Life is for Living - Growing up at All Ages

Vol. 111 - Issue 11, 3/12/2009

As I write this my daughter, Allie Rose, is curled up in a tight ball on the love seat within view, exhausted from an early morning battle with a stomach bug that began just after 3 a.m. As is the usual lament of a mother, “I hate seeing my child sick.” She is my miracle baby. She is the one who defied destiny and persevered through pregnancy, after two previous failed attempts. She is the baby sister my son got after he prayed for a puppy. She is the one who had me off my feet and in bed the last month of my pregnancy, who hiccupped through hours of monitoring tests, ruining the results and causing me to return time and again before the doctors finally induced me into labor. Once she decided, “Okay it’s time,” she slipped into the world with three easy pushes. I remember looking at her alabaster face, with her bright red rosebud lips and weeping and laughing at the same time, so overwhelmed with holding my healthy baby girl. From the moment of her premature birth, Allie Rose was nothing like her brother, Anthony, who was content staying in that cozy little womb of mine for two weeks after his due date. Although she did not speak until after she was a year old, she was very determined to have her needs understood and met. And when she did finally speak, it was a sentence, not a baby sound. No. It was an order.  And if her orders were not met, she embraced that old adage, “If you want something done right, do it yourself.” Where Anthony would ask for milk, then wait patiently until I got it, Allie Rose would ask, and if I did not immediately serve Her Highness, I would usually find her hanging on the refrigerator door, attempting to get it herself. She was such a peanut she couldn’t even open the refrigerator. I doubt she ever thought about how she would actually pour a gallon of milk into her bottle by herself. You don’t think of those things at two, do you? Recently we flipped through her baby book, and when she got to the older age pages she noticed more and more gaps. When I suggested to leave it be and I would fill it in, she shook her head and grabbed a pen and told me that it was okay, she would do it. For a while we were worried she was going to be a clone of Anthony, as she idolizes every move he makes. While most brothers would tire of it, Anthony idolizes her in return, protecting and defending her against everyone, including herself sometimes. But lately she is becoming her own person. She likes her own music, her own favorite subjects in school, has her own taste in foods and clothing. She is growing up before my eyes. There are not too many days left for her to cuddle on my lap. She’s almost as tall as I am. This realization that my baby is growing up has changed my whole perspective on things. I’ve got a girlfriend to do things with again; girly things like going shopping, baking or doing our nails or hair together. Not waiting around for Allie Rose to catch up, Anthony has decided to grow up as well.  He’s driving, applying for his first job, and contemplating which college he will attend after graduating in 2010. And as I watch them both struggle with life’s changes, I wonder when I grew up. When did I become old enough to be a mom?  I look back on life, on my journey, and understand even more how things constantly change and consistently stay the same, all at the same time. As the snow melts and the earth warms slowly but surely, awakening with life again, I understand. Winter is fading and rebirth is all around us with the coming of Spring. Ostara, the Spring Equinox, reminds us that life sometimes rewards us with balance, a time of peace where we can regroup and plan for the coming days when the sun and earth will nourish all living things. With each season there are rewards and hardships, and so too, this is true with life. But its embracing those rewards and hardships for what they are, and letting them go when you have learned from them, that makes this life worth living. Now is the time to contemplate all we have, and it’s a time to be thankful, to prioritize and reflect on where we want to go in the future. Most of all, its a time to remember that life is for living, so live it.

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Life is for Living - Women don't have to be victims

