Everything Old Is New Again

We locals like to squeeze out every last bit of September's warm sunny days. Only when our tans start to fade do we reluctantly put away our shorts and pull out warm stuff, like the plain, old gray crewneck sweatshirt I've had for years that always gets complements. The sleeves have ribbons that tie into bows at the wrist, which is impossible to do alone-even with my teeth, so I have to wear it to work and make someone there tie them.  Despite being old and unmanageable, that sweatshirt makes me happy.

This summer, a few of my single acquaintances also found once unmanageable old things that are making them happy as well: they've up-cycled their ex-spouses.  

One couple fought so loudly at the kids' sporting events that no one would sit near them in the bleachers.  When they split, she just about put up a billboard talking about what an jerk he was. For years I'd see her out with guys at concerts, festivals and the like.  Beginning this summer, her ex started showing up at events she was at, and last month, they danced together on the boardwalk. Trying not to be nosy even though I was damn curious, when I saw her grocery shopping, I had to ask about the dance.  She rolled her eyes, smiled and said "the enemy I know is easier to deal with then the enemy I don't". Their kids insisted they play nice for the grands at family holidays and parties.  She said that since bringing a date was uncomfortable for everyone, they got back together.  "Besides" she said, "he's mellowed. We only have fights over whether the grands loves him or me more."

Another woman, a real go-getter when the kids were little, had a husband who was just a little more active than a sloth.  She threw him to the curb, bought a motorcycle and started traveling with a wild senior group all over the country.  It took a few years but her ex decided to go out and win her back with his own motorcycle.  They just got back from the west coast, sporting studded black leather jackets and pants,  She told me that she likes him a lot more now than the first thirty years because he's really a lot of fun.

In The Walking Dead, besides astronauts and kittens, zombies hate regifting.  In the broadest context, I presume zombies would have the same aversion to up-cycled exes.

Reconnecting with any of my past relationships, and there weren't many, is as futile as facing Mariano Rivera in the bottom of the ninth:  First Love-dead (strike one). Mr. Jock-married to a much younger woman (strike two). Wingman-dead (strike three and yer out). Who else was there??? Pre-Wingman, I dated a guy who, when I re-introduced myself one night, had absolutely no recollection of me at all.  Had I known he would make me feel so awkward, I would have brought the postcard he sent me from Florida where he wrote "I miss you and I miss my guitar". Or the guy a mutual friend insisted that we'd be a good match until he came out to me as gay and moved to San Francisco to run an Aids crisis center.  Or post Wingman, the widower who asked me out six weeks after his wife died and was a one-and-done date non-contender.  Sadly, he's dead too.

When Wingman died and Sandy flooded the house, I got everything new. New furniture. New flooring. New, new, new inside and out. The bedroom was newly painted sage green, which was the nicest and most comforting color.  Here in condo world, I stupidly picked the 2019 color-of-the-year pink which turned out to be just a little more subtle than Pepto Bismol. Opening one eye in the morning and looking at it almost makes me nauseous, so when November rolls around and I step away from my manager position, I'm painting the room sage green.  My favorite old new color will make me happy again.

As happy as that old sweatshirt. But I'm thinking as I step away from work, I'm going to have to find someone new to tie the bows.

We Are Family, I Got All My Sisters With Me

 

I am the oldest of five siblings with three brothers and one sister.  Today, all of us attended a memorial service for my sister's sister.

No, that isn't a riddle.  Or a joke. In June my sister's chosen sister of over fifty years passed away from stomach cancer. 

Their sisterhood began when they were ten and Lu moved to town. There weren't enough classroom books for each student so the teacher asked my sister to share hers, and a friendship was formed.  The two became three when another girl moved to town, and became a solid four when they hit middle school and a girl from the other side of town was in their class. Later, Lu's single mom rented my grandparents' home next door to ours and the sisters became inseparable.

