Obituary Assignment Inspires

I’d never been so thrown by a class assignment. Yet, there I sat,

staring at a blank screen, waiting for the words to come as I tried to write my own obituary. I began with my name. I moved on to the “dash” part which would include: born on…dash…died. I chose not to fill in the date I died, but did take note of how old I was.

I was 47 years old.

I’d been alive for 47 years. That’s 17,155 days to get it right. I looked at the prompts for this writing assignment. What do I want my life to reflect? I thought I’d take a creative approach and write about the dreams that I’d had for an entrepreneurial venture. Who were the people I wanted to impact? I wrote about my family and the throngs of other creatives who would be loved to live by words I had written.

So full of life!

And then it hit me. Or should I say, SHE hit me, and spoke to my heart in the way of one who had been there. My sister, Mary, vibrant, strong, energetic, driven. Yes, Mary who had taken her role as the eldest of twelve children and blazed trails for the rest of us to follow. Headstrong, resilient, yet vulnerable and self-protective. Mary called to me in this assignment. I felt my eyes drift to her most recent business card that rested on my desk, Director of Veteran Affairs at the Erie County Courthouse. I knew that assignment had been a joy to her. My sister passionately embraced her role of helping veterans receive the benefits they’d earned and deserved. I was one of those veterans and had the privilege to see my sister’s work in action.

Though she loved her job, what made her zest come to life was love for people. She didn’t have a clique, Mary loved everyone. She

Mary with her family

didn’t see color, age, size, or financial status…she saw fellow travelers in the journey of life. Her special tribe was her children and husband. She’d been married three times. Her belief in love and a desire to provide a caring home for her family kept her heart open to possibility. Her capacity to live the line, “Hope springs eternal,” led her to open a shop as “The Cookie Lady,” take on several jobs within the realm of her Criminal Justice degree, joyfully serve in a comedy club,  seek and win ribbons for various baking competitions, and even enter competitive body-building after having her six children. She had trophies that nodded to her drive to succeed. Yet, with all her accomplishments, I was most grateful for her generous kindness.  I remember her knock on my door when I was a single mother. Opening the door back then, let in the whirlwind of my sister and her bevy of children for a ten-minute visit to bring me a meal. No matter what turmoil was taking place in Mary’s life, she dealt with it by internalizing the phrase, “Fake it til you make it,” pasting on a smile and helping others.

Even when the cancer diagnosis was delivered.

I was in the car with my sister when she had to make a quick stop, to drop off one of her long blond wigs to a co-worker who wanted to dress up for a hot date with her husband. Mary had sass. Mary had pizazz. She had style, fun, and a bravery that allowed her to try on all sorts of looks…even as she dropped down to under a hundred pounds.

I am so grateful that I had enough sense to accept her offer to hand out Halloween candy at her house that final October in her life. She was in full-form with her striped stockings, black silk pointed hat, full make-up, and of course, a fantastic wig. She smiled and called each neighbor by name. She giggled with the litany of compliments to her fabulous persona. “Well, why wouldn’t I dress up?,” she laughed.

Susie, she now seemed to whisper as my keyboard sat untouched…do something. Do it all. That dream to touch people and bring your ideas to life doesn’t just happen. Take the steps to bring it to life.

I am 47 years old…turning 48 this year. Mary was 48 when that date was filled in after her dash. I want to live and love others. I will write the obituary as a list of my goals…and I will take steps toward those goals with gratitude, courage, perseverance and the memory of those who have led the way.

Living Life Large

Lessons Learned from Live Tweeting

  Last night I chose to undertake a school assignment I'd been putting off due to feeling intimidated: Live Tweeting.  Others may call this Live Blogging.  Either way- it was an interesting night- on many levels.  I could have chosen an on-campus event but decided to accompany my husband, a Code Enforcement Officer for the City of Erie, to a Neighborhood Revitalization meeting.

