That's What Christmas is All About, Terri Moore

Last night, Christmas Eve, I had an incredible opportunity. The funny thing is I would never have had the opportunity if something bad had not happened. That seems to be a running theme for my life, good from bad. It all started many weeks ago back in November. A very dear friend of mine who is pastor of his own church asked if it would be possible for me and my daughters to come and sing "O Holy Night" at the Christmas Eve service. We accepted and plans were made. It is no secret to those that know me, and now, to any reader of this blog that I love music. I love to sing, and luckily have been able to do it professionally and for fun for most all of my life. Music and singing have been a part of me since joining the Cherub Choir at Westhampton Church when I was three. I love singing at anytime, but I especially love singing at Christmas. I love Christmas music, secular and religious alike. I often joke and say that the first album I release will be a Christmas album. "O Holy Night" happens to be one of my favorites, and I have really only sung it once as a solo for a Christmas Eve service. I was excited to have the chance to share this year, and having both my daughters singing with me was a bonus. Well, God had other plans. About the second week of December, I got a terrible cold, and by the end of that week, I lost my singing voice and most of my speaking voice, just in time, coincidentally, for our big Christmas Music Program at our Church. I didn't get to sing any of them. I was very disappointed, but I thought surely I'd have my voice back by Christmas Eve. When the week before Christmas rolled around, I knew there was no way I would have my voice back to be able to squeak out a note. What to do? My oldest and I discussed it. "O Holy Night" is really a solo. We decided that my youngest daughter would sing the solo, and we would sign. I called my pastor friend, and he loved the idea. I stood there last night and listened to this heavenly sound fill the sanctuary. That was my baby girl, truly the voice of an angel. Her sister and I backed her up with our gifts of being expressive and bringing a visual blessing to go along with the words that were being sung so beautifully. I would not have been touched so deeply last night if I had been able to sing, and the congregation would not have had the chance to experience the "holy moment" that they did.

As I drove home from the service I was in awe as I thought about the amazing way God has blessed me. Now, this is going to sound like bragging, and I don't want it to be that way. I am extremely honest. If my kids did not have talent, I would not say they did. I see no reason for that. Parents who tell their children that they are amazingly gifted at something when they are not do that child a disservice because one day someone will tell them they have no talent, and it will be a crushing blow. It amazes me that God has blessed me with not one but TWO daughters with more than average talent. My oldest has an incredible acting gift, and my youngest has a voice to rival any professional. THEY HAVE IT! It hasn't been taught, not to say they couldn't  hone their gifts with training, but what they were born with, blows my mind. So today, as I sit here waiting for them to come home from their father's, I had to write that this Christmas, for me, wasn't about bows and ribbons and gifts, it was about the humble realization that I have been given two amazing gifts in my daughters and that they are such a blessing to me, and they will bless everyone they come in contact with as they share the incredible gifts God has given them.

Strange Way to Save the World

Tradition # 7: CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE CARILLON
From the time I was very small, I can remember my grandparents taking us down to the carillon in Byrd Park right after Christmas Eve service. No matter what the weather, we would bundle up and sit in front of the beautiful historic tower and watch the story of the birth of the baby Jesus acted out. There was no fancy dialogue, no grandiose orchestra, no light show. The only voice heard was the narrator. The only script was the birth narrative from the book of Luke in the Bible. The only music was a volunteer choir singing Christmas carols accompanied by a piano . It was so simple, but so beautiful.
I imagine that's what the first Christmas was like. He didn't come with trumpets sounding his arrival. He wasn't born in a palace with 1000's of attendants. A stable, a manger, no comforts, surrounded by animals and lowly shepherds. It doesn't sound very glamorous, does it? But when I see that scene on a Christmas card or in a painting, it's always beautiful, and it moves me. The group 4Him sing a song called "Strange Way to Save the World". The words of the chorus fit beautifully with this post. 
                            Why me, I’m just a simple man of trade
                            Why Him with all the rulers in the world
                            Why here inside this stable filled with hay
                            Why her, she’s just an ordinary girl
                            Now I’m not one to second guess
                            What angels have to say
                            But this is such a strange way to save the
                            World
Merry Christmas!

