Sadness + Joy

I’ve been meaning to write about these two topics for weeks.

My parents were laid to rest here. Anne in 1981, John in 2011. Sis and I put hydrangeas on the grave at George Washington Memorial Park cemetery in Paramus on Tuesday, July 23. Photos taken 3:22 p.m.

I cried for them, I missed them. I found some courage there. 

Oh yes, they were smart and strong, as were their parents, immigrants from Italy and Ireland (except my grandmother Alice, a New Yorker who lived in an orphanage after her mother died). 

I come from a line of Irish people with charm, with twinkle, with friends, my ancestors' Galway blue, chestnut brown or NY jet-black eyes sparkling, merry, soulful or mischievous. People with the gift of gab. Italian people who loved their families deeply with a love that traveled person to person even without words or gestures. From a line of Catholics. From my parents, who laughed and read, who sought the ocean, Manhattan, art, music and culture, who were highly educated (Fordham, City College) and intelligent about everything, even quickly surmising what type of person someone was inside. 

There were issues, too. I recognize that now, and it's sad and painful, the tragedy and alcoholic trauma the family held inside. It took my life's journey to arrive there, doors opened and closed. And the journey continues, the doors still appearing. Truth and beauty.

Standing there in the grass in my tank top, flip-flops and skirt, I could see my mother in her 1970s long-sleeve print dress with matching fabric belt, "suntan" colored pantyhose. The shoes, I can't remember the shoes. And my Dad, well, as I always saw him, in pants and a collared, buttoned, short-sleeve shirt, white or pale blue oxford, open at the neck to reveal a white, short-sleeved undershirt. (His collar size was 17 1/2, which we all knew.) Leather shoes with laces.

I had gone alone to the cemetery a couple of weeks earlier (Spice/Spike attends school in Paramus, so I was nearby) but couldn't find the grave. The grass was overgrown, and the gravestones are flush/flat with the ground. Sis said something about no above-ground stones or statuary allowed there.

My good sister took on the task. From her home in Connecticut, she called the office on the grounds, spoke to an efficient woman who pinpointed the location. That's my sister. She goes the distance to help family and friends. 

"Walk past Jones and McCracken, then make a left, pass five graves, and it's in that row," the lady said. (I'm making up the details now.) She gave us a map to the stars' homes, which I still have somewhere. We pulled up the heavy, muddy inverted metal vase attached underground with a chain to the gravestone and stood the vase right side up. 

"I'm glad Daddy got that vase," I said. "I'm glad he paid extra for it. He knew Mommy liked flowers." Sis had gone with him to choose the casket and other dark details at Frech Funeral Home in Dumont. 

That vase is a bonus. Dad must have known he would bring flowers for the woman who passed over the rose-trellised bridge at age 56, his bride, the mother of his four children, the woman he met in a carpool from NYC to their first jobs as chemists (at Lederle, in Pearl River, NY) in the late 1940s. He was a good Italian boy married to an Irish girl. Like most people in long marriages, they had weathered some storms. Tough times with their own teens, problems and worries with their young adults, stresses about my father's work, bosses and salary. (By the time I was a teen, the youngest of four, I did everything I could to get their approval and behave well. Pretty well, I guess. That may have been a gift for them, IDK, but it turned out to be a hard task for me in the long run.)

When I was working at Woman's Day and Good Housekeeping magazines, Dad would call me with updates. Not just "Hey Al? I got the free turkey at ShopRite for Thanksgiving and it's thawing in the garage," but also "I made a little Christmas tree and brought it to the cemetery today." He fashioned it from clippings from our holiday tree or evergreens in our backyard. (And what was I doing? Not going to the cemetery with Dad. Enjoying life as a young woman with her dream job in a dream city. I was there for my Dad, but see I could have been there more.)

After a few minutes by the grave, Sis said to our parents, "I brought your baby girl. Help her." I'm crying even now as I write this. Things were/are rough with Spice/Spike. Family crisis mode. I/we also have concerns about our Figgy. Our parents wanted the best for us, for all four of their children. And Dad of course for Figgy. He adored her. He met Spike as a baby.

"And you're not even going to have a grave," I blurted through tears as Sis and I walked back to her car. "Right," she said. She wants her ashes scattered somewhere.

Alas, in my life, I am working the "three C's" of recovery. I attend 12-step support groups. "I didn't cause it. I can't cure it. I can't control it." That wisdom applies to any troubling/unhealthy behaviors we see in people around us, things we wish we could fix. My former therapist once said that parenting is the most codependent relationship of all--or at least it can be.

Now a happier topic....

Look at our sweet nieces, three Maine flower girls at our big New Jersey wedding. From left, Pat and Donna's daughters, Anna and Mariah, and John and Jerri's daughter, Leah. You can see a hint of my parents' 1970s living room sofa in tones of gold and green.

Handsome Greg and lovely Leah at the Mere Point Yacht Club wedding celebration in July, a summer after they eloped on a sandbar with a minister and Greg's two children.

Well, I'm going to rest now. Good night.

Caped Wonders

We did a lot today, but this is dinner at Mac's in Wellfleet with Meg and Greg, 6:17 p.m.

