Family – Page 2 – Waiting for the Karma Truck

discretion, life lessons, love, parenting

To Honor A Memory

September 28, 2013September 28, 2013 mimijk

If my mom were here to celebrate her birthday, she would be eighty-six years old today. It seems a bit surreal to think that she has been gone for eight years. In our eulogies, both my sister and I acknowledged that she was a complicated woman, and arguably a complicated mom. That was said and is written, within a far broader context of how deeply she loved us and how much we loved her. Not a day goes by…

I spoke to my parents everyday. And when work kept me from my 9AM call, my assistant would call her to tell her I would call later. It was a simple thing to do; it made her feel good. Honestly, I remember sometimes it felt like a requirement instead of a joy. She knew I spoke with my dad everyday until he no longer could (often acknowledged with the half-serious comment “you always loved your father better”) and I knew that if I ever curtailed those calls she would be deeply hurt. Ironically, I still look at the clock at 9AM and feel the incompleteness that comes with a conversation that no longer occurs.

Why do I write something about mom on her birthday? Because I want her memory to remain as alive to my children as it is to me. Because I want those who know me to know that she was a remarkable, vibrant, artistic, beautiful woman. Because some passages take a very long time to find one’s way through, and it’s possible that some never really end. Because my beloved niece still wears her grandmother’s gold whistle around her neck. And because when my sister laughs so hard she ‘strips her gears’ (as my dad used to say), it evokes a delight in my heart that reaches far back to another place and time. Dad and Deb laughing so hard they’d eventually start to hiccup and mom’s laugh bringing her to tears as she would hug her stomach with a delicious pain. I was good for a laugh. Don’t get me wrong – I was also good at causing my share of frustration too.

I re-printed her obituary from the New York Times last year and I will do so again this year. Perhaps wherever she is, she will know how much she is missed, how much she is loved and how today each falling leaf seems to echo her name.

“….Dee was the loving mother of daughters Deborah…and Mimi… . She was the proud grandmother of Matthew…, Aaron…, Tess…, Seth…, Spencer… and Paul…, and generous mother-in-law of Roger … and Andy… . She was the devoted wife and indispensable partner of the late Jack W. Jerome. Dee was born and spent her early childhood in Vienna, making her one of that shrinking cohort who experienced and survived the monstrous storm of Nazi violence. Her father and mother, Michael and Miriam Intrator, took the family out of Austria shortly after the Anschluss, making their way first to Belgium and then through occupied France. The family made its way to Portugal, where on August 16, 1941, they found passage among the 765 other refugees on the Spanish freighter Navemar – one of the last voyages of escapees from Europe. Dee’s children and grandchildren bear in their hearts eternal, existential gratitude for her family’s valor and persistence. Her intelligence, humor and immense energy were a gift to us all. Our family is particularly gladdened that Dee lived long enough to know of the safe return earlier this month of her eldest grandson Matthew, from Iraq, where for the past year he has served in harm’s way the country that gave his grandmother safe haven.”

My dad died shortly before Matt left for Iraq. Mom waited for all of her grandchildren to be home and safe. I refer to that time as the year I didn’t breathe, for all I knew was that I drew breath when I knew Matt was breathing – and we weren’t in touch enough for me to know with certainty that he was ok. There are some things I’m just not prepared to write about – my heart censors my fingers. As it should be. The point is not to return to that time, but to remember that today’s mom’s birthday. And she would have been feted and celebrated. As it should be. So for mom – your birthday is etched in my heart. I miss you.

friendship, humor, love, training

Guest Blogger – Sir Bogart

August 29, 2013August 29, 2013 mimijk

Hi all,

Thank you all for giving me such a warm welcome – you are all way nicer than my brothers (well, they’re nice some of the time, but they seem a little moody to me)!!! Anyway, I’ve been here four full days now and I have learned an awful lot about life in the kingdom.

I know where my food is

I’ve been accident-free for two days – which seems to be a major cause of celebration for my mom, she keeps kissing me and telling me what a good boy I am every time I take care of business outside. It seems a little excessive, but I humor her.