  This project opened my eyes up to:

 a) How difficult Live Tweeting can be- my Professor has likened it to "Drinking from a fire hose."  Live Tweeting is using the social media platform Twitter, which allows posts of 140 characters or less, to share an event in real time.   At times the information is coming fast and furious- and we get docked for misspelled words...but even worse is misinformation!  I appreciate his concern for good, accurate news.

b) The topic of the evening- Saving a section of our town that has fallen into blight.  This area of Buffalo Road is one I've traveled for most of my life.  I went to grade school a few miles up the road, not too far from the distressed neighborhood.  I often drive through it to visit my family and  

friends who live further east in Harborcreek.  Over the years it's disrepair has become increasingly evident.  It was a bit surreal to not just drive by, but rather pull into the community center and spend time with those who live and work in this area.  We are all part of the Erie Community- even though it can feel like we live in different worlds.

c) The discussion of getting neighbors involved and creating a communal vision.  The concerns and fears discussed in the room were valid- no one wants bullets entering their home and yet, the hope that was stirred in the room by a concerned group gathered to do more than just complain was inspirational.                

d) The sincere compassion of the hosts/presenters committed to helping this neighborhood come together to affect change was positively moving.  The meeting was far from boring because of the dynamic presentation of issues and clear guidance on taking the baby steps needed before running with the project could ensue.

e) The interaction of my husband, Steve, with these citizens, who rely on his hard work to help clean up their neighborhood, was eye-opening.  I witnessed the frustration he experiences in trying to help improve this neighborhood's quality of life face off with limitations that impede that goal.  The inability to locate abandoned property owners, absentee landlords, and untended vacant lots were just a few of the hot topics.  Steve's grace under pressure of heated questioning had me feeling so proud of his commitment, knowledge, and authentic desire to make a difference  That willingness to work WITH the community won their respect.  The bridge to team-work was strengthened when he offered his direct line in response to the question who they could send their complaints to.

f) Finally, the sobering realization that when the meeting was done and my computer tucked away it was time to say goodnight to the teens and elderly that were sweeping the community center and putting chairs away.  I was heading home where my children safely waited for me.  These meeting participants were heading to their homes that still held levels of uncertain danger.  My evening was about "covering an event" theirs was about changing their environment.  Change takes time...and involved people.  It is not an overnight process.

This morning I woke with the meeting heavy on my heart.  I pondered this list until I just had to write it out...for you.  Perhaps together we can spread the word and lend a hand to help a community- wherever you live.  Because I guarantee that even if you live in a beautiful, safe, clean, and caring environment- not too far from you are people- yes, human beings, your neighbors who live a different reality.  If the situation were reversed what would you hope they would do?

I'm going to share my assignment here if  you'd like to learn about the meeting or even see the end result of using Twitter (a social media platform that allows you to post using 140 or less characters) than sharing to Storify (a platform that can create a story out of a series of your sequential "Tweets."

Live Tweeting Assignment

 

Writer's Block

  How bizarre is it that I am sitting in a McDonalds (for the free wifi... and a few fries) with my laptop open, waiting for my 16 year-old son to finish his conditioning for the spring lacrosse season, and I am suffering from writers block?

   I know, I know...writers block is neither bizarre nor rare.  And yet, for me, it kinda is.  I typically thrive on the the thrill of a "writing date" when I often experience great relief as my words are allowed and encouraged to tumble out nearly as quick as my unconscious stream of thought.  Not so much this time.
   This flow of ideas used to fall into place quite naturally.  These days it happens briefly, as my head hits the pillow.  The comforting dark envelops and coos to my tired thoughts, coaxing my mind to

connect with the rest of me.  Over the years I have come to appreciate mindfulness and that hushed serenity that swaddles me while the rest of the house which has nestled in for the night cradles my true loves in their beds.  My senses are lulled into an easy going repertoire as a quiet joy, similar to old friends meeting, settles over me.  That is the time when the day, which will never be again, makes peace with my body and spirit, which have just carried me safely through its' past 24 hours.