I used to pack up my laptop and sit in my car in the dark, alone, in front of Ben & Jerry's or Dunkin' Donuts in North Eastham, near the Post Office, to get an internet signal and write a blog post every night on the Cape. Now I know how to set up a personal hotspot in the low-tech house using my iPhone and my MacBook. I can stay home and write.  

But I'm older now, and a good night's sleep is not just a requirement, but a treasured luxury. So I won't do long blog posts late at night when I should be dozing and dreaming.

We have kept busy, four of us in the house, all adults. It's really fun. For example, today:

• Beach and lighthouse gazing. Up early, drive to Nauset Light Beach on the National Seashore about 8:30 (before it officially opens in the morning, at least now, and a ranger checks you in at the booth, and you pay or show your pass) so that we can bring in Sis's puppy, Galena. In beach season, dogs can only go before or after closing (to lifeguard-protected areas).
• Back for breakfast. Greg made eggs and whole-grain toast, I had high-protein Bob's Red Mill oatmeal with berries. And lots of good hot coffee was poured. Meggy brought some java from Vermont Artisan Coffee & Tea Co. in Waterbury. We sat around the table and talked and laughed, and planned what we really want to do before we head home Friday morning. Our lists included outdoor showers (Sis and me), birdwatching (all of us nature nerds), Nauset Beach to see seals, bike path, etc.
• Showers. I love how quickly you dry off in that fresh air outside.
• North Eastham Post Office. My mother loved it and so do I. I mailed something to my brother Will and will mail a postcard from there, too, probably to Figgy in her apartment. If those P.O. walls could talk...think of the decades and decades, the homemade fudge and Girl Scout Cookies sent to Vietnam, maybe? IDK. To soldiers in World War II? The care packages in padded envelopes that my friend and I mailed to our girls at Frost Valley YMCA camp. When Punchy was a baby, I sent out invitations to Dan's surprise 50th bday party from the North Eastham P.O. 
• Idle Times Bike Shop. We checked the rental prices ($30 from 9 a.m. one day until 5 p.m. the next day). I hope weather and time cooperate tomorrow.
• Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary! Ah yes, back to my favorite spot on earth. I think we were padding along the soft sand trails from about 1:45 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. Green Heron, baby Baltimore Orioles in nest, giant green frogs in pond, birdsong, fiddler crabs, and memories of scrubby orange foxes, a muskrat, Snowy Egrets and tiny Fowler's Toads seen with my family when Dan and I and our girls (especially Figgy in tow), were much younger. The breeze, that beautiful breeze. Also, quick sweep of the gift shop to check the edit. No dogs allowed at the Audubon, because they would disturb the delicate sanctuary balance. So Sis didn't join us today but she will tomorrow (sans Galena) at Coast Guard Beach for Seals & Sharks walk and Friday for Early Bird Walk 8 to 10 a.m. at the Sanctuary.
• Mac's on the Pier in Wellfleet. Known for its fried whole belly clams and Wellfleet oysters and scallops, we beelined there because Greg likes to get fried clams once each Cape Cod trip. (So does Dan, generally, but he is home working and supervising Punchy who has school, God bless him.) Meggy had a lobster roll and I had famous Wellfleet oysters, lightly breaded and fried, not heavily battered. Plump, tender and sweet.
• Check in with Figgy and Punch. The former took the latter and her friend out for sushi in Montclair. That was nice. I asked Fig to check in tonight, because Dan was hired to write 60-Sec Novels at a party near Times Square, NYC. It's 11:27 p.m. and I hope he is back home by now.
• Hot Chocolate Sparrow. I planned my one ice cream/main treat of the trip--an ice cream cone dipped in the hot melted chocolate the Sparrow only offers in the summer months. I haven't gotten coffee there yet, but I def plan to by the car ride home, if Sis doesn't mind stopping. Peeked through the glass window to see a young woman tempering chocolate. Enjoyed seeing chocolate seashells, dogs, mice, cats, cell phones, most everything.
• Sunset at Great Pond with Sis and Galena. So beautiful. The sky looks almost bruised with colors but no, not bruised, just streaked with rainbow sherbet strokes over placid water. So pretty.

Thinking of Dad a lot up here, and Figgy, Dan and Punch, and our close friends and their three kids. Memories of coyotes, night fires on the beach, stars, ranger-led walks, my mother and the three weeks we spent here that first summer in 1980. (She died in May 1981.) I see my parents and their hopes and dreams all through the house. Their generosity, their gift. Will and Kelly say they are selling the house pronto. I can't yet fully face that and mourn. The Cape is in me, and I will be back, either off-season in hotels, when rates dip, or Airbnbs, etc. 

Good night. 

In the Hospital Where Dad Died

It was March 2011, more than 12 years ago now. Figgy was 15 1/2 and Punch was back with her birth mom.

I'm here for Dan's routine medical screening. Sitting in the lobby. We arrived by 11 and he should be finished by 2ish.

I wandered into the small chapel and said some prayers. 

I'm holding Dan's watch, wedding band and wallet for safekeeping. The lady at the desk said he had to remove the prior two. 

