Loving Dad

Having my dad here living with me is an enormous comfort. He’s a strong man and he’s always been a good and loving father.

Dad has his own apartment above my house but I’m always
upstairs with him so I guess it’s not much his “own”.

This evening I went up to visit but he was sound asleep in bed and his apartment was dark except for a dim night-light guiding my way.  It is 1 a.m. so I can’t really blame him.

In the dark I sat in his worn out easy chair recliner and could see his shoes kicked out in front of it.  On a small, wooden, fold-out T.V. tray table lay his glasses, cigarettes and lighter.  A leather note pad was on the side table.  I opened the pad, flipped in about five blank pages and wrote him a little “surprise” note that he will find in about a week.  It’s our game and he has saved every note I have ever written him since he’s lived here.  That’s about five years now…and a lot of notes.  It’s a lot of love.

 I have good memories of my dad from when I was a small girl growing up.  He always let me tag-a-long with him to the hardware store, grocery store and liquor store. He took me smelt fishing and to the beach for early morning walks and a push on the swings at Cal Park. Dad let me tag-a-long where ever he went and if I wanted something he’d buy it.  I remember some glow-in-the-dark plastic Christmas ornaments I just had to have that he bought for me.  I found those in a box last year.  They are ugly but the memories they hold are just beautiful to me.

I was an artistic kid.  During Sunday Family Classic shows, while mom ironed, I remember making paper moustaches, eye lashes, beards and eyebrows and literally gluing them onto my dad's face as he watched Moby Dick or Treasure Island.  He let me do my thing and walked around with my glued on art on his face bragging about how handsome he looked!  I laughed, giggled and in those moments he was my hero!

Every night my dad tucked me into bed each night saying “Goodnight, Sleep Tight, Don’t let the Bed Bugs Bite!”  He’s snap the blankets way up into the air so they would float on top of me and then he’d tuck them all around my body and kiss me goodnight.  Isn’t that a wonderful thing for a child?  It was.  I did the same for my children and the will do the same for theirs.

Dad was always home on the weekends working in the garden, refinishing our unfinished basement, putting up Christmas lights, cooking or just hanging out with his headphones on – country music blaring in his ears, leaned up against the console stereo unit singing along out of tune and loud. 

Sometimes, when I was a kid, dad would open his magic light brown leather case with red velvet lining and strap on his old accordion.  The sounds he played and the joy on his face made me try to dance the polkas along with his music.  Eventually old 78 records crackled polish music under the needle of the record player, dad’s accordion sat in a corner while he danced the polkas with me in our musty unfinished basement.  It always ended up that way when he pulled out his accordion!

I cherish the memories I have with my dad and since my mom has died I REALLY appreciate every single moment I have with him now.  I realize how precious time spent with him is and enjoy the very smallest things about him.  

In this very moment as I sit here typing this I find such joy and comfort in knowing that my father is right above me sleeping soundly. I know and appreciate, at 53 years old, how lucky I am to have my dad in my life.

He is loved.

Enormously.

How Brief Our Time...

I don’t think too many of us think about how brief our time here on earth is. 

When we read history books or look at old photos we don’t really think about the individual lives that were lived in those stories and pictures.  Each person had a story - lived a life.  They woke up in the morning, ate breakfast, had a headache, brushed their children’s hair and sent them off to school. Since the beginning of time men made love to their wives and shaved their faces.Woman cooked dinner for their family, made beds, washed clothes. worried about their figures and cleaned the house.

Way back then (whenever “then” was) someone felt a cool autumn breeze and looked up at the stars trying to spot the big dipper while admiring the beauty of the clouds in the moonlight at midnight. 

Of course as times progress, things change but one thing remains the same -- People live, breath, laugh cry, touch, taste, welcome babies and feel the wind through their hair.   My mother and I talked about this a lot.  She was supposed to live forever but she didn’t.  Her life came and went.  She didn’t want to die, I remember her looking at me and saying “Oh Chrissa, I don’t want to croak”.    But, she did. 

1600, 1700, 1800, 1900,1970, 1980, 1990, 2000, 2010....... 

Each generation had their music, their dress style and their modern advances. As each year, month, day, hour and minute progress, "our generation" is passing us by and the "new generation will" punch us in the face.

I am not a writer.  Well, I am a writer because I am writing but I am not a good writer.  I don’t use fancy words or proper grammar.  I am a woman who wants to keep her mother’s memory alive. 

My mother’s name was Susan Broholm Matczak, otherwise and most often known as Suza.  She was fun, funny and strong.  That’s all I want everyone to know and to remember.  She lived!

I will write her incredible story because Suza was too great to be forgotten. 

Keep posted and thanks for reading. 

A letter to the Grandmother I never met....

You were born in a different day and age.

You had it so difficult.

I'm so sad that your mother died in North Dakota on a frigid December night when you were just four years old and your three siblings were not much younger or older than you.   Your mom was so far from her family that loved and cared for her.  Why your dad took her so far away I will never know. I think that your mom, Josephine, had it hard. I imagine her being sick and dying trying to comfort her children that she loved with all her heart.  Trying to comfort you.   It must have been so heart breaking.  I can only imagine how much she loved you all.

After your mom died, your dad came running back to Illinois with you and your siblings in tow and shortly remarried.  I think he remarried so he could have someone take care of you and your three siblings. That wicked  woman never treated you or your brothers and sister kindly.  She was a bitch.  I'm sorry for you.  Thank God for your momma's parents, George and Grace, who took you in at 14 and loved and cared so deeply for you.

