remembering

Finding My Rudder
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Finding My Rudder

A major event that I produced is now past. Everything went well; the event was well received; kudos’ were exchanged and I move forward. Except I need to adjust myself.

It’s been just over six Imagemonths since Dad died; nine months since his surgery and about a year since he found out the cancer was back. Grief is an unknown for most people. We do not know how we’ll deal with the sadness and loss. For me, every day brings a moment of memory. Some days are better than others. Tears flow now as I write this.

My amazing cohort in the planning of the major event that just passed spent some time on the phone with me advising me that basically, I need an attitude adjustment. During the stressful weeks leading to the event, some of my actions and reactions were off the charts; we all have intense moments. What she described to me gave me extreme pause and the knowledge that I have been rudderless.

My new normal is without dad. Baseball season reminds me of that every day. He was who I talked with about the Phillies’ pitching; a great Chase Utley play to first and whether Ryan Howard can make it through the season without major injury. The day before the event, we orchestrated a photo-op at a school. To take the aerial photograph above the scene created by children, Ladder 24 came to the scene. The firefighters assisted me into the bucket of the extension ladder and from 90 feet above, I snapped the shots.

Dad was a retired firefighter. Ladder 24 is the last fire truck he stood in front of in May 2013. My mom, dad, husband and son were Imagedriving back from a Sunday lunch and I knew we needed to stop at the firehouse. The firefighters on duty knew me and welcomed us into the house for a short and meaningful visit. Dad was in his element; talking about firefighting days, sharing stories with the men on duty. The photo I have of mom and dad at the firehouse that day and in front of Ladder 24 mean a lot – especially now.

My son was grateful to see his Pop-Pop in his element; the camaraderie of a firehouse is like family. I grew up knowing this. Dad’s easy-going, happy ways made him always popular among his colleagues. That is why I have felt rudderless. I know I’m turning the corner; I feel as though if I could just talk with him for a minute, I’d get my bearings again.

Time will pass; I will make the needed adjustments in my attitude; I’ll breathe and wait while situations play out. Dad would want me to do that. I can hear him now.

The Written Word
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The Written Word

When your children and your children’s children go through the family things some day, what will they find? Perhaps not our generation, but surely our children’s generation one thing that will not be passed down is the written word.

oldlettersOver the weekend, I hauled into the house from an old desk stored in the garage, a drawer filled with my life. Most of what was stowed away for years was from the early years in my radio career, but I also discovered high school memorabilia I thought was long gone – and frankly, I hadn’t even thought about it for decades. What I found that was most meaningful, were cards and letters from friends and family members.

There’s a letter from my ‘mom-mom’ who died in 1995. The letter is dated December 31, 1981. She tucked into the note another note that she received from a niece of my late grandfather. She listened to me on the radio back then and was so glad to have that connection. My grandmother wrote how proud she was of me.

A letter from my elementary school gym teacher dated November 10, 1981 wrote of how he and my other two favorite teachers had formed a ‘fan’ club and how they too, were listening to me on WMGK and were proud. I found letters from radio fans who talked about their lives and how connected they felt listening to me and the people I worked with. Most important were all the letters my brother wrote me when he was in the Air Force. This was in the early to mid 1980’s. These letters are particularly significant because my brother suffered a life-changing accident during his time in the Air Force and lost the use of his right arm. The letters he wrote before the accident describe his homesickness as well as the fun he was having seeing other places and meeting new people. He ultimately me his wife – and they lived happily ever after. But it was emotional for me to read the handwriting he had before the accident. He learned how to use his left hand and has done extremely well over the past 20+ years.

What will the next generation have to look through when they look at their history? Emails, documents, blog posts like this, a Google search. The written word – putting pen to paper – is often from our hearts and minds. The physical act of writing, not typing, is somehow therapeutic.  While writers today do indeed express themselves well by typing words, too often a majority of people so dislike writing that they shorten everything down. “R u going 2nite? OMG me 2. C u l8tr.”

When I work with clients and we are able to get media coverage, I always encourage them to write a ‘thank you’ to the reporter. If they want to type out an email, that’s OK, but looking at these files of handwritten cards I have – many of then ‘thank yous,’ I am so incredibly glad I’m a little bit of a pack rat. For me, there’s nothing like a personal card that someone had to choose or just find that blank sheet of paper to write a thoughtful few lines or more to offer their thanks.

The letters from my grandmother and my brother and some friends are a part of me. They describe personal history that was going on back then and how they were interwoven in my life. My grandmother has been gone for years, but to read these letters I found makes me know that she was a part of me – and I of her. I can hear her laughing right now – probably after telling a dirty joke.

Consider writing a card the next time you need to get in touch with someone. It’s worth the time and effort; and on the other end of that card, there is probably a friend, family member, colleague or someone you listen to, who will tuck that card in a file for safe keeping.

