There was no bilingual instruction back then, and the demands of learning the new language were overwhelming.  My mother became the "responsible adult" and was given the tasks of helping translate, shop, pay bills, etc.  I am certain this is where her worry gene blossomed and thrived.  It hasn't stopped yet.  I grew up in a "What if..." environment.  "What if someone approaches you when you are walking to school?"  "What if you get lost?"  "What if you get in an accident?"  What if, what if, what if!  In my teens I grew frustrated with my mother and her "what ifs".  I vowed never to be that way when I had my own kids...yeah, I failed miserably.  Hello.  I am Renee Cybul and I am a "What Ifer".  It just goes along with the worry gene.

Becoming a mother sealed the deal for worrying.  I worried through my pregnancies.  I worried when the kids were being born.  I worried when they cried.  I haven't stopped worrying since the day I conceived my children.  Oh, this is a whole new level of worry.  If you are a parent you can totally relate to this worry.  I know this will be with me until I am no longer of this earth.  The worry transfers to your grandchildren.  Now not only do you worry about your children, but you worry about THEIR children.  It never ends.

I often think about my life (of course I do - I'm a worry wart) and how blessed I am.  But...in the back of this mind of mine I worry that it can all change on a dime.  Do you follow this pattern?  It is all-consuming.  I must admit that I anticipate the worst case scenario always and then am relieved when it turns out better than expected.  I know some of you that are reading this are shaking your head in agreement because you have this very same malady.  There is no cure for it.  There is no support group for it.  There is no magic pill that takes it all away.

In defense of worry, I know it has helped me in many ways.  It has kept me from doing some crazy stuff (you know, the REAL crazy stuff - not the typical crazy stuff that all humans do as they are growing up).  I know that worrying has had a huge role in my decision making - from childhood, through adolescence, the teen years, college years, to young married, to mother, to grandmother.  I will not say it was always the best of choices.  But at least I gave things a second thought.

Currently trending on the top of my What to Worry About List are the following (not in order of importance - just random):
1.  Will my hands continue to get as gnarled up as my dad's were?
2.  Will I gain back the weight I have worked so hard to lose?
3.  Will Beau recover from this jaw issue?
4.  Will Artie and I have enough $$$$ to live on when he retires??  BIG WORRY!
5.  Will my son ever find true love and get married?  Have kids?
6.  Will my daughter and son in law's luck ever improve?
7.  Will my wonderful grandchildren grow to be responsible, sensitive, loving people?
There are many more, but I will just worry about coming up with them.
Yes, worrying empties your soul.  I try to fill it back up with the joy, appreciation, and love that fills my life.

The Other Side of Grief

It has been a little over a week since Guinness crossed the Rainbow Bridge into Heaven.  To say it's been one of the worst weeks of my life is a vast and valid understatement.  My heart has not hurt like this since losing my father 10 years ago and my dear friend Judy nearly one and a half years ago.  But this hurt is a different kind of hurt.

If you've never loved an animal you probably cannot at all relate to this type of hurt.  Loving an animal encompasses all that is right and good in this world.  It is to love a creature whose mere purpose in life is to love you, unconditionally, every minute of every day.  It is to be greeted with a wagging tail and kisses when you are at your best as well as at your worst.  It is to have a willing witness to all of your joys and grief.  It is to love a creature that makes you a better person because you are entrusted with its care.  Guinness was more than "just a dog".  I know everyone thinks their dog is the greatest, smartest, cutest, etc. and that is because of the mutual love between pets and their owners.

Losing a pet is a shallow earthly pit of loneliness.  For me it is having to realize I no longer need to look where I am walking so as not to step on this loyal pet - or to put the foot part of the recliner down so as not to smash him.  It is to learn to pick up pieces of chopped food I accidentally tossed on the floor because Guinness isn't there to snatch it up.  It is learning to go to bed without doing the last time outside, or waking up to the first one in the morning.  It is about going to bed without carrying him and enjoying the kisses on the way.  It is about not having to be careful not to kick him off the bed when I am tossing and turning over some new worry I have.  It is about coming home and not calling out his name, or retrieving him from the closet, his favorite hideout.  It is not having to feed him in the morning, a task I never knew I'd miss so much.