Vol. 109 - Issue 23, 6/7/2007

Women don’t have to be victims

Recently, I had the opportunity to take a self defense course at the American Martial Arts Institute in New Hartford. The two hour course taught by Grand Master Clifford Crandall was taken more out of curiosity than a need for protection. I wanted to see my boyfriend, David, who is an instructor there, get flipped onto his back in a demonstration. The only protection I ever envisioned myself needing was with Anthony, my overly rambunctious and very playful 15 year old son, who still thinks like a bear cub even though he towers over me. So I signed up not really knowing what to expect. The first part of the course was spent debunking myths about sexual assault. The remainder of the class, Crandall and his certified black belt instructors taught and demonstrated five hand moves and two kicks to be used should I ever be accosted. I wanted to giggle when they taught me the three moves to make a fist, because, as Muhammad Ali once said, “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” But I knew better not to giggle with a room full of third, fifth and 10th degree black belts. So I folded my fingers and thumb into a fist and beamed when they told me I did well. But as I kicked my first kick and punched my first punch, the smile was replaced with determination as the words Crandall had spoken earlier began to sink in. My first thought of “I’ll never be mugged,” or raped vanished as I thought of a date I’d been on when I was younger that nearly turned nasty. I thought of the more than a few girlfriends of mine who have been raped. I thought of the women I know who are in abusive relationships. I thought of the many “close calls” at the mall my female friends and I have encountered over the years. I thought of Internet dating and the dangers of meeting a stranger for the first time. Crandall pointed out that the averages are one in five of meeting up with a person who has the ability and background to do you harm each time you walk into a store, such as a convenience store. He pointed out that most people are not aware of who is around them. Most women look down and pretend they don’t see someone that makes them uncomfortable when out in public. Most women would not know what to do if they were grabbed. So we obey. As a result, we increase the odds of being raped, beaten or worse. Women are easy prey, that’s a fact that has held true from the beginning of time. But just being aware of our surroundings, and knowing what to do, can help keep us from becoming a statistic. So here are a few tips I learned from Crandall. It was well worth the $35. The next time I feel uncomfortable energy coming from someone nearby, I will look up and search the person out. He will not go away if I pretend he’s not there. But being able to identify him may change his mind about hurting me. If someone approaches me in an offensive manner, I will not freeze up with fear, or be afraid of being rude or overly dramatic, or (believe it or not) hurting their feelings. “Over 50 percent of all victims are raped by acquaintances, friends or families,” Crandall said. If they don’t heed my warnings or attempts at reasoning, I now know five hand techniques and two kicks to put enough distance between us so that I can get help. If out of my fear I forget the hand and feet techniques, I think it was ingrained enough in my brain to remember what not to do. Don’t bother aiming for the face if attacked. It’s ineffective in stopping them, and at best it will only leave scratches that they can then use as a defense in a legal battle. Don’t try to aim for the groin or between the legs. Contrary to popular belief this will never penetrate their clothing or protective stance to do enough harm. Rather, aim a kick at the knee, repeatedly. The knee only bends one way, and can be broken or severely damaged with a kick. If I can do it, anyone can. Once their knee is damaged they can’t give chase. There were many other tips Crandall gave that could save my life or at least keep me from serious harm. With a little practice, these moves will become second nature, so that if I ever am accosted, these moves will be automatic reflexes, not something to think about. But the main points he emphasized were basic facts that took me out of victim mind-set and made me realize I don’t have to take anything from anyone. Rapes occur not due to uncontrollable sexual desires, but as a need to overpower, a need for control. The same holds true with abusive relationships. If you’re in an abusive relationship, stop thinking you’re getting beat up because you did something wrong. It’s usually due to your partner’s need to control, something he is lacking in other parts of his life. Women do not ask to be raped by their dress or conduct, nor does age play a factor. Women as old as 90 have been raped and children as young as 6 months have been raped. It’s their fault, not yours. Most rapes do not occur by strangers, nor in a dark secluded alley at night. Many rapes occur in the daytime, at home or in your car. Keep your homes safe. Keep your wits about you. Know who is around you when you are walking to your car. Be aware of your surroundings. If you run, run to people, not to your car or home. They are hoping you will do that. If you can, take a self defense course. It may save your life. After all, life is for living. So live it.

Life is for Living - Lee the Horselogg

Vol. 109 - Issue 27, 7/5/2007

Life is for living, so live it

The man I met on the south side of Route 20 between Richfield Springs and West Winfield, as he traveled eastward following his life path, was red faced and looked to be possibly bordering on heat stroke due to the late afternoon summer heat. Parked on the side of the road, I got out of my car and waited for him to pull his wagon and horses closer, into the shade I had parked near, in consideration of his animals. However, he chose to park in the shade a quarter mile down the road, waiting for me to come to him. So I did the hoofing, not the horses. A few minutes later, I approached the wagon, as red faced as he, but smiled and waved, introducing myself. He looked annoyed and said nothing so I gave him my business card, along with another smile. I glanced behind him and saw his life packed up in the wagon, with his white dog looking just as weary beside him. He didn’t give me his name, but I figured he must be the man I had received numerous calls about throughout the day. People had periodically updated me with his location, and bits of his story. There weren’t too many people steering a covered wagon down Main Street. And I could tell he was not Amish. As he took my business card he handed me his and told me to get his story from the website, that he didn’t have time for an interview. I asked if he could just answer a couple of questions and he said no, he could not, that he had a schedule to keep. I had spent the last 40 minutes of a deadline day driving around looking for him, then waiting for him, only to get snubbed. I looked at his business card then up at him and said, “Well, Lee, can you at least give me a comment on how the trip has been so far?” “It’s been a blast.” I thought I detected sarcasm in his tone. “Can you confirm you will be staying at the Vet’s tonight?” “Yes.” “When will you be heading out in the morning?” Maybe he’d be more chipper in the morning. “I have no idea.” “Four or five? ”I don’t know.” “Eight?” “I have no idea.” I don’t think we even said goodbye. I pivoted in place and walked back to my car, got in and cranked the ignition, blasting my air conditioning to cool off. I too was overheated, both emotionally and physically. I sat on the side of the road recording what had just happened, more dejected with each word I scribbled. As I pulled away five minutes later, I realized that the man who used a tight schedule as a reason to deny me a story had not moved. A good 10-15 minutes in all had passed since I had first approached him. Enough time for a few good quotes. I drove away and continued to check the wagon, which remained immobile beneath the shade until I scaled the hill and he disappeared from my view. After checking his website, reading accounts of Lee the Horselogger, I questioned what had happened to the man I had met on the side of the road. The pictures looked the same, but the man in the picture was smiling. The words written about him on the website made him out to be down to earth, funny, profound, not the type to snub a reporter looking to tell his story. I read his story and learned we had a lot in common. We both had battled cancer in our lifetimes, we both believed in the power of healing through holistic means. We both learned similar life lessons and felt the world, nature was a better institution of education than a brick building. We both believe in pursuing your life dream before it’s too late. I remembered the days spent battling cancer, dealing with treatments and dealing with the pain and exhaustion. I don’t know if I could have managed a horse drawn wagon day after day, in sweltering heat. All I wanted to do was sleep when I was sick. But still. I was disappointed. Traveling from Montana to Boston is no easy trip in a car, I can’t imagine what it must be like in a wagon. So I’ll chalk his behavior up to heat exhaustion, weariness from traveling all day, and being talked out from stopping dozens of times along the way that day. That’s pretty much all I can say about Lee the Horselogger. If you want to read about his story, as he put it, “get it from the website,” www.leethehorselogger.com. Oh, one more thing. He and I may not have much in common, but we do believe that life is for living. So, live it.

