HEAD & HEART---I got back home after 11 pm Saturday night, after a week of helping w/ cooking, laundry-folding, medicating, & physically caring for Dad, & all that entails. Glad to be home, & to see my church family, but sad that Mom & Dad"hated to see me go", leaving me torn, to say the least. Flash forward 24 hours. Shortly after Karen, & fiance' Jay, had to leave the house, Dad had another episode, & went back to Centennial. He's on the cardiac unit, in room 818. Mom went w/ him in the ambulance, last night, & is still there. Memories of going through this w/ my mom's mom, MawMaw, are flooding back. I've been here, before. Just trying to prepare all our hearts & heads for what is ahead. Still, it's good & right to love someone so much that you don't want them to leave, but equally don't want them to live like this, anymore. That duality is a tough one, but I'm grateful to have become close enough to Daddy, that I hate to see him go. Trying to figure out how you do this. Watched Jason do this w/ his Dad's suicide, in 2000, which was a horrible shock, of course. Maybe I'm in a little state of shock, myself. Wasn't it yesterday that Daddy was coaching me in T-ball? Taking me fishing, eating bologney & hot sauce, afterward making his signature battered catch-of-the-day, homemade fries, & the world's best hush puppies? Yesterday, too, digging a grave for my childhood, dog, Smokey, while tears & sweat rolled down his face? Carrying my infant sister on his hip, across the Rock City swinging bridge? Taking me on cross-country treks, after he retired, & I was wed, delivering for Davis Cabinet, w/ me running the hydralic lift? Making steaks & navigating us to beaches, the Smokies, Disney, putt-putt, & more, while being his vacation trip alter-egos, "Studley", & "Panama Jack-[crap]"? Letting me carry in firewood, so I'd feel big? A million moments like these feel close enough to touch, & oh-so-far-away, at the same time. Is it possible to start missing someone, before they're even gone? I think it must be. That's what we're feeling each time we hug or kiss him, truly knowing it might be for the last time. It is harder, waiting to have the cash to fix our car, & having to make arrangements just to get there, to do my share, & not being able to quickly be there when Mom & Karen need me, but I will do what I have to do, whether that entails the bus, a taxi, or bumming a ride, because they need the help, desperately. Perhaps selfishly, I also just want to steal a few more minutes w/ Daddy, even when he's not at his best. I'm unsteady & unsure about how you do this looming next step. How do you say goodbye to a parent? On a smaller scale, how do we get the VA & insurance to provide the stepped-up care he needs, as his strength, mobility, & senses more frequently fail him? Is there any way to keep him at home, as he'd prefer? God help me, but this is a set of mysteries I can't quite clear in my cobwebbed brain, enough to solve. God help us all, because this is a damned hard road.
Dad's Favorite:
DANNY BOY
And Now To Sing This Lovely Ballad...Mama Cath
People keep telling me I should write more. This should both prove them wrong, & shut them up, because the Big-Mouth Singers had nothin' on me! Oh, & if you don't get dripping sarcasm, you should try honey, instead.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Monday, May 6, 2013
Part
II of “I Confess”,
The
Story of My Life Laid Bare
I confess to often being the wrong sister for what my sister needed.
Let me explain.
I was 2 years old when my parents were
told that I would be an only child. They bought it, but I was a harder sell.
When I grew tired of asking them for a little brother or sister, to no avail, I
by-passed them, & asked my grandparents
(both in their 60’s) if they
could make one, instead! So, when told, at long last, that my sister, Karen,
was on the way, years after I’d accepted my “only child status”, I had a
reaction straight out of a slapstick sitcom--- I actually staggered, then swooned! Seriously.
Almost 20 years into their marriage, my
parents welcomed their 2nd child, at ages 36 & 42. I was 8 going
on 18, & couldn’t wait to be a big sis…to a little bro, that is. Clearly,
my dad’s half of the genes didn’t get the memo! Still, when my expected Jonathan
or Marcus turned out to be a Karen Sue, I accepted it pretty readily. And, b/c
the new state child restraint law had yet to take effect, I was afforded the
privilege of holding my beautiful newborn sister, just 4 days old, all the way
home. I was so very excited by my new, more grown-up role, on that 1st
day home, that I even tried to feed my non-bottle-fed
baby sis, just like mom! Oops.
