Into the Woods

Reflections on a train ride home....

Did anyone ever see “Into the Woods” - the musical? I saw it. With my mom. She visited New York once. It was the first time she had ever traveled on her own since coming to America. It was only the second plane she had been on since arriving in the States in 1967.

We didn’t know it then, but she was dying of cancer. She was in a lot of pain, but made the most of her long weekend with Alberta and I. I remember three things: taking her to the Atlantic Ocean (Coney Island)…how she walked off by herself to stick her feet in the water, looking across the water towards home (England). She’d left in ’67 and never been back. Her mom died. Her dad died. And her brother would die only six months later.

I also remember waking up in the middle of the night and finding her in the front room, sitting by the window with a cup of tea, staring down at the people walking along Seventh Avenue. Throughout my childhood that was my most intense image of her: sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the window towards the front door. Waiting for one of us to come home. Always with a cup of tea.

The third memory I had of mom in New York was going to see “Into the Woods”. I don’t recall what it was about. I think Vanessa Williams was starring. I remember crying. I remember mom crying. She died April 9.

When I went to Kol Nidre services last fall, the Rabbi’s drash was all about a song from that play: “No One is Alone”. The cantor sang it at the end. I cried. I’ve interspersed verses from that song in the following journal entry, but it’s worth downloading.

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Things are quite circular aren’t they? How is that I am so blessed in life to be reminded how rich life can be…just when I feel the most tired?

Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood.

This week has been the week to remind me what an…”experience”… project planning the National Conference can be ; >) I won’t bore you with details, but suffice it to say that it involved brochures, posters, scheduling, bag distribution, hotel chaos, no space, too little space, budget overruns, milestones, late milestones, canceled meetings…is it only Wednesday? Oy-vay!

You decide what’s good,

You decide alone.

But no one is alone.

Friday night I ended the day with a 6pm phone conversation with Melanie, who was out in St. Louis with the party planners. I went to bed feeling tense, aggravated, and already anticipating the worst.

People make mistakes…holding to their own, thinking they’re alone.

Then I talk to dad on Saturday morning. And after 3 months of vague conversations, confusion and uncertainty, he finally calls it what it is: “chemotherapy” and “six treatments”. This is a big step from “injections” and “just one and then we’ll see.…”

Honor their mistakes…everybody makes….one another’s terrible mistakes.

I do the laundry crying Saturday morning, take a 3 hour nap in the afternoon and generally shut down. I knew it all along. Why am I so shocked? Denial is an amazing thing, isn’t it? I do what every decent Maskell does in such situations: I go online (to the library) and research it. Only problem is…I’m not quite sure what I’m researching! My brother and I talk. We both knew that we’d given up our annual spring trip to NASCAR so we have vacation days to go to England when need be. Al’s wife has gotten passports for Janae and Aiden so they can go and see Grandad. We decide dad’s recent transfer of 90% of his assets to America is more of a very smart investment move (given the exchange rate) than an admission on the part of dad that’s he’s going to die. Did I already say that denial is an amazing thing?

Witches can be right;

Giants can be good.

Best memory of mom before she died? She loved Connie’s (Chicago-style) pizza. For two months, before she became too ill, when I would travel home to Illinois for the weekend to spend time with her, I’d bundle her up, put her in the car, and drive to Connie’s to pick up pizza for her. She loved the feel of the hot pizza on her lap. She loved driving around and seeing what was happening. We’d go home, I’d pour us each a glass of Bailey’s, and we’d eat pizza and sip Bailey’s. She’d ask me all about life in New York: work, Alberta, friends. She’d tell me about Helen, her best friend and all the happenings on the block.

I remember asking her about the trolls. I had a very vivid memory from when I was about four. Mom and dad took me to this forest where giant boulders stood. And my dad told me that if I put my ear to the rock I could hear the trolls that lived underground, working. I was 28 when I shared that story with my mom. I remember her laughing. I remember my laughing. I recall her saying “don’t be silly, Sand. You don’t still really believe that, do you?” I did. I still believed that I had heard trolls. Then she smiled and said, “That’s ok. It’s good to believe.”

You decide what’s right.

You decide what’s good.

Then this afternoon, God gave me a good thump upside the head. He calls me up this morning a few minutes after 9am (using someone else’s name and voice as He likes to do…but I’m not easily fooled!). And I find out something that flips that little switch inside. The one that lights up “Tilt” when I think everything’s a heck of a lot more important than it ever will be.

Just remember….someone is on your side.

Now…bear with me. I can’t disclose what my caller shared because it’s not public knowledge. But suffice it to say…it made me think of mom. It reminded me that when people in our life need us, when they are hurting, or sick, or afraid, or need us to celebrate with them, be superhero’s with them (go Charlie!), spend time with them, sit with them, read with them, share space with them, love them…we need to do it.

Things will come out right now, we can make it so.

Sandra Searle strolls by as I’m chatting with Cindy and says, “That sabbatical paid off. The conference materials look fantastic!” I give credit to Barb and her team for pulling it all together and the M&C group for making things look pretty…but I get a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

Someone is on your side…No one is alone.

Thanks for being a part of my life. For making sure I don’t have to go through it alone. And for letting me believe in Trolls….moose...dragons…superhero’s….

Merry Easter!

Moose, Bunny & Kitty welcome their new friends, Cow and Sheep to the Easter festivities at Lynne and Sandy's.  Isn't it an awesome Easter basket!  8 days later and I'm a third of the way through it!