             

♪♫ Drifty, the Snowman ♫♪

Tradition #6: SEEING THE CHRISTMAS SHOW AT SWIFT CREEK

I have been in the theatre most of my life. I started when I was 10. That's over 37 years. Not only has it brought me great joy but also some wonderful friendships. You can be sure that almost every show that goes up in Richmond has somebody in it that I know, but this post is about a very special group of friends that have been doing a series at Christmas time that revolves around the chararcter of Drifty the Snowman. I believe this year marks Drifty's 20th anniversary. I went to see my first Drifty show when my girls were 1 and 4. They are now 18 and 14. They were mesmerized. That's not a small feat to  mesmerize a 1 year old. It became a tradition. We went every year until the girls were at the end of elementary school.

The shows are little mini musicals about Christmas. Who doesn't love that? Drifty usually has some question to be answered or a dilemma to get out of, and he always needs the help of his North Pole friends, Cowboy Jim, Mrs. Claus, Pepita, (an Equadorian Elf), Christy, the Christmas Seal (think barking not stamp) and usually the "Big Guy" himself will make an appearance. The shows are filled with catchy little songs (just as good or better than anything you'd hear in a Rankin-Bass Christmas special) written by my very dear friend, Paul Deiss. The best part about it is the fact that it gives the child an experience with LIVE theatre. They can interact instead of sitting in front of a television screen. They feel like the characters are their friends and there's that little bit of Christmas magic we all need in our lives.
This year Paul has compiled a CD of songs from those shows through the years. It is available on iTunes and CDbaby.com. If you need to bring a little Christmas magic in your life all year long, consider ordering this CD, and next year make a trip down to Swift Creek Mill Theater to see Drifty and his friends. You won't be disappointed.

Necessity is the Mother of Invention

Tradition # 5: CHRISTMAS PICTURES WITH THE GIRLS

I would venture to say that almost everyone has a picture from their childhood taken at a department store studio like JC Penney or Sears. I certainly have my share. They run all kinds of promotions and excited new parents flock to record their little darling's childhood in pictures with cheesy backgrounds. I, too, was one of those excited new parents. I would take my oldest and change her into her Sunday best in the little dressing room and take her out to the studio and sit her up on the little table, and stand there and act like a fool to get her to look at the camera. I have several pictures recording the first 18 months of her life, and then it happened. We took her to Sears Studios just like we'd been doing for the past 18 months, and changed her into her Christmas dress, and took her out to sit her on the little table, and SHE FLIPPED OUT!! She started to cry and fight me, and we could not calm her down. Of course she was not communicating her fear very well at 18 months. Pretty much all we got was a screamed NOOOOOO!!!!!! This presented a dilemma. How was I to get that adorable picture of my little sweetheart to place in the Christmas Cards if she was terrified to get her picture taken at the studio? And thus, the tradition of Christmas Pictures with the girls began. The Christmas after she turned two, I traveled down to Colonial Williamsburg with her in her little red velvet Christmas dress and shot photo after photo of her in front of toy store windows and by holly bushes and on steps and benches decorated in their Holiday finery. She had fun, and so did I. I got much better pictures than I would have ever gotten at a studio because I was capturing her not just a picture of her. We never went to another studio for Christmas Pictures. When her little sister came along we continued to have our annual "photo shoot". They are now 15 and 18, and it's one of the things that we really look forward to each year. We've used different locations, The James Center in downtown Richmond filled with lighted reindeer, the cobblestone streets of Shockoe Slip, and the beautiful, historic Jefferson Hotel complete with Staircase resembling the one in "Gone with the Wind". This year we shot on location in Manteo and Duck, NC during Thanksgiving. Decked out in "Santa" hats and red and green, we brought a little Christmas to the Beach. So what started because of a 2 year old's strong opposition to the department store photo studio has turned into one of my most treasured traditions of Christmas.