My brother takes offense if I get too close to areas I find interesting to sniff…

But he will now allow me to hang with him if I respect his space and keep my nose to myself. The guy doesn’t know how to have any fun.

Size seems to matter – Sir Archie takes my toys, but if I try to take one of his – whoa…I am plotting my revenge.

Mom doesn’t like having her toes bitten – what’s up with that?

And the King thinks I’m perfect. In truth I think he’s got enormous potential and I’m sucking up to him for all it’s worth. I would say I’m making a ton of progress, wouldn’t you?

humor, love

A Royal Birth

July 18, 2013July 18, 2013 mimijk

While the world has been waiting to hear of the birth of the future Queen or King of England, there have been very exciting happenings here at the castle.

The Knights have been in deep discussions with the King about the prospect of adding another member to the Round Table. The King was initially quite indisposed to the idea – let’s just say he exercised vigorous veto power. Our kingdom didn’t need more royalty, the round table seated everyone comfortably. Then the Sirs assumed a position that could not be debated – they made room for one more.

I will say, that I spent a fair amount of time convincing the King that this was a good idea. True, he called me ‘relentless’, ‘one-tracked’ and thankfully, ‘cute’. I also received tremendous support from the Regal In-Laws, who prevailed upon their son to be a bit less stubborn when faced with his beloved’s meager request for one more knight..

So without further ado – please meet Sir Bogart – known around the palace as Bogey. His name is a testament to the King’s love of golf and my insistence that any Knight that joins our round table be above par. For they are all in my view, way above average.

Bogey won’t be ready to come home until late August, but in the interim, we will be visiting him and taking pictures to forward along. Given the enormity of this announcement, I frankly think that Wills and Kate’s baby is now a second page story (at least in Vienna, VA).

discretion, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

For All The Dads

June 16, 2013June 16, 2013 mimijk

Some men know that they want to be dads – the-kind-who-are-always-there – dads. Today is your day. Some men know that they will never be as flummoxed as when an adolescent girl attenuates her irritation over nothing by intoning “D-a-a-a-a-d” with dramatic flair reminiscent of Sarah Bernhardt and Camille.

For every dad who first danced with his daughter by having her stand on his shoes (and there was a time when shoes were polished, but let’s not go there). The dad who threw pitch after pitch, went to every game, and in an act of incredible love and extreme foolishness continued to try to impart guidance and direction to ears and minds that were destined to follow their own path (as it should be).

For Andy, my favorite father-in-law and brothers-in-law, for David and Bill and Russ and Ben and all those friends of ours out there whose love for their children (and fur kids) is so palpable I can almost match the beat of my own heart to yours. It is a delight to honor you today.

And for the dad of all dads (at least in my eyes) – my own. Whether I was hanging upside down on the bunk bed pretending to be dead (I was eight, it was a gag – it didn’t work), looking for grapes in a bowl of Cheerios, walking to school with you almost every day for twelve years (and then commuting with you into the city), or watching the unadulterated mutual adoration between you and your grandsons – you were an amazing, involved, funny, smart, occasionally snarky, willing, curious, surprise-filled, loving dad. And I still think of you as ‘daddy’ – and you’ve been gone for nine years. But it’s your day too – and I miss you and celebrate you today.

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

It’s Tradition

March 28, 2013March 28, 2013 mimijk

“The family – that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our innermost hearts ever quite wish to.” — Dodie Smith

I love traditions that endure. They may morph, become slightly diluted, be maintained while slightly deluded – it matters little. Traditions add dimension to the family construct, providing the shading and nuance that help complete the picture. It informs our history and clarifies elements of our future – what do I hope my children will choose to carry forward? What elements of their history and our traditions will they value and hold?

As I watched my father-in-law preside over the Seder on Monday, I was struck by the simplicity and complexity of family traditions. The delight in hearing the youngest children ask the four questions. The enthusiastic negotiations that ensue once the Afikomen has been found. My father-in-law beamed with pride, while still maintaining an air of amused gravitas. Each child kissed and congratulated for their detective work. Parents smiling so broadly – some relief undoubtedly mixed in with all that love. The miracle of generations sharing the secret recipe for creating the perfect olio that makes each family unique, its traditions singularly their own.