While we quickly removed things that we knew would bring us endless sadness - his bowls, his bed, his blankets, his toys - I couldn't bring myself to wash one blanket that still kept his smell on it.  When I want to feel him near me I pick it up for a quick reminder of how much I loved him, as if I ever will need a reminder.  I have yet been able to begin work on a scrapbook of his life and how much happiness it gave us.  My days have been spent trying valiantly, and not successfully, to make it through one day without crying.  Family members and friends have been so supportive, especially those who have been privileged enough to own a pet and been witness and willing participants in unconditional love.  Some don't know what to say but a hug speaks volumes, even if it is a virtual one.   Some send messages, cards, "like" something I post on Facebook, and some have called.  I thank all of these people from the bottom of my heart.  In some way you have helped me in this journey called grief.

I write his not to elicit sympathy or empathy.  I write it to heal myself.  I write it to immortalize my love for one special little dog I had the privilege of being caretaker to.  I write it to help others who haven't had a pet to love.  I write to share with them the sheer joy of pet ownership and the sheer pain felt when the pet they love has taken its last breath.  I never want anyone to minimize the loss of a pet, and to know how much it hurts.  I also do not want to minimize a human being's passage, but this is a different loss.  People communicate their pain, while animals cannot.  They entrust us to be there for them, to help them when they are sick or dying.  This is what pet owners sign up for when they bring their pet to their "forever home".  It is a commitment of love and trust, both by the human and the animal.  It is a bond between two souls, a loyalty that some humans cannot even bring forward.

What sustains me now and gives me reason to wake up and face each day is the hope that soon I will get to the other side of this grief - the side that allows me to smile when I think of Guinness.  The side that encourages me to talk about his adorableness, his incredible personality, his human qualities, his ability to make non dog lovers actually like a dog, his tolerance of what a "helicopter mom" I was to him.  Guinness left this earth knowing he was loved. I know this.  How could he not?  Yes, we  pampered, coddled, spoiled, and entitled him.  But his love did the same for us.  Get me to that other side of grief sooner than later, Lord.  I want to be able to celebrate Guinness' life, not grieve for his passing.  I know he is taking over Heaven right now.  He is yapping, he can hear again, he is no longer suffering, and he has made his way to my Dad's lap on the softest recliner in Heaven.  Rest well, sweet little dog - my "Beeza", my Guin Guin, my Guinnie Poo, and all the other crazy names we bestowed upon you over your 14 wonderful years of loving us.

The Saddest Goodbye - January 22, 2014

Nearly fourteen years to the day, our house became a home with the addition of one tiny Yorkshire Terrier puppy.  For weeks we had driven past a sign on Route 59 advertising the sale of Yorkies.  I begged and pleaded with Artie, but he kept saying no.  One day, whining again as we drove past the sign, he gave in.  He told me to call.  We visited the home on 59 and walked in to see a tiny, very shy but adorable little ball of fluff.  He hid under the table, but I scooped him up and from that moment on I was in love.  We took him home and deliberated what to call him.  Wanting to come up with a proper British name, "Guinness" came to me.  Artie liked it, and so it was.  It didn't matter much to me when I learned a few weeks later that "Guinness" is an IRISH beer, but by then the name stuck and we loved it.

Having had two very large adopted greyhounds prior to this little ball of fluff, we fell instantly in love with this frisky, big eyed, Teddy bear nosed little powerhouse of a dog.  Part of my begging ritual to Artie when I was trying so hard to get this dog, was that I wanted a "Purse Puppy".  Guinness was never really that dog.  He wasn't content to be a froo froo.  He was rough and tumble and thought he was much larger than he was.  He was playful, funny, bossy, completely uncooperative with housebreaking, and we loved it all.  Guinness took over the house, but mostly took over our hearts.  We often said that our house and our bed were indeed Guinness' and that he let US live in them.

Over time Guinness continued to bring us joy in the simplest things - getting a toy when he wanted to play, barking at his bowls when he wanted food or water, curling up in our laps when he wanted to be cuddled, expecting his afternoon snack on time and vocalizing to remind me when it wasn't.  And oh, there were those days when he barked incessantly, sometimes for no reason known to us.  And the way he snarled when someone stepped on him.  Guinness always amazed us with how he could be in a room full of people and stay out of harm's way.   We loved it all.