You weren't too young when you got pregnant with my mother and he wasn't either. He whispered all kinds of romantic things in your ear and you believed him because you were good and you loved him. He had it good. At 24 he was a Greek, spoiled prince, living at home with his mom and dad who pampered, defended and gave him everything.   He could do no wrong in their eyes.  He was pompous and arrogant.  He didn't stand by you and his parents didn't either so you stayed with your Grandparents, pregnant and afraid, until you gave birth to my mom in 1940,

You gave her  up into foster care and when you were pregnant again,  you reluctantly gave her up for adoption. She was two years old.  I know you didn't want to.   His family wouldn't stand for his irresponsibility again and told him that he couldn't keep giving his children away so he married you.
You raised four daughters and a son with him and sometimes spoke about ....her.   My mother.  They knew and they searched.   My mother knew and searched then she told me and I searched.    I found you.

You were gone but your daughters found each other and confronted their father when my mother was there.  He embraced, acknowledged and accepted my mom.  He said he always looked out and followed her (I remember him stopping me on my way to school and my mom remembers him stopping her for directions too).

After hearing your story my mom was thankful that you gave her up for adoption.

She was the light of her family's eyes.  She was very, very loved.  She had a wonderful and pampered childhood that you could have never provided her.

I wish I could have met you.  You were strong.  You were brave and wonderful.  You were a good mother.   I love you,

Wise Old Men

Sitting here in my quiet office.  Wilbur is close by, licking his paws and I can hear his metal collar licking the hard wood floor.  It's quite a comfort having my animals next to me.  I am feeling old and glad for it.  I'm reflecting on this past night.


My son came over for a visit.  He is a strong, intelligent man with his own opinions and views on modern life. He is older but he is younger.


I always hoped I wouldn't get old and be one of those folks that said, "When I was young..."  but, I am there now.  I found myself using that dreaded quote.  "When I was young,..."


Talking, debating and disagreeing with my son, I had to tell myself to be quiet!  LISTEN and LEARN and CHANGE. It was hard for me sometimes but I did the best I could.  


The funniest thing about this entire scene is that my dad was right there next to us, quiet as a mouse.  He is where I found my inner voice.  That old man looked right into my eyes and told me to listen.... without ever saying a word. 


My son went home and I went back upstairs to my dad.   He's the wisest old man I know.  He's 78. As usual, he was sitting in his worn, brown rocker puffing on a Pall Mall.   He stared at me with his mischievous smile and I knew what he was saying, I knew what he was thinking.


Change is good.  Learn from it, grow from it and accept it. 


I didn't say a word and neither did he for a long time.  We both stared at the T.V.    Dad knew I was working through my thoughts.



Suddenly dad said, "Thanks to all of  those young punks the world is going to be a better place." 


In my mind I instantly agreed.  My son is a very wise man.


So I leave you with that tonight.


Thank-you to all you "young punks".  Thanks for taking on the challenges before you and the challenges me and my parents tried to ease, but left behind. 


Make this world a better place.


From us "oldies".

Remembering September 11, 2001

It was a beautiful, cool September day.  I pulled out of bed in the morning and immediately went downstairs to brew my morning coffee.  While the coffee brewed and warmed I took a hot bath, did my hair and make-up and got dressed up in my professional attire.   I sipped my morning coffee as I waited for my friend, Paula,  to pick me up for my job in Chicago.  We always drove together.


Paula and I drove to work and chatted about our normal stuff.  My kids, her baby boy, our jobs and local town gossip.  Just plain girl talk. 


When we got into the city she parked in the lot underneath her building, a block from mine.  It was a pretty good set up and I was thankful for it. 


My day on the 41st floor over-looking the lake transpired as usual.  Tons of calls from insurance agents needing assistance navigating our website, changing passwords and rating policies.   I had taken quite a few calls when the phone rang again and I picked it up..."Customer Interaction Center, this is Christy, May I help you?".....


"Christy?"


"Yes, this is Christy"


"Christy, this is Lisa.  A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center."


Lisa had worked with me until just a few months before and she was my "work bff".  Awesome girl who I will love forever. 


I had no clue what the World Trade Center was.  I suppose I was and still am a person who lives in my own little town and world.  I just didn't know what the World Trade Center was, so I asked...


ME: "Where is that?

LISA:  "New York.  It's a very tall tower and a plane crashed into it.  I'm watching it on the news now!  The building is on fire and people are hanging out of the windows."


ME:  "Oh God, that's horrible, really horrible.  How will people get out?" 


LISA:  "OH MY GOD!"  "OH MY GOD!"  Another plane just hit the other tower!!  Christy, Get the F&%ck out of that building...NOW!!


It didn't register with me but somehow Lisa knew that the United States was under attack.  I asked her again what happened but she just kept screaming and telling me to get the hell out of my building because we were under attack.  I was in shock.  Lisa screamed over the phone again, "Hang up an get the hell out of there NOW!"  Then, she hung up.

Seconds later an announcement came over the speaker at work:  "Please remain where you are....blah, blah, blah....I didn't hear anymore."  A radio in the cubicle next to me blared that another plane hit the Pentagon.    I ran to the window and looked over the skyline of Chicago.   I wasn't  that far up but to me it seemed as if I was on top of the world and a now...a target. Again a voice came over the speaker at work:  "Please remain where you are."  I panicked. 


I told my manager that I wanted to evacuate.  He told me that I could and should regardless of what the voice on the speaker was saying.  Actually, he had our entire team evacuate while he stayed back and monitored the rest of the floor.  He was so brave, calm and defiant of the company's "policy to stay put" at that moment.  He told all of us to do what we felt was right.  We all evacuated...we were the first out and safe.  It was utter mayhem in the city.  Thousands of people were evacuating their buildings and the city. 