And as my brother-in-law referenced those who were not in attendance – his daughter and her family in LA, his mom, my mind secretly wished that my parents were still here, that there were more traditions still to be had in their home. And though this isn’t about them, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that there were memories that shone in my mind’s eye with primary-color-like clarity. I saw a picture my sister had posted with our family’s seder plate in the middle of her table, and my reaction was visceral. Can a heart turn upside down and still beat?

As I looked around the table though, I was also struck by that which was not seen. The dynamics that are tested, the hurt that only family members can inflict upon each other with or without intention. The fibers that are being stretched too thin, the ones that are in the process of being rewoven with such care to ensure they are stronger and more pliable than ever before. Each person’s story as it related to the others, replete with love, frustration, an intractable wish to be understood. These are traditions too – and though arguably not those which we choose to carry forward, they move forward with us nonetheless. Our conscious choice is what we do with them. Family dynamics are rarely enviable – they’re too complex, too imperfect, too full. At some point, we decide which elements are worthy of retention – the good and the not-so-great – the aspects that will comfort, delight and nurture us and those that may always move us to tears. These I suppose are the traditions of the heart, the way we pass on the concept of family. It is part of our legacy, so I would suggest that we choose well. It becomes our imprimatur, our tacit approval for what will become critical elements of our family tradition. May it always begin and end with love.

friendship, life lessons, love, mindfulness, parenting

Are We There Yet?

February 21, 2013February 21, 2013 mimijk

“I was born very far from where I’m supposed to be, and so I’m on my way home.” – Bob Dylan

‘Home’ – the definition in and of itself is intriguing. It implies something stationary, yet I think it moves and morphs frequently. When I was little (until the sixth grade), home was an apartment with a hallway that I thought was a mile long, the dotted linoleum in the bedroom I shared with my sister and the kitchen. It was the night table I scratched my name into while I was talking on the phone with my dad during one of his trips to California. It was the elevator button that I couldn’t reach when I was five and decided to run away. When we moved to a larger apartment, home became both safe haven and hell – as only home can be when you are an angst-ridden adolescent.

When the boys and I went out on our own, we moved a lot. So much so that I would assure these two toddlers that home was anywhere we were together – whether we were in the car, at the supermarket, in our beds, taking a walk. As long as we were together, we were home. I remember feeling that I was saying this for myself as much as for them; our various rentals somehow didn’t offer an accurate definition or image of what I wanted our home to be. I had migrated so far from who I was, I’m not sure any four walls would have felt like a comfortable representation of home. In a very pure way, the only home was truly where the boys were, for they were really all I was sure of, my touchstone, my heart.

So it should follow that if ‘home is where the heart is’, our address should also change (figuratively) with some frequency as we find our comfort with who we and where we are. Where our love lies, where our being is at peace, where we can cocoon and soar, happy dance and hold on for dear life.

We’ve lived in our house for twenty-one years. And I’m not the same person I was when we first moved in. The walls don’t show the dirty fingerprints from little people who in principle would not use a banister. There are echoes in some places where voices used to be. We talk about moving and can’t move ourselves to do so. For over time, the house was able to adapt itself to whoever I was at any given time, holding me tightly and with safety when at my most vulnerable and unsure, and willing to open its arms when I needed room to explore and roam. It has given me different rooms to settle into depending on my mood and greets me with comforting noises that are reflective of our ongoing conversation. This house knows me well. I’ve always been a little reluctant about long-term relationships, and our house let me fall in love in my own time. It kept my children safe-ish (they did some pretty crazy things when they were younger), it held us all together until we could define ourselves as a family.

I get Dylan’s point – and I also realize that I have traveled far to arrive here. My family is my heart. My house after all this time, is my home.

anxiety, friendship, life lessons, love

Coming Full Circle, Sort Of..

