A visit

Gianna's grandpa from Philadelphia visited her this past week. And on his last day, she treated all of us by staying wide-eyed and smiley for two hours. I love her to pieces. I could take millions of pictures of her and never tire of it.

Reunion restlessness

For the longest time, I was under the misconception that a certain event held every decade or so would somehow pass me by — that someone would drop the ball, forget entirely or be unable to find me.

But thanks to the wonders of technology and the networking prowess of Facebook, details are emerging and I have officially been invited, along with about 80 or so other members (out of more than 300) of the class of '99, to my 10-year high school reunion.

I got the notice about two weeks ago that a group had been started on Facebook to begin planning for the event. I resisted the invite to join for about a week, but was tempted to at least visit the page. I then found out I was one of about seven almuni who hadn't yet joined — compared to the 77 who had. And just like I was beckoned in those old high school hallways, peer pressure got the best of me and I accepted.

I laugh because I still see the same cliques involved in the planning — as if they never came unglued from one another after graduation. Many of them are Facebook 'friends' of mine — and that's probably the biggest understatement of the year. Sometimes I find the website a popularity contest: who has the most wall posts, the coolest photos, the most interesting status updates ... the closest, most meaningful relationships I have definitely don't happen there. I know, it's a good way to keep in touch. And it is, but it's almost impossible to keep up with everyone. Life is just so non-stop. But I digress...

Back to the reunion ... the reason I'm not looking forward to going is simple: I only went there for two years. I spent my freshman and sophomore years in Fort Knox, Ky., and then got ripped away from my co-Army brat friends to move to Michigan. Ironically, the house my parents bought happened to be right across the street from the one my dad and his family grew up in (and my grandparents would have been there had they not decided to move permanetly to their lake house a few hours west), which meant that my brother and I would be attending my dad's alma mater. He was ecstatic. I was going to be a Fraser Rambler.

I, on the other hand, didn't look forward to starting all over again with kids who shared construction paper, laughs and secrets on the playground and a lunchroom table in middle school. I found no way I would be able to break into their lifetime of memories and a find a place for myself.

Adjusting was difficult, but I found an outlet within my first day. I was allowed to try out for the school's top choir — they sang latin songs, did choreography and fancy shows — where makeup was done for you — and competed somewhere in the country each year — because I was in the state solo competition in Kentucky. The legendary instructor liked my voice and let me in, but a few months in realized he wasn't fond of my dancing: he moved me from being in a front-row triplet to a third-row duo. But I didn't care. I got to be picked up and spun around during one of the songs, an opportunity I didn't have in the triplet. I made it to the front row the next year.

My closest friends came from choir. We ate together, spent hours each Monday night rehearsing together and traveled to Orlando and Colorado Springs together. I tried a host of other ways to break into other areas in the school: tennis, NHS, the school newspaper, the school store with the 'popular' kids ... I even ran for student council vice president my senior year, which drew gasps from many people. How dare I try to unseat the three-year incumbent and rattle the four girls involved since freshman year??? (I gave the girl a run for her money, but ended up a class rep. I wonder if she remembers?).

A part of me wonders how many people would take note of me at a reunion — or if I was just a teeny dot on their timeline. On Facebook, the few people I say hello to now and then or catch up with are those from Kentucky who are now spread all over the country. I've attempted conversations with my fellow Fraser alums, but not much has come from them.

When I told my parents that reunion planning had begun, my mom gasped — partly because she realized how old I was and then how old that makes her. (Actually, my mom is only 50. I'll be lucky to not be in a nursing home when my one-day child is my age).

I can't believe it's been 10 years, either. I don't think I look much different, but I know internally — the emotional and spritual parts of me — I am. I've obviously grown up, yet there are days when I still feel like a child, when I still wonder what my life will one day be like. There are moments when I measure my success on the world's standards, much like I did when I was striving to be in the top of my class, to be involved in whatever it took to earn scholarships and glances from good colleges. I still live relatively close by, I don't have a glamorous job or work in a sparkling city like I planned ...

Fortunately, between my husband and one or two other trustworthy voices in my life, I shake my head, come back into focus and see the bigger picture. It's then I can see I'm on the track God set me on, the dreams he's put in my heart, the relationships he's set in motion, the blessings he's gracefully poured out and the the purpose he's given to my life — though I sometimes struggle with believing. I've acheived much more than I give myself credit for. That's the insecurity in me that flares up once in a while.

I suppose I'll muster up the will to go to the reunion, if nothing else to show off my handsome husband, the fact that I haven't gained 100 pounds and that where we are now is clearly not where we intend to stay.