I remember me and Paula meeting up and driving back home.  There wasn't a plane in the sky.  The radio was tracking the last high-jacked flight.  Paula and I prayed and prayed for that flight until we heard it went down in a field.  We heard it on the radio, while we were stuck in traffic on Lake Shore Drive.  Neither one of us said another word all the way home to Indiana.  I looked out the car window and cried while she cried driving home.  We both just wanted to get home to our families. 


Once home, I remember talking to my mom who was relaying every bit of news to me.  People jumping out of windows and towers collapsing.  I couldn't hear anymore of it.  I took my Golden Lab, Hercules, out onto the front porch and just sat.  I sat while the beautiful days sun beat down on me.  I remember thinking that it was a beautiful day that would forever hold so much sorrow. 


It was a very, very sad day.

Back to School?

I have so many regrets.  I look back and think of all the things I would have, could have and should have done differently.  The one thing I really, really, really regret the most is not getting myself a good college education and set career.  I feel like it's way too late for me now.  I want to go and get that degree that will land me a job doing something I love to do. 

There are three things that I really love to do,  1. Photography   2. Cooking  3.Writing

I can go to chef school or pursue a degree in photography or writing.  I don't know if any of those could land me a job.  I don't think the job market is very strong in those fields so I've been thinking of going back to school for ....accounting.   Isn't that stupid?  Accounting?  What the HELL am I thinking?  I'm thinking that there are jobs out there for accountants, that's what. 

 Am I too old to go back to school?  Would it be a financially good decision?

I am in a job now that I dread going to every single day (I should say night).
It's not that the company is horrible or the environment is terrible or anything like that.  It's just that I struggle with working from 9:30 pm until 7:30 am. Friday through Monday.   It's depressing that I never have a weekend off.  I miss so many family outings and the routine and normality of what my life was before this job.

I go home every morning feeling tired, inferior and stupid.  The fact is, when it comes to dealing the game of craps, I AM inferior and stupid.  It just doesn't "click" for me and it frustrates me.  I have a lot of respect for all those good dice dealers out there.  That game is so fast and furious and the players just LOVE it.  I actually have come to love it too.  I just wish I could fricking DEAL it better. 

I seriously struggle now with the attendance "point system".  Twelve points is what I get.  One call off is 1.5 points which amounts to 8 days.  These points don't refresh at the beginning of the year.  This is a life-time total.   In all fairness I do also get a guaranteed week off too.  If  I call off on a holiday or weekend near that holiday (and I mean nearly every holiday...even Pulaski day counts for example) I get slammed for 3 points .  I was excited too see that Valentines day was NOT a three point day, so I planned to and did call off on Valentines day and the following day using my one "life happens day".  Using these two days allowed Mike and I to go to Mexico on vacation.  The only thing is that I neglected to notice that this was the weekend prior to Presidents day, so I got 4.5 points.  When I came back from vacation and saw these points I was totally freaked out, mad at myself and this screwy system.   I went from 7 to 11.5 points in two days. I've only missed 5 days of work in the past year. Go figure.  I know I'm a dependable, dedicated and good employee but somehow my 11.5 points reflect otherwise; leaving a big dark cloud over my head, following me everywhere I go.  It's very depressing.

Prior to my current job I worked in a corporate environment.  I worked from home, in my jammies with a mug of coffee and my dog next to me.  I had 5 weeks paid vacation and PTO days allotted.  I made three times what I'm making now.  Unfortunately, the company out-sourced my job to India.  Somewhere out there is an Indian, sitting at home with with my cup of coffee, my dog, doing my job earning my paycheck.

I feel cornered.  Pinned up against a wall.  Depressed and tired.  I feel regretful of the would haves, could haves and should haves and those regrets lead me to seriously consider FINALLY going to school to earn that degree I've been longing for.  I only have this one life to live.  There are no do-overs.  I don't want to die with regrets. 

Should I be:  A Chef?  A photo-journalist?  An Accountant? 

My wheels are spinning. 

Am I too old to go back to school? 

Why Snow Sucks

Winter is here and it's been a whopper.  Lots of freezing temps and lots of snow.  During the holidays I thought to myself, "Oh I hope it snows for Christmas.  Snow is so pretty".  Well it did snow and hasn't stopped.

Snow is not so pretty anymore.  It's freezing, slushy, heavy and wet.

Snow is very cold on my bare feet while running down the block in my pajamas chasing my dog who escaped through an unlocked gate.

Snow makes a very loud thump when it slides off my roof scaring the hell out of my dad.  He thought someone was trying to break into the house and had his 44 ready and loaded.

Snow hides icy alleys.  When I chased Wilbur down the alley this evening (another escape) I hit an icy patch, flew two feet into the air and landed very hard on my ass only to have to get right back up and continue the chase.

It's very hard to carry a 50 pound dog down an alley and back home in a foot of snow.

Cars get stuck in snow when pulling out of my garage.  They get stuck so bad I have to call my dad to maneuver while I shovel and shovel and shovel.  It's a lot of hard work to dig my car out and especially very stressful when Wilbur keeps escaping down the icy alley.

Snow causes my car to get stuck and me to miss meetings.

I cannot drive my car up an icy ramp.  It just keeps sliding down - backwards.

Have you ever tried to keep a kitchen floor clean when there is snow outside?  Don't.

Ever try to find a pile of your dogs poop in the yard after it snows?  I can't, until I step in it or when shoveling I hit something "hard, frozen and very stuck" to the sidewalk.

The mail man will not deliver my mail if he cannot see my stairs.

The mail man cannot see my stairs if I don't shovel them.

I don't like shoveling.

I don't get mail sometimes.

Next year, I hope it doesn't snow for Christmas.  I hope it's sunny and 70 degrees.

