gratitude

The Day He Left

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​[Note: This morning, I saw a prompt on the Writers Write Facebook: Write about the day he left. This immediately came to mind.]

It was dark when I woke up. It shouldn’t have been so dark at that time of morning, but the cloud cover and the grey skies combined to make the picture of a sad morning. The grey even seeped through the leaves of the tall trees outside the window, like a fog rolling in, obfuscating the electric lines and the roofs of the nearby houses, seemingly covering over the reality of the coming day. I should have really still been asleep. I tried. I really did, tossing and turning, each shift causing a spring to poke me in awkward places from my twenty-five year old mattress. It’s needed replacing for at least fifteen years; probably more. I finally gave in. I couldn’t sleep anymore. I would stop trying to. I also didn’t want to spend this last day in bed. 

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend that today was just an ordinary day. I could hear the drip drip drip on the window ledge from the melting snow on the roof. The garbage trucks and school buses roared by, with each collecting their charges, the wet ground spraying water from their tires, the squelch as they stopped and then went again at the stop sign on the corner.

Today’s list of things to do includes a shower, buying a new (functioning) toilet, and possibly making a plan for my aunt’s ninety-fifth birthday next month. It does not include watching the news.

While dull in color, and heavy in weight, everything else around seems vibrant in feeling; not bright or brightly colored, but palpable in dread, an overhanging sad as the minutes tick down until the moment he does leave.

Twelve noon and it’s finished.

It’s the end of the second term of the first Black President, and at a very young fifty-five, he enters citizenship with more to do; much more. Books to write, a library to build and fill, a well deserved vacation, and politics as a citizen, just like me. Well, not quite.

I won’t talk about his successor. There’s no need. We’re going to have the next four years of twenty-four hour news cycles and nonsense from all sides. He matters at 12:01, but until that moment, we continue to enjoy and remember the Obama Presidency.

The sweet little girls who came into our lives eight years ago who are now young women, one starting college in the fall, and one finishing her two years of high school. Lovely, smart, kind by all accounts. They are a beautiful reflection of their parents and the good job they’ve done despite the scrutiny and the lack of privacy. They’ve done well, and I’m certain they will continue to do well.

Their mom, who left her career for another, unpaid one as First Lady pulling all of her priorities as a Mom to encourage us to do our best for ourselves, for our military families often forgotten. Let’s Move is the perfect analogy for her. Constantly in movement whether for her family or her American family, meeting, listening, and doing. Growing a garden at the White House – just magnificent. What a lovely person to look up to, to be inspired by, and to emulate.

Her husband. Our President. Not just well-spoken as all Presidents should be, but well-learned. Thoughtful and thought-filled. Caring. Innovative and inspired. Inspirational. Compassionate. Kind. Always looking forward and inward, and never worrying about what people would think of him, simply doing what he thought was best. Always.

His legacy is so much more than words on a paper or chapters in a history book. Others will remember promises broken, as is the case for all presidents once they get in and see how difficult running the government and protecting the individual is, but I will remember his sense of humor, and his easy laugh. His arm gently resting along his wife’s back and hers in the same place on his, a better definition of partnership I don’t think I could find. He sings, he dances, he pases equal pay laws and celebrates equality in marriage, in gender, affordable health care, and in religion. He doesn’t let his own beliefs and his Christianity get in the way or overshadow someone else’s, and there are many represented in this country.

He took the high road in all things, never showing his frustration despite the racism and the lack of civility and professionalism by his colleagues, some of whom should be embarrassed by their behavior. This level of obstruction and pettiness was unprecedented.

He won’t dwell on his last Supreme Court nominee stolen from him. (I will.) He will remain on the high road.

Give him credit, don’t give him credit for what he’s done with our economy and the inclusivity of our civil rights; he doesn’t care as long as he’s helped us.

And he did.

Scandal free, which doesn’t mean not making mistakes. We all make mistakes, but his White House was above board, fair, and diligent for ALL Americans, regardless of their feelings for him and his family.

The day he left was cold and dreary and grey. I don’t know if I’ll ever see his kind again in my lifetime. I can only hope that there is someone to carry his torch because right now, I’m not sure there’s anyone qualified to carry his coat.

I will miss you, President Barack Obama. I will miss you deeply. You were more than my president; you were my ally. You were my champion. You were my leader and my inspiration to do more, to do better, to be better.

Kinder.

Compassionate.

Thoughtful..

Forgiving.

Thank you, President Obama, and goodbye.