   Yet, here I am, engulfed in classic rock that pumps from this get-away's surround sound mashed with chatter that blends a foreign tongue and a familiar language forcefully voiced by a child pleading to his parents to take him to the bathroom.  A steadfast middle-aged female employee winds her way through the colorful ensemble, faithfully attending to her duties of wiping down tables.  I am grateful for the cleanliness.  This particular location neighbors a nearby motel casting it's bright light toward the thruway and several gas stations.  It is a veritable way-lay for the travelers seeking a pit-stop on their journey elsewhere this evening.  I hear a nasally voice asking a tired, "did you get that coffee yet?,"  to which her colleague responds with a lackluster "yeah, it's in the cupholder."  The "Na na naaa, na naa, naaaa" from a band, unfamiliar to me, tries to infuse energy in the joint.  The guys, speaking a language I still can't place, spontaneously burst into laughter- which actually does lift the mood and make me smile.

 My grin lingers while a realization dawns...mindfulness itself has healed my writer's block.  The cloying scent of percolating caffeine, readied to assist travelers on their drive through the night, is so heavy it disrupts my reverie and brings me to my senses.  Time to go.  I gather my things and take a closer look around.  I am not the first to leave our temporary community, which shared the last 30 minutes of our lives. Most likely this was the only time our collective group will be together on earth.  This thought wakens the gratitude for always having something to be grateful for and serves as a reminder to sit up and take notice of who we share our journey with. We're on to a different tune now.  So let the drummer drum and the singer sing this very poignant song that plays as I depart:

Give A Little Bit 

Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me                                      
Give a little bit
I'll give a little bit of my love to you
There's so much that we need to share
Send a smile and show you care
I'll give a little bit
I'll give a little bit of my life for you
So give a little bit
Give a little bit of your time to me
See the man with the lonely eyes
Take his hand, you'll be surprised
Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me
I'll give a little bit of my life for you
Now's the time that we need to share
So find yourself, we're on our way back home
Going home
Don't you need to feel at home
Oh yeah, we gotta sing

Written by Richard Davies, Roger Hodgson • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group

 

GIFTED Art

  I'm going with an old adage I've heard that says it's NEVER too late to say thank you.
  So, here goes..."Thank you, Mr. Brian Pardini!"

  Utterly whimsical and completely captivating, your gift to me was freely offered and spontaneously found.  It embodies the spirit of fun and your playful presentation itself, highlighted the surprise and lent to the magic of receiving. 

  To those of you have no idea what I'm talking about...allow me to explain:
  A few years ago I brought a few of my children into the Lincoln Center Community Library and was unexpectedly transported to a delightfully playful world of imaginative creativity.  I was, for the first time, encountering Brian Pardini's display of incredibly cool driftwood pieces, which formed fantastic creatures, ingenious animals, and insightful people.  Resting atop the neatly ordered book shelves and nestled into nooks and crannies these creations called to me...I simply couldn't get enough.  My children and I wandered the library, lost in the allure of inventive pieces fashioned from the kind of material we had undoubtedly walked by countless times on our trips to Presque Isle and other jaunts down to the shores of Lake Erie.  Now we were seeing natures gifts with new eyes- through the lens of possibility!

  I researched Brian's work but never got up the nerve to reach out to tell him how his work inspired me with it's light-hearted creativity and use of what was naturally offered.  Over the next several months I saw pieces of the collection move to the Raymond M.Blasco, M.D. Memorial Library and even read an article in the paper about him. 

  What I did not expect...at all...was to be presented with my very own Pardini original.  In keeping with his fun, playful style and much like the first time I encountered this art- I happened upon it.  I was walking the Karl Boyes Multipurpose Trail  at Presque Isle State Park with a friend, when something out of the ordinary caught my eye.  THIS very piece was sitting on a park bench.  I

Thank you Mr. Pardini!