Back then, I also held Dad's wallet and watch with stretchy metal wristband. He did not wear a wedding ring.

I'm honored to be a trustworthy, wallet and watch holding wife and daughter.

Dad, I miss you still and do not really like that the world is going on as if nothing is different while you are slowly being forgotten.

Love, Al

Thanks, Dad--Good to See You

Lana Del Rey “Blue Velvet” image from HERE.

I saw and heard Dad today--in Lana Del Rey’s cover of “Blue Velvet,” which Lex played on a CD in our car--and in the cotton-tail bunny I saw scampering on the green grass.

Sis and I say Dad is in the bunnies we see.

One of us will say to the other,

“I saw Papa today,” and we know what it means.

The bunnies show up at hard times, as a comfort, or sometimes, after Sis comes to visit, a day Dad would be happy to see. 

I associate the song “Blue Velvet” with him. I guess my parents had the record. They had a lot of records, and I love that. I seem to remember listening to the song with Dad.

Figgy also played Lana Del Rey so much. Today, when I listened with Skippy, I loved the song. So rich. The violins in the beginning, the full-bodied vocals. Wow.

Per Wikipedia

"Blue Velvet" is a popular song written and composed in 1950 by Bernie Wayne and Lee Morris. A top 20 hit for Tony Bennett in its original 1951 version, the song has since been re-recordedmany times, with a 1963 version by Bobby Vinton reaching No. 1.

Inspiration/ Composition[edit]

Songwriter Bernie Wayne was inspired to begin writing "Blue Velvet" on a 1951 visit to Richmond, Virginia where he stayed at the Jefferson Hotel: at a party at the hotel Wayne continually caught sight of a female guest dressed in blue velvet with whom he would have a holiday romance.^[

Lyrics:

She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet was the night
Softer than satin was the light
From the stars

She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet were her eyes
Warmer than may her tender sighs
Love was ours

Ours, a love I held tightly
Feeling the rapture grow
Like a flame burning brightly
But when she left, gone was the glow

Of blue velvet
But in my heart there'll always be
Precious and warm, a memory
Through the years
And we still can see blue velvet
Through our tears

Ours, a love I held tightly
Feel the rapture grow
Like a flame burning brightly
But when she left, gone was the glow

Of blue velvet
But in my heart there'll always be
Precious and warm, a memory
Through the years
And we still can see blue velvet
Through our tears

I might write a Medium story about this, but too tired now.

Good night.

All I Want for Christmas

Santa pin above from THIS LINK.

https://alicegarbarinihurley.medium.com/all-i-want-for-christmas-fa9b0e44100b

Magical Mystery Tour?

On Saturday night at 10:26 p.m., I wrote here: feel upset because the delicate gold necklace I never take off broke...but at least it’s not lost... I will get it mended...talk tomorrow.

I've worn that gossamer-thin chain for years, even in the Cape Cod ponds and ocean.

Resigned, but glad I hadn't lost the necklace forever to the sea, I put jewelry repair down on my list of things to pay for when my next magazine-writing check comes--along with bills including heating oil, dentist and groceries. Even the most minimal jewelry fixes have spiked in cost, along with the price of gold over the years.

Then I published a letter to Dad last night, and mentioned how he fixed my necklace chains.

Then I realized this morning that while I could have sworn the chain was broken, when I decided to take a second look, I saw that the tiny clasp had unhooked from the tiny loop--and I could refasten it.  I was so tired Saturday night that I didn't notice...

Or did I? And this is a moment of magic, a message from above--Dad fixed my chain?

(BTW, Dan also fixes my jewelry for me when possible.)

LINK to my letter to Dad:

https://medium.com/@alicegarbarinihurley/al-to-dad-al-to-dad-calling-dad-come-in-dad-169aaf735dd7

Good night.

TCOY

1. Healthful foods: Ezekiel English muffin; vegan chicken patty; roasted broccoli; lean pork chop; sauerkraut; applesauce; Bosc pear slices with walnuts and small wedge blue cheese to conclude dinner.
2. Short walk at night. Saw moon and stars.
3. Private Benjamin session with Punch's therapist. It was a rough night last night, a rough day today. But that gifted therapist brought calm and light and helped steer the ship.
4. Started watching "Emily in Paris" on Netflix. What a delightful gift! Such escapism after a hard day. My friend Anne, my Sis and my brother-in-law Mike had all praised it. I love it. So much. Pure entertainment, plus Paris! Perfume, food, art, marketing, fashion, a beautiful boss you love to hate.....youth and bravery all in one. I think I'm almost finished with the season, though. 📺 👗👠

Above: Lily Collins plays a lovable American in Paris. 

Sister Bonding, May 2019

In our birth family, the Garbarini family, nicknames are big...word play....wit. Dad had lots of nicknames and funny turns of a phrase. We love family lore and stories, tell them again and again, to smile and remember.

