Let's Party...

This weekend, I threw a little party. You know, just a small TWO DAY gathering of a few hundred of my closest friends. This was the fourth year for BreezeFest and they just keep getting better!

Of course, scheduling the bands was an easy task. I called my husband’s friends and they were all quick to jump on board. That’s no big surprise. They loved him and, by proxy, they love me, too.

I’ve often said that when we started dating, I was a little nervous because I had never head anyone say anything negative about him. He seemed nice enough, but I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did. He proved every day that he was as kind, as thoughtful, and as generous as he presented himself to be. So I let my guard down. I fell madly in love with him while hoping I could live up to his example.

The first two years, this event was meant to raise funds for my family after a year of hospitalizations and medical expenses, I was grateful. But I just couldn’t stop the gathering. Being surrounded by our big musical family to celebrate decades long friendships felt too good to stop.

So I reached out to my blues family to create a fund to help other musicians and club personnel in our Atlanta Blues family. That’s what my husband would have done if he were here. Giving is what he always did. Why stop now?

My intention was good and I was looking forward to having fun and enjoying the music. I was not prepared for the way all of these crusty old blues musicians took the stage in this crusty old blues dive and just absolutely brought sparkly shiny magic one after another.

It was billed as a two day blues festival but it turned out to be a family reunion instead. There were hugs. There were stories. There was a lot of laughter. There were some tears that came with memories. There were surprises when long lost musicians came from out of town to jump on stage and I may have wept a bit when the guy everyone would least expect to be a softy sang one just for me.

I’m so grateful for every second of the event. I believe it beautifully honored the man I love and feel certain he was there most of the time. Let’s do it again next year!  Until then, keep sharing the photos and memories because that’s so good for the soul.

Meanwhile, tell someone you love them. Give them a hug. Keep them close.

What's The Hurry...

 

I just returned from a trip to Colorado that I took for a few reasons:
1. My sister Sue told me I should go and she bought me a ticket.
2. My brother Ken had completed a rough chemo treatment and I hadn’t seen him since before that started.
3. My niece was graduating from college and is now a badass nurse.
4. My brother Pat has a new grandbaby and it’s fun to see him in Grandpa mode.

When my plane arrived, Denver weather delayed our approach to the gate. No big deal. I was there. I knew my sister was on the other side of the door. No worries. When I saw her, we hugged, hopped on the shuttle to pick up the rental car, and made it to the hotel. Wind was fierce and after about half an hour of trying to figure out how to open the trunk, a stranger helped and we were on our way to our room before heading out to Ken’s house.

First, he looks GREAT! His hair has grown back and he was smiling and happy. It’s always good to see him and my sister-in-law Rayma. So we gathered round the table for burgers, dogs, and beers while we caught up on our story-tellin’ and remember whens. Back to the hotel for a good night’s sleep so we could head out to Pat’s house for more story tellin’ and remember whens.

When I talk about Pat’s “house” I mean his “compound”. Acres and acres, outbuildings filled with very manly equipment, my niece’s house with their own bunch of heavy gear, horses, a creek, and a lovely view. Because he has a neighbor a mile away, he doesn’t think he lives in the country. Ha!

The next day, my brothers were working so we hit the road with my sister-in-law and niece to Colorado Springs. Another brother recommended a museum to check out so we did that. (If in Colorado Springs, go to the Michael Garman museum. You’ll be glad you did.). Had a lovely late lunch, then hit the road back to Ken’s to yap until we were all tired. Our final day. We headed back to Pat’s to roam around and explore his property, wait for Ken, then grilled burger and brats and continued the story telling. Through this, I may have confirmed my suspicion that my family’s tendency to bend rules to make them fit our needs was passed from our mother who got it from her mother.

When it was time to leave Denver, we knew there would be delays at security check so we arrived very early for my 12:00 flight. Went our separate ways because our planes were at different ends of the airport. My flight was delayed. No problem. I had a book. Then it was delayed again. Then again. No problem. I’ll get there. When I finally got on the plane, I had worried texts from my brothers because 3 tornadoes struck since I got to the airport and they were in storm shelters. My plane took off, got me safely to Atlanta, where I grabbed my bag, made my way to the train. Had to change my route due to time and schedules, but still made it to my home station where I was met and brought home by my kid.

The point of telling you ALL of this is that while I was going through all of the steps to have a lovely, relaxing trip, everyone around me was freaking out. Stressing. Complaining. Worrying. To what end? We’re all here together. All in the same boat. I don’t see how fretting could make any of it better for anyone. In my experience, those people who are telling you there are delays are not responsible for the delays. So be nice. Say thank you. Be grateful that you are safely able to wait it out = whatever “it” may be.

Whether you’re flying across the country, driving to work, or just walking down a hallway, stuff happens. To everyone. Not just to you. Brush it off. Relax. Smile at a stranger. There’s no hurry.

Be Like Paul...

 

I just returned from an unexpected family reunion. There were no barbecues, games of volleyball or frisbee, but there were plenty of hugs, smiles, laughs and a lot of story telling. There were tears, too, but they were all mixed with the happy stuff. I think that’s how Paul would have planned it.

My uncle Paul lived every day with joy and love and I believe he infected everyone who ever crossed his path. As is the way in big families, I spent way more time with my aunts than with my uncles but I can honestly say that every moment spent with Paul is etched in my heart. His mantra was to be present in every moment and we kids felt that.

My mother talks about following her big brother through all sorts of adventures. That continued through adulthood. Well past retirement, she followed him on long hikes and canoe trips through the boundary waters of our northern border and beyond.  He never stopped learning and took his wisdom around the world, I loved his stories of meeting with farmers in Africa, China and various mountaintops to teach them how to raise strong, healthy animals for better milk production for the community.