immediately recognized the style but had no idea why it was there...unescorted.  How could this be?  Was it stolen from the library and discarded anonymously during a sudden bout of thief's remorse?  Was it forgotten during a lunch date on that frosty bench?  Was I being pranked or tested?  Whatever the case, I was not about to let this work of art sit out in the elements, which I suppose is funny since that's where it originated.  I looked around to see if anyone might have just stepped away for a moment with the intent of coming back for it.  No one fit the bill.  In a split decision, I snatched it up and kept on down the path, talking my friend's ear off about my fascination with these creations.  It's a signed piece- this was special!  I was determined to find it's rightful home.  I even considered a book I had read titled UNthink, by Erik Wahl, a graffiti artist/motivational speaker.  In each town he visits he hides an original piece of his art and leaves clues for it to be found as in a scavenger hunt.  Could I be that lucky?


  Days passed before I worked up the nerve to bashfully approach a librarian at Lincoln library to ask if she'd heard of a piece of the Pardini collection gone missing.  She laughed and conspiratorially leaned forward to reassure me, "That's what he does.  He'll randomly leave a piece of his work near an area he collects material as a thank you.  It's for the finder to keep." 

  I was dumbstruck in a sudden tumble of appreciation, relief, and inspiration. "HOW FUN IS THAT!?!," I thought.  What a cool way to pay it forward.  My family was elated that I would not be a suspect for thievery (whew! ha ha)...and that we were, in fact, the proud owners of a Brian Pardini original!  It's rightful home was mine and I was thrilled!

Legitimately ours: A Pardini original!

  Therefore, a very heart-felt and official THANK YOU, Mr. Brian Pardini, for the inspiration to see beyond what the eye sees and for the gift of spontaneity and generosity.  Your art and your spirit are themselves, a true gift to this world.


  Brace yourself for inspiration as you check out more of Brian's work here:
Brian Pardini: Art

**Make sure to read Brian's "STATEMENT" on the left hand column of his site...Intriguing!



 

Space Invaders

   Just a few nights ago I covered up my five-year old with a soft pink and white fuzzy blanket before piling on her queen-sized floral comforter.  I took one look at the smiling blue eyes peeking out from the mountain of ensured warmth and forgot the book waiting for me downstairs.  Prompted to spontaneity, I  threw back the covers, hopped in, and tossed the layers of comfort over both of us.  We lay nose to nose and stared in each others eyes before the inevitable giggling started... you know, the kind that is born of an awkward closeness while invading someone's space.  We were within breath-fogging proximity yet neither of us were shy in the nearness.  Truth be told I've most likely desensitized her to the need for personal space over the years with my constant nuzzling. 

  She caved first and slowly inched backwards...probably so she could see my whole head without going cross-eyed.  My youngest shares this large bed with her 14 year-old sister, a fact I hear about  frequently due to the youngest's tendency to thrash about and lob her teeny feet and legs into her sisters face nightly.  I was thinking about that discrepancy and asked my little one if she and her older sister sleep nose to nose.  "No," she responded then went on to act out her words of, "I like to try to SNUGGLE UP," she said, letting the words build in tempo.  She inched herself away from me while stretching her words, "Then I baaack away kinda slowly." Once again she wiggled close, quickening her words as she said,  "Then I try to SNUGGLE UP," before carefully scooching backwards while lowering her voice to say, "then I hafta baaaack away kinda slowly....  then I fall asleep."   She was letting me know her tactics to incrementally sneak into her sisters personal space to get warm and cozy without being noticed until she was tired enough to conk out in her own little zone.

  I then asked if she liked sharing a bed with her older sister and she nodded emphatically adding, "until I get my own bed."  Knowing her fondness of cozying up, I was surprised and asked, "Oh, do you want your own bed?  She looked at me earnestly and replied, "Yeah, maybe when I'm 11...or 18...or 39."

  The  mind of a five-year old holds delight and somewhat random thoughts...and ages.  That evening was a fine example of diving into a darling moment that would have been missed had I heeded the call for my own personal space.  I'm no longer 11...or 18...or even 39 for that matter.  It's a sweet delight to enter the mind of youth and perhaps even gain inspiration.  I wonder if my husband will notice my cold feet inching towards him this evening?