Snow Sucks.

Small Graces

I was on face book today and posted a comment about having a warm house to "cloister into".  Here in NW Indiana the wind is whipping, the wind chill is below zero and snow is coming!  I ended that post with the comment, "small graces".

Small Graces.  It's a simple phrase but a strong truth that sustains a lot of us who struggle in this every day life of ours.  I don't think it matters if we are rich or poor.  Simple "small graces" sometimes sustain the wealthiest, healthiest and wisest of us all.  My small graces are...

Past Memories:  Sometimes they sustain me.  I close my eyes at night and can let my mind take me on a flight back into some wonderful childhood and adult memories that are my mother.  She has been gone since Oct 2010 but my past memories allow me to still hear her voice and re-live moments in time spent with her.  Mom teaching me to tie my red Ked shoe laces. I am brought back to the smell of her food cooking on the stove, the sound of her voice and the feel of her fingertips stroking my hair as I lie next to her on a soft down comforter.  It's all good, it's all real and it's all comforting.  I miss my mother so very much but my memories of her keep  her alive.

Present Times:  I am present here and now and acknowledge that some things suck and some things are wonderful.  The things that suck can be changed with "some distraction and stress"-- crappy job, dirty house, weight, etc... these are challenges that come with being human.  The things that are wonderful are the things that really count to me--my relationship with Mike is wonderful, vacation coming up, I own a home and car to get around and my dad and kids are healthy and........Well, who cares after "my dad and kids are healthy".  That's all that really counts.

My Future:  I have hope that my future holds whatever I want it to hold.  I know I have the power to change what I want although I don't know if I have the will or strength to change it. I am smart enough to accept that the future is mine and I have the power to OWN it and change it.  That knowledge, alone, lends me a lot of comfort.

So I guess I am lucky to "cloister into" this imperfect but perfect life of mine.  It could be better but  I know for sure, It could be a hell of a lot worse.  So, I'll take it, cloister in and be thankful for the small graces that somehow, someway, sometimes go UN-noticed in life.

Being Thankful

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone.  Today I am posting random things that come into my head for which I am Thankful.  Here goes...

I am Thankful:

1. For the wonderful childhood I had.  I always felt secure and loved thanks to my mom, dad and big bully brother.

2.  That I grew up in a "hippie" house hold with parents who didn't judge too harshly.  They just wanted me to be kind and fair.   ALL of my friends were welcomed in my home no matter race or religion they were (and that wasn't too popular in the 60's and 70's) .  As long as we were kind and walked to the beat of our own drums is all that mattered to my mom and dad. My parents didn't fit in at all with the "perfect parent click" but they were by far the most loved and respected.

3.  My kids.  The hardest, unselfish, rewarding thing I worked for here on earth.  I love them immensely and my pride in them cannot be expressed in words.

4.  Having my mothers strength as a woman.  And stubbornness.

5. My Dad.  He is stronger than I ever knew and I will always be his little girl.  Every day I know he loves me.

6.  Mike. Without his love and loving him I couldn't be happy in this life.  He is perfect for me in every way.  I hope to grow very old with him.

7.  Wilbur.  I name him last because the little pup has given nothing but unconditional love and trust.  He has been this families "miracle" and even though he's just a dog....we love and are Thankful for him every single day.

Guilty

I feel guilty that I wasn't with my mom when she died. 

Mom has been my best friend as far back as I can remember.  I don't ever remember having a moment in my life where I didn't like her.  She was always on my side no matter how bad I fucked up or how wrong I was. 

When a girl picked on me in high school I was scared.  This girl cut up my clothes.  Mom brought me new clothes and told the gym teacher that I was going to kick this girls ass and if I got suspended for  it she'd be okay with that.  Then mom told me that I had to stand up to this bully and beat her ass.  So ,  I FINALLY stood up to the bully who backed away from my offered fight thanks to mom.  Mom thought I shouldn't have allowed her to back down and that I should have kicked her ass and got suspended.  Mom was a renegade and for that I love her even more.

When I got pregnant at 19 I holed myself into my bedroom until mom forced her way in and pulled it out of me.  Mom knew I was pregnant before I did.  I was so scared and anxious.

Mom asked me, "Do you love him?"  I said I didn't know but he was nice, had a great family and treated me well .  Then she asked, "Really, Chrissa, are you ready to be a mother and do a good job at it?  Are you committed to this child who will be dependent solely on you?  What do you want to do ?"   After lots of crying and soul-searching and knowing I had freedom of choice I said, "I want to keep this baby Ma. ."  She said,  "Jesus Christ!  If it's a girl you better name it after me!!" 

I had a girl and named her, Susan, after my mom.  My daughter is every single bit of her grandmother.  Smart, Independent, Hard-headed and Opinionated, Free Spirited, Kind and Loving in every aspect.  

Mom stood by me all through the twenty-two restless years of marriage, kicking me in the ass if I needed it.  When I got divorced she stood by and breathed a sigh of relief with me, cried like hell with me for hurting a man I didn't want to hurt.  He was a good man but not a man I was in love with. He wasn't in love with me either.   He loved other things and was much more committed to those. 

When I fell absolutely, hopelessly,  madly in love with my Mike, she loved him that much too and told me that he was O.K.  I felt like I was betraying my family.  She told me I wasn't betraying anyone and that I should follow my heart.  "You only live once and most people never really get to be ga-ga in love.  Go for it Chrissa and if it don't work out, I'll be here to pick up the pieces".

When she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, mom always told me "You can't go making wallets (end up in the nut house) Chrissa, you've got to be tough." So I was. I didn't think I had it in me to be so strong when I was so scared.  Mom was the half to my whole and I just could not imagine my life without her in it.  She was the strong one.  As she became weaker, it was very, very difficult for me to accept.

