I wake up in the morning and gaze in the mirror. I can’t believe the 74-year-old face peering back at me. Mirrors aren’t the only mile markers to remind me of my place in the universe. Glass Canisters When I first married – in my junior year of college – I bought a bunch of glass canisters to grace our Formica kitchen counter. I filled them with red licorice, black licorice, giant gum balls, marshmallows, M&M’s and malted milk balls. Over the years, the canisters remained, but their contents changed. With the birth of my kids, I gradually replaced the candy with Fig Newtons, raisins, and peanut butter crackers. Formica gradually gave way to granite. The kids flew the nest and the canisters contents evolved yet again: a vast assortment of nuts, chia seeds, Grape Nuts cereal, brown rice and mini Kind Bars.  Shoes My array of shoes is another reflection of time passing from one delineated stage to another. Then: Booties to high top baby shoes to saddle shoes to penny loafers to training heels to high stilettos Now: Flats, sandals, and lots of sneakers – with one common theme: LOW TO THE GROUND.  Parents Another mile marker is how my attitude, priorities, wishes and dreams have changed after burying both my parents. My dad died right after my 65th birthday and my mother died after my 70th birthday. With their departure, I feel compelled to surround myself with people who knew me in my beginning years. It’s manifesting itself in a weird compulsion – reminding me of the nesting instinct that kicks in when pregnant. Nesting is an instinct or urge in pregnant animals (think cats, hamsters, and birds) and humans to prepare a home – to make it safe and comfortable and inviting. My nesting instinct has surreptitiously sneaked in – without the accompanying pregnancy – thank goodness. My nesting instinct is manifesting itself as a vision of a second home where my roots are: in my hometown. As the years roll by, I’m longing to unite and attach to anything and anyone with a connection to my parents. Distant relatives The few friends of theirs still left Children of their cronies The neighbors and friends I grew up with I want to frequent and enjoy the places they patronized: The Great American Ball Park (My dad had season tickets to the Cincinnati Reds for years) Union Terminal – my mother made a commercial at age 88 to vote for a levy to restore Cincinnati’s Art Deco train station and it passed resoundingly The boutiques she patronised and the eateries she visited routinely, alone, as a widow The jewelry store where she bought for each of her great granddaughters’ birthdays another pearl to string on a necklace she hoped to give them on the eve of their Bat Mitzvahs. What is behind all this longing? Is it a stage of mourning I’ve yet to embrace? I know spotting a mother/daughter duo out together is no longer a gut punch, though it is still cringeworthy. I recognize my siblings – both by birth and by marriage – have become more important than ever I hold sacred the weekly zoom calls with far-flung family And gathering together to celebrate, not just events, but our continued good health, with those we have known for decades has become highly prized. It’s so funny, but once again, I feel like the pain of loss leads me back – eventually – to revel in the joys and the blessings in my life – many of which continue to emanate from my hometown. Home Sweet Home…. The December Dilemma  The holidays are fast approaching. Getting through them with a modicum of grace and dignity – minus hurt feelings and ruffled feathers – is not easy. Adding inter-faith marriage to the mix only lights the flames of dissension faster. I would like to devote a column to this timely subject. Please feel free to respond to the questions below. I whole heartedly welcome your feedback Warm regards, Iris What are some potential pitfalls when celebrating with an interfaith family? How do you preserve religious traditions without offending? What experience have you had with sharing the non-religious parts of the holiday season together? What holiday themed projects can you do together to bond? If you experience something blatantly offensive, how do you deal with it? |
I remember a few Sundays…getting off the bus only to find a vanilla malt in sight….Glicks soda fountain was certainly more delicious than Sunday School.
I remember my parents providing transportation to the nearby dairy. A nickel ..then two luscious scoops of vanilla in my anxious grip
I remember sitting with my BEST FRIEND..consuming a grilled cheese and yes a vanilla malt..Frisch’s..on the main drag
DO I REMEMBER???
SINCERELY. , ALMOST HOME