January 24, 2013 mimijk

My sister and brother-in-law are in the midst of moving into their recently renovated house. It’s been the longest labor and delivery – literally and figuratively. And now that they have their little parcel of joy (so to speak), I hope they love and enjoy it and make it their own. Needless to say I can’t wait to see the new addition to the family (I know that was a groaner, but I couldn’t resist).

There is a gentle irony in her move to this house. Although we didn’t grow up there, it’s proximate to where my parents lived (they bought their house when my sister and I were already in college. I used to say that had we moved to the suburbs before I finished high school, my graduation gift would have been way better than a Panasonic stereo). It is where I remember them at their happiest. And it became home – because it was where they were, where my children crawled and toddled and ran – where so many memories were made. My sons always reference this house when remembering their grandparents – the backyard with apple trees as bases and dad throwing pitch after pitch after pitch, looking for shells down at the dock, creating innumerable ways to take indoor soccer to new levels of hilarity. It’s where Andy and I got married.

I can’t wait to visit my sister and yet, when I think about driving up 95 and getting on the Hutch, my eyes cloud with tears and there are no words. No words. Perhaps because my heart is too full. There are some things that time doesn’t temper. There are some moments that may change in hue or shading, but remain the same in form and substance.

This sentimentality is heightened by another serendipitous experience. My parents had a circle of friends (all European but for our dad) that was arguably too close, too intimate, too ‘Mad Men’. They were known as “The Group” – they had their children within months of each other, summered together in the Catskills, wintered together at each other’s houses. As their offspring, we identified with each other in so many unspoken ways. All first generation Americans (again, dad being the exception), all growing up with a European perspective of child-rearing, all connected by an emotional cord tied by our parents. Until it unraveled when we were young adults.

You know where this is going – Deb and three of these women have picked up that cord once more. They had dinner together recently, and she described it as warm and loving. They will see each other again; I’m hoping to join them. And slowly I feel the ground shift, the angles inherent to any journey smoothing and perhaps unresolved elements coming full circle. I find myself gravitating to these memories and holding myself back, venturing forward with some reluctance. I need to protect the little girl who is in my care; she still has hurt along with the delight. She’s never been very good at self-protection.

So I sit here in the silence that arrives with snowfall, recognizing the wonder in the nexus of these moments, their undeniable connection to the past and their inextricable relevance to the present. As to the future? It’s not mine to predict – I just know that it makes me smile, albeit with one tear.

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Bounty

December 24, 2012December 24, 2012 mimijk

‘Make much of something small.

The pouring-out of tea,

a drying flower’s shadow on the wall

from last week’s bouquet.

A fact; it isn’t summer anymore.

Say that December sun

is pitiless, but crystalline

and strikes like a bell.

Say it plays colours like a glockenspiel.

It shows the dust as well,

the elemental sediment

your broom has missed,

and lights upon each grain of sugar spilled

upon the tablecloth, beside

pistachio shells, peel of a clementine.

Slippers and morning paper on the floor,

and wafts of heat from rumbling radiators,

can this be all? No look – here comes the cat,

with one ear inside out.

Make much of something small. — ‘Bounty’ by Robyn Sarah

I receive “The Writer’s Almanac” in my inbox each morning and today’s poem seemed so appropriate as so many enjoy the holidays of the season. I wish you love and hope and laughter, really good hugs, friends and family to share in your delight (and the food – I heard a rumor that if you share it, the calories are also divided amongst all who partake). I wish you time to marvel at the small moments that should never go unnoticed, for they hold truths far larger than we can imagine. I hope you get some drool-y naps in there too, awakened by the sounds of quiet commiseration between loved ones. And of course, I hope you receive all that you wish for, and wish for all that you have.

discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, music, parenting

Home Ec.

November 21, 2012November 21, 2012 mimijk

“Hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel”

Good advice, though I can’t sew. I can’t even loosely baste a seam. I failed sewing in the seventh grade, for the teacher didn’t consider it fashion forward to have the armhole of my jumper positioned at the hip. I didn’t do much better at home economics (yes, they had courses such as this – let’s save the shock and awe for another day, shall we?), though I excelled at pudding. And passing notes.