Read Me a Story

Tradition # 4: THE SERIAL CHRISTMAS STORY
My grandmother was an avid reader of her daily newspaper. When I was little, Richmond had two newspapers, The Richmond Times Dispatch (morning) and the News Leader (evening). Until we moved away when I was 10, my grandparents only lived 6 doors away from us. Consequently I spent a huge amount of my childhood at their house. My sister and I had dinner there often, and spent almost every weekend there. During the Christmas season the News Leader would run a serial story with a holiday theme. Each night in December when we would finish dinner at my grandparents house, my grandmother would read us the daily installment of the story. I looked forward to that. There was no jumping up from the table as soon as dinner was over to watch TV or play on the computer and browse Facebook. We sat there and listened as my tiny grandmother, just under 5 feet, with her sweet, clear voice would read us each piece of the story. There's something special about having a story read to you aloud. If you haven't done it yet this year, plan a time to sit, with no distractions and read a Christmas story with your whole family. Some of my favorites? So glad you asked, The Polar Express, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and of course, The Night Before Christmas or start your own installment reading each night with The Best Christmas Pageant Ever or The Gift of the Magi. Pick one of your favorites from childhood and share it with your children. They'll love it, just like I did. More importantly, you will too!

Santa on the Road

Tradition # 3: THE SANTA CLAUS TRAIN

Some of you Richmonders reading may know this, and some may not, but The Science Museum of Virginia used to be the Broad Street train station. I can remember going there with my Daddy when I was a little girl to pick up my grandmother who was arriving from his hometown of Georgia. You could go right down on the landing right next to the tracks just like a picture out of those old movies where the lovers are parting ways, and they wave until the train is out of sight.
Just as my grandparents took us to see the REAL Santa Claus every year, they also took us on a Saturday in December down to the Broad Street Station to board the Santa Claus Train. It would depart the Broad Street Station, ride the rails up to Ashland and then back. I don't remember this as well as I do some of the other traditions we had because they stopped the yearly train ride when I was pretty young. During the trip we would have some kind of refreshment, and other performers would come by and perform in the aisle. Unfortunately, for me, there was usually a clown who did magic. I still remember his costume. It was black with multicolored polka dots, and he wore a bowler hat over a shoulder length yellow wig. The only tricks I remember  were a rope trick and he would make a lit cigarette disappear into a bandanna. Odd that I would remember that so clearly. I was always relieved when he passed through our car and moved on. And then just about the time we were to arrive back at Broad Street,  the REAL Santa, with his elf and his Snow Queen would come by and talk to us all about what we wanted for Christmas. It was another thing I looked forward to each year. I have no idea what it cost to ride the Santa Claus train. There were no photo ops for a fee. It was just a special train ride that added that "magic" to the season.

I love a parade!

Tradition #2: THE CHRISTMAS PARADE
When I was a little girl, my Gram and Grampy always took us to the Christmas Parade. Originally it was called the "Thalhimers Christmas Parade". Thalhimers was a big department store in Richmond. Miller & Rhoades and Thalhimers were Richmond's answer to Macy's and Gimbles. I went into details of Miller & Rhoades' claim to Christmas fame in an earlier post about the real Santa Claus. Thalhimers had the parade market cornered. We would get up early on a Saturday morning, drive down Broad Street, the main drag through Richmond, find a coveted parking spot, and lug the lawn chairs and blankets to the sidewalk to scout for the best seat. It was always cold, so we were bundled up from head-to-toe. My Grampy would unfold the lawn chairs and then Gram would settle in and I would sit on her lap, and we would cover up with a hand crocheted afghan. This served two purposes: 1) It helped us stay warm, and 2) Most importantly for me when I was small, it was easier for me to hide my face against my Gram when the clowns came by. We would sit there and look up the street with anticipation, and ask Grampy every 5 minutes, "Is it coming yet?" and then, finally, we could hear the drums in the distance and the siren from the head police car piercing the air. I would bounce up and down on Gram's lap a she would tap her feet in time to the drums of the bands. She was so cute as she would wave her tiny gloved hand at all the girls on the floats and clap in time to the music as the bands played as they passed. We went year after year after year, and as I became the adult it was my Gram that would ask me with anticipation, "Are we going to the parade?" I was blessed enough to be able to take her to those parades for many years and to watch my own little girl sit on Gram's lap and watch the parade. I hope one day I'll be able to watch the parade with my grandchild, and they will be able to look back and remember just like I am today.