And when I do, it'll be in a little black dress.... what else are they good for?

More Gianna

I couldn't resist - had to post more pictures of my niece. I miss her so much already! Becoming an aunt has to be one of life's great joys. Her mom and dad come home today. I love watching them with her. They seem like naturals. And I am so happy for them.

Welcome to the world

Here is my new niece ~ Gianna Marie. She finally showed the world her beautiful face at 9:21 p.m. March 2. She is a teeny 4 pounds, 11 ounces and is 18 inches long! I am completely in love with her and can't wait to watch her grow up! Though we are not Catholic, we have been named the baby's godparents, which makes being an aunt and uncle even more special.

In wonder

The other night, my husband's sister and her boyfriend came over for dinner — actually, they brought a really yummy white pizza and we made the dessert, and by that I mean we attempted to replicate the ice box cake my husband's grandmother is known for.

I really enjoy our time together because she and I are finally developing a relationship. While I was engaged, it seemed she saw me as the girl stealing away her older brother. At my wedding shower — she was a bridesmaid — she left early, claiming she had to get to the airport to fly to New York for a modeling gig. I learned the next day she never went to the Big Apple. When she realized I wasn't all that bad and I grew some patience, we actually began to chat often, even sharing similar frustrations about her mother. It's one of the only few things we can relate to because we have so little in common. She was a model, worked at clubs, has a gazillion friends and was pretty rebellious and unreliable.

However, since finding out she was going to become a mom, she has transformed into a completely different person. I'm so proud of her and so excited for what this baby is going to do for her.

As a gift, she and her boyfriend were given the chance to see Gianna through a 3D ultrasound. Because it took so long for the baby to face them, the woman doing the ultrasound gave them a DVD to thank them for their patience, which usually isn't included in the price. They brought it over with them and let me tell you, I have hardly ever been as intrigued or amazed. We laughed because she continued to bring her foot up to her face, then her arm. Her tiny hands were already opened and a few times, she stuck out her tongue. Hilarious.

When the time comes for us to start a family, my husband and I aren't going to find out what we're having. We decided that a while ago, along with keeping the name to ourselves. It'll be hard to wait, I'm sure, but so worth it. I think there are just so few surprises left in life ... still, it was neat looking at my niece.

Anyway, watching the video, I learned something I hadn't before: babies open their eyes in the womb! Amazing. My sister-in-law said that sometimes, they will put a flashlight up to her belly and they can see Giana pressing against the light. The other thing we were awed by — babies being able to live nine months in fluid and then immediately begin to breathe when they come into the world.

It just reinforces the wonder of our Heavenly Father, the miracle that is life and the knowing all of the intricate details only he could have imagined and designed.

I know my little niece is going to be so beautiful. We could already see. We want her to be here so badly! Just three more weeks!

Young at Heart

At least twice a year, my husband and I travel back to his hometown of Philadelphia to visit family. It's always a real eye-opener for me because there is just one pocket of the city I can relate to — and if I could afford a $500,000 rowhome, would live there with them. They indulge in local coffee shops, check out new exhibits at the art museum and enjoy expensive taste, strolling around stores in Center City, such as Williams-Sonoma and Banana Republic.

Throughout the remainder of the city, its residents are very simple and very laid back. They desire nothing fancy, but will pay for a great meal out — and trust me, there are some amazing, authentic places to pick from. They have their own favorite cheesesteak spot, are extremely loyal to their four sports teams — whose stadiums encircle each other — and have had the same friends and neighbors for the last 20-30 years. To back up that cliche, it does feel like the city of brotherly love, save for the car horns going off in busy intersections.

I fell in love with Philly the first time I visited three years ago. I love the skyline, the history and the attractions, and I thought it was so unique — as well as unusual — that the city is mostly made up of rowhomes that have no accompanying yards or driveways and that people can get away with double parking. Everywhere.

My husband — whose accent re-emerges as soon as we enter the city limits — was initially so excited for me to meet his grandparents. His 85-year-old maternal grandparents live a few blocks from the aforementioned stadiums in a rowhome that they added onto before moving in decades ago. They have their health issues, but you'd hardly know it. His grandfather can hardly see, but both he and his wife have impeccable hearing. They do their own housecleaning, laundry and shopping — someone drives them, of course — and his grandmother is an amazing cook. I could live soley off of her rice pudding — and pay the price - and my husband will only rave over her pasta sauce, er 'gravy.' Each day, she has a small glass of red wine, a routine that seems to have paid off. Five children, 14 grandchildren — spouses included — and almost four great-grandchildren later, they are still sharp, witty and aware. It amazes me.