Despite this less-than-stellar start, I
was pretty good at playing the doting older daughter, at least until I hit my
“terrible teens” (think “terrible two’s”, only less mature!). Then, not so much. By way of example: when kindergartener Karen, called Cathy,
an unrepentant 8th grade snob, “Sissy”, this small-minded older sibling was
M-O-R-T-I-F-I-E-D, beyond the pale, insisting she drop the "embarrassing" moniker. If I'd been concerned with her feelings, I'd have worn the heartfelt nickname like a badge of honor. Alas, I did not. Fast forward to my high school years, when
I raised ignoring my little sister to an art form, preferring, instead, the
“sophisticated” company of my prep & boarding school peers. My every action must have felt like I thought she was 2nd best, behind these "preferred" other "sisters".
Was I horrid to her 100% of the time? No.
Still, did I dare to share w/ her that I missed her, when I was home on break? Not
unless ignoring someone sends that signal subliminally. Did I engage her,
absorb her interests, compliment her abilities, or act like I felt anything
more about her than tolerance? Often, I don’t think I did. It goes without
saying that teens are often self-absorbed, but do they have to be? No. There is
no age at which cruelty or indifference should be expected, or accepted. Did I
recognize the harm of my actions & in-actions? Again, no. To do so would’ve
required a level of conscience & consciousness that I just did not possess.
Both reflect a choice, on some level, to put myself, & no one else, first.
It’s easy to write off behavior as being related, simply, to being an age, or
going through a stage, but if unflinching honesty & admitting one’s
mistakes is the goal, then there are not pat excuses that are acceptable. None.
Why did I often behave abominably toward
someone, who, in fact, I loved, & adored? I don’t have a good answer. It
certainly wasn’t because of anything lacking in her. I think, in some small way, it was about equating things
homespun & heartfelt, with being corny & un-cool. Regardless, it was
both false, & wrong. A flaw, not in our stars, or any part of Shakespeare’s
heavens, to paraphrase, but in my
self.
When Karen, in turn, was going through the
trials of her own teen years, I continued to fail her. I was, by turns,
reductive, & judgmental, minimizing her feelings, & often expecting her
to be a “mini-me”, rather than her own person, as if that would make her easier
for me to understand. Now, I could’ve taken the time to listen better, love
more, & learn from her, rather than assuming I have all the answers. To hold
one’s sister at an emotional arms-length is harmful, hollow, & hurts.
To set a bad example, & then trumpet,
“Do as I say, not as I do”, is to truly call an ugly tune. I’ve certainly been
guilty of that, too. The fact is, if an elder sibling introduces unwholesome books,
movies, or ideals, thinking themselves advocates of a more enlightened point of
view, that is harmful, too. If, as a big sister, I encourage secret-keeping
& duplicity, lampoon my parents, poke holes in their values, &
criticize their every choice, undermining them, in their role as family
leaders, that has a lasting detrimental effect. This is fact, not theory. (Follow
this LINK to sibling research that shows the importance of a sibling’s example.)
As a know-it-all young adult, & into my twenties, especially, I made this
colossal mistake, time after time. Truthfully, I still find myself doing it,
now, sometimes, & I’m in my 40’s! This is to both my sister’s &
parents’ detriment, even now.
Why sow discord, when an attitude
reflecting unconditional love & grace would serve our relationships better?
Why choose completion over compassion, callous coldness over comfort &
caring? I don’t have all the answers, & despite the cock-sure attitude of
my younger years, I never have.
What can I do, then, to begin to right
these wrongs? To begin with, I can apologize. For all of it. I’m sorry I
contributed to so many struggles, by creating distance between you & Mom,
you & Dad, and you & me, with my complaints, criticisms, & complications.
I can own these errors & choose behavior that promotes healthy interactions,
instead.
No family is perfect. No relationship is
without flaws. But to amplify your youthful annoyances, by adding my own, was
inappropriate, immature, & ugly. I’d love to say that I realized the
destructive nature of this behavior, fully, years ago, repented of it, &
changed my tune. Didn’t happen.