Our Uncle Anthony brought us to side-splitting laughter with his tale of hitting a parked motorcycle with his car in a parking lot on Cape Cod in the 1960s. An accident report was filed and the police officer in Hyannis [or was it Barnstable?] said "We have to return to the scene." Uncle Anthony had his new wife, Aunt Claire, in the front seat and his mother and mother-in-law in the back. They had all driven up from the Bronx. The motorcycle belonged to a young man, and his girlfriend was with him--against the wishes of her parents, and now she was afraid they would find out. Let's return to the scene--Uncle Anthony said it was like something out of a radio crime drama.

Sis & I both wish she didn't have to go through a mastectomy, of course, how difficult and devastating, but she is going to be fine, God willing. Still, memories and lore from this week, word play that makes us smile:

• The plastic surgeon's young resident was SO HANDSOME. That helped soften the blow of surgery prep. Sis referred to him as Beauty Man today. We don't mean to objectify him but he was an Adonis.
• The very nice dog walker calls Buttercup's little harness and leash a "set" as in "Let's get your set on." Now we like to call it a set, too.
• We watched "Perry Mason" at 9 a.m. weekdays on MeTV and old movies like "Hud" and "I Remember Mama" at night.
• We took care of Buttercup, little angel.
• We liked my pink pineapple sweater--in the hospital [I wore it because pink is supposed to cheer up the wearer and those around him/her], at home [Buttercup slept wrapped in it one night] and tonight, when we washed it on delicate cycle.
• We met a whole new cast of supporting characters, five in total at home, many more in the hospital. Nurses, doctors, physical therapist, social worker, home health aide, visiting nurse, supervisor, many a resident. We remember charms and quirks about them.
• We have what Sis called a "bath" full of bread--a large aluminum roasting pan filled with ciabatta rolls, dark bread, English muffins and more, on the stovetop, in lieu of a breadbox.

More to come. Good night.

TCOY

1. I stayed an extra unplanned day, so had to call my dr. and ask her to phone in one pill to CVS in Stamford. It's an anti-anxiety medicine and you can get a headache when you skip it.
2. Walked by marina with Sis + Butter at sunset.
3. Nap, with windows open, fresh breeze.
4. Sis's excellent coffee.
5. Ice water.
6. Caught up on laundry, for here and a few of my things. 

$ MONEY SPENT OUT OF POCKET

• CVS, that one pill cost $10! because I wasn't due for refill yet, so not covered by insurance. Also got two cute magnetic notepads, one for me, one for Sis and made $1 donation at register to fight cancer. $23.81.

TOTAL DAILY SPEND: $23.81.
RUNNING TOTAL FOR MONTH AS OF MAY 15: $1221.96.

AVERAGE DAILY SPEND: $81.46.

Money thoughts: Sis lives much more frugally than I do and inspires me that way. Remember, at age 22, she joined the Peace Corps and lived on the island of Western Samoa. Talk about the opposite of materialistic. She does travel a lot and enjoys nice meals--and contributes money to charitable causes--but she is not a waster or overspender. She owns a beautiful home and leases a nice car. Lessons to be learned for me.

keeping my eye on past numbers:

TOTAL APRIL SPEND OUT OF POCKET: $3,634.28.

AVG. DAILY SPEND FOR APRIL: $121.14.
TOTAL MARCH SPEND OUT OF POCKET: $4,128.41.

TOTAL FEBRUARY SPEND OUT OF POCKET: $3,159.25.

A Seaside Letter to My Dad, and to My Daughter

I biked to southern tip of Tybee Island, 5:30 p.m. I find solace by the sea.

Dear Dad,

Thank you, again, for the lasting gift you and Mommy gave me. The gift of the sea. You unwrapped it for me at Rockaway Beach and Jones Beach in New York, at Beach Haven in New Jersey and most importantly, on Cape Cod.

Thank you, Dad, for pointing out the morning call of the bobwhite ["Bob White! Bob White!"] in a rented Cape Cod cottage when I was just four. 

Thank you for showing me how to swim. Mommy sat on the beach towel by the yellow striped umbrella, but you took me in. You had that big maroon port wine birthmark all over your back and you must have felt funny sliding your white T-shirt over your head to swim, but maybe leading your daughter into the ocean made the shyness go away. 

Thank you for showing me horseshoe crab shells--teaching me that things of nature are cool and magical--that they are to be embraced, and that I could be brave enough to handle and study them. Thank you for teaching me to stand up in the waves. I was afraid, and got knocked down and dragged to shore a few times. Thank you for encouraging me to keep on trying. Thank you for demonstrating how to float in the salty sea--how to work with the waves, not against them.

Thank you for collecting snow-white, sun-bleached clam shells, and putting some in our garden in New Jersey, near the pale pink and white peonies.

Thank you for showing me the lighthouses. The beacons. The safety and strength. 

Thank you for taking me near the dunes. The unspoiled seashore.

Thank you for loving the beach, and being excited to go there.

Thank you, Dad.

Love always, Al

_________________________________________

Dear Annie [aka Figgy, but this is important, so I used your real name],

Honey, I hope you will one day read the letter above.

Thank you for being my daughter, for coming to me through an act of love, God, faith and destiny. I longed to be a mother, and you made my dream come true. It's not as though we truly chose each other, yet somehow, as a lucky mother, I guess I did feel your baby self selected me.