Being seven years older than my sister, other than sharing a bedroom growing up, we had very little in common.  I had to set the table and dry the dishes every night while she played with her Fred Flintstone dinosaur and my Barbies. She was only in second grade when I started high school. I met my BFF soon after-a woman with no sisters and one pesky brother the same age as one of mine. I moved to NYC to attend fashion school about the same time she started cheering for Pop Warner football. She got her drivers license and I got my first apartment. We were two planets traveling around the same sun on different orbits.

That's not to say we were alienated from each other.  When I went out with First Love, his sister was that third member of the band of sisters, so we were usually in one of the two houses at the same time. The BFF and I chaperoned a party the girls had (but they were quite pissed that we didn't leave).  Again, the BFF and I took their 14 year old selves to Central Park to see a Beach Boys concert, where they were totally bored. When I married Wingman, she was my maid of honor and we spent my last night being single at a favorite bar where I bought her underage self drinks until the wee hours. 

My sister moved to Florida for college, and eventually started a new life there. Lu being single found it much easier to travel than Wingman and I with our deli and kids. We visited once right after we got married, once with when I was pregnant, and then not again until son #1 was at college spring training.  From the photos they shared today, Lu spent as much time in Florida in the winter as my sister did in NJ every summer. Being at one or another weekend baseball tournaments meant that I would be lucky if I saw her once or twice when she came up. It never seemed wrong-our lives just moved in different directions. 

It was early this spring that Lu started having stomach problems. Late spring she was diagnosed, and early summer, she passed.  In the meantime, my sister and her friends did what sisters do: they made meals, walked her dog, held her hand and tried to give her hope. 

Last night, I went out for steamers with the squad-a squad that now includes a woman who worked with Lu for over thirty years.  Stories started flying as they remembered the people, the places and the things that made their sister bond so special. Wingman use to be jealous that some of his friends had a bond like these women have, but I am eternally grateful that my sister found Lu and the squad, that they could be there for her before she passed, and will continue to be there for each other in the years to come.

My sister always said that she and Lu were like Thelma and Louise.  At the end of the movie, Thelma (Lu) says "Let's Keep Going" to which Louise (my sister) replies "Are you sure?" Lu was always the one to keep going, always up for an adventure, always with a smile on her face and will always be treasured by those that knew and loved her the most.

And May You Stay Forever Young

 

A couple of months ago, I called my middle son who had just returned from a tryout for southern D1 football refs.  He tried to keep his voice reserved, and very humble in the opportunity and outcome, and as elated and proud of him as I was, I couldn't help but feel guilty and think "Damn, Wingman, this should be you enjoying this moment with your son-not me."

The following evening, I brought the conversation up with another son, and questioned what he thought his father's reaction might have been.  He replied that Wingman would most definitely have been gloating, if not berating him for playing baseball for 16+ years and not pursuing the same goals to be an umpire. Every year on this anniversary, I wonder what life would be like if Wingman was still alive.

Would Wingman ever have gone back to playing in bands?  Would he have gotten involved with the charity I'm volunteering in or avoided it because of clashes with guys he played with in the past? His bass still stands on the landing in pristine condition after taking a swim in Sandy and then being lovingly restored to like-new by a dear friend. I've often thought of finding someone to play it or it will become one of the items, like the Mickey Mantle baseball, that the boys will fight over when I'm gone for no other reason than it's there.

How many concerts tickets would he have added to his box of memories?  Not only would he have gone to, but afterwards would have deeply mourned the deaths of Jeff Beck and David Bowie, but not as much as when John Lennon died. He'd be salivating seeing guys like Peter Frampton, Joe Jackson and Elvis Costello playing local venues and he'd surely critique Steely Dan without Walter Becker, The Doobie Brothers WITH Michael McDonald and why the hell are they trying to resurrect Beatles music with AI?

How many of the grandkids softball or baseball games and tournaments would he never have missed like we use to travel to for our boys?  All of the rec, grade and high school games, all of the college ones-sitting in frosty April to sweltering August weather.  He would have loved the year that Summer Son live at our home and might have made more than the one game I went to in Hartford to see him play in college. Because he loved seeing kids play the game, would he have coached local kids like a high school friend of his is doing now? Or crazier yet, would he have insisted on flying to South Korea to see our oldest granddaughter, who has absolutely no interest in sports at all, dance in a ballet recital?