Traditions

No, this is not a post about "Fiddler on the Roof." It is about Christmas traditions. Christmas is so important to me, and I think one of the main reasons it is is my grandparents. They started traditions with me when I was very young. In fact, I can't remember when most of these started. They've just always been a part of my Christmas season. Each one has brought joy to me, so I thought that I would try to share one each day as we approach Christmas. Now, I can't promise I'll blog everyday, but I'm sure going to try.
Tradition Number 1: ADVENT CALENDARS
My grandmother on my mother's side, from hereon referred to as "Gram", always got my sister and me an advent calendar. We usually argued about who would get to open door number 24. Now, if you don't know what an advent calendar is, you are missing out. It is usually made of paper and there is a holiday themed picture on it. Punched into the picture are doors numbering from 1 to 24. You open 1 door, each day, starting on December 1st and ending on December 24th. It was usually bought from Cokesbury Bookstore, a Christian bookstore downtown on Grace Street. It has now been turned into apartments. Each year my sister, Jenna, and I would wonder what the calendar would be like. We had many throughout the years, some had a religious basis with a nativity scene pictured or Santa's Workshop, or one year we had the Peanuts characters. The most interesting one we ever had was a huge poster of a nativity scene and parts of the picture were numbered and you were supposed to color your number each day. I don't think Jenna and I ever finished that one. It doesn't really matter. It was all about the countdown, the building of excitement to the "Big Day". Granted, as little children, it was a lot more about Santa Claus and all that Christmas morning brings than Baby Jesus, but it did help me to prepare for the season.
As I grew older and out on my own, Gram still got me an Advent calendar every year until she was no longer able to get out to do so. I still opened the doors (truth be told, sometime 4 or 5 at a time because I let the day go by and I would forget), but there was still the anticipation. It's coming, it's coming! Those words as a child were exciting and filled with wonder and hope. As an adult they sometimes ring with dread and anxiety, It's coming, it's coming. I'm not ready, I don't have enough time. I don't have enough money. My goal, this year, is to fill those words with hope and excitement again and to really try to focus on what I am anticipating and waiting for, to remember a tiny baby born in a stable on a bed of hay surrounded by the animals so I could be saved.

Christmas Gets a Bad "Wrap"

I am so sick of everyone saying, "Christmas has gotten too commercial." You're absolutely right! The Christmas season has become driven by money and spending and having the latest electronics and the most lights, and the biggest tree, and on, and on, and on. But Christmas, itself, is what you make it. I posted a couple of weeks ago about how much I love Christmas. I do! I love the music, the decorations, the surprises, the warm feeling I get on Christmas Eve when we sing "Silent Night" by candlelight, and everyone raises their candles and the Church sanctuary is bathed in a soft glow, and I never make it past the first verse because I'm crying. I like unwrapping each ornament to put on the tree and let the memories it brings wash over me like a flood, some happy, some bittersweet. Call me sappy, but I think it's a magical time. I always have. There is a lot of pressure to BUY! BUY! BUY!, but we don't have to give into that and let it bring us and everyone else around us down.
Dr. Seuss said it best in "How the Grinch Stole Christmas":
                "Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more."
Make Christmas, this year, what YOU want it to be.