Welcome Mr. Obama. I hope to work with you in the future for the better. I will remain alongside you as we all roll our sleeves up and get to work. 

Yes. 

We did. 

We can. 

We will.

President Obama, Thank You

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Graphic from Michael Pop WestBrook on Facebook. 1/17/17

I’m not sure I can express how much I have enjoyed President Obama’s two terms as President. I don’t think I could have been prouder of my country in electing the first African-American President.

His positivity of yes, we can is a mantra we can all get behind and use in our daily lives as we putter along. Our small things add up to big things, especially for the people we are doing the small things for. Our small act of kindness and compassion is equally important to us as the givers, if not more so.

The example Mr. Obama’s given us in temperment, thoughtfulness, intelligence, kindness, compassion, and dedication to his family and by extension, this country is something that we haven’t recognized enough, and something we should all try to emulate.

If our children are a mirror we hold up to ourselves, he and Michelle have every reason to be proud of themselves as parents and as people.

I look forward to continuing to follow his (their) example and help to grow the Democratic party and continue to promote and support equal rights, freedom of speech, religion, and the press. As we move forward, for me, it’s not about resisting, it’s about enduring; standing up and speaking out.

Encouraging.

Helping.

Volunteering.

Being the solution.

I will stand with them as they embark on the next chapter of their lives, and in addition to wishing them the best of luck and my continued prayers for their well-being, I would also like to say – 

Thank you, Mr. Obama.

Thank you.

A Thanksgiving Reflection

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Cornucopia. Colored Pencils. (c)2016

Today is the first Thanksgiving Mass that I will be able to attend. I’ve looked forward to it. There is a tradition at my parish to bring a non-perishable food item to donate. 

At the time of the offering, instead of passing a basket around the pews for a monetary collection, parishioners process to the altar and leave food items. It was a really profound experience, everyone giving what they could, wishing the others a Happy Thanksgiving when they passed one another.

At the end of the Mass, each family was given a small loaf of bread to bring to mind the Eucharist we had just received to share with our families. Breaking bread is a tradition followed by nearly every culture across the globe.


Our parish has a very active St. Vincent de Paul Society who collect food for Thanksgiving and Christmas baskets for those that request them. They also provide Christmas gifts to those less fortunate so that the kids will still have a memorable holiday. They also work throughout the year. They ask for nothing in return. My son and I volunteered one year to help load the Thanksgiving boxes/baskets and it was an exuberant, lively, joyous crowd, bending and lifting, filling boxes and organizing food and household items like paper towels and toilet paper. One of the things that amazes me when I see the men and women volunteering for the Society is the compassion and positivity they come to their ministry with.
I am still surprised when I do something for someone else with no expectation of reward, although every time I’ve volunteered or done something extra or special, I have received a reward: a smile, a thank you, but most importantly, a swelling of my soul that feels so much better than receiving a gift myself.

We all want acknowledgment for our good deeds. It doesn’t have to be much; a simple thank you or smile will suffice. But seeing a child with a huge smile as they receive a winter coat or a pair of boots or sneakers. An extra pudding or lollipop. Bright eyes shining with joy.

During the homily, which was of course very G-d centered, it made me recall the first thanksgiving. Not the holiday proclaimed by President Lincoln, but the very first one. While both the Pilgrims and the Native Americans had their beliefs and would have expresed their gratitude to, there was also much more to that day and fall season for them. Today should be a reminder of that cooperation, the beginning of that friendship. The Native people welcomed the new immigrants, refugees even, from religious persecution. There was the language barrier and the difference in customs, but they muddled through.

And we can all muddle through with the challenges we’ve been given and thankful for the blessings we receive.

Thanksgiving is a good reminder to look around and smell the flowers. Take a little extra moment to look at your family as they’re playing with cousins, watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, taking a hike or playing in the snow, and sitting around the table, passing dishes that we’ve eaten every year since forever in our families.

I make my friend’s sweet potato pie or a sweet potato casserole.

I make my grandmother’s green bean casserole, which is really French’s recipe. My grandmother always made it without milk to keep it kosher in her house.

We rely on 1950s convenience: Heinz gravy, DelMonte French style green beans, Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup. We make mashed potatoes from scratch, but my mother used to use a box mix of potato flakes. My sister’s husband would only eat mashed from scratch. He never noticed the difference. (I’d leave a few lumps in it for him.)