I had dinner with her one evening, laughing and chatting.  Two days later I was at her house calling an ambulance.  She couldn't walk and had double vision.  She realized that it was bad. The cancer had spread to her brain and three, long months later she was gone.  But, I wasn't with he when she died and that makes me feel so guilty  that I can barely stand it.  My daughter was with her last and that lends a little comfort to me but I WASN'T WITH HER.   I was there almost every single moment since she was in the hospital but one hour before she died we had talked about all kinds of stuff and I sang to her and shaved her hairy chin (which I have too).  I was home five minutes when I got the call telling me that she had passed away and I was absolutely devastated. I wanted to be with her but I wasn't ....the guilt set in.  I've cried so many times and still feel so much anger about it.  Three years later I still have to push that guilt out of my mind and heart or I'll go making wallets.  

I think to myself that maybe, just maybe, mom didn't want me there when she died.  We had spent a great day together. Laughing.  Storytelling.  Memory-sharing. Singing.  Maybe that's the way she wanted our last mother/daughter moments to be.

Maybe.

Merry Christmas Mom

The Holidays are approaching and I just dragged boxes of Snowmen out from underneath my back porch stairs.  I've collected these snowmen for many years and cherish each and every one of them.  They sit pompously displayed on a shelf that once was in my hallway but is now in my new dining room since I knocked a wall out in the summer.

As the Holidays approach I remember my mom.  She loved Christmas with a passion, especially the decorating part of it.  During the last five years of her life, after Iris died, she didn't want to decorate alone so I would always be the designated decorator (worker).  Mom's house was very large and DRAFTY.  She kept her heat so low I had to keep my coat on most of the time.  Oh, I would pitch a fit sometimes and go to mom's house with a bad attitude (which I regret now).  I didn't want to have to pull her tree, ornaments, and thousand boxes of Christmas shit all the way up from the basement.   I didn't want to have to put up her tree and decorate it. I didn't want to decorate her fireplace mantle while she sat  in her chair with her two spoiled cats in her lap.  She had A LOT of Christmas stuff and a very, big house!! One year I went to her house with such a horrible attitude.  I was MAD that I was the one who had to do all of that work and boy, even though I was an adult, I acted like a child. How can a daughter be MAD when her mom has cancer, is bald, fighting for her life for 15 years, and weak?  I was just MAD.  I was MAD because my marriage of 24 years was in the shithole and I was going through divorce.  I wasn't thinking about her at this time.  I was wrapped up in ME.  Somehow mom understood this and never said a word about my attitude.  She just asked me " What's your fucking problem?  I have fucking cancer". After mom said that to me I got on past my own, selfish issues and moved on with decorating.  I have so many regrets about that now and I'm sure Mom is laughing at my guilt. 

Now I reflect on those memories.  Christmases spent with my mom.  She always lit the fireplace, had Christmas music filling the house and wine-o-plenty.  After I was mad I realized I was actually having a good time.  When I was a big grump, trudging boxes up from the basement, she laughed at me, took photos and said, "Oh Chrissa, someday you'll miss these days."  And, that I do.  We laughed, shared juicy gossip, reminisced about Christmases long ago.  Boy, it's amazing the gossip the two of us juiced about.   It was so much fun, so much laughter and so much ease. 

I would do anything to have mom back, sitting in her chair, watching me decorate her big old, drafty house.   I would do anything to see her lighting a fireplace, pouring me a glass of wine and selecting Dean Martin Christmas music just for me. 

All I have is a wooden box, that I talk to all of the time, with her ashes in it.  I decorate her box for all of the holidays but I especially decorate it at Christmas Time.  She'd like that and is most likely laughing at me for decorating a box of ashes.  Mom had that kind of humor. 

How much I took for granted is a sin.  How much I had I think I knew.  How much I miss I never expected. 

Merry Christmas Mom.  I love you.

Fire in the Hole!

Since my dad moved into the apartment above my house I can honestly say that I've been entertained and every day is an adventure. 

Before I head off to work, I always go upstairs to tell dad that I'm leaving.  Usually he's sitting in his Archie Bunker chair watching an old time classic movie on AMC puffing away on a Pall Mall Red 100, Wilbur sprawled out on the floor at his feet.

The other day, I went up to bid dad farewell and as I entered his apartment I could see it was filled with smoke.  Not a thick smoke, but a "something ain't right" smoke.  Something was burning. At first I thought maybe dad had something in the the oven or toaster.  Nope.

"Dad! What's burning?", I called out.  Dad appears from his bedroom totally unaware that anything is wrong.   "What are you talking about?  Is something burning?" he asks.

"Dad!  You entire apartment is filled with smoke and I SMELL something burning!!  Don't you see or smell it?"   I'm now looking for the source of smoke  frantically searching from room to room and dad has his head in the fridge searching for a piece of ham.

"Oh, yea.  Now I smell something", dad replies as he slowly saunders onto his back porch and picks up a black garbage bag.  "It's probably something in here", then he puts the bag back down and starts walking back into the kitchen.

"Dad! If you think it's in THERE then why the hell don't you get it out of here" I grab the bag tear it open and  realize that nothing is burning in it.

As dad opens the fridge to grab another piece of ham, I slam the door shut on him.  I'm panicked.  I run into his living room and there, next to his Archie Bunker chair is a plastic garbage can on fire.  Of course dad is still in the kitchen.  "Dad!  Your fricking garbage can is on fire!  Did you dump your ashtray in here?!"