Thank you for going to the beach with me. In your daisy-strewn turquoise onesie as a baby, in a pink floral two-piece from Gap Kids when you were almost four. In the Jessie [from the movie "Toy Story"] swimsuit from Aunt Eileen, white with cowgirl fringe.

By the time you were in preschool, you were jumping and skipping on the sand near the water on the Cape, saying "I love Cape Cod," over and over. You grew to love mermaids and fairies and seals--to be a brave, smart girl with a passion for whimsy and fun. 

But here is the thing, my Annie. You are 19 now. A young woman. Life has not been as smooth as we would have hoped. Maybe, though, a sea that is always placid would not teach us or show us as much as one that is rocking and tossing. Those are the waters that show us who can survive. Those are the waters that delight children and churn up shells and pretty, smooth stones for us to keep and treasure.

Look at the water, Annie. Look at those waves. Remember your grandparents; you were close to Grandpa and never knew my Mom, but I can tell you understand her. 

Feel the firm footing as you look at the sea. Avoid the riptides. Beware of sand bars because you may be able to swim or wade out but then the tide can change and you will have a hard time getting back.
Consider the seashells. Crafted carefully as houses by and for the creatures within. Built strong and hard to withstand predators and whipping waves--yet the shells are intensely beautiful, too. Lovely yet rugged, like you. 

Annie, I love you. Standing by and watching you try to find your way in rocky seas is one of the hardest things I have ever done. Watching you flail and not being able to run in and scoop you up and take you to safety on shore is heartbreaking. Watching you swim into waters that look dangerous--deadly, even--is bad. But standing here I am and standing here I will always be. I will never leave. Now salty tears are burning my eyes. I hope and pray that you will one day look to those waters, look to that sky and find your peace and your joy. Mother Nature is your answer.

I hope that what Grandpa and my Mom taught me are lessons I have taught you.

I love you.

Love always, Mom 

P.S. You know Daddy loves the ocean, too, and has so many shared memories with you about water and nature. But that is his letter to write.

Tybee Island Lighthouse, the tallest and oldest lighthouse in Georgia.

My Tory sandals by the sea. Had to scoop up before wave drenched them!

Blue crabs on a cannonball jellyfish! This one is for you, Figgy.

"Test Tube Baby" Learns New Skill Set

"Pharmaceutical tour guides" at Lederle Laboratories in Pearl River, NY. My parents--John Garbarini and Anne Mahon--met in a carpool from NYC; it was the late 1940s, and both were chemists. They were not pharmaceutical tour guides. But as I try to master science writing, I'm thinking of them. Thankful to antiquetrader.com and this LINK to the old postcard shown above.

Pushing myself forward--to learn a new set of writing and editing skills, involving science and health. It's challenging--yet fun.

New tools in the toolbox, not just the old hammer and screwdriver, the nails and the screws. Yes, I can grow and stretch, and it feels good. To not just master words to make you want to bake a billowy lemon meringue pie or buy a persimmon bed cover. Turns out I can also hone words like "stroke risk" and "hypertension" and "findings" to help you [and me] live a better life. I can be factual vs. frothy.

I have to go to sleep now and rise at 6 for more writing and editing. Please wish me luck. Good night.

TCOY

1. Doctor appt.
2. Sunk into a very restful afternoon nap on living room couch, to recharge my brain.
3. Private Benjamin. Helpful.
4. H. made a nice platter of local mozzarella with tomatoes and basil from his garden. The only part Punchy liked was the cheese, which she kept swiping before he got it to the table :) We didn't have Italian bread to sweep through the olive oil on the platter tonight; she likes that, too.

Drive with Caution--Dad on the Road

Night before last, I dreamt I was with Dad at the Bergaminis--old family friends. Mom was Elaine's maid of honor and Elaine was her matron of honor, and they'd been friends since girlhood and all through their lives.

In the dream, Elaine and her husband, Romeo, were still alive.....actually, they've been gone for years. And Dad was alive, too. I liked seeing him. He was driving his white 1990s Chevy Cavalier--the one he gave us before he died. I was driving ahead of him, leading him out to the highway when we left at night.

Now today, I learned from the mechanic that Dad's car is most likely a goner, that it would cost more to fix at this point than it's worth. I don't like that. He drove me and little Figgy to the Cape often in that car, and it sports a 1997 sticker for Eastham taxpayers/Eastham beaches.

I miss you, Dad. For now, your car is back in our garage, and I can see it from my desk.

Nothing & Everything

I have nothing to report...or maybe it's everything?

Having seven teens in the house--counting our nephew from Maine--everything or nothing? One day when I'm old and weak, I bet a night like this will seem like everything, but for this summer, it's ordinary.....pouring a glass of orange juice for someone, doing the dishes, driving to the mall to get my newish iPhone replaced because the speaker isn't working. Putting wash in, moving it to the dryer. Taking Sug out--she sits forlornly waiting to pee, amid the flip-flops and sneakers the teens slipped off. Culling interview notes to write Anthony's life story. Gleefully putting the A.C. on low and getting into bed.