Life is for Living - Don't be afraid to take out your tree

Vol.111 - Issue 4, 1/22/2009

I have a horrible confession to make. Or maybe it’s just a simple testimony to my life lately. Either way, it’s not me, and it’s mortifying, but I will say it anyway. My Yule tree is still up. For those of you who do not celebrate Yule, basically, it’s a Christmas tree. Yep. I’m looking at my calendar and wondering where did the time go? All I can say is that it went to life. I can list a number of reasons why I have not taken it down yet. We’re headspinningly busy all the time. My kids have better social lives than I do. Even so, there are coven gatherings. Working late. I go to bed earlier since I’ve taken this position as editor than I have since my kids started sleeping through the night. Another important reason is that this is the prettiest tree we have ever had, and I just can’t bear to see it go. As I was looking at my tree last night I realized how much it really and truly symbolizes my life. Even with all its imperfections, it is perfect. On bad years, the years where I couldn’t wait to “ring out the old,” the tree was out the door before Little Christmas. Not too long ago I had it down and out the next day. That only happened once in my entire adult life. It was a bad year. But the year 2008 was amazing from the start and it only got better. It was sad to see the year end, but on the other hand, I was excited for all of the changes taking place in 2009. Maybe tonight after I get home from a deadline day we will do it. David and I are planning to do this together, ceremonially removing the symbols and trinkets collected over our individual lives, throughout the years, each symbolizing different, important events, each holding cherished memories. This is our second holiday shared together with David as part of our family and now we have new ornaments and symbols, so our tree is different then anything it ever looked like before. Yet, it’s still the same. And we want to honor it and all it stands for by taking it down with care and meaning. This once ordinary conifer has been pampered since we found it. We picked it out as a family, with Ant and Allie Rose, and Tom, too, joining us. A few days later, the kids and David and I decorated. When it was done, we lay under the branches looking up at the sparkles and dangly trinkets, glass orbs and homemade crafts and said, “This is the prettiest tree we ever had.” And we meant it. Why am I writing about Yule trees at the end of January? Change. Sometimes we come to points in our lives where we need to make changes. Sometimes this comes out of necessity, sometimes out of survival. Sometimes just because change is inevitable. And good. Change means that life is moving on; free from stagnation, which only leads to illness, decay and death. My whole life is changing around me, constantly. Sometimes it’s a whirlwind. But I hang on and dig my heels in and know that eventually things will stop spinning and all will be good. Sometimes I am in control of the changes, sometimes not. So maybe this is why I am holding on to my tree. It is the only aspect of my life that I can ultimately decide its fate. I cannot control any of the people in my life, only myself. And my tree. I’ve thought about taking the ornaments, candy canes and bead garlands off, leaving the lights and star up. I’ve thought about moving it out to the front porch and keeping it lit, symbolizing the strengthening of the sun as we move out of the darkness of winter.  And I’ve thought about just getting Ant to drag it to the woods and be done with it. That would be sad, as all endings are. But it’s the most logical thing to do. There are many wonderful things that happened in 2008. But I need to let go, and just hold close the memories, and move on. The tree was in its most beautiful state when it was still a living tree. We picked it out from maybe a hundred or so cut evergreens, laying in some private entrepreneur’s front yard on Route 28, south of Mohawk, just as you come up Vickerman’s hill. For $20 we bought memories that will last a long time. Can’t go wrong with that. It was the prettiest tree there, and that is why we chose it. As the boughs settled after a few days, we realized that there was a lot of excess, so we began to trim. And trim. And trim. Until finally we had it. It fit perfectly into its designated spot and was even prettier, if possible. We strung lights, hung memories and honored Divinity with our labors. This morning I noticed the branches are drooping, the ornaments are sagging and its starting to dry out. I guess I won’t be turning the lights on anymore. I don’t really need the tree to remind me of what I already know. What it is teaching me now is that I have to remember that endings do not mean that life is over. It just makes way for new beginnings. It creates space for things to happen. To fill a void there must be a void. Better to take out the tree before it gets really ugly; or before it makes such a mess with all the pesky little needles it becomes aggravating. Better to take it out while it’s in its prime, with love. Rather than in disgust, after its become a nuisance. Sometimes you have to make hard choices. Sometimes you have to look at what you’ve created, and embrace it when it is good. But when changes come along, and life happens, you have to let go. You have to step back and say, “enough.” Then, with a loving hand you have to remove the shiny ornaments and the baubles and lights and take the tree outside. And say goodbye to that part of your life. Change is not bad. Neither are endings, or saying goodbye. It’s just a life. And what is life for? Life is for living. So live it.