I'm amused when we stay with them because the highlight of their day is watching TV, even when we are there. They have all of their programs figured out, from Judge Judy to game shows - Family Feud and Wheel of Fortune are musts - to CSI and Animal Planet. I don't completely blame them. Neither one can drive anymore and their closest child lives about a 45 minute drive away in Jersey. I don't know what I'd do in the house all day long. For Christmas, the youngest son bought them a little parakeet - after he bought his twin girls two of their own, whom they named Simon and Theodore. My husband's grandmother had to play along, naming her new bird Alvin. Her new addition is somewhat entertaining for her, though apparently she has long called animals retarded because they can't take care of themselves.

My husband's other grandmother lives fairly close by and I could spend hours with her. When we first met, it was as if we'd known each other for years. She, also 85, took the spotlight at our wedding almost two years ago when she flew out onto the dance floor once the band began to play "Tarantella." My adorable 75-year-old grandmother, who has always longed to be Italian, joined in and the two were a hit. It's hard for me to put into words "Grandmom" Rita, pictured left. She also lives in a rowhome and walks to get her groceries, go to church, get her hair done and visit the dentist. She's blunt, but sweet and I laugh at her mannerisms. She is the biggest worrier, yet constantly prays. Her husband died about 10 years ago and I think she still aches for him every day. While my husband and I were still engaged, she'd shake her fist at the sky and yell at her "Arty" for being gone. It's so sweet - and heartbreaking.

My point to all of these stories ... I want to know their secret for staying so sharp, so witty, so mindful - so young. I could carry on a conversation with each of them and they wouldn't miss a beat. I long to take something from them all so I'll have a special memory when they're gone. I hope they're around for years to come.

My first column

Here it is. Feel free to think that it's a little bit hokey. We'll see how my readers feel about it tomorrow.


My resolution? Go against the grain
"If it bleeds, it leads."

In this around-the-clock industry of mine, it's that age-old adage
that keeps sad stories and tragic tales on the front page of every
newspaper and at the top of each nightly newscast.

I'm not sure who decided long ago that we needed a daily overdose of
disappointment and distress, but it seems inescapable, especially
lately with Wall Street's woes, a bailout for the Big Three and
record-high unemployment — which I was part of last month.

I often wonder if we remain in such a glass-half-empty mentality
because, subconciously, the mass media tells us to. They give gloomy
economic forecasts and, in response, shoppers seal up their
pocketbooks. Then they report that we're not spending money.

So in the face of downheartedness and worrisome reports of a
recession, I have come to a decision: I'm not participating.

It's a detox of sorts; a diet from the depressing. And while I'm not
much into setting New Year's resolutions — I believe you can start
fresh at any time of the year — this is one I am making.

I want to spend 2009 focusing on the hopeful, reflecting on the inspiring.

I want to hear about stories of promise, of neighbor encouraging
neighbor and stranger helping stranger. I want to dig deep and
discover successes I know are tucked in there somewhere, in between
statistics of childhood obesity and the latest political scandal: a
job that finally comes through; a family that steps outside of its own
struggles to serve others in deeper need; a charity whose donations
are surpassed; a faith that is restored; and a realization that
whether or not a prayer is answered, there is a bigger plan at work.

I want to celebrate daily accomplishments, even if they are as simple
as smiling at those who pass by me on the sidewalk and finishing the
56 ounces of water I lug around with me.

I want to take time to count my blessings, and to strive each day to
have an attitude of gratitude, even when the road gets a little foggy.

This resolution may not always be easy to stick to, especially when
we're so used to reacting to the worst. But I have a feeling that of
all the places to search for inspiration, the Pointes are a great
place to start.

So, if you're up for it, I invite you to walk alongside me in my
challenge of finding the extraordinary in the everyday, of searching
for happiness in simplicity, of tuning out the negative and turning to
the cheerful. Be surprised by joy. Dare to wonder what it would be
like in a world with less worry and more wit.

And don't laugh off what might seem like a lofty dream or an
unattainable goal. For as Mark Twain once said, "Don't part with your
illusions. When they are gone, you may still exist, but you have
ceased to live."

Baby gifts

I've been trying to figure out what to buy my sister-in-law for her baby shower in three weeks.

Every time I visit her two registries, I become overwhelmed with all that's out there for babies: steam sterilizers, a bottle and food warmer (hello, how about the old-fashioned, bottle-in-hot-water method?), sleep positioners, a flat screen video monitor ...

And then there's this thing:

A newborn soothing center. Not sure how safe that is. But it says it was developed "with significant scientific research to address the multisensory needs of newborns" and has four "four unique seat positions mimic how you hold your baby."

What will they think of next?