I saw a man at Mass yesterday who reminded me of my good Dad. He was in his 80s, wearing a short-sleeved, cotton/poly blend button-down shirt, like Dad wore. He was having a little trouble walking, like Dad did. But he was proud....didn't want anyone noticing he was having trouble walking. And he had something--a pen or pen holder--in his pocket, like Dad might have. I miss my Dad.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the park. But I had driven Punch home after sleepover, and was 15 min. late, and the class was moving around the park today. I didn't find them til the end, but I did walk around a lot looking.
2. Good iced coffee.
3. Walked Puff around block.

Deviled Eggs

I was too tired to find my laptop and turn it on at midnight. But the graduation party was really lovely. H. worked so hard and the lawn and garden looked beautiful. He had candles in the garden, among the tiger lilies.

We were lucky it didn't rain.

Figgy and her friends all looked beautiful, too. Fig had on a white lace dress and a purple dahlia from our garden in her hair. Marc's band played [Super Movies, with Nick and Sebastian], and that was magical and lovely. Lulu had on pastel yellow sandals. Maggie had a pretty striped dress. Kyle had a nice dress shirt, Stephen a tropical one.

I felt Dad's presence. Driving along Valley Road in the daytime, I stopped at a red light and started crying. I miss you, Dad. I miss you, I said out loud. Was glad I had sunglasses on to hide the tears, but when you cry, your mouth gets all weird and twisted and trembly, too, and you can't hide that without a face mask.

Dad always arrived early when we had parties.

Hey, Al, he'd say. I brought the deviled eggs. He'd take the round glass platter into the kitchen. He made good devlled eggs.

Oh, brother, he'd say when he saw the sink full of dishes and the things left undone.

But he would have been proud of us yesterday. And Dad, did you see our Figgy? Please watch her from above.

Weeds

Grateful that I'm strong and healthy enough to bend over and weed.....spent a good amount of time on the patio, where many greens sprouted between the bricks....Figgy helped a little and her friend Charlotte helped a lot...

Doing yard work makes me think of Dad. When I came in to get a tall glass of ice water, I remembered him taking a break when doing the lawn chores up on the Cape. He was a good man and a hard worker. I miss him. But gardening connects us.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Support group.
2. Walk with Elly @ Brookdale Park.
3. Walked Sug around block.
4. Nap.
5. Anne and Nikki invited me to go to mall with them this evening. Nice.

Nightcap: World's Best Cannoli

Rode the F train to West 4th Street, to meet everyone @ old-time Trattoria Spaghetto, an Italian restaurant we love on Bleecker Street in the West Village. But H. and Fig were late driving in from NJ and Floridians Mary Jane, Tony and Marissa got lost taking the subway downtown, so I had a half hour to kill. I walked over to the next block...Downing Street, to my delight.

As I've written before, that's where Dad was born...where his young Italian immigrant parents had their three boys, Anthony, Aldo and John.....I walked over and looked at their building [the lobby is refurbished], at the place where Dad's cousin had his plumbing company [beautifully renovated into another business now] and of course, to the former horse stable with the magestic stone horse's head. Al, look, Dad said. The horse's head!***

I stood in the dark looking up at the horse's head near 7 P.M. as people returned from work, talked on their cells, put the garbage out, walked their dogs, strolled arm in arm, hurried to meet their friends. I looked up into the windows of the apartment building, thinking about my grandparents. Then I called my cousin Linda and Sis, to talk to them about where I was. I didn't have my cousin Judi's number, so I asked Sis to text her....

Dinner at Spaghetto was so fine....I had chicken parmigiana; came with a side of ziti....my meal was better than ever. Mary Jane always wants to go to Rocco's Pastry Shop right up Bleecker for espresso and cannoli after dinner. Tonight, the cannolis were exceptional. The filling was so fresh, creamy, luscious and abundant.....omigosh, so good. H. and I split a small one. Figgy had one with a chocolate-dipped shell. And we had a few pignoli cookies, H.'s favorite.

Good night.

***According to forgotten-ny.com, "on this 1909 Bromley atlas plate of Downing Street notice several dwellings lining the street that are marked with X’s. In the legend, an X means a stable or garage. Thus we can determine that Downing Street once served in large part as a place to stable horses. Carmine Street, one block north, is quite wide and Downing Street likely served the businesses and homes there."

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the soccer dome. Lots of jogging and jumping.
2. Walked around the city [and up and down subway stairs].
3. Saw my friend Celia.
4. Good amount of ice water.
5. I liked getting in touch with Mom's and Dad's history--hers at the library, his on Downing Street.

The Tracks of My Tears

Sad day....the funeral for my friend Fritch's good mom. Her family is very close, and there were a lot of tears. Mr. and Mrs. Fritsche sure raised a large, loving group of children and grandchildren.

As always, it was comforting and familiar to be back at St. Mary's Church in Dumont. Made my first confession and First Communion there. My confirmation, with my grandmother next to me as my sponsor. The annual May procession, first for Sis and then for me. Christmas and Easter Masses. Solemn Good Fridays. Site of my grandpa Jim Mahon's funeral, my mother's funeral, our wedding. Dad's funeral. The rituals: a fresh flower crown for Mary, mysterious ashes, incense, a choir loft, stained glass, kneelers. Long black robes, white robes, nuns' habits. Rosary beads. Pomp and circumstance.

