Treasure your moments...

Today, I stood in the snow at my grandmother's grave. My mother, as always, brought the sweetest arrangement of seasonal flowers and little ornaments for her mother and father. We always make a few comments about them and how nice they are... followed by comments on how disgusting it is that they will be tossed in the dumpster or resold by the jerks who take them away after a few weeks. For shame. 

I hadn't gotten a chance to change my boots from earlier in the day so I was naturally wearing inappropriate footwear for snow-trudging. We joked as the buckles kept coming unsnapped as I pulled each foot out of the mounds of snow. Foolish girl with zero grace. We cleaned off the grave stone, arranged the flowers and took our moments. It was in those moments that I had the best holiday montage play in my mind. It was of nearly every holiday that I'd spent with my grandmother for all of our forty years together. The images were so vivid. The happiness that I saw and felt was so pure. And at that point I was reminded that I hadn't really lost my grandmother. I lost the ability to make future memories with her. And, while that feels immense a lot of the time, it's always comforting to look back with such admiration on the countless times we shared together. 

I am always telling the girls that it's never about the things that we GET it's always about the time that we spend together with the people that we love. We could be doing the simplest thing together and that will be cemented in our memory forever. For example, one of my most treasured memories with my grandmother is of us watching a TV adaptation of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane on a Thanksgiving Eve. Part of the reason I think it stuck with me is because I was so happy to be allowed to stay up until it ended at 11 pm. Another reason is because Lynn Redgrave was semi-terrifying in that role. Either way, Gram and I shared a love for thrillers. I remember watching Hitchcock with her and sharing books like Rosemary's Baby. You'd never think it to look at her but she did love her a creepy tale. 

Holidays will never pass without me reminiscing. In so many ways Gram WAS our holiday. She would come to our house the night before and help prepare the meal. She always cleaned the turkey for Thanksgiving (because my mother skeeved it beyond belief). I can't tell you how many Christmas mornings I stood layering lasagna with her... I remember how she always took a little of the ricotta mixture for herself. 

It truly is the little things that make the fondest memories. It's not about getting that bike when you were ten. It's that someone ate the entire bowl of onion dip with their hands. It's about getting the giggles during Midnight Mass and possibly exchanging words with the people sitting in front of you while your mother sat mortified beside you pretending to shrink into her pocketbook. It's about anxiously awaiting the arrival of your Christmas Eve dinner guest, staring out the front window, steamy from when you'r mom drained the pasta. It's the joy on the faces of everyone you love. 

It's in those moments that we are most human. Let's have all of those moments this week, the week after that and every week following. 

Don't lose sight of what brings you joy. It's been a tough year no doubt - but even when the gatherings are small there are still big moments to cherish. 

Wishing you all the happiest of holidays. Cheers to 2021! Hoping it brings good health and joy to you all. 

(This one's for you, Gram).

With love,

Sheri 

Happy Birthday ...

Today, December 12, is the birthday of a very special man. A man who passed away ten years ago this month. And a hundred years too soon if you ask me.

His name is Paul and I've blogged about him several times. I wonder what he would have thought about that. I wonder what he would have thought about a lot of things.

He was a dear companion to my grandmother, who just turned ninety-two on December 9th. She lost her husband when she was just forty-nine years old and she met Paul a few years later. They had so many things in common, their love of dancing was just one of them. Paul became part of our family and an important influence in my life. He always came to our home for the holidays and it really made them so special. I remember waiting at the window for his black El Camino to pull up in front of the house - hoping for a rain-free forecast so we could take our beloved after-dinner hike. On sunny Easter Sundays he would take my brother and me to play tennis at a local college court. Holidays simply have not been the same without him. Those truly were the days. 

Paul was an artist. He owned and operated a sign shop in Providence for many, many years. He hand-painted everything himself. {I cannot imagine what he would think about graphic design}. He painted plaques for my brother and me with our names on them - I still have mine tucked away for forever-keeping. He made us walking sticks with our names painted on them - I'm certain I'd still have mine had my brother not tossed it into a river when I was little. He also gave me a set of very nice paintbrushes and numerous sketch pads when I was growing up. I recently used those very paintbrushes to paint the mural in Scarlett's room.

When Paul visited he always asked to see what I'd been drawing or writing. He offered his thoughts, critique and positive feedback. And he urged me to continue doing what I love - to keep sharpening my skills, to keep learning, trying and bettering. Mostly, to keep enjoying.

I admired Paul so much. He was smart as a whip, up to snuff on all current events and could spit the newspaper back to you. He loved to watch hockey and tennis. He loved to go dancing and watch real entertainers like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. He was active - exercising everyday - walking, jogging, playing tennis. He was creative - a very talented sketcher and painter. He was a sharp dresser, always classy and neat. He was kind. The most wonderful gifts that he gave were not wrapped in paper or tucked in an envelope. They are the gifts that last much longer than a doll or a fifty dollar bill. He gave me insight, inspiration, encouragement and love. He instilled a drive in me that will last forever. He was like a grandfather to me, a mentor and one of the most special people I've ever known.

Sometimes I feel like I should stop trying to sell my rinky-dink artwork. Or quit spending so much time trying to create a Christmas card that people will glance at just the same as a store-bought one. It's in that moment when I'm about to pull the plug that I feel his encouragement. It's like I can hear him saying Why give up doing something you love? Do it because you love to do it - don't worry what anyone else says of it. He keeps me moving forward. He gives me that little nudge, letting me know he's always in my corner.

Oh, how I miss him and how I wish he could have met my daughter. He would be so amazed by her. He had a genuine knack with children - he was never upset or impatient with us - and he was always smiling.

Rest in Peace, dear Paul. And Happy Birthday.

 (an ode to Paul Marzullo - forever in my heart)

remember our treasures

"We move from terror and loss to unexpected good fortune, and out of darkness hope is born."

I heard this quote when I was in high school on an episode of My So-Called Life. Angela Chase read it from a book about Tarot I'm quite certain. Nevertheless the quote has remained with me all these years. I just love its truth.

I recently read of the passing of two beautiful baby girls. Baby Zoe had a malignant Rhabdoid Tumor and Baby Avery had Spinal Muscular Atrophy. Each also had their own loving parents, family and friends. Each taken away from the world before ever getting a chance to really see its beauty.