My Irish Home

My mother was a farmer's daughter, born in 1939 in rural Ireland. She was the first of 10 children born to Edward and Ellen Moore, and lived on the family farm in Annaghkilly, Newbliss, until she emigrated with her sister to the Bronx.

My aunt took photos when they returned to the farm.

The small cottage is the first home my mother lived in- I picked peas with my sister Dee in the vegetable garden behind this cottage in 1976. It was removed to straighten and widen the lane so the milk truck had an easier time getting down the lane to the milking parlor each day.

Supper in the field- My grandfather (seated in overalls) and his brothers Peter (Seated beside him) and Patrick (in a sweater vest and cap) take a moment for tea-

My great uncle Peter milking by hand- before the milking parlor was built

Back to baling Hay

The lane in from the Newbliss road. Our little piece of heaven.

Guatemala 1992

Eighteen years ago this week, I landed with a small group of Americans at the international airport in Guatemala City. We were Peace Corps trainees, learning public health and animal husbandry. We were taken to a pension in Antigua for the night and were brought to CHP, our school for the next 3 months, the following day. We were each placed with a Guatemalan family in one of three villages, Santa Lucia, Santo Tomas, or Magdalena.

Lili Pineda was my Guatemalan mom, and I lived there with her and her sister, as well as their two children. Their sister Martha lived next door with her son, and more of the family was scattered around town. I was adopted by the whole family, and was invited to their church and all their family events, which immersed me in the Guatemalan culture.

Claudia was more a sister than a cousin, as she and her mom shared the house. She taught me about her culture far more than any book could and her mom embroidered a pillowcase and crocheted a sham as gifts for my birthday.

Luis was one of my cousins and he took me to Antigua, Panajachel and out with him and his friends. He helped me with my Spanish homework and was incredibly kind to me.

My training group was a very mixed group of amazing individuals. We grew as close as family and became lifelong friends during that 3 month training period.

And we learned Spanish- I reached an intermediate alto level by the time we were assigned to the aldeas we would work in. It was Mother’s day weekend in Guatemala when I traveled to Saltan the first time. Set in the beautiful moutains, it was a four hour bus ride on a largely unpaved road. Again I was met with kindness. I was welcomed into the fold in a place that had no phones, limited mail service and electricity when it didn’t rain so hard.

As a health extensionist volunteer, I worked on preventative medicine, which included vaccine campaigns, teaching women’s groups, and digging the odd latrine. I experienced medicine in a world of limited supplies and prohibitive costs. I learned and I learned and I learned…

I learned how lucky I was to have so much opportunity

I learned it is important to work within the culture of those you serve

I learned Spanish first-hand, not from a book

I learned what real poverty looked like

I learned that even if you have very little, it can be shared

I learned to love a country I wasn’t born to, with no relatives connecting me

I loved Guate, I still miss my adopted country, and I hope to visit again. Eighteen years have passed in the blink of an eye.

A birthday wish

I had a childhood friend, Steven, who died of leukemia the summer before I started high school. He was an out of state pen pal who meant the world to me and his death shocked me. For all that we shared through letters, he never once mentioned his leukemia came out of remission. He never told me he was dying. And then he was gone.

Steve would have celebrated his 46^th birthday on February 14^th this year, had he lived. Dying at 17 seemed so crazy- so unreal… but chemo didn’t work the same miracles in 1981 that it does now.

I am missing Steve this week.

I like to think he lives on… and not just in my memories. I see him in my stories and written work. He was the first person to teach me to paint a picture with words. He encouraged me to make good choices when I came to forks in the road. He was a voice of sobriety and sanity during a troubling childhood too full of drama, sadness and chaos. He was my lifeline and I lived for his letters.