In May of 2013, following routine blood tests, it was discovered that his kidney values were abnormal, indicating early onset kidney disease.  At that time the vet asked us to monitor it.  We tried special food, but Guinness would have no part of it.  We continued to keep an eye on him and nothing was changing or getting worse.  He seemed to be drinking more water and having trouble controlling his urges to urinate.  We attributed it to advanced aging and thought little of it.  Recent blood tests indicated his values had elevated a bit, but were still OK.

On December 3, 2013 Guinness turned 14.  We celebrated yet in some ways we dreaded that birthday because it meant he was closer to leaving us, just based on average longevity of dogs.  When his birthday came he seemed very healthy, except for some hearing loss and a little less energy, and we heaved a sigh of relief and joy.  Unfortunately within a couple weeks that all changed when he somehow injured his ACL and developed a pronounced limp.  Guinness had arthritis and we usually picked him up and put him down when he was on the couch.  Apparently he jumped off in our absence and hurt himself.  Surgery became an option but we decided to wait it out.  Small dogs often heal from this type of injury and he eventually seemed better.  Around Christmas time our little angel began having gastrointestinal issues and we began a series of vet visits.  He was given many meds but didn't seem to improve.  Our vet suggested he be hospitalized because he wasn't eating or drinking.  Guinness spent three days in the hospital, getting IV fluids and meds.  The vet at the hospital told us Guinness' kidneys were filled with cysts, and those cysts would eventually shut down his kidneys.  There was no way to know how long it would take, but we knew we wanted to bring him home so he could be comfortable and in less stress.

When he was finally cleared to come home, he was a shade of the vibrant little dog he was.  Artie and I decided to continue with IV fluids at home, and injected him twice daily.  Each day he seemed better.  Yesterday he was almost his normal self and we spent a great day together.  I kept him at my side on the couch, took him with me when I left the room, and just enjoyed being with him.  That all changed this morning, when he seemed to deteriorate.  We called the vet and they said to get him in immediately.  In our hearts we knew we had to make a decision.  In the car on the way there we decided it was time to put an end to our sweet baby's discomfort.  Friends told me that if we loved him we had to let him go.  Guinness left us peacefully on his little bed in the vet's office, with Artie and I both holding him and telling him how much we loved him and what a wonderful dog he was.

If you have ever loved an animal you know what a void is left in your heart when you say goodbye.  I have never loved an animal like I've loved Guinness.  There will never be a dog like him again.  He was loved by many and I just know he's taking over Heaven right now.  I am hoping he found his way to my Dad so they can cuddle together for eternity.  Someday I will see him again to get more of those daily kisses I know I will miss so much.

Goodbye sweet Guinness.  You loved so unconditionally and so completely and we hope you know we loved you with all our hearts.

Time Passages

A friend's blog posting today made me realize I haven't blogged for a very, very long time.  According to this blog site my last post was in September.  How is that possible?  How did 6 months go by without my even posting any of the many things I ponder on a daily basis?  I am a heavy duty thinker by nature, and my thoughts have turned to Spring.  Spring always makes me more reflective than usual (and that says a lot about its power of renewal and the hopes/promises of what lies ahead). My reflections have turned to passages in time.

Time passages...

In my last post I spoke of the passing of my very dear friend, Judy Winer, who left us in September.  Not one day has passed without at least one thought of her.  I have had to stop myself so many times from shooting her an email to tell her something I thought she'd like to hear.  Each and every day when I am ready to send an email to someone in my "J" or "W" lists, her email address pops up.  Sometimes I pause to smile and sometimes tears well up in my eyes for her.  When I am rational I am thankful to have had Judy in my life.  When I am emotional I am sad to have lost her so soon.  Whenever I hear a Josh Groban song, or look at this crazy plastic squirrel we used to pass back and forth through the years, I miss a breath because I miss her.  How is it possible that she is gone?

Time passages...

A recent trip to the dentist for a cracked tooth (which turned out to be my only remaining wisdom tooth) made me realize it's been over two years since I've had a dental checkup!   When our dentist in Wheaton retired, I had to find a new one in closer proximity.  I had been driving back to Wheaton for my semi-annual check ups and cleanings for 4 years - about an hour ride each way.  With the cost of gas and the increasing amount of traffic,  I decided it just wasn't prudent to continue with the new "replacement" dentist at that practice.  Last Friday I realized it's been two years!  How on Earth is that possible?

Time passages...