 

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Ya Got To Have Friends

Nearly 24 years ago, Doug and I met. We met through a group that formed out of the kindness and creativity of a man named Carl. That group of singles – then called Voorhees Single Professionals – was created long before the internet, Match.com or any other online dating service. Carl created the group out of a desire to connect single people in their 20’s and 30’s to a social life that was tough to find beyond the bar scene at the time. An earlier article in the Philadelphia Inquirer mentioned the beginning of the group in the fall of 1989.

Day10_20100817_27Tonight, more than  23 years later, Carl, his wife Ramona, Rick, Mary, Doug and I – who all met because of this group – had dinner together. I am exhausted. It was as though we had just left a group meeting and had planned weeks of events. We now are planning to get together for a boat ride – the six of us – on the Chesapeake – this coming summer. Ramona volunteered to start a Facebook page so we can begin to plan a September 28th ‘reunion’ of sorts. We want to revisit what Carl started so many years ago – a group of people who want to get together for social activities – a MEET market he proclaimed at the time – NOT a MEAT market – which was the big problem for singles.

The six of us met at our house for drinks and appetizers for about an hour. Our kitchen was filled with non-stop talk. Catching up; talking about our children – successes – failures; things on the horizon. When it came time to leave for our dinner reservation, we continued to talk. The car ride went by in a flash.

At the restaurant, we ordered and continued to catch up on each others’ lives. We talked about people who have passed away; who’ve divorced – but best of all, we reminisced about how each of us met. To remember those days as if they happened yesterday makes you feel as if everything that you’ve gone through – suffered through – survived – is even more meaningful.

What it all comes down to is – as the character Billy Crystal played in “City Slickers” said is ONE thing: if it were not for Carl and his one idea to put an ad in the local shopper’s guide and reserve the community hall in Voorhees on that September night in 1989 – none of us would have met. Our lives would be completely different.

Thank you Carl – forever; we love you. And we’ll plan that reunion for September 28, 2013.

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The Bright Side of Life

Half-empty, half full – there are really only two ways to look at things when life throws you curve balls. After  a week that involved a few roller coasters, I am now on the other side realizing that I am mainly one of those half-full kind of gals.

Girls_VA_20121110_04 - CopyWe had a great dinner with neighbors Friday night that changed my perspective a bit. We had socialized with them numerous times several years ago and then stopped hanging out with them. The reasons don’t matter now. What’s important is first, my husband and the other husband organized the evening. That in itself was reason to enjoy the evening. I didn’t have to do the ‘heavy’ lifting. It seems I always take the reins on planning things – because I like to – but it is a lot of work.

The evening started out on a great note. Doug and I walked over to their house where their car was warming up in the driveway; our friends were not in the car. Had we been a minute earlier, we were going to jump in the back seat and give them quite a scare – but in a hysterical way. Immediately I remembered how I enjoy laughing with that couple.

For two-and-a-half hours we enjoyed sushi, stories about how each couple met, our children and their ups and downs and our lives in general. We ended up back at their house for coffee. For a dinner I thought would take no longer than  two hours, we enjoyed a full evening of conversation and camaraderie.

In November, I spent a girl’s weekend with two women I met nearly 30 years ago. It was as if we had never been apart. We’re having dinner next weekend with friends we met in 1989. I feel as though that evening will be filled with laughter and reminiscing.

With age, we gain perspective, understanding and well, a mellower approach to things that happen in our lives. As they say, don’t sweat the small stuff. I’ll add to that remember why you love the small stuff and spend more time enjoying each moment in time.

 

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Always With Me

It may be grim, but I have been reading the obituaries for years. Perhaps because I was in the news business or just out of morbid curiosity, I would read the ‘obits’ on the way to work when I was a full-time radio reporter/news anchor. the practice has continued through the years. Sometimes I’d spot a former neighbor or the mother of a friend or a teacher from my past. I’m always filled with wonder about how someone lived their life; who loved them; who is grieving their loss.
Death is a fact of life as the saying goes. How we choose to remember people in our lives after they’ve passed is a very personal thing. I am fortunate to have both of my parents. Memories, old letters and cards and items they’ve given me through the years become more precious. I cherish my dad’s fireman boots and his Philadelphia Fire Department helmet – the old-fashioned kind that weigh about 10 pounds; I cherish my mom’s handwriting on recipe cards and postcards I’ve collected through the years.

(L-R) Ken Breskin, Doug Breskin and Greg Breskin; Doug's 40th birthday, Feb. 1999

(L-R) Ken Breskin, Doug Breskin and Greg Breskin; Doug’s 40th birthday, Feb. 1999

My husband lost his dad in October of 2000. His death came after a fairly short but painful illness. I’m certain not a day goes by that my husband doesn’t think of his dad in some way.

We were spending holiday time with his family, including his sister and brother when Doug showed his brown, leather gloves to his sister and asked,” Do you know where I got these?” The gloves were his dad’s. I never knew that those leather gloves meant so much to Doug until he said,” When I’m wearing them, I imagine I’m holding dad’s hand.”

Very sweet.