I do
repent & regret it, now, &
believe it is never too late to reconcile, as long as we still have breath. I’m
sorry I led you astray, in ways both big & small. I’m sorry, too, that I
haven’t reached out more, done the work it takes to be closer, to live w/o
pretense, & to bear more responsibility for…well…everything. Everything.
I hope you can someday forgive me for my
many fault & failures, as your sister. I hope we can regain the promise of
closeness felt in those first few years, as sisters. I want you to know that I
am proud of the woman you’ve become--- a loving daughter & sacrificial
live-in caregiver to our parents, doting aunt to my 3 now-grown kids, caring
sister-in-law to my husband, & soon enough, as the perfectly-matched wife
of Jay.
You see, more often than you’ve realized,
I find myself looking up to you--- a woman of strength, kindness, wit,
intellect, tenacity, warmth, & depth. I will always love you, just the way
you are. I want, more than anything, to once again live up to being the big
sister you can admire, be close with, & trust.
Love always, Sissy
Saturday, April 20, 2013
I Confess: Apologies, Acknowledgments, Amends |
With No Excuses, But Some Explanations
Part One of the Story of My Life Laid Bare
Note: This blog-post represents something of a departure for me. I feel led to share a number of recent (and some, not-so-recent) realizations about myself. Because of a set of circumstances that began 4 weeks ago, my 1st, very human impulse is to "duck & cover"/"hunker down", or, conversely, to defend myself, as well as family members involved. I'm NOT going to do that. I'm also going to continue to protect the privacy of those involved, even though doing so is probably fanning the flames & playing into the hands of people who do not know me, or my spouse, & have an agenda that may be far different from that they portray. That is all I will say about that. No specifics about anyone but myself. If you truly know me, no amount of smoke & mirrors will alter our experiences with one another, & your opinion, good or bad, of me & mine. However, you may be surprised at some of what I share in this blog post. It hurts. It's humiliating. It's humbling. And that's kind of the point. I'm not going to point fingers or catalog wrongs & failures of others. I have no control over anyone but myself. So, I intend to "own up" to the beam in my own eye. This won't be pretty & if you are bothered by raw emotion, brutal honesty, or deep regret, wait for one of my more trivial or superficial posts. (I will toss in a little of my trademark wry wit, though, so it's not a total downer.) It won't be short, either. Brevity may be the soul of wit, but it doesn't serve the confessional well. So, faithful reader, you've been warned. My usual Pollyanna perspective is not present, today. But if you want to peek behind the curtain, & see the real, unvarnished me, this may be the one blog post where I dig deep & do that. The format's unlike my other posts, too. I'm less concerned with my prose style, & more interested in admitting my faults publicly, w/ nothing to hide. If there's an elephant in the room, one might as well acknowledge it. I took a vow, on a long-ago youth retreat, to eschew superficiality, & live in a "glass house", so that I may live humbly, & embrace truth fully, even when that's uncomfortable. In my experience, this can set one up to be ridiculed, accused of "over-sharing", & even have aspects of your life misunderstood, in the negative. On the plus side, though, it can mean others feel safe sharing their own struggles, w/o worrying about judgment, or shock. At it's best, "glass house living" is about wrestling w/ the truth.
And the truth will set you free, right?
So, here goes.
|
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Babygirl, Bears, & Big Boots: D's Story, So Far
"If ever there is a tomorrow when we're not together... there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, & smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart... I'll always be with you."~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
Age 4 was a traumatic year for me, losing my doting Paw Paw, post-surgery, & my preschool-age best pal, Susie, to Reye's Syndrome. Likewise, the 4th year of my daughter, whom I affectionately call "babygirl", was also marred & marked by tragedy. For D, it wasn't a milestone moment of loss, but the beginning of a period of losing so many things a child should never have to kiss goodbye---security, family ties, innocence, a place to be safe, a place to belong, to be loved in, without condition, cherished, wanted, chosen---HOME. It took another 4 years to find that, with her 2 brothers in tow, but, at last, they did. In the words of her favorite book, Don Freeman's children's classic, Corduroy,
"This must be home", he said, "I know I've always wanted a home.".