Which retrospectively suggests that I had my priorities straight even then – as long as you had good people around you, everything else would follow. Take care of the ones you love. Pass the notes, hold the secret, righteously defend (“Mimi would be an exemplary student if she were a bit less social”). Ah well. It is with this limited skill set that I have built my house. Ultimately I bought the drapes and learned how to cook. And though no one would mistake me for Martha Stewart, I’d say this is a pretty awesome home. People curl up when they get here, they nestle in. Shoes come off, defenses are shed, talk is uncensored, silence is religious. There is nothing more transcendent than this.

Our Thanksgiving plans got derailed by my little surgery a few days back and we’re staying here instead of heading up to New Jersey. The kids will be with their in-laws. And as much as I will miss the noise, the laughter, the hugs – I am fortunate enough to have all this love around me every day. The air is filled with “I love you’s”, each room holds secrets told in whispers that repeat as favorite lyrics co-written once upon a time, and there is comfort in the sighs of the couch as I settle in to listen to the stories of home. When I feel the sun on my back and I find magic in this very moment, I know that my bounty is as massive as my gratitude.

So as many of you head points north, east, west or south – travel safe. Eat a lot, laugh more, grab a nap. Take a walk, give out hugs. Share your love. Enfold these moments in your heart, for they will become the most gorgeous aspects of your home. They become the most treasured parts of you.

friendship, humor, love

More Chairs At The Round Table

November 12, 2012November 12, 2012 mimijk

Well the Sirs have their cousins visiting for the next few weeks. We had a meeting the other day to talk about how they were to host their guests..As you can see, they were being quite attentive, if not revealing their enthusiasm about expanding the neighborhood reach that two new members may afford. It was early.

Part of the Knights’ code involves graciousness and impeccable manners to all who enter their kingdom. The arrival of Sirs Harpo and Otis of Manhattan, NY proved no exception. There was a lot of “Hail fellow, well met”, sniffing of armor (so to speak) and conversation about news from the North. Harpo is the most venerated of the Sirs, lively yet weary of child-like folly at the age of fourteen. Otis on the other hand is eight going on two. With no disrespect intended, this is not a gathering of the canine equivalent of Mensa. But each is of grand heart and cheer, so all else can be forgiven. After all, there are few national security issues taking place here, and most certainly no lands left to conquer (although Maid Molly the Golden Retriever next door is definitely our equivalent to Lady Guinevere). And she’s an equal opportunity flirt, though her heart is clearly devoted to Sir Theodore. Unfortunately, Molly is quite big; Teddy is quite small – and they have yet to figure out how to slide each other their phone numbers.

So…meet Sirs Otis and Harpo..Being our city cousins, adjusting to life in the suburbs is a little bit of a challenge. But my hunch is that within the next few days, this will be a posse to contend with – and hopefully good buddies.

“Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside a dog, it’s too dark to read” — Groucho Marx

discretion, friendship, humor, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness, motivation, training

The Family You Have, The Family You Choose

October 8, 2012 mimijk

“Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.” — Jane Howard

There are all sorts of families – the ones that we are magically born into or become a part of; the families that we build one person, pet, ritual at a time; the families of friends that may morph and change with the understanding that these connections are in many ways as binding as any others. Within the context of this forum in which we meet and discover virtual understandings and ‘aha’ moments, we are defining a new family. I think of many people in this community who I feel I know and love as members of my family too. People who are always there to support me when I write through my neurotic moments, laugh along with my silliness, commiserate when life becomes complicated or evocative of times that are painful to recount. Friends who I fret about and delight in, inspire me with their incredible talents, and celebrate with head-shaking wonder at the magic that they create regularly.

So it is within this uniquely bound family that I find myself accepting the Family Of Bloggers Award. I love the implication of this honor, for it suggests that we are in many ways a family of choice. We are together because we choose to be, minus some of the drama and trauma that come from nuclear units that are perhaps more complicated, defined by far different memories of shared history.