Dad's eyeballs nearly popped out of his head when he saw me enter the kitchen with the garbage can in flames.  "Holy Shit!  The garbage can is on fire!"  I could see the panic in his face now.   Dad turned on the kitchen faucet and I doused the flames.

 "Geez Chrissa, I'm so sorry.  I'll never dump an ashtray like that again.  I'm so sorry" dad kept saying over and over again.  I could tell he was scared now, realizing the seriousness of what had happened, he was embarrassed and ashamed.  I just shook my head and laughed, "What a Polak!" I said as I leaned in to give him a big hug.  That's what everyone who loves him calls my dad...The Polak... and he loves it because he's proud to be Polish.

The story has a happy ending.  My house is still standing, dad's not dumping ashtrays in garbage cans anymore and now when I enter his apartment I announce, "Fire in the Hole!" and he responds "Fuck you!"

Never a dull moment with dad around.

Desperate Dishwasher

About three weeks ago my dishwasher door broke. Well, the handle broke. No,no... the little thingy-dingy inside the handle that clicks the door shut broke. Whatever! The point is that I haven't been able to use my dishwasher and have been slaving over a soapy sink. Being the diligent dishwasher that I am, dishes have been piling up, up, up and fruit flies have been a-swarming. I'm cooking less (and I do love to cook) because I don't wanna do no friggin' dishes.

This morning I tumbled out of bed and went directly to the coffee pot to make a fresh pot of brew. Well, guess what? Due to a pile of dirty dishes in my sink I could not fit the coffee pot under the faucet to fill it. No way in hell was I going to do the mother-fuc*&^ing dishes first thing in the morning, BEFORE my first cup of coffee. I jiggled the dishwasher door handle - no luck. I squeeeezed, pulled and kicked the door - no luck. I pried the handle with a dirty butter knife - LUCK!!! The door popped open - never to lock shut again.

I piled every last dirty dish into that dishwasher. Piled them in so full that the top shelf was bowing down. Then, I shut the door. It flopped open. I shut the door again. It flopped open again. "Oh no, you monster...you will NOT win this fight!". I shut the door, held it shut and turned that sucker on. I could hear it filling with water and then start to swish those dishes clean. The only thing was, I was stuck there holding the door shut watching water leak onto my floor when my arm got tired. Then I got an idea. I propped the door shut with two chairs and stuck a towel under the dishwasher just in case.

Michael came into the kitchen, took one look, shook his head and said, "You've GOT to take a picture of that." I did. Then we went dishwasher shopping on the web. I found one but haven't ordered it yet. The chairs will do for a little longer!

My dishes are clean!

It's a Dog's Life

Wilbur a.k.a Sir Spoiled-A-Lot spent a very relaxing morning napping in the remains of my garden. That translates to "Wilbur was napping in dirt and rotten tomatoes".

A few days ago he had a bath.

I enjoy just letting him be a dog no matter how dirty he gets right after a bath.

It's a dog's life, isn't it?

It's Been a Long Time...

It's been a long time.

A long time since I've written in this blog.

A long time since I've worked.

A long time since my mom has died.

It's been a looooooooooooong time.

Even though it's been a long time I feel like I'm just starting to get back into the swing of things.

I was numb for awhile. Sitting, thinking, analyzing and wondering. A lot of just staring to be honest.

Have you ever just stared? Mind blank, body numb, eyes dull, ears ringing and hearing the t.v. somewhere off in the distance? I did. I was in a dazed and confused sort of state. I'm coming out of it now and it feels good to jump back into reality or ....jump into life.

So my jump back into life is like standing on a hot rock, holding onto a rope, swinging myself into the air towards a very cold creek and letting go. As my body sinks deep into the cold water I feel scared but invigorated. I feel the fight rippling through my body. I know I'll fight my way up from the bottom of the creek and soon suck in fresh air, look up to the clouds and know there is hope for a new beginning.

I had my first interview today.

It was good.

Peace and love to all.

Life is good.

Foster Mama

I've adopted and have been fostering Beagles (and one Coon Hound) for the past six months. It's been an adventure, that's for sure. An an adventure that I think Thelma, my old, black, cat has been enjoying immensely. She seems to love taking control of this castle and the dogs. She hisses, chases, meows and swats these dogs into submission and I must admit it's fun to watch.

After I made my decision to start fostering it didn't take long (about 2 days) before I got my first little beagle, Pearl. Of course she wasn't a NORMAL dog...ohhhhh nooooooooo, that would be much too "normal" for me! I got Pearl. Poor, scared-of-her-own-shadow, abused, Pearl. At first, Pearl spent 90% of her time in the corner of the crate; head burrowed down into a blanket hoping the world didn't know she was there. I didn't force her in the crate but that's where she felt safe. I left the door open at all times. It took me two solid weeks to gain Pearls trust and finally she put her two front paws out of the crate so I could pet her. After three weeks, she gathered enough courage to sneak out of the crate at night and steal the cats food dish. After a month, she would come out of the crate and was brave enough to actually come to me, Mike and my Dad. Finally, a family came to visit Pearl, instantly fell in love with her sorrowful soul and she was adopted. I was so sad to let her go but I was happy that she had a forever home.

After Pearl, I got Wilbur. Wilbur is a Lemon Beagle (mostly white with tan spots) who looks like beagle/basset hound mix. Short, stumpy legs, squishy face, long, soft ears and irresistable golden, sad eyes. I named him Wibur because when he's happy, eating or sleeping he snorts just like the little piggy in Charlotte' Web. He snorts A LOT....but I love, love, love his snorts. Wilbur is a sucker for mashed potatoes. After two days I knew just HAD to adopt him. When the lady from the rescue place would call me to say she that had someone who wanted to see him for possible adoption I wouldn't call her back! Wilbur is a cuddler, smoochable, mellow and just a lovable dog. I love his squishy little face and puppy breath. He's my little ray of loveable, huggable, sunshine and now, he's mine...forever. I'm so, so happy to have him in my life.