Cherish Every Moment

Goodbyes are difficult whether they are are for a short time as we part for a small trip or a bit longer when someone is leaving for college or permanently when we lose them and know they won't be in our lives anymore. They are difficult because when we say them or experience them, we have to suffer loss. I have heard this week about two families who have had to say Good-bye. One child lost their battle with leukemia and another senior boy who attended school with my daughter died last night from cardiac arrest. I CANNOT imagine what it is like to lose a child, and I pray I will never have to experience it. My heart aches for those families, especially at this time of year when everywhere you look there are images that scream family togetherness. How does one heal that gaping wound when a child is ripped from from your world?
I have no trite words of wisdom to dispense, they would sound empty and meaningless like some cheap greeting card.
What I can share is that if anything can come out of a tragedy like this, it is to make me, and I hope you too, realize how very precious life is. That every moment that we are given to love our children is a gift and that we waste far too many of those moments, taking them for granted, as if they will always be there. So tonight, when you hug your children before they go to bed, hold on for just an instant longer and tell then that you love them, even at the risk of rolling eyes at how "weird" you are. None of us knows just how many of those moments we'll have, so make every single one count. Gotta go. I've got two beautiful girls to kiss good night.

Give Thanks with a Grateful Heart

It is 8 AM, and I am sitting on a kitchen barstool watching the ocean waves roll into the shore from my view at the house we are staying in at the Outer Banks. I am here with my family, (daughters, niece, sister, brother-in-law, and mom) for the Holiday until Sunday. This stay was a gift, from my sister and brother-in-law to my mother for her birthday last May. I haven't spent Thanksgiving with my MY whole family since I can't remember when. One of the arrangements of my divorce agreement was that my girls would spend Thanksgiving with their father, but they would always spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with me. The fact that they are with me, is more than enough to be thankful for, but to be here in this lovely home, looking at the beuty of the ocean is like winning the Thanksgiving lottery.
I am especially glad that we are all together this year, because after this year, things will be different. My oldest is a senior in high school, and next year she will be in college. Thanksgiving will mean something different next year. My plans will center around her homecoming.
I am especially thankful for this wonderful gift because it affords me the freedom of just relaxing. Something I haven't done in QUITE some time. My life is filled with rushing here and there, being in this place by that time. I don't take the time very often to just stop. Stop to realize just how much I have to be thankful for.
The house we are staying in is right on the beach. Last night as we finished dinner, the moon had risen up over the ocean. We went out on the deck to look at it. The picture was amazing! The light of the moon cast this beautiful shimmering band across the water. The sky was clear except for a few thin clouds around the moon. It was the kind of thing you look at, and you think that it can't be real, that all of a sudden, someone will yell, "CUT" and they will roll the backdrop away. But it was real, and it made me stop and just think about how lovely the world really is if I would just STOP and notice once in a while.
I am so blessed. We all are, but we let life sweep us away with the mad dash of our schedules, and work, and "Carrot Cakes", okay that last one was for me, and we don't take the time to notice, let alone give thanks. There is a scene in the movie, The Blindside, where "Big Mike" has been invited to stay with the Tuohy family for Thanksgiving. The entire family is watching the "Big Game" and Leanne calls the family in when the spread is set. They all rush in, grab a plate and rush back to the sofa to continue to watch the game, all except for "Mike". Leanne looks in her dining room and sees Mike sitting at the table eating alone. She, of course, promptly calls all the rest of the family in to eat with their guest. The Tuohys who have everything, are a lot like many of us, certainly thankful, but in a rush, not sitting down to take the time. Mike, who has NOTHING isn't taking the huge meal or the fact that he is not alone for granted. Be Mike today. Take the time to enjoy all the things you have in your life and be thankful. It IS called THANKSgiving.

Is this the way Paula Deen started?