And so, at 8, she became my girl. My one & only girl. Sure, I'd relinquish her, for bits of time---Girl Scout Spring Break Camp, volleyball & basketball trips, VBS, summer sleepaway camp, as camper (later, counselor), sometime babysitter, & the like. Still, we had time for coffee & cupcakes, ugliest animal print hunts at Goodwill, prom-time plans, scary movies, true crime shows, Madea, college football Saturdays, Audrey Hepburn flicks, playing with pets, decorating together---so, so much. Then, suddenly, a decade had passed. My pigtail (okay, "dookie braid") princess was off to college preview. Brothers left home, Mama, Daddy-o, & daughter D fell in love with both the college program, & the city that hosts it.
"When you see someone putting on their Big Boots, you can be pretty sure an ADVENTURE is going to happen."
~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
This tough track to adulthood was not for the faint at heart. Intentionally hard, the demands were greater than those made by coaches or parents, before, but D rose to the challenge, & learned to don her desert tan army boots with pride, gear up, "embrace the suck", power through early a.m. P.T.. Most of all, she learned to tap the passion in her soul to love & serve others; to face the fear, & do it, anyway, because her mission is too important not to.
"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them, sometimes."
~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
I knew, early on, that D was an introvert, like her Daddy...like I was...once. Given her druthers, she'd be content to hang back, & let others be the ones who approach, test waters, learn names first. However, once babygirl warms to the scene, she is friendly, sunny, funny, radiant---much like her Daddy, but in other ways, all her own. She will make her way, even when it feels awkward, & she will touch lives on her GRAND ADVENTURE. In turn, she, too, will be touched, & changed by the experience. I am witnessing a young woman crossing the border into adulthood, from adolescence. Like her mother, before her, she is at times, timid, stepping onward gingerly, momentarily unsure. Yet, when she glances back at those who've prepared her for such a time as this, & the experiences that have culminated in not just a flight from New York to Moscow, but from girlhood to...beyond girlish things...I hope she sees all of us, missing her, already, but wistfully, glad to see her go. Safe passage, babygirl, & may God go with you. LOVE ALWAYS, MAMA
"How lucky I am to have something...that makes saying goodbye so hard."~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
Click Here: Corduroy by Don Freeman Videobook
Age 4 was a traumatic year for me, losing my doting Paw Paw, post-surgery, & my preschool-age best pal, Susie, to Reye's Syndrome. Likewise, the 4th year of my daughter, whom I affectionately call "babygirl", was also marred & marked by tragedy. For D, it wasn't a milestone moment of loss, but the beginning of a period of losing so many things a child should never have to kiss goodbye---security, family ties, innocence, a place to be safe, a place to belong, to be loved in, without condition, cherished, wanted, chosen---HOME. It took another 4 years to find that, with her 2 brothers in tow, but, at last, they did. In the words of her favorite book, Don Freeman's children's classic, Corduroy,
"This must be home", he said, "I know I've always wanted a home.".
And so, at 8, she became my girl. My one & only girl. Sure, I'd relinquish her, for bits of time---Girl Scout Spring Break Camp, volleyball & basketball trips, VBS, summer sleepaway camp, as camper (later, counselor), sometime babysitter, & the like. Still, we had time for coffee & cupcakes, ugliest animal print hunts at Goodwill, prom-time plans, scary movies, true crime shows, Madea, college football Saturdays, Audrey Hepburn flicks, playing with pets, decorating together---so, so much. Then, suddenly, a decade had passed. My pigtail (okay, "dookie braid") princess was off to college preview. Brothers left home, Mama, Daddy-o, & daughter D fell in love with both the college program, & the city that hosts it.
"When you see someone putting on their Big Boots, you can be pretty sure an ADVENTURE is going to happen."
~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
This tough track to adulthood was not for the faint at heart. Intentionally hard, the demands were greater than those made by coaches or parents, before, but D rose to the challenge, & learned to don her desert tan army boots with pride, gear up, "embrace the suck", power through early a.m. P.T.. Most of all, she learned to tap the passion in her soul to love & serve others; to face the fear, & do it, anyway, because her mission is too important not to.
"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them, sometimes."