It was hard on me when they stopped coming. And for a long time, high school was a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

I was in Canada on his first birthday in heaven. I believe in heaven. That it is a real place of beauty. I have to believe he is there, with all the good men women and children who have passed through my life on their way to that perfect place

I like to think Steve is proud of me…rooting for me…supporting me… I strive to make a difference. I work hard to do for others who are in need. And I am embarrassed by praise that I sometimes receive- cause it is what I am supposed to do.

Knowing this young man made me a better person, a better friend and a better mom. I tell my kids I love them. They hear it every day- and twice on the days they are on my last nerve, jumping up and down. Cause it can be gone so quickly.

Steve signed every letter with Love you always – and I do it too- so those I love know it. Nobody should ever doubt they are loved.

So Steve-

Happy Birthday! I miss you.

Love you always,

Geri

Cards and letters

Last year, I didn't send a Christmas letter or cards, and when the holidays had passed, I sent the following e-mail- now as we approach another Christmas for which I feel totally unprepared, I reread it, laughing at the memories, and at how few things have changed...

One of my cats, Storm, went missing over Thanksgiving weekend, and Liz was distraught. I won’t get into how odd it was for her to be so upset about a cat she rarely fed and did not clean up after. When we found him four days later, he was in the animal shelter- you have to go and basically bail them out…. I had to go in the back where all the animals are held to ID him, and saw another beautiful long-haired grey cat, in a nearby cage. She was beautiful…friendly… my cat purred at her…

And they give you a discount when you bail out more than one… and even put in one of those cat trackers… GPS locator things that will tell them who owns the cat in case it wanders off again.

Clearly they saw me coming…

So now we have 3 in the house- I am becoming the crazy old cat lady… Liz just shook her head when I came in with the two carriers.

“Oh, Mom, you didn’t…”

Will I never learn?

Cub Scouts has been an interesting experience- my son, John is a tiger this year- I have to say there is a big commitment involved. It gets exhausting.

My cousin John presented his snakes and alligator at a house meeting it was a HUGE success- the boys were captivated. It was also amusing to see some of the parents who are snake-shy hugging the walls as their sons got up close and personal with the wide variety of snakes presented. The 26 foot long snake took seven boys to hold, and they were loving every minute of it!

I was bad this year and did not send a single Christmas card, did not put up a Christmas tree, and barely (under protest) decorated the house. Since my children were going to NYC for Christmas, I just was not feeling all the effort involved. They left on the 22 of December and I just got them back January 4^th, just in time for school to start up.

I drove them to the airport on the day they left. As those of you who have been here already know, the Cincinnati airport is located in Kentucky. To get there, I275 briefly takes you through Indiana before you reach the bridge over the Ohio River that takes you into Kentucky. There is a big power plant right on the Ohio River, just to the left of this bridge and the smoke stacks can be seen from the sign where you enter Indiana from Ohio. John saw the stacks pouring out the discharge, a thick white smoke that rose slowly and asked, with wonder in his voice, “Mommy, do they make clouds there?”

I forget sometimes about that wonder in children. What a gift they are to us.

I missed them, but made productive use of my time.

I spent two weeks clearing out all the old junk in and around the house, while the kids were gone, and doing laundry, folding and packing up the unwanted and poorly fitting, and filling 5 bags full that went to Goodwill. I even got the treadmill- which has done me little good out in the garage the last two years- up and running in my basement with the help of Rick and my uncle Gail.

I cleaned and scrubbed and organized. I got a new front door and screen door installed by Tony, Peggy’s wonderful husband, and Rick installed a new bathroom fixture upstairs, which was desperately needed. The old fixture had two chains coming out that hung down and then ran back up to the ceiling, where it went over two hooks fixed into the ceiling on either side of the main fixture before coming down again ending a globe cover common in the 70s over the bulbs, blocking most of the light. I am surprised I lasted with it two years. I changed out some light switch covers and am planning to see what other projects will be taken on in the coming year. My fixer upper is coming alone-piece by piece.