Everyone who bakes or cooks in any way shape or form usually has a signature dish. It's the one thing that, when invited to a party of some sort, you are asked to bring. Well, I have had a few requested dishes in my time, my macaroni shrimp salad, my baked spaghetti, my pan-fried chicken, but the one thing I am always expected to make at the holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas both, is my carrot cake. I first baked this cake about 28 years ago, and I don't think I've missed a year since making at least one. It is a rich, moist cake full of texture with freshly grated carrots and, of course, it has cream cheese frosting made with real butter and real cream cheese (no cutting corners for me). Every time I bring it to a gathering, it's a hit. People always say, "That's the best carrot cake I've ever had," or "I don't usually like carrot cake, but that's really good." I even had a co-worker that wanted me to ship him one to South Carolina once he moved, and my sister will stage a coo if I don't bake one for  Thanksgiving and Christmas. Over the years I have toyed with the idea of selling them but never really did anything about it UNTIL I found out that my two daughters have a spring choral trip to NYC this year that is going to cost me $1600.00, $1600.00 that I don't have. So on November 10, 2010, I announced to the world via Facebook that I would be taking orders for carrot cakes for the holidays. I didn't know what to expect, and I was surprised when in about a week, I had 15 orders for Thanksgiving and thus 24 Carrot Cakes was born. I designed a logo, and I even have a slogan, "We only make 1 cake, because we make it the best!" I even set up an email account to do "business" 24CarrotCakes4u@gmail.com. Today I am down to the final 2 to be picked up. The whole adventure has been a little overwhelming. 1) It's hard to run a small side business when you have a full time job, and 2) I need to beg the services of a mathematician because I suck at converting measurement to purchase the right ingredients for multiple cakes, hence several trips to the store instead of ONE. So what began as a resource for a spring trip may turn into something bigger, and, who knows, by this time next year, everyone might be asking for my signature dish.

Wonder How Santa Would Look in Orange and Black?

"Hi, my name's Terri, and I'm a Christmas Junkie"....."Hi, Terri"
 I love Christmas! I love everything about it from the tiny twinkling lights, to the Tacky, seen-from-space, displays, to the music, to the tree, and so on and so on and so on. I start playing Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving, and I try to put my tree up then as well. The day after Thanksgiving is the official foray into the Christmas season, shopping and otherwise. Well, that's the way it used to be when I was little. We had a tradition in our house. My two cousins would come to our house for Thanksgiving. They spent Thursday night and on Friday evening the four of us, me, my sister, and my two cousins, would get all dressed up in our Sunday best and my grandparents would take us downtown to Miller & Rhoades Department Store to see the REAL Santa Claus. Most years we were even lucky enough to dine with Santa, the Snow Queen, and one of Santa's elves in Miller & Rhoades' famous Tea Room. After dinner,  complete with linen table cloths and real cloth napkins, we'd venture on the elevator to the floor that contained Santa's Winter Wonderland and stand in line with countless other children anxiously awaiting our turn to see the REAL Santa Claus. He was the real one, all the others were just his helpers. He knew our names when he called us over after we had spoken with the Snow Queen. He even came down the chimney when he entered his Wonderland. It was, and still is, one of my fondest memories of my childhood. It was MAGICAL! It was something I looked forward to every year! It was tradition!
I heard something disturbing last week on the radio. It was an add for a local mall, and the big news was that Santa would be arriving there on November 12th. Are you kidding me? 6 weeks before Christmas Eve. It isn't about MAGIC anymore, it's about business. How many photos with Santa can we grind out before 6PM on Christmas Eve? How much money can we make? Don't get me wrong. Like I said, I love Christmas, but I do not love VeteraThanksistmas. Pretty soon Santa will arrive with the Halloween costumes. I don't know about you, but I think it would be awfully hard to carry all of those toys flying on a broom.

My First Re-Post, but it's a good one!

I picked this photo today for my profile pic on Facebook randomly through Google search for images. It sent the visual message I wanted today. Later as I read through my newsfeed, I saw that someone else had posted the photo as well, but with the history. Joseph Ambrose, an 86-year-old World War I veteran, attends the dedication day parade for the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. He is holding the flag that covered the casket of his son, who was killed in the Korean War. Amazing sacrifices have been made.
I am re-posting from my Memorial Day entry this past May, because it is so appropriate (except for the summer references) for today, Veterans Day. I defy anyone to watch the link within this post and not feel immense gratitude for anyone who has willingly served this country. They deserve more than a free meal at Applebees today. They deserve our undying gratitude! Please follow the link below to read the original post.
http://terrilynnemoore.blogspot.com/2010/05/debt-we-will-never-be-able-to-repay.html

41? Really?