The polished pews, the confessional boxes, the marble altar with golden rail, the speckled floor, the shining chandeliers. And the lovely white statue of Mary, on the left when you face the altar, and Joseph, on the right. [When my friends and I got married in the 1980s and 90s, it was typical for the bride to place a special bouquet at Mary's feet at the end of the ceremony. I can't swear that I did, but I remember others doing it.]

The rite of Christian burial.....it brings on primal pain. Yet we have to do it, move through it, mourn. It tears your heart out to lose your mother. I pray for my friend Fritch and her family. May the love of their mom live on strong in their hearts.

After the Fritsche motorcade pulled away, I went to visit my parents' graves, also at George Washington Cemetery in Paramus. I think it's the first time I've gone alone to Dad's since he died nearly two years ago. I always go with Sis. They're buried near the funny crooked pine tree that looks like something out of Dr. Seuss. The plaque says

GARBARINI

JOHN J.        ANNE M.

I miss them both. I cried to them before I got out of the car. But then another long line of hearse/limos/cars came in on my left, and the funeral-home driver asked me if I was going to be staying there, as though I was intruding.

"My Dad's grave is right over there," I pointed. Jeez. It was hard enough to be sad but worse to have to open my window, crumpled tissue in hand, to answer to that guy.

Not an easy day.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Brought big bottle of water with me to have in car.
2. Walked Puff for 45 minutes and it felt good.
3. Mu shu chicken split 3 ways with Figgy and her friend, with homemade brown rice on the side. Was watching budget, but it worked out fine.
4. Ate a couple of fresh orange wedges.

Where Have All the Fathers Gone?

Today was the funeral for my dear friend's dad. It occurred to me that in the last few years, a lot of my friends have lost their dads, just as I lost mine. Anne's dad [right now], Elly's dad, Candy's dad......they all left golden daughters behind....strong women; smart visionaries; talented, generous friends; loving mothers and sisters; kind, kind hearts....

How much did our fathers have to do with that? How do our fathers shape us, from the days we run into their arms after work to the days they help with carpooling, teach us to drive, meet our boyfriends, walk us down the aisle and hold our children? [Or, in my case, sew patches on my jeans, help me review sixth-grade history, model kindness to family and friends, and pass down his love for animals when we watched "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom."]

How lucky we are to have had men in our lives who were present....who were accountable...worked hard....loved our mothers....how heart-wrenching it must be to have a father you do not know. Or heart-wrenching may be the wrong word, because if you never knew him, you likely could not comprehend the quiet strength from the sidelines.

How raw the pain is when they leave us. From then on, a big part of who you are is a daughter without her father.

To all the dads we've loved.....I hope there is paradise after death....fishing, books, animals...to be enjoyed from your perch in the heavens.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the dome. Hard!
2. Walked Puff around the block.

Dream Roll: Back in Dumont with Dad

Last night I dreamt I was with Dad. I'm not surprised, b/c I was thinking of him a lot when watching "The Twilight Zone" marathon on the Syfy channel.

I can't remember it all b/c it is now 3:46 P.M. and I woke up at 6:30ish.

But we were back in the Dumont house on Bedford Road. Dad wanted me to do some errands with him, including going to the jeweler for repairs. One was a pearl bracelet, like the fine gold chain he got Mom, interspersed with single cultured pearls, spaced out at a distance [kind of a forerunner to the famous Tin Cup necklaces]. The jeweler fixed the broken chain by putting a kind of clunky tunnel over it--like a cardboard tube or something. It also had the name of the jewelry store on it. It was obvious, and ugly. We asked him to please do another repair, and he was going to. We just wanted the chain fixed.

Then there was a simple ladies' watch with a one of those stretchy bands. I don't know what was wrong with it.

Finally, Dad wanted to get two paintings framed. The man [still the jeweler] suggested framing them together. When placed side by side, they looked like a continuation of the same painting. We really liked it, and hadn't seen it that way ourselves. We were trying to figure out where he would put it, if he had enough wall space for a painting like that, rather than two separate smaller ones.

Then Dad went back home to take a nap...but on my brother Will's bed, upstairs. He was tired. The bed had the turquoise ribbed bedspread that in real life was on my bed, across the hall. He also had a mask on his face [I'm sure this is related to a pig mask I saw in a "Twilight Zone" episode yesterday, an episode that Dad and I watched and talked about in real life.] Take the mask off, I said. and helped him get it off. I was afraid he wouldn't breathe right with it on.

I said I'd be back another day soon, but I had to hurry and catch the bus to work--to an office in NYC. I just about caught the 1:15 but it went by without stopping. Then a smaller bus came along, and I took that. I felt torn, leaving Dad behind and also being late for work--like I hadn't done either part right.

I don't remember anything else--but when I awoke, it felt I had really been with and seen my good Dad. In real life, I ran him around to do a lot of errands: doctor, drugstore, bank.