Anyway, her color scheme is cute -- pink and brown -- and most of the items seem pretty practical. Except I cannot understand why she has registered for two Baby Bjorn carriers. She's only having one baby and only parent can carry the little one at a time.



Davin and I disagree about going in on something expensive with my mom. He wants to spoil his first niece, but I know that her side of the family and the father's side are both going to be very generous. And we'll have years and years to spoil little Gianna.

I'd still like to get her something sweet on the side, something meaningful. Maybe her christening/dedication outfit, since my sister-in-law has wisely decided not to have her daughter baptized in the Catholic church. Nothing against Catholics, as I have many family members who are, Grandma included. I think she's just realizing things as an adult that she just didn't stick to as a child -- or an adult, for that matter.

I'm for sure bringing a baby Bible as my book. And there was something on the invitation that my mother-in-law wrote out mentioning everyone bring an item for a baby wishing well. I have no idea what that is, nor does anyone else I've so far asked. Have you?

Interpretation

Last night, I had a dream that I had fallen asleep for seven years. Miraculously, when I awoke, neither I nor my husband had aged at all.

Anyway, while I slept, Davin had built a big, beautiful house. Parts of it were covered in floor-length windows, and we walked atop wood floors and through hallways lined in wood paneling. One of the bathrooms had very tall, very wide cabinets and multiple sinks. One of the drawers I opened was filled with all of my makeup, perfectly placed, and I'm sure, by then, quite expired.

I remember passing a large, see-through refrigerator (I would never have picked that out) stocked with condiments, milk and other necessities that each seemed just right for a giant. Even the wine was in large, several-gallon jugs. Very strange.

Another oddity: his stepmother had been staying there and I distinctly recall urging Davin to make her leave, now that I was back.

He had put everything of mine away in one corner of the house -- where I guess I had been kept -- from the drinking glasses we had once used to my shoes.

I remember feeling very sad that my husband had been without me all that time, and grateful that he waited. When I awoke from the dream, my heart still hurt and I reached over and clung to him until the alarm went off.

I've been wrestling all day with the meaning of this dream. I rarely have ones this vivid or this peculiar. Maybe I'm just anxious to start first-house hunting, an exciting adventure we'll be embarking upon in the next month or so.

Hmmmmm...

I say

At my new job, reporters rotate weekly writing a roughly 500-word column in the editorial section of the paper ... on anything. My first entry is due January 12.

It can be controversial, witty, entertaining, insightful ... or even a sob story. The only requirement is it be about something in my life.

You'd think I'd have a bounty of ideas, between this candid venue and my semi-adventurous life (at least it is in my eyes). But somehow, my mind is as blank as an empty page.

And I'd love some suggestions.

I suppose I could share about my Christmastime experience with my mother-in-law: how she broke down in the middle of Costco when my husband told her we weren't coming over on Christmas, but instead going to their Christmas Eve get-together — she refused to give up a night with friends, rather than start a new tradition with her growing family — and how that back-and-forth banter eventually led to our compromise (never again!) of going over to her set-to-music, Clark Griswold-esque home for dessert. And I could mention one the gifts we received: a 1500-volt electric bug swatter. Fabulous.

Hmmmm....

Or I could recount my surprise summertime trip to the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island for our one-year wedding anniversary, and how, once we reached the ferry after a five-hour drive, realized we had left the garment bag hanging in the closet at home. A little back story: when you stay at the 150-year-old hotel, you have to be dressed 'in your finest' after 6 o'clock — men in a suit and women in skirts or dresses. That meant we couldn't go to the five-course dinner, couldn't dance to the hotel band or head up to the cupola bar for a drink. And we were there for three nights. After my very sweet husband let me cry on his shoulder and then calmed me down, we went on a mini-shopping spree for first-night outfits, and were also able to get my very patient mother to go into our apartment, grab the garment bag and ship it to the island. Fortunately, it was there by our second afternoon.

Maybe I could share about the excitment of becoming a first-time aunt and the anticipation of waiting for the baby girl who is almost here; the joy of newfound friendships, even those unwavering admist the rocking of a cruise ship veering off a hurricane's path; or the discovery of talents you didn't know you had.

It would be fitting to talk about New Year's resolutions that for the first time I am more than determined to keep, and I don't mean in the habit arena. Dreams I've stumbled upon and hobbies I want to better persue. Or perhaps, most importantly, the constant presence of God's hand, from blessings to frustration to complete vulnerability.

I suppose I have a wealth of moments and memories to share, or maybe a brief re-introduction to a community that has gotten to know me these past four years is all that's needed.

I guess a weekend's worth of brainstorming will tell.