Life is for Living =- Embrace the last vestiges of winter

© RSM February 5, 2009
 
This last, month of really wintery weather has always been a tough one for me to get through. While I lived on Long Island it was the coldest, the wettest, the iciest and slushiest of the winter months. Except for Valentine’s Day and my son’s birthday, there were little or no holidays to enjoy, and it always seemed to be the darkest, toughest part of winter to endure. The fact that it often started off with the somber warning from Punxsutawney Phil that there would be six more weeks of this disgusting weather did little to alleviate the cabin fever experienced by not just me, but everyone I knew.
However, my outlook on winter has changed since starting my life in Herkimer and working for the last four winters in Richfield Springs. Yes, winter is a different experience for me these days. And February no longer represents a bleak time of year, but one filled with wonder, and the excitement of the coming of spring.How can this be? There is more snow on the ground than I saw throughout the last 10 years I lived on Long Island.
The answer is through the wisdom that has come to me with the celebration of Imbolc. Imbolc, and its customs and traditions, celebrated on February 2, has changed my life. Without getting into the spiritual aspect of things, basically Imbolc is a time of year that was celebrated by many cultures as a way to recognize that winter was not going to last forever. It gave our ancestors the opportunity to take the time to notice the little signs that Mother Earth was waking up, that spring was soon to come.
Four years ago I started celebrating Imbolc. And it never ceases to amaze me how the very next day I notice things I did not notice a week before. Things like how when I breathe deep the cold winter air, there is a difference to it, almost a warming in it. The wind usually is not as biting, it doesn’t hurt to breathe. I hear birds chirping. The sun seems to be out more, maybe not all day, but burning through the clouds. The snows melt here and there. The trees are even waking up, with the formation of the tiniest of bumps preparing to become buds.
It really seems as if the earth is waking up.
This hope gives me the strength to be optimistic and actually enjoy what is left of winter, when normally I would have just grumbled my way through these last few weeks. I remember the second year we lived here, when March finally rolled around I said to a co-worker of mine while working at Herkimer Elementary that I was glad the snow was melted and spring was almost here. She laughed and said, “Honey, it may not be over. We’ve gotten snow as late as April and May.”
I thought she was joking, but sure enough, April 28 we had a snow/ice day called because of weather.
Living up here in the mountains and valleys of Upstate New York has taught me to appreciate the earth more. It has given me the gift of the Four Seasons, something many people around the world do not get to experience the way we do.
There’s something to be said for the deep, blanketing snows that protect the earth as flora and fauna and even we humans regenerate and heal. The melting snows fill the rivers and lakes, nurturing the newly budding trees and gardens and lawns until everywhere we look life is bursting vibrant and green and lush. Hot summer days warm our bodies and the cool summer nights provide respite. And just when we think we’ve had enough of the heat... autumn surrounds us with brilliant hues of orange, red and yellow, painting our hillsides like a Thomas Kincaide scene. And then the snows begin to fall, softly at first, a whisper of a dusting here and there. Then winter is upon us once more, full circle; a complete turn of the wheel of the year.
Another time when I was working at the elementary school I remarked to my co-workers about my ride in to work. The fog was lifting over the valley, and that, combined with the early morning sun shining over the autumn hills, was so breathtakingly beautiful I had to pull over. It made me weep. I had just recovered from cancer and my appreciation of life had hit an all time high. I realized how blessed I was to have moved up here, not just for the fact I had improved my family’s quality of life, but because I was surrounded by our Creator’s beauty everywhere I looked. I was blessed to have more time on this earth.
The women I worked with all looked at me very quizzically and one asked what road I had taken. I told her Route 5 and they all shook their heads and said they never even thought about the scenery like that. They had never noticed fog lifting off the river the way I had described it.
A few days later one of them came to me and thanked me for opening her eyes. We agreed that too often people take life for granted.
So, even though the groundhog has promised six more weeks of winter, I am not sullen and morose. Instead, I am noticing tiny bumps on the limbs of my maple tree that will soon be buds, then freshly born leaves. I am hearing the birds chirping that I did not hear a week ago. I am appreciating the beauty of the snow covered hills and farmlands, their smooth landscapes cut into patterns by snowmobiles and wildlife tracks.
Most importantly, I will use this time to appreciate the last moments of quiet time the winter offers. My life has been insanely crazy with the changes here at the paper, so the down time I have at home is even more precious to me. Soon spring cleaning will be in full force, then gardening and farming and graduations and summer parties and vacation and finally preparations for the start of school will have all of us running here and there.
While there is still time, while the year is still new and the winter grows old, take a look around. Appreciate the snow as it lays along your porch rail. Study the wildlife tracks in the snow. Notice how ice on a tree limb glitters crystal like in the early morning sun. Cuddle up on the couch with your loved ones, with a fire crackling at your hearth. Celebrate Valentine’s Day by loving life.
After all, even in the winter, life is for living... so live it.