David Kanigan (DavidKanigan.com) who writes the blog titled Lead.Learn.Live and Laurie Barkman who authors PassionatePerformance.wordpress.com both nominated me for this award this week. David has a following that is remarkable in both its size, intelligence and loyalty. When I started following his blog, I hoped to come close to the quality, provocative writing and thoughtful commentary that his writing reflects all the time. I still don’t know how he does it, finding references, writers, images, videos that invite and engross the reader. He is incredibly self-effacing, and he is shaking his head as he reads this not able to admit that all of this is true. But I would bet an awful lot of money (if I had it, which I don’t, so I feel good about placing the bet) that there are many, many, many who agree with my summary. I have followed him from the first day I came to WordPress and I will follow him should the time come when I no longer post..

My line of work and Laurie’s closely parallel each other. The primary and striking difference is that she manages to imbue the topic of performance management and leadership with practical wisdom and a passion that is palpable. As some of you may know from earlier posts, I have a love-hate relationship with this topic – perhaps because I’ve been training and speaking about these topics for so long. But I return to Laurie time after time because her advice is wise and practical, her commitment sincere and passionate and the results always on point and well-considered. As much as I believe that there is nothing new under the sun because of a general reluctance to deal with the discomfort of change, Laurie gently encourages me to reconsider and remember what I loved about training and development.

So, I thank them both and embrace the metaphor that I am part of their family, as they are part of mine. I’d do the Sally Fields thing, but David would tease me – even though in my head I’m thinking “you like me, you really like me!” As inspirational blogs go, I have many to nominate and feel certain that I would inadvertently miss some. Which is why I am going to nominate all the people who are kind enough to read my posts each day, comment each day and travel on the karma truck through all sorts of topography. Thank you for being part of my virtual family. Thank you for embracing me from the moment I started seven months ago and for encouraging me to keep the gas tank full and ready to roll.

inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Navemar – Nevermore

September 28, 2012September 28, 2012 mimijk

“…here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)”

—e.e. cummings – i carry your heart with me

My mom would have been eighty-five years old today. Seven years of not calling her first thing in her morning to sing “Happy Birthday”, seven years without celebration, seven years since I chose a gift for her. Seven years and I can still hear her voice. No one calls me ‘schatzi’ anymore.

Make no mistake, mom was a complicated woman with more reasons than most for some of her challenging qualities. She was beautiful for sure and incredibly talented artistically, able to make a slab of marble breathe, mold clay that came to life in a kiln. She sketched and painted and studied – movement and the human form, meadows caught in play with the wind. And when she lost interest in the delight of pencil and sketch pad, something bigger than any result got lost. She was a haunted soul. Haunted by the impact of having life, when so many of her family were lost during the war. Part of the ever-diminishing segment of the population who bore witness to the unimaginable horror of the Nazi occupation. Plagued with trauma I can’t begin to imagine, nor really took the time to understand as completely as I should have.

My former brother-in-law wrote her obit for the New York Times which made the brief tribute all the more personal. Her parents took the family out of Austria shortly before the Anschluss, “..making their way first to Belgium and then through occupied France. the family made its way to Portugal, where on August 6, 1941, they found passage among 765 other refugees on the Spanish freighter Navemar – one of the last voyages of escapees from Europe. [Her] children and grandchildren bear in their hearts eternal, existential gratitude for her family’s valor and persistence…Our family is particularly gladdened that [she] lived long enough to know of the safe return..of her eldest grandson…from Iraq, where for the past year he has served in harm’s way the country that gave his grandmother safe haven.”

The stories of the Navemar’s voyage are beyond the pale. A freighter that was never intended to hold more than 30 people. The horror was unspeakable and a subject of articles written by those far more knowledgeable than me. My mom was fourteen when she arrived at Ellis Island.

I don’t know about why one journey ends and another begins. Maybe dad left to make sure that my son would come home. Perhaps mom left once she knew he was here and that all her grandchildren were present and accounted for. All I know is that some days are far harder than others, and I suppose they should be. It is the movement of the human form – the bend in the head, the tear rolling to the chin, the beating of the heart that carries so, so much.