How many Yankee games would he have gone to? He and a friend each took a son to the first game at the new Yankee Stadium, and proudly told everyone that his butt was the first to sit in that seat.  I guess the fact that some of his ashes are sitting in Monument Park between Reggie Jackson and Don Mattingly means he hasn't missed a game in years.

When Wingman died, I offered his clothes and personal items to the boys, but no one took anything.  I donated most everything wearable to our Pastor friend, but a lot of his old tee shirts I kept.  In fact, a full storage bin of them that moved at least four times in twelve years, There were of course, many baseball shirts, but also included ones he wore on our first couple of dates, ones from our deli, ones from the earliest band I knew him from, and even ones from concerts he went to before I ever met him.  Combined with those, I had three bins of all sorts of tee shirts from the three boys that the bizarre hoarder in me kept for posterity. So this year, for the twelfth Anniversary of Wingman's passing, I made each son a quilt which combined his and their lives in the tee shirts I saved.  Each quilt will hopefully be a reminder of the things that both he and they loved, made by me with the hope  I have for all of them to remain FOREVER YOUNG. 

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

 

Ah, July...Julius Caesar picked a good one to name after himself.  It starts with Independence Day, my second favorite holiday with all the fireworks and barbeques that go with it, but what makes it REALLY wonderful is that it combines a full month of summer concerts with the greatest of all TV events: "Christmas in July" on Hallmark. Did I mention that Christmas is my most favorite holiday?

Wingman didn't like Christmas, but he did love music and I've spent the last dozen years enjoying both by myself.  Last week, after seeing three bands in four days  I realized that musicians, just like Hallmark actors, are quite interchangeable in their roles.

Take that female lead actress who has been everything Christmas from an aspiring gingerbread house maker, to a fashion designer who makes costumes for her daughter's school, to a seamstress who falls in love with a prince. She is no different from the girl group singer harmonizing 60's music on Wednesday, being lead singer in a Motown band on Thursday and backing up a NJ Hall of Famer on Saturday.

Or the guy who has been a fireman with an abandoned Christmas baby, a corporate recovery agent for a candy cane company and the photographer whose wife forgets who he is when she falls off a ladder decorating their tree. Wingman played bass in a band that formed right after I met him with a guitarist who went on to play with that same female group singer I just mentioned, as well as in a pickup group with The Boss and with Bon Jovi's house band.

Hallmark put out 42 Christmas movies in 2023, and the best of their entire lineup is replayed this month.  "The Christmas Card" from 2006 set them on the holiday map and remains one of my favorites to this day.  Like the man I heard for the first time last Thursday singing spot-on James Taylor, the two lead actors aren't in the "star" rotation which makes them, I don't know, maybe more believable. Meanwhile, the supporting actor playing the dad in the movie I recognized from other films as a newspaperman and Santa Claus. Instead of totally immersing myself in Sweet Baby James, I found myself distracted trying to remember where I last heard the guitarist (with the Motown band) and the saxophonist (playing with another Boss/JBJ guitarist).

One of my six New Year's resolutions in 2024 was to see 52 live music performances in 52 weeks. This is week 29, and I've already seen 35 including a bunch of bar bands, a broadway musical, a college choral group, the NJ Symphony and the US Army band, as well as three major rock and roll concerts. I've seen a few of my favorites more than once, and they play a song for me that Wingman was trying to learn before he died. In but four short months I will at last be retired (more to come on that later) and back to volunteering with the holiday charity I love so much.  Just like the Hallmark movies that will be on 24/7 from the beginning of November, I'll be singing Christmas carols at each event with different "star" musicians, most who I recognize but don't really know (you know-this event is with the drummer, who played with that bass guy last month who had the girl lead singer who does Carol King). And our supporting team will be just as valuable-we'll be in the background handing out meals and hugs, providing warm clothing to those in need, dancing with clients, and making each event a memorable time.

And while I can't sing to save my life,  at many of them I'll put on  a costume as Rudolph, Frosty, Cookie Monster or Elmo, hug a child and be a star in their eyes.