Life is for Living RSM February 12, 2009

My Valentine’s gift to you
by Janine Giordano
 
Love. That one word has started wars, toppled empires, ended lives and saved lives. It is the cornerstone of most religious doctrines. It has been the inspiration of writers throughout time, from poets to playwrights to novelists and songwriters.
It is what little girls dream of and many a woman has cursed at one time or another.
It can make and break us all, men or women.We all want it, and yet all too often when we get it, many times we find ourselves forgetting why we wanted it in the first place.
When I was a young girl I made my Communion in the Catholic church and like all of my friends, my older sister Janie, my cousin Peggy, I got to wear a beautiful white dress and a veil. I was told I was Jesus’ bride. While I was happy to finally make my Communion, I was just as excited to finally wear “The Veil.” I might have been Jesus’ bride then, but I dreamed of another  in my future when I would walk down the aisle to my groom. And from then on we would live happily ever after. It was what my girlfriends and I talked about over the years as we grew older.
Well, by my mid-twenties I found the man I would marry, and the wedding was everything I dreamed of all those years. Then reality set in and twenty years later my groom and I buckled under the pressures of the world. There was no other woman or other man ripping us apart. Just each other. After 20 years we had lost touch with love and one day we realized that the only bond we shared was our two kids and a bunch of memories.
What happened? I never thought I would get divorced. When we vowed “until death do us part” we meant it. So when did the death of our love cause us to part?
It happens so subtly, it’s hard to say. Was it the two battles with cancer? was it having two kids? was it moving so far away from our family and friends? was it job changes, money problems, or interfering in-laws?
Probably a little bit of all of that.
Regardless, we stopped loving one another enough to stay married. I can’t just leave it as stopped loving one another, because Tom and I will always love one another. You can’t go through all we did and not have some sort of feelings remain.
So, with Valentine’s Day approaching, I want to share something with everyone that I learned when Tom and I were first married and were teaching Pre-Cana for the church. We learned it then, and now, as a reporter, I’ve heard the same wisdom told by many older couples living in our community, couples who are still head over heals in love more than 50 and 60 years later.
And it is something the new man in my life, David and I, work at every day. And we will never, ever stop.
The key to a successful union is very simple.
Communication.
That’s right, talk. Don’t yell or argue to hurt one another. Speak and listen. Share, explore, express, confide. By communicating you will not ever keep secrets.
Tom and I knew this was the key to a successful marriage, but somewhere along the way we got too busy to listen to one another. We got too discontented to care enough to share. Maybe we were cut to the quick too many times and thought it didn’t matter, our opinion was not worth anything anyway.
With more than 50 percent of all marriages ending in divorce these days, you would think the secret to staying together would be something more profound. Yes, there are other aspects of a healthy marriage, but the foundation must be set in rock solid communication.
To give up on love because it takes too much effort to communicate, to listen, seems like a cop out. When things get rough, that is when communicating is most important, and most difficult.
If you think you are heading towards rocky times, talk. If you find your teasing with one another is actually turning into subtle attacks, mocking or disrespect, stop and talk. If everything the person does is starting to annoy you, stop and talk. Chances are those are just signs that something more serious is bothering you.
I’ve learned that no matter which relationship I am dealing with, whether it is with Allie Rose or Anthony, or David, or my sisters or parents, listening is a sign of love. And when you talk and share, that too is a sign of love. It’s a sign of honoring the person  you are loving. Even when things are not rosy.
Valentine’s Day is not just about giving gifts or going out to dinner. It’s about communicating your love for someone.
Don’t just limit that communication to one day, whether it is Valentine’s Day or your wedding day, or engagement, or those sweet months before the wedding, or that first year after the wedding, or twenty years later. If you love someone, tell them.
If you are angry, or sad or concerned ... tell them.
Don’t hold things within; that just leads to resentment.
Falling in love is easy. Falling out of love can be just as easy.
Keeping balanced in that love, nurturing that love, honoring that love; this takes effort, more effort than buying a card, or candy or flowers. It takes more effort than planning a wedding with all the trimmings or even the following honeymoon, and even more effort than filing separation or divorce papers.
When you say “I love you,” mean it.
And when your lover says, “I love you,” listen.
And remember, life is for living, and loving.
So live it. And love it.