~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
I knew, early on, that D was an introvert, like her Daddy...like I was...once. Given her druthers, she'd be content to hang back, & let others be the ones who approach, test waters, learn names first. However, once babygirl warms to the scene, she is friendly, sunny, funny, radiant---much like her Daddy, but in other ways, all her own. She will make her way, even when it feels awkward, & she will touch lives on her GRAND ADVENTURE. In turn, she, too, will be touched, & changed by the experience. I am witnessing a young woman crossing the border into adulthood, from adolescence. Like her mother, before her, she is at times, timid, stepping onward gingerly, momentarily unsure. Yet, when she glances back at those who've prepared her for such a time as this, & the experiences that have culminated in not just a flight from New York to Moscow, but from girlhood to...beyond girlish things...I hope she sees all of us, missing her, already, but wistfully, glad to see her go. Safe passage, babygirl, & may God go with you. LOVE ALWAYS, MAMA
"How lucky I am to have something...that makes saying goodbye so hard."~ A.A. Milne, Winnie The Pooh
Click Here: Corduroy by Don Freeman Videobook
Thursday, December 27, 2012
A Story of Peace Amidst Chaos: And A Child Shall Lead
On the 7th of December, 1941, as the
oldest living Americans will tell you, the bombs raining down on Pearl Harbor
sounded an unmistakable alarm among citizens of the lower 48. Most recognized
the meaning of the massacre: imminent entry into "Europe's War".
Part in peace: is day before us?
Praise His Name for life and light;
Are the shadows lengthening o’er us?
Bless His care Who guards the night.
Part in peace: with deep thanksgiving,
Rendering, as we homeward tread,
Gracious service to the living,
Tranquil memory to the dead.
Part in peace: such are the praises
God our Maker loveth best;
Such the worship that upraises
Human hearts to heavenly rest.
CLICK HERE TO PLAY SONG---http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggmtULEV4mc
Ask people of a certain age where they were
on November 22, 1963, and they don't have to ponder or pause to recall their
whereabouts when a sitting president fell.
Likewise, for my generation, we well
remember the crisp winter day in '86, when the crew of space shuttle Challenger
"slipped the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God".
For my family, 42 days
into our parenting journey, it was our children's turn, as we sat at the
McDonald's Playplace in Hermitage, breaking news of the horrors visited upon
NYC, the Pentagon, & Shanksville, PA---albeit watered down for little ears.
Now, all of us must add another date to our
nation's litany of loss. Jason & I had been driving around on that cold,
wet morn about 10 days ago, in our daughter's bustling college berg of Kansas
City, MO. We'd been looking at Christmas decor, noting beautiful architecture,
and awaiting our hotel's appointed check-in time.
As we arrived at our lodgings, bleary-eyed & exhausted from
a 10-hour overnight drive, we learned of the senseless murders of school
children & workers in idyllic Newtown, Connecticut. While we'd been
crooning along with jolly holiday tunes, getting momentarily (and, truthfully,
at the time, hilariously) lost in the
K.C. 'hood "killing time", a young man—our daughter's age, ironically--was
killing innocents.
While details of the carnage played across
cable TV news, our physical need for sleep, so recently pressing, was displaced
by our emotional need to weep & mourn alongside the families of Sandy Hook.
Inside, my soul cried out in anguish, as my spiritual well ran momentarily dry,
despite my best effort to dig deep. I'll try to explain.
Religious faith does not innoculate one
against despair. Likewise, it doesn't always illuminate the darker matters of
life, nor does it grant easy answers to the myriad incomprehensible
complexities & tragedies of life, either. Now, to my mind, this is not a
failure on my Deity's part, though many may view it that way. I see it as a
flaw in us, in humankind---from the diabolical acts of the deranged shooter, to
my inability to perceive how any good could emerge, or even exist for
that matter, in the wake of such violent slaughter. (Most writers would pause,
now, to make a point about “seeing through a glass darkly”; in fact, my
husband, a professional writer, did just
that when he spoke about it on facebook, to nice effect. Well, then, I'm no copycat. I'm also, for better or worse, not “most writers”.)