After I adopted will I got Dugger. He's a Pocket Beagle, which are very small beagles in size but not in personality. I was kind of worried about how Wilbur would respond to another dog in the house but Wilbur didn't disappoint me and was a very fine host. Wilbur liked Dugger and Dugger liked Wilbur. Dugger wasn't shy at all. He instantly formed a bond with Mike, Dad and my son Ian. Those three guys, really "dug" Dugger. Dad just couldn't keep away from him and Dugger just loved my Dad right back. Wilbur and Dugger would hang out in the yard and Dugger ran circles around my lazy little Wilbur-barking and jumping and begging Will to play but Wilbur only played...dead. Stop, drop and flop ---that's Wilbur. Dugger would go upstairs, climb up on my dad's lap and hang out with him all day long. Dad loved Dugger. After two weeks we got a call that a couple wanted to meet "The Dug". They came with their Greyhound, they saw, the man put Dugger in his pocket, and they adopted him. Yay for Dugger....Boo-Hoo for Dad.

For about two days, I had a coon-hound, Daphne. THAT dog was frickin' crazy! She was big, strong and in LOOOOOOOOOOOVE with Wilbur. Wilbur did not reciprocate the love so she would lean on him and pin him against the wall. Poor Wilbur would snort, try to get away and look at me with his sorrowful, pleading eyes "help me, mama". Daphne never laid down, she would stand and stare at Wilbur and nudge him with her nose while he tried to sleep. I felt so sorry for him. Thankfully, Daphne was only with us for two days. I always tell dad that Daphne reminded me of the movie Fatal Attaction. Daphne was fatally attracted to Wilbur and she stalked him. I think if she were here longer and he kept rejecting her...well, she might have "killed" his stuffed bunny toy and put it's head next to him. He survived, thank goodness and then he fell in L-O-V-E with....

My current foster, GiGi Girl. Oh Gigi! When she first came in my door she growled. I was assured that it was a "scared" growl and they were right. Poor Gigi Girl was so neglected and abused in her past that her only form of trying to protect herself was to growl. Wilbur LOVED her instantly and so did I. Gigi is a very gentle soul. She loves her belly scratched. Her first day here Wilbur sniffed, snuggled, cuddled, tried to play and slept by Gigi. I was so PROUD of him for being so nice to her because she seemed to really like him too. On day two, Wilbur tried to do the humpty-doo with her and I thought it was so cute. "Wilbur has a girlfriend, Wilbur has a girlfriend". Wilbur is fixed so I didn't know that fixed does NOT eliminate the "I wanna screw you" feeling. It didn't take long for me to figure out that Wilbur wanted to "do it" with Gigi. She was rubbing her butt in his face all of the time. I found out shortly that "Gigi was just coming out of heat." Ohhhhhh Shit. I have never seen Wilbur want to go outside as much as he did with Gigi! He was in "hump" mode. I SAW his "lipstick" and it's something to talk about!! After two days, Wilburs tongue was hangin' to it's side, he got so excited that he peed on the guest bed. That was it for me! I called and said...."This dog is in HEAT! I can't have her here because Wilbur is acting like a horny old fool! I'm going NUTS!!" Then Dad stepped in and said that I couldn't do that to Gigi. He said she had been thrown around tooooo long and that he'd keep her upstairs until "it" passed. Thank goodness for dad because they were gonna put Gigi in a kennel again! It passed after three days. Wilbur could care less about having his way with Gigi and the feeling is mutual. However, Wilbur and Gigi are definately bestest of friends. She cleans his ears and eyes and he musters enough energy to actually PLAY with her. They snuggle and sleep together. Wilbur even shares his food with her. I think they are in love. Gigi follows me around and wags her tail. She's loves to play and fetch a ball. She's the funnest dog I've had yet and she's a cuddler too. We all love her....but not as much as Wilbur does. She'll be missed once she's adopted....someday ;)

Dad's Cinderella

I woke up this morning and trudged upstairs to dad's apartment in my pajamas, poured a cup of java and plopped on his couch. This has become my morning ritual. Every morning, Dad and I sipping coffee, watching the morning news and making small talk. Wilbur my lemon beagle, is right beside us.

I noticed things looked a bit dusty and the carpets were covered in MY dogs fur. Dad is 74 and suffers terribly from arthritis. He keeps his place organized but that "deep cleaning" stuff is very diffucult for him although he does do it. But today, I did it!

I gave dads apartment a deep cleaning.

I dusted all his furniture, changed his sheets, vacuumed, cleaned his kitchen and bathroom and washed all his floors. It felt so good to do that for him and he was humbly happy about it. My ambition caught on and dad washed all his garbage cans out and even put a new toilet seat on his toilet. It was great and fun team work.

As I sit at the computer typing this blog, Dad is upstairs in his clean apartment making a pot roast. I'm sure there are carrot and onion peels all over the clean kitchen floor and the counters are a mess. But, I don't care. I just care, that he's a happy cook in a clean kitchen.

Haunted...in a Good Way

Haven't been on this blog for awhile. I enjoy writing and sharing my day to day thoughts and goings on. But unfortunately I'm not confident when it comes to sharing my writing. Really, who cares, right? If no one reads this crud, there is still nothing to lose!! And so I go....

As you all know if you have read (from my last few posts) things haven't been the most super-fantastic for me. I lost my job and even more importantly, my mom passed away. It's been a tough past couple of months but it could have been a lot tougher.