Life is for Living - Children learn what they live

Richfield Springs Mercury Vol. 111 - Issue 13, 3/26/2009



There is an open invite policy at our house, which we call Willow Hill. If my car is in the driveway, come on in. The house may need vacuuming, I may ask you to unload the dishwasher, but “mi casa es su casa. In English, my house is your house. I will always throw on a pot of coffee, a cuppa tea, and if we’re about to eat, in the true Italian fashion taught by my mom and grandma, you will be invited to share the meal, regardless of how soon dinner is about to be served after you have arrived.
The same policy goes for Ant and Allie Rose’s friends. At any given time we might find ourselves descended upon by a bunch of teenaged boys, raiding my fridge, logging onto our computers or crashing on my couch. I’ve watched these kids grow up, and it is as though they are my own sons. Now the same is happening with Allie Rose and her friends. Instead of two kids calling me mom, I’ve got anywhere from three to eight kids singing that song.I love the fact the kids feel at home here; the fact they respect me enough and like me enough to call me mom. This is something I dreamed about when my own were young. I prefer everyone hanging at our house even if it means extra food shopping or driving kids home late at night. They’re safe here, and not out doing drugs or drinking or walking the streets.
My relationship with my kids and their friends is a high point in my life. The way we communicate is something I work hard at every day. Sure we don’t always see eye to eye, and when we don’t we all strive to resolve the issue as peacefully as possible. Granted, sometimes it is less peaceful than other times, but we never go to bed angry, and we always remember to say “I love you.”
I think parents forget that children learn what they live. I believe they tend to emulate their parents, so it’s important to act the way we want our children to act in certain circumstances. It’s just as important to remind them verbally if they don’t act as they should. The way we communicate our concerns, our passions, our anger, the way we treat others; all of this is more of a teaching guide than any health class or lecture can provide.
Maybe its just a sign of old age, but lately I’m hearing a lot about how our youths have little regard for others at times. I myself have had to confront a few kids at recent school functions who were talking during public performances, instead of remaining quiet so as not to disturb others. But when I look around, I notice it is not just the kids. Adults behave just as rudely. Children learn what they live. How can we blame our youth when our adults are just as wrong?
Last week we were insane enough to agree to take Allie Rose and her friends to the midnight release of the DVD, Twilight. After arriving at 10:30 p.m., we found out where the line was going to form, then took turns standing next to the cart while the others walked around. By 11:30 the line was 100 deep at least. Right around that time a mother and three elementary-aged kids sidled up past us on line as the kids started talking to my daughter and her friend. The people behind us were upset, believing we were letting people cut. When I explained I didn’t know the lady, I was told as first in line I should tell her not to cut.
So I did, even though I hate confrontation. She responded by looking me straight in the eye to inform me she had not cut. When I pointed out we were there since 10:30 p.m., and the people behind me were also there at that time, she said she had been there also. That incited the woman behind me, and the two got into a verbal fisticuffs that left me wondering if I should forsake my place in line and take cover.
The incident ended, but the woman held her ground and refused to move to the end of the line.
Yes, there were plenty of DVDs to go around, and I probably would have avoided asking her to move if I had not been prompted by others. But the fact remains that this woman’s actions taught the children in her care dishonest behavior is acceptable if the end justifies the means.
A third incident that leaves me wondering about the lessons we teach our kids happened at a chinese food restaurant in Herkimer. A man, well known in the community, came in and began chiding the three year old daughter of the owners for not speaking English. The grandmother, who spoke little English as well, came and scooped up the little girl, who was visibly upset by the way the man was speaking to her. The man then looked at the older woman and chastised her, saying in effect, if you live here and own a business here and take my money, you have to speak English. His tone was rude and condescending and he came across as just down right mean.
When did it become acceptable to be rude in public? The incident written about by Bruce Watson last week regarding the sports team in McDonald’s underscores this concern. We are our children’s first teachers. What we teach them will be carried on for the rest of their lives. If we teach respect in the home, if we teach compassion, honesty, integrity, those are the characteristics they will exhibit out of the home.
But if we offer as an example deceit, disrespect, arrogance and rudeness, where are they going to learn anything else?
Parents, take a look at how you interact with your children. Then ask yourself, if you saw kids acting like this in public how you look at them? If you interact positively with your children there will be a better chance that when your child goes out in the world that is how they will treat others.
Yes, life is for living, but it’s also for loving. So live it. And love it.

Life is for Living - Reunions Give Second Chances

(Originally published in the RS Mercury, 2010)
 
Newfield High School’s Graduating Class of 1980 celebrated its 30th Reunion this past summer, but I did not attend.

In fact, even though this is my class, my school, my reunion, I have not attended any of the reunions arranged since I graduated in 1980.

We had over 600 students in my graduating class alone. I was a very small fish in a huge, vast ocean, and since my family had moved around a lot while I was in my teens, it was a foreign ocean for the most part. I had tried to join the yearbook club and newspaper club, but I was not in either of those cliques, so I just stopped going to meetings. I played drums and was taking BOCES cosmetology courses, but my family moved out of state when I was in 11th grade, only to move back for 12th grade.

I had missed too much – both academically and socially ¬– and could not continue where I had left off. As a result, as a senior I had some close friends, but for the most part I focused on my academics and just looked forward to graduation.

As our 30th reunion date approached, with the help of email and Facebook, I hooked back up with some of my former classmates. I was surprised with how many actually remembered me, as I did not remember my high school years being particularly noteworthy. But as the day drew closer, more and more people asked me to go. I actually was toying with the idea of going.

As the deadline drew nearer I regretfully had to decline. My daughter, Allie Rose, was performing in her first summer musical, The King and I, with Stage Two Theatre Company, and all three performances were the same weekend as my class reunion.

Now, after four days of covering the Richfield Springs High School Reunion weekend for Classes 1955-1965, not to mention the 50th reunion for the Class of 1960, I have to say I don’t regret missing my reunion at all.

I had a total blast with all the RS alumni, regardless of the age gap, regardless of the fact that I did not graduate from RSHS, let alone with their classes. Even though I was an outsider, just covering the events for the Richfield Springs Mercury reunion edition, I was embraced and befriended and made to feel welcome.