Many of the people in history I admire most---my
heroes & heroines, if you will---were able, across time, to find PEACE,
even when they were facing unimaginable chaos, suffering, & strife. Jesus,
Helen Keller, C.S. Lewis, Gandhi, Eleanor Roosevelt, Rev. Dr. King, Rosa Parks,
Ruby Bridges, Jim Elliott, Steven Biko---all "fought" the sorrow,
trials, or violence visited upon them with sacrifice, and with appeals for
PEACE, in the face of pain or punishment.
Because of these influences (and
certainly not because of anything innately good or noble in me),
as the moments passed, & we settled somewhat into our suite, the children's
choral hymn "Let There Be Peace On Earth" came to my mind, as the
perfect counterpoint to the stark madness before our eyes onscreen. My first
thought, moments before, when initially surveying the footage from Sandy Hook on the TV in our
hotel lobby, had been pessimistic & grim: "How will these families
ever celebrate Christmas again?"
Within a short time, though, stories of people
both lost & saved began to emerge from the school. Brave adults had pulled
children out of the line of fire, thus risking their own lives. A deacon at
Newtown’s St. Rose of Lima Church shared that a newly 6-year-old girl, one of
the victims, had selflessly donated her birthday money to the church, to assist
those dealing with the aftermath of another national heartache---Hurricane
Sandy. A teacher in her twenties--a virtual "child”, if you will, to me---valued
the even-younger lives of her charges above her own, & died trying to
safeguard them.
Slowly, these stories began to
overshadow details---some erroneous, some not---about the perpetrator of these
dark deeds. At least, they overshadowed the details for me. Inexplicably, a
gentle chorus stirred in my breast, even as my anger & disgust began to
dissipate. They were replaced by warmth, & a PEACE that passes all
understanding, for me, at least. I could picture these
little lost lambs, being welcomed by a heavenly musical throng, & by a
once-upon-a-time Child, who came to bring a new kind of PEACE to the world.
That former child, like so many of his fellow peacemakers, like those utterly
innocent children, was Himself met with violence & murder, in a display of
humankind's worst.
Still, despite the ugliness that represents
the worst of humanity, an offer of PEACE was held out to us. While I lack
Divinity coupled with my humanity, I can choose the path of PEACE each day---in
thought, word, & deed. I recognize that not everyone I know will credit the
same Source or Example as I, but we can all bring more kindness, calmness,
& simple joy into the lives of others. In doing so, we'll succeed in
helping to “save” & “assist” those around us, though perhaps not in the
same way as the young ones of Sandy Hook, of whom I spoke.
Every year, it seems things are getting
more grim & terrible—or so most voices on tv say. I don't doubt that, from
a certain perspective, they're right. However, I can't help but believe that a
day of PEACE is possible, even though we'll each have our own idea of what that
might be.
For me, the Torah tells us this, in what we
Gentiles call Isaiah 11:6---"The wolf will live with the lamb, the
leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the
yearling together; and a little Child will lead them." To
my fellow christian believers, a picture of the characteristics of this PEACE
appears in John 14:27---"Peace I leave
with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you. Let
not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid."
A secular poem, by Raymond Foss, adds these
thoughts:
Practice kindness to all
Exhibit the best of your nature
At one with the universe
Called from ages past,
Echoes of the creation
At one with the universe
Called from ages past,
Echoes of the creation
And lastly, somewhere between the two perspectives, Sarah
Flower Adams captures much of what I cling to, in moments where PEACE seems far
away---
Part in peace: is day before us?
Praise His Name for life and light;
Are the shadows lengthening o’er us?
Bless His care Who guards the night.
Part in peace: with deep thanksgiving,
Rendering, as we homeward tread,
Gracious service to the living,
Tranquil memory to the dead.
Part in peace: such are the praises
God our Maker loveth best;
Such the worship that upraises
Human hearts to heavenly rest.
CLICK HERE TO PLAY SONG---http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggmtULEV4mc
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Post The 1st: The Title (Not-So-Short) Story
I think the 1st person to ever mostly, or consistently call me "Cath", was my boarding school bestie (later, college roomie, cousin-in-law, & Matron of Honor) "Mar"---the glass artist formerly known as Mary Ruth Parker. I was, by then, no stranger to nicknames. I was...
..."C.J." to my dad, who'd have probably preferred a boy, to assuage the pain of the sons he'd left behind, in Hawaii.