Think about what you’re grateful for and try to remember it the rest of the year. One way is with a gratitude journal. Or a jar to add slips of paper to for the year. I did this one year, and it was a joy to sit on New Year’s Eve and read through that last year of good moments. Whatever you come up with, find something that works for you and your life.

This year had some really difficult times for our family, and we’re still struggling with them: my mother-in-law’s death this summer and the election of Donald Trump as our new president, at best a wariness as we wait to see how his administration forms. I already have some issues, but this is not the forum. Suffice it to say, we are all waiting to see where we go from here, and we should all be praying for our next president and our country. I would encourage that to be the first thing we do.

If I learned anything from this past Year of Mercy, it is that mercy is everywhere; we just need to simply accept it when it’s given or found.

For my part in being aware of my blessings and my gratitude, I will be planning on incorporating a gratefullness to a weekly writing blurb.

In the meantime, I look to my family, my extended family, my friends, my church, and my support network to continue moving forward in my writing and my life.

I will spend tomorrow being grateful for what I have and how far I’ve come.

Bless you all on this day of thanks.

Attitude of Gratitude

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We all have our own mental lists to remind us of the wonder of our lives. Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the US, and for those of us lucky enough to have our families to celebrate with and enjoy a ridiculously large feast, it is one of those days that we are either awash with feelings or comatose from turkey and napping by mid-afternoon.

So many words to express our thoughts for this holiday season:

Thankful.

Grateful.

Gratitude.

Blessed.

Lucky.

Wonderment.

Humbled.

In less than a week, I turn 49, and then in three hundred sixty-six more days I will be 50. I’m not particularly looking forward to it, although I suppose it’s better than not turning fifty. This might be the impetus to a year long project of not counting down the days, but appreciating the days and the weeks as they pass until that milestone. This might be the baseline to reflect on, but time will tell.

These are the ten things I am most grateful for:

1. Finances – we are still living paycheck to paycheck, as are most middle-class-used-to-be’s, but there might be a light at the end of the tunnel; or at least an even-ing out of our debt.

2. Related to Finances – I’m grateful to our mechanic who let us put our recent car repairs on account so we are able to continue to drive our only car without having the cash on hand.

3. Family – my kids are healthy and doing well in school.

4. I am relatively healthy despite my chronic issues. My knees have even been feeling almost normal most of the time. It’s a welcome change.

5. Writing – I’m managing to write more often and keeping up my  quality, I think anyway. Without my regular writing workshop, which was cancelled, I’ve been lucky to give myself one day a week to work in the library for some of my forgotten projects.

6. I am really enjoying my ongoing re4lationship with Jesus Christ. There was definitely something missing from my life despite my belief in G-d and my spirituality, and I have found it with Christ and in His Church.

7. I have so much gratitude that I live near enough to a shrine and a Dominican retreat center where I can go and meditate and pray. Both places offer different things, but both places are also contemplative and recharge me.

8. Friends – My recent reconnection with some friends through Facebook – one I hadn’t talked to in decades, but thought of often. I also connected with my cousins’ family, both in person and on Facebook.

9. Fandom – another layer of friendship that is unexplainable unless you are in a fandom of your own. Kind, friendly, supportive and constructive – fandom is a beautiful thing, filled with beautiful people.

10. You, dear readers. I hold such gratitude for all of you, all of you who read, comment, like, and visit. Thank you.

I really am so blessed.

A Feast of Gratitude

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I don’t recall traveling to my grandparents for Thanksgiving. Or roasting a turkey until I was married and already moved out. We must have, I suppose. I do, however recall that holiday as more of an adult affair bringing home boyfriends, eventually a husband and children, although we must have celebrated it when I was a child. It is quintessentially an American holliday, and my parents, while raising us Jewish were also raising us American. Not everyone celebrated Christmas, but everyone celebrated Thanksgiving. Putting aside the more recent and current political awareness and justifiable Native American concerns and years of invisibility, it was and continues to be the great unifier. As immigrants continue to come with their many and varied holidays and celebrations, the melting pot adds a turkey and sweet potato casserole to each of their tables, and we are all grateful. Everyone can, and should give thanks. Whether it’s to a Creator or to your family for being there or for your grandparents and great-grandparents for making this life of ours possible in whatever way they did, or just plain old ordinary gratitude for what we have and what we will continue to receive in this life. It really is so much more than Pilgrims and Indians, Mayflowers and planting corn and yams and more than turkeys, in the field or on the platter.