Stories were shared, jokes were told, laughter flowed and great memories were made.
That August weekend is a weekend I will always remember.

It is a bit ironic that this reunion came at this time in my life. As I am celebrating 30 years out of high school, my son, Anthony, is celebrating the start of a new life with his own graduation, from Herkimer High School.

The week after the reunion, we drove Anthony to the College of St. Rose, in Albany, where he will be studying music education. Here begins his journey of adulthood, where every day takes him one step further away from the memories made during high school, and one day closer to his 50th reunion.
Back in 2002, when Anthony was just 10 years old, we moved here from Long Island. Moving upstate was a huge decision in my life, but I did it knowing it would be the best move for my two children. And every day I am proven right.

Herkimer may not be as small town as Richfield, but when you compare graduating classes of 50 to 100 students with graduating classes of 500 to 600 and then some ... Herkimer is pretty darn “home town,” at least coming from a Long Islander.

Here I have seen my kids soar, where on Long Island they would have been as grounded as a delayed flight waiting to take off during a snowstorm at JFK. Here they have reached for dreams and grabbed tightly, where on Long Island their dreams might have remained just that: dreams.
I could begin bragging right now on their achievements, but I won’t. Instead, I will just say I have loved watching my kids grow up and experience the things I never could when I was their age, especially, life in Small Town, USA. Ironically, sometimes growing up on densely populated Long Island where the faces of students blend together like grains of sand on Jones Beach was extremely lonely.

And in praising Anthony and Allie Rose’s achievements, I have to give credit to the wonderfully simple life, the down home culture, the “it takes a village” concept that upstate living has allowed us to experience.

It’s this mentality, this way of life, which made the RSHS reunions such a success. People who attended the reunion events were coming home, whether they were hailing from Los Angeles, Thailand, Jordanville or Ilion. That “coming home” feeling meant being welcomed and loved. It meant being a part of something that fewer and fewer communities get to experience in this day and age.

While the alumni celebrated life from a half a century ago, they also celebrated the lives lost of fellow classmates. Some had died right out of high school. Others passed away just weeks before the reunion, with plans already in place for attending.

A moment of silence was offered as these names were called, but in the end, the celebration continued for hours. I’m sure it was past many of their normal bedtimes. But it was worth it.

After all, life is for living, and believe me, with the reunion celebrations of 1955 through 1965, the hundreds of Richfield Spring High School alumni who attended were indeed living it.

Life is for Living - Live it Up!

Life is For Living (Originally Published in Richfield Springs Mercury, April 2009)


It is fitting that my journey with The Mercury should end this week. It is the anniversary of the time period my sister Jane had her stroke two years ago. Wednesday, my last official day in Jay Bernhardt’s employ, is the anniversary of the very last time I held Jane’s hand, kissed her brow, and said goodbye.
I learned something valuable over the last two years after saying that farewell to my only big sis, who was so much a part of me. I learned that just because something has ended, that doesn’t mean it is gone forever. There are many things Jane taught me, that we shared together throughout our childhood and then adulthood, that stay with me to this day. Songs, so many songs, remind me of her. The smell of green apples and warm clean laundry, Noxema skin cleanser, Jean Nate. And while she is no longer physically in my life, she is in my heart and mind and always will be.
With her passing came so many dark blessings-good things that came out of something bad. To this day my other two sisters, Joy and Jeana, and myself meet regularly, making sure life does not get in the way of saying “I love you.” I’ve also become stronger, learned how to speak up for myself, since she is no longer here to do that for me.
I also learned that change is what keeps us knowing we are alive. Change and growth are synonymous, although many people do not view the two this way. When we stop changing, we stop growing. And when something stops growing, it dies.
Maybe this is why so many people are in shock after learning The Mercury was closing. We were changing, growing, getting better with each edition. What happened?
Life happened.
I have been learning that change is not always bad, but in this situation I can see how so many of our readers would disagree with that wisdom. Something is being wrenched from your lives that you’ve grown to love, to depend on. It is as if a close friend or a loved one is passing.
Bruce Watson has stopped in a few times comparing this end to a funeral or wake, asking where the tuna casseroles are and offering to bake something. Although his jest is a bit dark, he has hit it right on the mark.
Richfield and the surrounding communities are losing an old friend. Again. And it is tough saying goodbye; I have heard it in their voices these last few times we have spoken.
I didn’t think it would be this difficult to say goodbye. With all the challenges I’ve overcome since assuming the role as editor/reporter, it hurts to type this column, knowing it may be my last for The Mercury. I am going to miss you all so very much.
There are so many things I still want to share; so many stories and anecdotes I want to write about. But for now I think I will just have to be content thanking everyone for accepting me unconditionally, despite my non-traditional way of looking at life.
In all of my years in the business, I have never felt so embraced as I did by this community. I was well read, admired and established on Long Island, but there was a separateness between me, a member of the Fourth Estate, and my readers.
Here, it was like coming home. When I was welcomed into someone’s home for an interview, it was like coming home. When I met someone at a meeting whom I had only known over the telephone or through email, it was like embracing an old friend.
It seems I did not get to enjoy you all enough. I did not get to know you all enough, or visit enough, or take up the invitations you all extended to me so often.
But what we did share, it was good. I want to thank everyone for so readily welcoming me into your hearts. Sometimes my stories were not on the mark, so there was always a swift kick in the butt in the form of a letter or phone call telling me I goofed up. But there were very few hard feelings.
Working for Jay, first as a reporter and then as an editor these last few months as we tried to salvage The Mercury, has been one of those experiences that I can definitely classify as life altering. Thank you, Jay, for providing this amazing forum for me, as a writer, and for the community. I would have never known how beautiful Richfield Springs is, or how beautiful the people who live here are.
 In closing, I would like to leave you with something positive.
Change is inevitable. We can either accept it gracefully or have a tantrum and kick and scream our way through it. Either way, it is going to happen.
Rather than be victims of change, why not be pro-active and BE the change?
There is a secret I try to live my life by, that I will share with you now. If you want something badly enough, you have the power to achieve it.
First, you must think of what it is you want.
Secondly, you must take the action needed to pursue your desire.
Once this is done, you have to live your life as if it is going to happen. Experience it and it will.
Once you believe it can be done, you will bring form to what started as a thought, a hope or a dream.
Then you will have become the creator of that change. You will be in control of your life, your destiny.
You will not be a victim of change. And it will be more comfortable, and easier to handle it.
Once you have accepted that change,  you know what to do. Once it becomes a part of your life, embrace it.
After all... life is for living. So live it.