Last week friends were taking about some pension issues that involved turning 60.  Smugly I thought, "Well, I don't have to worry about that for a while!"  Then the dark cloud of reality hovered and I realized I will be 60 in seven months!  How is that possible?  Wasn't I just 55 and retiring?  What?  It will be four years in June since that happened?  Aniella asked me yesterday how old I was and I told her I was 59.  She has asked this before, yet she always looks so shocked when I tell her.  With her look of shock and awe I suddenly felt like an old lady...you know the kind with the white bun, ortho shoes, those ugly saggy nylons that hang around the ankles, wearing some ugly polyester floral frock.  OK, my hair IS white, but hidden by monthly trips to the hair salon.  I might have a pair or two of shoes that are sort of orthopedic in nature, my socks do sometimes sag around my ankles, but I do not OWN any polyester floral frocks because my hormones would go crazy and make me sweat even more!  Crisis averted for now.

Time passages...

Up until this horrid realization that I am approaching my 6th decade, I was fine with this whole aging thing.  I have been a very smug 59-year old indeed.  Oh, age is just a number I often told myself.  You are only as old as you feel, right?  For some reason all of this has changed.  YIKES!  I'M GOING TO BE 60!  I loved my 50s.  I think women in their 50s are at the greatest point in their lives.  All of the positioning we do in our 30s is behind us.  The 40s finds many of us in that "empty nest" stage of life, which is difficult at first and so wonderful at the same time.  And then come the 50s.  Even though my body reminded me of my aging - two knee replacement surgeries on the same knee, wrinkles that look more like canyons instead of "smile lines", aches and pains in places I didn't know existed, etc. -  I felt large and in charge at last.  Comfortable in my own (sagging) skin for the first time in my life.  Happy to let petty things roll off my back.  SO happy to be retired and able to feed my creative soul whenever I wanted to.  Happy to speak up when I would normally keep silent.  Very empowering those 50s are!  Sure, there are still some of those ugly little insecurities we all suffer at times, but for the most part we are women!  Hear us roar!  Well, guess what?  My roar has turned into a pitiful meow!

Time passages...

My ever-growing grandchildren are a constant reminder of how quickly time passes.  At this writing Landon will be turning 9 in a few short months, Aniella will be 7, and Brennan just celebrated his 4th birthday.  How is that possible?  I was there to watch each of them born.  Wasn't that just a short while ago?  My own children are in their 30s.  How is that possible?  I remember celebrating those "firsts" with both of them.  Starting school, being teenagers (and oh, was I blessed that they were such good ones),  seeing them graduate high school, attending their college graduations, and Lindsay's wedding.  Watching Danny build his career.   One of my children has her own children.  You blink and they are grown.  Every now and then I reflect back to my very first year of teaching.  I was 20 years old.  My students were only 10 years younger than I was!  Those very students are now approaching their 5th decade, if they haven't already.   How is that possible?

Time passages...

Our beloved Guinness is 13 years old.  How is that possible?  I remember the very day Artie finally consented to letting me get my "purse puppy" in March of 2000.  We'd driven by the sign on the road so many times and each time I whined about how I needed to have a Yorkie.  Artie and I are both glad my whining paid off.  I remember so vividly making the phone call to see if any pups were left, and going right to the breeder.  I recall, like it was yesterday, seeing that adorable little fluff ball who hid under the table when we walked in.  That little fluff ball has given us so much love and we have loved him in return.  I watch him struggle at times to jump on the couch, or limp after he's been laying a while.  Breaks my heart.  Those of you who know me well know that I cannot even allow myself to think about the day he is no longer with us.  You might have seen my eyes well up when I step into that "thinking zone" and realize he won't always be with us.

Time passages...

I have always loved photography.  I was a shutterbug from a long way back.  I guess I didn't realize back in my 20s and 30s just how important those photos would all be to me as I got older.  I knew I wanted to preserve memories but I never fully understood just how important those photos would be.  A chronicle of all things important to me in my life's history.  I have a complete love affair with my camera, but for all the right reasons.  My camera is a wonderful kind of magic that captures all the things in my life that I always want to remember.  My nostalgic and maybe morose side hopes my photos will live on long after I am gone.  Surely someone will look at them and be happy I captured that particular moment, on that particular day, at that particular time of my life.

Time passages...

I am not sad to be turning 60.  I was just taken aback for a bit but you can be sure I will embrace it, flourish in it, tackle it head on, and make it yet the next best time of my life...God willing, of course.  I am thankful to have these passages in time.  I look forward to many more.