..."Cat" to my best guy friend, growing up, though he transitioned to "Cath" years later. Honorary brothers are allowed to call you whatever they please, just like biological ones.
..."Sissy", so dubbed by my baby sister. (Wish 13-year-old me hadn't cajoled her out of calling me that. Such a jerk thing to do.)
..."Mikey", I'm afraid to say, after a particularly tacky joke in the movie "Porky's". My mother still doesn't know I've watched that movie, I'd bet.
..."Mom", to younger, often fractured female dorm-mates, far from both home & healing, of innumerable hurts.
Lots of folks followed suit, after Mar, & "Cath" I was, & am, to many. Other monikers & appellations attached, mostly singularly...
..."Caffy" to 1 boyfriend, & 1 husband.
..."Veronica" to the same (only) hubs.
..."Miss Cathy"/"Mrs. Cathy" to preschool & school-age students/campers, through the years.
..."Mama" to Belmont studio musicians who needed coffee & Domino's, or same cleaned up. Later, 3 brown-skinned babes would alternate between this badge of honor, & its twin, "Mom".
..."Mrs. Sparks" to anyone courting one of our "kids", until the moment an engagement renders me "Cathy" to them, too.
But, I must confess, I chose my own "true name"---what I call my "soul name"---"Mama Cath". That said, in a way, it chose me. "Mama", to me, is the essence of my best self. Nurturing, encouraging, offering wisdom, laughter, household hints, love advice, or just a listening ear, it is what I aspire to be, on a good day, anyway. Couple it with the 1st "adult" (okay, post-18, which doesn't seem so grown-up, now) nickname bestowed upon me, & it recalls a similar name that I heard repeatedly on my cassette player, as a boarding school Senior, in East TN.
For the uninitiated, or the ridiculously young, I refer to one Miss Cass Elliot, of the 60's supergroup The Mamas & The Papas. "Mama Cass", as she was called, unlike the lithe, blonde, wispy California girl "Mama Michelle", who made up the other female 1/4 of the band, was a Baltimore-born East Coast girl of substantial proportions. With dark hair, a big bod, & dusky pipes to match, she boasted an anti-Twiggy figure, a beguiling innocence, plus painful insecurity that ran long & deep.
After the breakup of the group, she embarked on a solo career, nurtured a daughter, & fought her weight down to 200 lbs., from a high of a 100 lbs. more. She died at 32 of a heart attack, likely brought on by fasting 4 days a week, in yet another heart-rending "battle of the bulge", trying to match what managers & bandmates had tried to shame her into being for years. In a twist that speaks volumes about how accurate her perceptions of these external expectations were, her vocal artistry has been long over-shadowed by an urban legend that's supposed to serve as one final punchline at her expense. To this day, most people believe that Cass choked to death on a ham sandwich. She left a body of work that was a pre-cursor to the full-bodied talents of Adele. This solo mama also left an orphaned 7-year-old girl, to be raised by her aunt.
I've rarely been slender, save my preschool years, & a few more, as an adult. I did Nutri-System as an 8th grader, so it's not hard to guess my feelings of kinship with a zaftig East Coast Jewess I never met. However, it was just as importantly that soulful voice, coming through those tinny-sounding cassette player headphones, during what my dorm dean's mangled diction was rendered, "Sturdy Hall in the Liberry". My favorite song? The Cass-dominated power ballad, "Dream A Little Dream", which began with the announcer stating, "And now to sing a lovely ballad...Mama Cass.".
Romantic, light, evocative of liltingly crooned tunes from a by-gone era, when recorded, in the late-60's, I'm sure 90% of my fellow students in that musty old "liberry" had no idea who she, or the band were, in 1988. By then, though, I was growing comfortable in my quirks, & couldn't have cared less. I like to think if Cassie had lived a bit longer, she'd have grown to feel the same.
So, to honor Mama Cass & both those who dubbed me "Mama" & "Cath", in the early years of my 20's, I combined the two into a descriptor that I'll proudly bear until I breathe my last. That, if you're still reading, is The Title (Not-So-Short) Story. 12~12~12
Dream A Little Dream---Mama Cass Elliot
..."C.J." to my dad, who'd have probably preferred a boy, to assuage the pain of the sons he'd left behind, in Hawaii.