I also remember other family feasts – weekends at my grandmother’s for deli or Chinese food on paper plates, of course. Passover Seders, asking the Four Questions and mushing the gefilte fish with my fork; block parties, courtyard picnics and cook-outs. I imagine it’s like this for everyone regardless of cultural background, but food is everywhere in my childhood. Pizza on Springfield Blvd, and Cantonese on Horace Harding. Filipino at my babysitter’s, steak at Ed’s Warehouse in Toronto – a visit north wasn’t complete without dinner at Old Ed’s. Scuffling through fallen brown and orange leaves, walking to Dr. Herman’s office, then driving the two or three blocks to the drug store to buy cigarettes for my parents and possibly a pack of Chiclets for me and my brother; my sister was too young for gum.

Before my parents passed away, just over ten and eleven years ago, we would always visit them for Thanksgiving. We were lucky in our interfaith family that we decided early on not to make those tough choices of who’s house to visit for which holiday. Christmas was always my mother-in-law’s, so Thanksgiving was my mother’s. No muss, no fuss. Nine out of ten would recommend. It might have helped that my mother-in-law is from Northern Ireland and isn’t that big on commemorating the Pilgrims arrival to the New World. My in-laws would come to my parents’ house for the holiday also. It was almost as extended as when I was a child, at my cousins’ cousins’ house or my aunt by marriage’s father’s apartment, all of us squeezing in to seats all over the living room and kitchen, coming and going and never knowing who was related to whom or how. It was really a beautiful day, almost recreating that for my parents and then my children while we could. For them, with the  grandchildren made it all the better.

When we bought our own house, we opted to stay home for Christmas, and with my parents gone, Thanksgiving is now at my mother-in-law’s. The kids miss a day of school, but scholl will always be there; family is more important and there are many lessons to be learned sitting around the table, getting things ready in the kitchen, and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, only an hour by train if we actually wanted to be there, and got up early enough in the morning for that to happen.

One missed exit, and we were driving down the Major Deegan, listening to our GPS navigator recalculate, and with each passing overpass marked with a green street sign, I was flooded; not with specific memories, but with emotions and feelings and memories of feelings of traveling these roads between my Grandmother Celia’s and my uncle’s house. Or to my aunt’s brother, John’s apartment. The back and forth of the Cross Bronx Parkway, and remembering a similar back and forth on the Cross Island to see Grandma Sadie, by way of the Douglaston Pkwy for awhile, the Little Neck and then the Cross Island when we moved to Long Island. The streets, a litany of a life long ago, hidden deep until pulled out by a traffic light, or a tall building or streets and avenues one after the other: Jerome, Tremont, Westchester, Castle Hill.  My grandmother in the Bronx lived on Castle Hill. My Grandpa used to “walk” me in my stroller, me wearing a bunny ears hat, carrying a yellow Kodak film box, stopping at the basketball hoops and then turning around to go back. We passed the sign for the hospital I was born in (Bronx Lebanon).  As I mentioned it, my kids were less than impressed. We passed the Bronx Zoo. It was just the sign, but my son still looked for giraffes. I still shiver when I think about the cable car going over the lions’ paddock.

As night fell, the aura of twilight and taillights, streetlights and traffic lights released the emotions of a long forgotten life, a world so apart and so different from the one my kids are growing up in. I struggle to give them that wonderful life, full of wonder and friends who were also family.
I’m thankful for so many things, but while today we are rushing to claim the Starbucks wifi (Grandma doesn’t have wifi or any internet), I will save tomorrow to list my gratitude amidst the rushing of Christmas shopping and mall traffic and list-making for the rest of the year.

Tomorrow is the day I want to remember my gratitude and b e grateful because that is usually the day we forget about it until next year.

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Have a Wonderful and Happy and Blessed Thanksgiving.

An Open Letter to Joe Biden

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Dear Vice President Biden,

I have long admired you, and have thought about writing some sort of letter to you expressing that. I only hope this sounds as good as it did in my head while I was sleeping. In case it doesn’t, it was beautifully written, encouraging yet not condescendingly so; complimentary without sounding sappy, and loving while maintaining respectability. I can’t promise any of that since most things sound better in my head.

As I said, I have admired you for a very long time. I don’t know when I got into politics specifically, but my family was always civic minded. My father had to remind me once, and only once, as a child to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance and respect was expected without question or reminder for the flag, servicemen and women, and those that serve us in government. I never knew who my parents voted for until I was in college, and I never heard a bad word about anyone until I was old enough to discern the nuances of what passes for political discussion and disagreement and not personal attack.