While he loved communicating his knowledge, he just loved meeting people from all over the world. To him, it was a gift that others shared time with him. In return, he always brought gifts. Whether it was bubblegum, seeds, or books, giving brough him great joy. At home, he hunted treasures at garage sales and flea markets for trinkets to share. It was not unusual for him to hand over jewelry boxes to a pack of nieces to dig through for our own treasures. One of my favorite rings came from a surprise Paul visit while visiting my grandparents.

I think every child in my family has at least one wonderful story about an encounter with Uncle Paul. I happened to be visiting my grandparents with my new baby and Paul showed up. He snatched my startled baby from my arms and had her on the floor with his face in hers until she laughed. That’s who he was. Locking eyes, expressing love and joy with every one he met. Speaking for myself (and possibly for my siblings), I know that his smile, his stories, his kindness, and his love will stay with me for the rest of my life.

 I’m sad to have said goodbyes but so grateful to have had him. If you don’t have a Paul in your life, then I suggest BEING the Paul for others. Walk through life with an open heart, open eyes, and open hands to share love and kindness with others. Be Like Paul.

Embrace The Silly...

 

I haven’t written here in a while. Mostly, because the world outside my front door has gone mad and it’s difficult to gather my thoughts in any sensible way. But I’m now thinking that if everyone else is dishing out ridiculous behavior, why should I try to make any sense?

Looking back, I realize that the way I’ve survived – the way I’ve thrived – throughout my life is through laughter. It’s the best medicine, right? When things get rocky, I find the humor. Puns, jokes, silly faces, funny songs, and cartoons strengthen me

When humorless monsters are handing out fear and angst, I say “no, thanks” and burst out into “Boom Boom Ain’t It Great To Be Crazy”. When yet another dark news story comes on, I flip the channel to The Simpsons. Thank goodness for YouTube, because I can always find a song that will hug my heart.

I’m certainly not ignoring the serious things that are happening in the world. Joy and laughter give me the strength to face it and fight it. I fight with my vote, my voice, and, sometimes. Nerf guns and silly string. I’d love to be able to shove a cream pie into certain faces but DC is pretty far away and I’d never waste good pie.

I think we’re all at a loss for what we can do or should do. For me, I maintain my faith in humanity and trust that things will be righted. Meanwhile, I embrace the silly. I will laugh. I will play. No one has ever accused me of being appropriate. Why start now?

 

Thank You, Aunt Fran...

 

Over the years, people have often commented on my strength through hard times. I don’t think I’m particularly strong, but I do have a thick skin and have learned to roll with the punches. I get that from my mother, of course. She’s a fine example of how to just keep on marching.

Really, though, I think ALL of the women on my mother’s side are remarkably tough. My grandmother was a badass who taught her daughters at her side. All of my aunts have played huge roles in my life and I’ve learned how to be the best me by watching and talking with them. I’m grateful for every moment.

The woman who taught us ALL how to swing  our machetes through the thick jungle, how to forage for sustenance, and how to identify the beautiful flora along the way was the eldest girl in the family, Frances. Aunt Fran to me. She was just such a part of my life from the youngest days and some of my earliest memories include her.

She had a house full of her own children but, knowing that my mother had the 9 of us on her own, she was always there. Making cookies at my grandma’s, taking us on adventures at her farm, and just demonstrating how to power through. I was too little to understand how difficult her own life was. But I knew that when I kneeled on a cactus patch to look at her fish pond, she would give me a cookie while I sat on the kitchen counter and she gently removed the needles one by one.

A visit to her flower shop meant I might get a crown of baby’s breath. She taught me how to thread my own needle so I could “repair clothes” while she sewed real patches next to me. A walk amongst her animals was always an adventure and she gave me my very first pet – a tiny black kitten! It was Halloween time, so we named her Pumpkin. That cat stayed with our family for more than 20 years.

When we moved several states away, Fran regularly filled her station wagon with Albert kids going to or from summer visits back home. She included us on many trips to visit other relatives in other places. Often, these trips in an old station wagon, with a lot of kids on old tires left us on the side of the road. What I remember about these moments is my amazing Aunt Fran standing back to assess the situation and then tackling a tire change, a weight redistribution, and getting us all back on the road without ever letting us see her stress.

As my brothers were older and living in our home town, it was not unusual to find a bag of groceries at the door. Or hand-me-down clothes. Or some gadget that may come in handy for a house full of Alberts. As an adult, I now know that Aunt Fran was a wheeler-dealer, and a bit of a scavenger. Those groceries were often discarded from the stores with Fran arranging to get the day old lettuce for “pet rabbits” or meat for her “pets”. To this day. My mother and I refer to these gifts as Bunny Greens. I loved those things.

When I got married, Aunt Fran offered her florist skills to make my bouquet and table flowers. We walked though the farmers market together and she picked out all of my favorite flowers. How did she know I loved freesia? Oh. I guess she probably paid attention to the things I liked as a kid. She then clipped a bit of greenery from the boxwood in the front yard of our new home.

I don’t know how many people bothered to look past her rough edges and tough exterior. As for me, I know that she was a loving sister and great companion for my mother. I know she had a sly wit. I know that she could find beauty in the most overlooked things. I know that she had a huge soft heart. And I know that I love her.

I know that her departure leaves a big hole in our family quilt but I’m so happy that she is reuniting with family on the other side and I hope that she is barefoot, running through a meadow and picking all the flowers she wants

Rest well, Aunt Fran. Thanks for all the You that you gave us. I will pass it on.