But why was he napping on Will's bed? He never did that. Always on the recliner in the living room....in fact, he didn't like going up to Will's room b/c he would always worry about all the stuff Will had stored in there and what would happen when he had to sell the house.

Perhaps there is a message buried in this.

TCOY

1. Boot camp in the soccer dome. Boxing.
2. Walked Sug around block.
3. Salon blowout.
4. Made brown rice, veggies and broiled scallops for dinner.

"The Twilight Zone" Marathon

Famous for twist endings; I like writing twist endings, too.

I remember watching the New Year's Day "Twilight Zone" marathon with Dad. Tonight I caught a few great episodes. I love the way it explores the meaning of life, questions our loyalties and responsibilities, turns conventional thinking on its ear....

I just watched episodes about a young brother and sister whose parents are bickering/divorcing and the kids find they can swim through a magic door in their fancy built-in pool and arrive at a "gingerbread house," where a kind old woman bakes and serves giant cakes to them, and where kids can be kids; about a man in an old-age home who wants to be young again; and about a fellow who hates the demands of his "Mad Men" era advertising job and wants to travel back to a simpler time, a time he glimpses when he dozes off on his train commute home to Connecticut.

Rod Serling was brilliant. Just read that he was born on Christmas Day 1924 in Syracuse, NY. What a gift he left us.

What a master storyteller. And Dad, I am missing you. Wish you were here to watch with me. Love, Al

Good night.

TCOY

1. Even though it was cold and dark, wrapped up me and my Sug and we took a walk down by the Hobbit houses and back up the hill. It was invigorating, and nice to see everyone's Christmas trees through the windows. Saw twinkling tree @ Werner, Wyville, NFL and Panucci houses, and through the glass at new pricey home and sweet tudor home.
2. Planning to turn over new leaf [again] and not stay up late every night, starting tonight.

Fall on Your Knee

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining, 

It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth. 

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. 
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices! 

Maybe I had to have a little spill in order to stop and listen, be still, contemplate. Because last night at about 7:15, hurrying to the car on a slick and rainy path, I fell. Scraped my right knee really badly, and my left ankle is not right. I'm limping a little on the stairs.

I lay there on the gritty black street in front of our house crying, but no one heard me. Everyone was inside. This is not the first time this has happened to me. I also tumbled in the backyard years ago--but Patsy heard me that time--and on the Cape when I was returning from a neighbor's house on the unlit street. And then there was the time when Figgy was in her highchair and her baby sitter was giving her breakfast. I had left for work and then ran back in the door, crying. I had fallen running for the bus on the corner and tore a hole in the right knee of my stockings, again badly cutting that knee. It's scarred.

There's a message in this somewhere. Part of it is my connecting it to the beautiful Nat King Cole version of  "O Holy Night"--the fall on your knees part. I love "The weary world rejoices." Once, when Dad and I were driving somewhere, I played it in the car. 

"Nat King Cole really sings every word so perfectly," Dad said. "It's so clear."

It's true. Dad, are you trying to reach me? Did this fall link me to you and your strong love? I miss you. I have several work deadlines I've been struggling to meet...you always encouraged me, believed in me, in a calm, matter-of-fact way. As in, Well, you gotta do it.

I can't find two small notebooks with important project notes, and feel panicked. Have checked every pile and every place. Guess I just have to move on without them, but I'm a stickler for referring to my notes. Guess this is a lesson, too, to work in my office and not branch out to the dining room table. 

Have a good day. As for me, wondering if I should fall on my knees voluntarily, to pray....

TCOY

1. Last night, I went to "Putting It Together," a showcase of Broadway hits presented by the School of Visual and Performing Arts @ MHS. I loved it. I went b/c Fig's good friend is on the backstage crew, but the songs touched my soul, made me smile, laugh, think. It was en route to there that I fell...but I was late, so I didn't treat my knee till I returned.
2. Going to support group.
3. Want to take walk to clear mind, calm down, but now not sure I can with ankle. Will see.

What I Miss about My Dad

• His nicknames for me--Al, Schmadsen and others.
• Going out to lunch with him.
• His "zipper jacket."
• Seeing him work hard in rehab, trying to take steps. 
• He praised my driving.
• He supported me as a writer.
• He asked me about my friends.
• He pushed his walker with Sug in the seat on top.
• Going to the grocery store with him, until we had to start going for him.
• Talking about how our family friends and relatives are.
• He was proud of me.
• His stories about being a young man and meeting my mother's parents--how my grandmother said "John loves creamed onions," although he hated them and then had to eat some, and how my grandfather told jokes with his thick Irish brogue.
• He enlisted me to order Godiva chocolate for special people at Christmas--his two brothers' wives, some old friends on the Cape, Sis/Don and others.

Good night, Dad. I'm missing you. Why didn't I record some conversations? I would love to play them right now. Well, I'll tell you why. That would have been acknowledging that you'd be gone one day, leaving the tape recorder--and me--behind.

TCOY 

1. Boot camp in the park. Glorious sunny day.
2. Beet greens and tofu.