..."Cat" to my best guy friend, growing up, though he transitioned to "Cath" years later. Honorary brothers are allowed to call you whatever they please, just like biological ones.
..."Sissy", so dubbed by my baby sister. (Wish 13-year-old me hadn't cajoled her out of calling me that. Such a jerk thing to do.)
..."Mikey", I'm afraid to say, after a particularly tacky joke in the movie "Porky's". My mother still doesn't know I've watched that movie, I'd bet.
..."Mom", to younger, often fractured female dorm-mates, far from both home & healing, of innumerable hurts.
Lots of folks followed suit, after Mar, & "Cath" I was, & am, to many. Other monikers & appellations attached, mostly singularly...
..."Caffy" to 1 boyfriend, & 1 husband.
..."Veronica" to the same (only) hubs.
..."Miss Cathy"/"Mrs. Cathy" to preschool & school-age students/campers, through the years.
..."Mama" to Belmont studio musicians who needed coffee & Domino's, or same cleaned up. Later, 3 brown-skinned babes would alternate between this badge of honor, & its twin, "Mom".
..."Mrs. Sparks" to anyone courting one of our "kids", until the moment an engagement renders me "Cathy" to them, too.
But, I must confess, I chose my own "true name"---what I call my "soul name"---"Mama Cath". That said, in a way, it chose me. "Mama", to me, is the essence of my best self. Nurturing, encouraging, offering wisdom, laughter, household hints, love advice, or just a listening ear, it is what I aspire to be, on a good day, anyway. Couple it with the 1st "adult" (okay, post-18, which doesn't seem so grown-up, now) nickname bestowed upon me, & it recalls a similar name that I heard repeatedly on my cassette player, as a boarding school Senior, in East TN.
For the uninitiated, or the ridiculously young, I refer to one Miss Cass Elliot, of the 60's supergroup The Mamas & The Papas. "Mama Cass", as she was called, unlike the lithe, blonde, wispy California girl "Mama Michelle", who made up the other female 1/4 of the band, was a Baltimore-born East Coast girl of substantial proportions. With dark hair, a big bod, & dusky pipes to match, she boasted an anti-Twiggy figure, a beguiling innocence, plus painful insecurity that ran long & deep.
After the breakup of the group, she embarked on a solo career, nurtured a daughter, & fought her weight down to 200 lbs., from a high of a 100 lbs. more. She died at 32 of a heart attack, likely brought on by fasting 4 days a week, in yet another heart-rending "battle of the bulge", trying to match what managers & bandmates had tried to shame her into being for years. In a twist that speaks volumes about how accurate her perceptions of these external expectations were, her vocal artistry has been long over-shadowed by an urban legend that's supposed to serve as one final punchline at her expense. To this day, most people believe that Cass choked to death on a ham sandwich. She left a body of work that was a pre-cursor to the full-bodied talents of Adele. This solo mama also left an orphaned 7-year-old girl, to be raised by her aunt.
I've rarely been slender, save my preschool years, & a few more, as an adult. I did Nutri-System as an 8th grader, so it's not hard to guess my feelings of kinship with a zaftig East Coast Jewess I never met. However, it was just as importantly that soulful voice, coming through those tinny-sounding cassette player headphones, during what my dorm dean's mangled diction was rendered, "Sturdy Hall in the Liberry". My favorite song? The Cass-dominated power ballad, "Dream A Little Dream", which began with the announcer stating, "And now to sing a lovely ballad...Mama Cass.".
Romantic, light, evocative of liltingly crooned tunes from a by-gone era, when recorded, in the late-60's, I'm sure 90% of my fellow students in that musty old "liberry" had no idea who she, or the band were, in 1988. By then, though, I was growing comfortable in my quirks, & couldn't have cared less. I like to think if Cassie had lived a bit longer, she'd have grown to feel the same.
So, to honor Mama Cass & both those who dubbed me "Mama" & "Cath", in the early years of my 20's, I combined the two into a descriptor that I'll proudly bear until I breathe my last. That, if you're still reading, is The Title (Not-So-Short) Story. 12~12~12
Dream A Little Dream---Mama Cass Elliot
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