Santa was really good to me- I got a Wii Fit- a surprise and a joy- exercise never used to be this fun. He also brought me a beautiful seed pearl necklace and bracelet. My aunt and uncle picked out an Irish Santa and some lovely towels for me and I got some more basement geckos from the Chausmers (they eat the spiders). Wonderful handmade gifts from the kids added to the splendor. How can one girl be so lucky?

Having the kids home has brought the house back to life, and we are enjoying some friendly Wii competition… Liz is a boxing maniac, John would give Tiger Woods a run for his money, and, surprising no one more than myself, I am a tightrope walker at heart. (I am also doing very well skiing, as long as no actual snow/cold is involved.)

John and the Cub Scout den went on the fire station tour Tuesday evening, and the firefighters asked what the difference between a doctor and a nurse was, when they were trying to explain the difference between a paramedic and an EMT. One of the boys called on said, “One is a man and one is a woman.” It was fun to watch the adults reacting to that one! His poor dad wanted to disappear into the floor.

So that is night I get a "Pinewood Derby" car kit labeled "all you need to make" said derby car. A misprint, I assure you.

The box contains 4 plastic wheels, 4 nails and a block of wood with two lines cut in the bottom. Nothing else.

And I am supposed to make this block of wood look/work like a car. So over weekend we started working on a pinewood derby car. I recruited an engineer I know to assist, as I have not the first idea how one is made to race and they take the whole thing very seriously. Boys- a whole new universe. I miss Barbies.

The engineer (Rick) finds it amusing that I haven’t the first clue- and he and John sit with said block of wood and have a design planning session, where John decides on a body shape. Rick then took the block of wood to work where he and all the other little boys in big men bodies hang out all day, and cut/shaped said block of wood into something that has the potential to actually look like a car after the appropriate sanding and painting. The wheels will be the final step, so the paint does not slow the car...they need to be placed just so…

Seriously! People have time for this? My real car is not that well cared for!

He has also advised me to be prepared to lose the race, as the future winner is being caressed smooth as we speak by a boy/ man living vicariously through his son...and has likely spent months preparing for the inevitable win...

The race day is the 31^st, John’s seventh birthday.

Oh, and next year we need to make a whole new car....I am just thankful my boy will not be racing a block of wood with wheels nailed in. I don’t think I was meant to be a cub scout mom.

Sadly, it doesn’t get me out of having a party for him. This year he wants Monster Golf- a glow in the dark miniature golf experience… I suspect my Dad is laughing at me, golf fiend that he is…

And to ice my cake, my son wants a Red Ryder BB gun for his birthday. There was a pile of them for sale at the Bass Pro Shop in the mall. Yeah, we live in Ohio…. His Dad said “Absolutely NO!!” and I have to admit the brat in me considered getting it anyway… Maybe next year!

I hope you are all well.

With Love,

Geri

Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I hope you had a good year and are in good health. This year I have struggled a bit to be good- having a teenager should give me a pass straight to the good list, though. She is still breathing after all.

First I will start with what I want for other people:

1. World peace and an end to genocide may be outside of your league, but it can’t hurt to ask.

2. Peace and joy to all my babies and their families, and a special place in heaven for this year’s angels.

3. A sense of calm for all those who are dealing with the death of a loved one this holiday season. This is our seventh Christmas since my mom died on Christmas day, and I know too well how hard it can be.

4. For my dad: to regain his balance, use of his left arm, and have a full recovery from his stroke. By New Year’s Day, if at all possible…

5. For all my pregnant friends (better them than me!): to be as comfortable and healthy as possible.

6. For my brother and sister- that they each find a life partner that makes them as happy as I am with mine.

Now for my list:

1. All my laundry baskets- you travel the globe, so I am sure you will be able to find them. I used to have several large ones in both blue and white.