I was really close with my mom - not just as an adult but since I was a kid. When ma got sick she she CONSTANTLY told me..."Chrissa, when I croak, you better not go nuts. If you do, I'll f&cking HAUNT YOU! Mom was always reminding me that if I went into some sort of depression or cuckoo-ness when she died that she'd HAUNT me. I knew and know now that she would never really haunt me but her words did.

She's gone. I cried. I miss her something terrible but I know mom wants me to be happy and not dwell on the fact that she is gone. And so that's what I have been trying to do since October 26. That's the day she left this world.

I made it a point to ENJOY my Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. I cooked, decorated, shopped and enjoyed my family. Sometimes I had "inklings of guilt" because mom wasn't here to enjoy it too but then I remembered that it was her WISH OF WISHES for me to continue enjoying these things in life.

Mom does haunt me. But in a good way. He words haunt me. Her words of praise and confidence in me. When I was depressed over all the things I felt I screwed up in life, she'd come over make me tea, cuddle me in bed, gently caress my hair and tell me that I was a strong woman. She'd tell me that she knew what I was doing was hard but it was important that I was doing what was right for me no matter how hard it was at the time. She'd give me a kick in the ass and tell me to "get on with life". Mom never let me wallow in self-pity for long. She encouraged my creativity and reminded me of what a good mother I was. She told me she would NEVER EVER have wanted any other daughter than me because she thought I was the best daughter EVER. She was so proud of me. Constantly, for years, mom told me that she knew I was STRONG.

That's what haunts me. Mom's words that I am strong. She was the strongest woman I have ever known and that strength is running through my veins every day. Thanks mom.

Remembering My Mother

My mother passed away on Tuesday, October 26, 2010.

Good Lord! She was a great mother!

I miss her. I miss talking to her on the phone every night. I miss her swearing at me. I miss her...EVERYTHING.

My mom was the very best mother in the world. She had no contentions. Her only contention was that a person could not laugh at her corney jokes, accept her own ways and love her for who she was. Mom was very true to her very own self.

I find myself here tonight, wanting to share the whole story about my mothers life.

My mom was my best friend, closest confidant and always....ALWAYS...picked my side. I loved her and she loved me unconditionally. It was great to have someone on my side all of the time. It had been that way since my childhood, teen-age years and into adulthood. Lots of daughters have ups and downs with their mom's but I think my relationship with my ma was pretty much always UP.

Don't get me wrong, we have our spats. But they never last longer than a day. And they were always about something stupid.

One spat lasted a few days, but I was kinda trashed when I ticked her off so after lots of teasing she forgave me. She's was best. My mom a.k.a. "The Suz" had a great sense of humor! God, how we laughed together.

She was a super-fantastic photographer and writer. I wish I had half her talent . She swore like a trucker, cooked like Julia child , and decorated better than anything I've seen on HGTV! Mom loved and made the best dirty martini this side of heaven. She knew myself and her grandaughter, Michelle, preferred a good bottle of Boujeles wine so she surprised us and bought an entire CASE of it!

Mom was the bomb.

What I know is that even though I am 47 years old I still valued my Mothers opinion. I knew she would never steer me in the wrong direction. I believed that when my mom told me I was right then I was right. I knew when my mom told me I was wrong then I was wrong.

Rewind. 40 years - one of my earliest memories of mom. I am four. Sitting on the front porch of our tiny Chicago bungalow, head tucked in, arms cradling my knees and studying my new, red ,KED gym-shoes. Mom comes out the door in jeans and a t-shirt ( her favorite dress code) and the white, aluminum storm-door slams behind her. "Hey Teets-a-bell! You wanna go for a walk?" She reaches her strong hand out towards me and I take it.We walk. My tiny hand tightly clenched in hers.

I want to skip. We skip. She skips. I want to sing . We sing. She sang. We walk and talk and walk and talk. I feel so loved and important. There is nowhere else I want to be. I absolutely adored my mom.

Even though my she is no longer here in body with me I know her spirit is. My hand is still clenched in hers. We still walk, we still talk, we still sing. Our song was like no other. I’ll miss my best friend and my beautiful mother.

I had a Dream

I had a dream!


I had a dream that one day I was in a Food Network cup cake Wars show. I won the grand prize!
Why I had this dream I'll never know. Only the dream fairies hold the secret of why they sprinkle our minds with dream-dust while we slumber.



Anyone who knows me knows that I don't bake. I cook, I don't bake. Baking stresses me out. I only bake lopsided angelfood cake for Mike on his birthday. Baby, that's love. That's TRUE love. I'm talking about HIM....he eats it!


This dream was so vivid. I baked Pineapple upside-down cupcakes. I was wearing a floppy white bakers hat and crisp white apron. My hair was pulled up in a tight bun and I looked gorgeous. I was calm and collected. Oh, how I love to dream!!


I placed a teaspoon of melted butter in the bottom of a cupcake pan then I sprinkled brown sugar on top. I trimmed a pineapple ring to fit the mold and placed a cherry in it. Then, I poured in the batter.


I have never woke up and thought to myself , "Wow, that was an awesome dream! I'm gonna DO that". Thank goodness for that. I would be sunbathing nude, on top of my car roof, in front of my house, smoking mary-wanna if I followed up on last nights dream!



I did however follow up and actually attempted my food-network dream. I just couldn't get those cup-cakes out of my head. I told Mike about my dream and he encouraged me to go for it. So I did.

How I hate to bake. But I did. I wasn't wearing a floppy bakers hat or white apron. I was in jeans and a batter-splattered red shirt. My hair was not pulled in a tight bun but rather loose and in my eyes. But, I baked.

I followed the "dream recipe" and.....

Well a picture tells a thousand words!