Tags: easter

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Happy New Year or How I Almost Did My Father In

Happy New Year from Moose, Bunny and Kitty

It was an interesting visit with Dad over Christmas, 99% of the excitement happening prior to his arrival and on the day he was leaving. In between, it was very slow. Dad’s slowed down a lot, even in the last year, although he just had a big surgery last year and I think he’s still rebounding. But more about that another time.

The Holiday started off when I lost my dad. Yep. Lost him. For nearly 3 hours, somewhere between JFK and the apartment. Try calling your brother to tell him you’ve lost your dad. Of course, I don’t think Al really believed me for a while.

So here’s the deal. It was one of those ‘if it can go wrong…it will’ kinda days. At 11:08am a cold hit me. You know how that is. One minute you’re going along all normal-like, and then WHAM! You feel the fever, your nose takes off like it thought its job was to alleviate the drought in Atlanta, and you keep looking for the steamroller that just ran you over on your way to the printer. Yuck. So I decided I’d catch the 5:15pm train instead of the 5:58pm and get home.

Now Alberta had been recruited to house sit and wait for dad’s arrival. His flight from Heathrow came in at 4:48. I figured an hour for customs, baggage claim and to find a taxi. Then a 45 min to 1 hour drive from the airport to Park Slope – making his arrival time at the apartment around 6:45pm. So Ali was on lookout. Good thing she was there. My 5:15pm never left Philly until 5:45pm, so I didn’t get to Penn Station until 7:20pm.

At 6:20pm I call Ali to see how she was. As we talked, the cab driver called asking for directions to Park Slope. Since part of their licensing is that they are supposed to know this stuff I was annoyed, but glad I was on the phone (Ali doesn’t drive). So she relayed directions from me to him and we figured dad was all set. Ha!

I get to Manhattan at 7:20pm, then police action on the “F” train means I don’t get to Brooklyn until 8:10pm. I get above ground and call Lynne (who is home now) to see if dad is settled and if they want to go out to eat. Lynne informs me that he’s not there. It is almost 2 hours since I talked to the cabbie and dad was already in route at that time. I tell Lynne I’m going to wait outside of the house for dad to arrive. Istart hypothesizing a myriad of reasons why dad’s not yet there, and Lynne successfully lies to me and agrees that “yes, the traffic is really bad tonight – it was awful in the city,” and “yes it rained earlier and that probably tied up things on the Belt Parkway,” and “I’m sure that he’s just not rushing and will turn up any minute.” It’s good to have someone you love lie to you when you’re under duress.

I call my brother, who is an excellent problem solver: do I have the cab number (nope, never thought to ask), can I *69 and get the cabbie’s cell phone number (nope, I called afterwards so it’s lost), do the NYC police require you to wait 24 or 36 hours before you can file a missing person’s report? Do any of you watch that show “Missing”? 24 hours never seems long on that show. As we approached 8:40pm, I started to think I could file a kidnapping report and that might get a faster response. You can do far too much damage to an 82 year old Brit in 24 hours!

As I ruminated, worried and paced outside the apartment, I noticed a white car that kept stopping at the corner across from our block. It circled three times, like it was looking for something. That’s when the very dim light bulb in my very sniffley head slowly went on. I had forgotten to remind dad to ONLY TAKE A YELLOW CAB! There are a ton of guys who are local limo drivers (some of whom are unlicensed) that are always looking for a fare at the airports!

I jumped off the stoop and started to walk to the corner when who do I see but dad! It’s 8:50pm and he’s exhausted, out of breath and looks awful! It turns out he went to a “policeman” (which could have been anyone in uniform, ‘cause an NYC cop knows better than to encourage a gypsy cab!) and asked where he got a cab. The ‘policeman’ took him outside and hailed a car. When dad asked how much, he told dad that dad’d work that out with the driver on their way (who it turns out is from Long Island; hence no idea as to where Park Slope was!). The driver ends up driving dad to LaGuardia, because “I know my way to Brooklyn from LaGuardia”. Oy-Vay! This is in addition to getting lost on the way to LaGuardia, getting stuck in traffic, etc., etc.

When they finally arrive, the driver can’t find our house #. So he kept circling. This is after he told dad that he’d owe about $200, since he’d been driving dad around for almost 3 hours! Well, the old man (dad) may be tired, but when it comes to money, no one is going to get over on him! He hands the guy the $60 I told him it should cost (if he’d taken a YELLOW CAB). So the guy wants to come upstairs with dad and talk to me about the money. Dad lies and says I’m not home (which I wasn’t). He asks about the woman he talked to (Ali) and dad explains that she is a neighbor who is to let him in, but not a relation. So the guy writes me a note, asking me to find the spirit of Christmas and send him more money. I’m still debating whether I want to download the driving directions from MapQuest and mail them to him. And to think that our cabbies and limos are still fighting the city in court over their refusal to install GPS systems!

So…day one…lose your 82 year old dad who just got off a 7 hour flight (not including the 2 hour train ride to the airport).

On the last day (today)…dad slips in the bathtub and bruises his arm. He insists he didn’t hit his head. Lynne, who is still home (thank God for therapist hours!) checks for broken bones. Aye! I convince dad to let me call a car service for him so he has someone to meet him at Heathrow and he can skip the trains and train transfers. Ali takes the afternoon shift (thank God for friends who have p/t jobs) and makes sure he gets into the car service I hired and paid for in advance!

He arrives at 7:50am tomorrow – about 3:00am our time. Flight Tracker says his place is off and over Nova Scotia. God willing all goes well. It should – he’s out of my range now!