2. Big girl pantyhose that don’t make me feel like I am stuffing sausage as I put them on. In black.

3. Maid service for one year. Just to see if I like it…okay, I know I will LOVE IT, so make it two years.

4. Appliances- a new dryer and fridge for starters. Installed and warranted and all.

5. Four tires and an alignment for the Corolla so that when Liz hits the sign, tree, deer or curb, it is not my fault.

6. A free pass on “check engine” and “maintenance required” lights for one year.

7. Lawn care service- I HATE cutting the grass.

8. A U-haul truck to take all my useless crap to Goodwill, preferably before the New Year.

9. My Harry Potter movie- The United States Postal Service says they delivered it on December 10^th, but it was not delivered to my house. And I also hope the Scrooge who got it by mistake gets coal in his/her stocking!

We are celebrating Christmas early, so if you could swing by on the 19^th, that would be great. Make sure to spend ages picking stuff for my daughter that she can complain about, and RESIST THE URGE to bring every Clone toy known to man for my son. My house has not grown since last year even though John has. (See item 8).

Okay Santa- must run, we will leave out some health snacks for you…you can bulk up plenty on the 24^th.

Best regards,

G

Going to Rehab

Rehabilitation from a stroke involves Physical Therapy- big movement like walking, Occupational Therapy- finer movements like writing and tying your shoes, medical management, to keep the patient stable, and good old fashioned nursing care- bathing, medications, monitoring…

Medicare pays for rehab as long as a patient is progressing and working on getting better. When they have gotten back as much as can be gotten back, they either return to home or go to a nursing home. Returning home can mean being able to live independently again, or having assistance in the home to help you do what you can’t do yourself. If neither are possible, a nursing home placement can be required. Medicare does not pay for nursing home care, or long term care.

Medicaid does pay for it, but in Dad’s case, his home would need to be sold first, and any money left after paying his debts would need to be used to pay for the nursing home until he has so little left that he qualifies for Medicaid. Not an attractive option…

I hope we can have him at home. If not his own, I could have him here. I have a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room all on one level, there are only two small steps to get into the house, and a ramp could easily be placed over them. It would be hard, but not impossible.

Both Dee and Eddie are in walk up apartments. Ellen has stairs, too few rooms and enough on her plate.

I don’t know how Dad would adjust to Ohio. Most of his family and all of his friends are in NYC.

Waiting and thinking about all the possible choices.

His spirits are better, I am told. He looks good, I am told…We have to wait and see. He will be in the hospital for about a week. Then he will go to Rehab. And we need to wait and see after that. I am not good at waiting.

A small stroke

Cardiac Catheterization is a procedure used to check on the health of your heart and to take corrective action, in the form of placing a stent to hold open areas of the heart’s vessels to ensure good blood flow to this vital muscle.

My father had this procedure several weeks ago, and had 2 stents placed. He was released and told he would have additional stents placed during a second catheterization scheduled for yesterday, December 7, 2009. He modified his diet and went back to Lenox Hill as requested.

At some point during the procedure, my father had a stroke- a small stroke, my sister told me. I wondered what made it a small stroke- the fact that it didn’t kill him? He has left sided weakness, can move his foot a little, cannot yet move his arm, and he is able to speak and be understood, although his speak is slurred. He was going to have blood work and they wanted to start tPA. The good news was he was alert and awake.

I spoke to a friend and she said it was not uncommon for the catheter to break off a plaque, resulting in a clot and stroke. The initial swelling would go down in approximately 48 hours and then we would have a better idea about what his functional level would be.

My cousin Margie told me her mom arrived first, got filled in by the doctors, and met Eddie downstairs before taking him to see dad. That dad broke down and cried when he saw Eddie. That she understood how hard this was right before Christmas.

In the evening, my brother gave me a less hopeful perspective. Dad is angry, he wishes he was dead rather than like this. In a bad place. And he sent Eddie home- so he was alone all night.

And now I sit awaiting news- of improvement that might not come- of an unchanged status. I have begun thinking past this moment at our long term options. He may need to be cared for- looked after. We, his children, will need to provide that care. Life changed yesterday. And waiting is hard.