I knew your name before I knew your story. I’m not sure how I knew you. I grew up in Queens until we moved to Long Island in New York, although it’s possible that I heard your name for the first time in college where I was studying political science. I ended up with a minor in that by that way, but that is neither here nor there.

I may have thought you were from New York originally. I don’t know.

I had somehow gotten it in my head that you were Jewish, like I was, which of course you’re not. I can only imagine that I got that idea from how much you reminded me of my father. He was a wonderful, kind, compassionate, generous man which should be no surprise then when I say you remind me of him. You were always a straight talker, and the one thing I liked about you was that you said it. Whatever the political consequences. Whatever the fallout. Whatever it was, you said it. The hard truth. The honest truth. The stark reality of truth. Always telling us what we sometimes didn’t want to hear, but always your tone to us is compassion and mercy, and kindness.

You were you, and just in that you inspired me.
Whenever your name came up, my response would always be, “Joe Biden? I love Joe Biden! I would vote for him for President.” Or anything else for that matter.

Somewhere along the line, I learned that you were Catholic. In 2014, I became Catholic. Before that I understood very little about compassion and mercy, and forgiveness. I heard you (and others) talk about things apart from politics, but through politics, and I didn’t get it. Being called to something. Having the clarity, not to know the answers, but to continue looking for them. In one moment, it was all there. The one question that confounds me still is the ever popular why did you decide to become a Catholic? Why did I decide? Oh, well-meaning, loving people…I decided nothing. I’m sure you know that when the Spirit puts its hand on your shoulder and turns you onto a new path, there are no decisions to be made; only a direction in which to go. Just as Jesus came to me in His way when I was ready, something comes to all of us, and shows us the way.

I learned about your family later on, and at some point I learned about your son, Beau’s foundation, Darkness to Light. Now, I knew Beau Biden. I remember when it was time to go to Iraq. He didn’t have to go. No one would fault him for staying as Attorney General if he didn’t go, but he didn’t join the military, and wasn’t in the Reserves for show. He wasn’t the Vice President’s son. He was Joe Biden’s son, and he knew what he’d signed up for. I was shocked when he died. I hadn’t known he was sick, and I cried. I thought of writing you then, but it seemed hollow. I have two boys and one girl of my own, and I can’t imagine.

It was only after yesterday’s announcement that you wouldn’t be running for President that I knew this had to be written. It shows that for you, the dream of the Presidency is much more than a man’s dream. It is the dream of helping, of serving the American people, and for that alone, you should be president. For those that know you personally or follow you closely, it is only one more selfless act in a life of selfless acts, whether that’s taking care of two young boys, of going from junior senator to senior, of vice president. It is all done with integrity and humility.

I could not let another day pass without telling you how much you inspire me; of how much I can do because I have you as a role model.

When you said that you would not be running for President, but you would not be remaining silent, I smiled. Don’t tell Joe Biden he can’t say anything he wants. You still have a lot to say, and I intend to listen as I always have.

But before we go our separate ways, I wanted it to be clear how much I admire and respect and care for you.

You are an inspiration to me.

Watching you gives me the security to know that I can change direction; for you, away from the White House, and for me, I don’t know, but whatever it is, I know I can do it.

I know I can do it because you can, because you show me how, and that’s all I need to know.

You are a wonderful human being, and I’ve thought that for so long that it surprises me that I’ve never said it to you. But you are a wonderful human being, and I’m glad I finally told you so.

Bless you.

Love and best wishes,

Karen B.

St. Joseph

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Today is the feast day of St. Joseph, husband of Mary and father of Jesus. He was thrown a curve when he found out Mary was pregnant, and after the visit from an angel, he accepted his role in this Holy Family. All across the world fathers do what they do, working and caring for their families, their children, their parents, and more often than not without getting or expecting a thank you.

This would be a good day to do that; to show your appreciation for all they are to you, and all they do for you.

My husband is a son and a father. He talks to his mother all throughout the week. Every day after work, he spends time with his kids, walking, reading, snow-playing and play-shoveling. While he’s working, though, he’s also doing laundry, washing dishes, going up and down the stairs all day long getting things done.

It is a thankless job.

He’s always available to drive them or take a special trip to the ice cream shop. Sledding at the park. Putting out the compost. Taking out the trash and recycling. Going to the comic store and picking up the comics. Getting the groceries and cooking dinner. Getting the kids out the door in the morning and on the bus.

All the time busy, taking care of his family, unspoken gratitude hovering nearby.