Soulmate Publishing

Well, here I am at Janina Grey's Blog, Round 2. It is my hope that I record reflections here daily, but I will not make any promise to that. My road to writing recovery is long, and when I pressure myself to excel, I fail. So for now, I will take it day by day, enjoying what I do, without worrying about progress.

As part of my effort to reclaim the writer in me, I have taken up with Soulmate Publishing again as an acquisitions editor.

I have to say, it feels good. I'm grateful that Debby kept me on while I took a healing respite.

Now that I have determined I miss the writer aspect of me, I'm trying to reclaim who I am, and I find there are many different parts of me. Putting them all together, or leaving them separate is my dilemma.

What a great time of year to embark on this endeavor, what with Spring Cleaning in the air. Time to organize, revitalize. Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

So I've reduced the distractions, reused some old poems, and I'm recycling this blog. I'd say I'm literally and environmentally conscious and focused on eliminating the waste that litters my brain. 

Perhaps in the early morning hours, when I find myself tossing and turning and unable to sleep, I can turn here to confront the demons, dissect the dreams, and record the thoughts that echo in my mind. My day life is so busy I'm not sure where else I will find the time.

No one may ever read these blogs, and that is okay. The point is... I'm writing. And it feels good.

So, allowing for a little bit of self-indulgence,  it's time to catch up.

In addition to Soulmate Publishing, I work for YWCA Mohawk Valley as assistant director of communications. I am part of an awesome team comprised of community educators, development assistants, and an amazing boss (or two) who I won't ever have to worry about reading this, so that does not count as sucking up.  It's a great agency, with our mission focused on eliminating racism and empowering women.

With that said, it's been a helluva year so far with the new administration being elected. I've never been more frightened for my children, my country, and our world. It seems the political activist aspect of myself has woken up with the newly elected republican leader of our country.

When I'm not working (here is the part that could sound like a Personal Ad so I will avoid the information regarding long walks on the beach at sunset) I run a Pagan/Wiccan Tradition with my husband and High Priest, David. We do handfastings, last rites, baby blessings, fundraisers, Tarot and magic, along with a drumming circle that never seems to meet regularly.

Our two kids are grown, with Ant living out in Albany, and Allie Rose attending college in western New York. We live somewhere between the two, in a 110-year old farmhouse (haunted, of course) located in Mohawk Valley, with our two cats, Meade and Loki.

I have written five novels, four of which are completed. I've half-heartedly attempted to send them out over the last few years, but I'm very good at self-sabotaging, so I think I am not ready to be published yet. I'm hoping this year I figure out why, and get over it.  My manuscripts span a few genres, with all but one retaining paranormal elements.

Creativity runs in my family, with my dad being an artist and musician, my mom being an artist and craftsperson, and my uncle being an author. My two children are very musically inclined, but they do not get that from me directly. Definitely NOT.

I'm not sure why I am starting this blog up again. Possibly to prove to myself I can write. Possibly to promote the books and authors I am working with via Soulmate. But more than likely, just to vent.

So, in the unlikely reality that someone is reading this and enjoying it, thank you for your time.

If you are reading this and not enjoying it, no criticisms are necessary. I've got enough of that going on in my head already.

Namaste.

rumpled beds

cleaning notes off my phone
I thought this was a poem.

now it is.

lukewarm coffee in the lobby
greeted us at midnight.
quartered, stale, doughnuts
instead of fresh baked cookies
gnats in the room,
rumpled beds, 

no easy chair,
and a table that rocked...
Unevenly.
Carpet stains, hairs in the tub,
styrofoam cups,
and an over-chlorinated hot tub.
College weekend
jacked the rates up
$130 more than usual.
That’s a lot of cookies.

Janine Phillips
September 26, 2016