Even when I was a wee tot, you could always find me in front of the TV, nite-nite (the name for my blanket) in hand and thumb in my mouth, intently watching whatever was on the screen. Later, I can remember my mom laying my clothes out on the living room couch so I could watch TV while I was getting ready for school in my early elementary years. Now, before there is a huge uproar of how awful that was, I was watching public television. I was a TV kid, and still am, and it didn't rot my brain. My IQ is above 120, and I graduated in the top 15% of my class with a 4.0.
I did not begin this post to write about the measure of my intelligence. I wrote to celebrate a wonderful institution that turns 41 today, Sesame Street. Kermit, Oscar the Grouch, Grover, Big Bird and countless others made their debut on November 10, 1969. I had just turned 6 and my favorite character was Ernie. I loved his laugh and the way he was the slightest bit irritating to his best friend, Bert. I also adored Grover in his furry blueness and sweet naive ways. I knew all the songs like Ladybug Picnic and the King of Eight. The Children's Television Workshop knew how to make learning fun, and they also knew how to make it entertaining. Having the help of Jim Henson and his amazing creations, The Muppets, helped the entertainment factor greatly. Sesame Street was a program that parents could watch with their kids and not be bored out of their minds. I can say that because I am a parent, and I watched it with my 2 year old. When my oldest turned 2 in 1994, Sesame Street collections were on video. She watched one video over and over again called "Count It Higher" It used the premise of an "MTV" type countdown music video show. At two, she was dancing and singing with each video. I, as mom, knew all the words too. Some of the music video titles introduced by Veejay Count von Count were "Letter 'B'", complete with four "Beetles" in Nehru jackets and bowl haircuts, and "ZZ Blues" starring two long-bearded muppets playing guitar donning dark shades and trucker caps and a drummer. Now, my two year old had no idea of the resemblance to "The Beatles" or "ZZ Top", but I thought it was a hoot! The videos were fun and funny, and the characters on Sesame Street are real and unique and have personalities, and the biggest thing, in my opinion, that Sesame Street does right is the fact that they don't condescend to children. They interact with them. I cant' think of a better way to learn. Happy Birthday, Sesame Street! Here's to 41 more years! Guess I better upgrade to DVD or BluRay before I sit down and watch with my grandchildren.

Happy Anniversary...kinda.

I have, as the character Adrian Monk used to say about his ability, a gift and a curse. I have a really great memory. As I get older it's not as good as it used to be, but with certain things I have total recall. Especially events in my life. I can re-live them again and again exactly as they happened. I can see them, almost like a movie in my mind. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Hence the gift and curse thing. This is going to be a weird post to some, maybe not so much to others. 28 years ago to this very moment I was probably just getting off the phone with a florist that was telling me that there was a hold up and my flowers might not make it on time. I was in the same house that I'm in right now. The week before I had turned 19, and I was getting ready to embark on an adventure. I was surprisingly calm, extremely uncharacteristic of me when I am getting ready for something huge like a party I am hosting. Even with the floral glitch, I was fine. I remember the florist saying, "Did you hear me?" when they told me they may not make it to the church on time. I was fine because I knew that day was going to be perfect no matter what. I had made a decision, I had made a commitment, and I knew that it was exactly where I wanted to be and doing what I wanted to do. Thinking back, I had a feeling of total Peace and calm that I can't remember feeling since. By now you have figured out that that beautiful, fall, Saturday 28 years ago was my wedding day.
Now, why am I blogging about my wedding day when I have been divorced for 10 years? Well, it's that "curse" thing. Every year, when November 6th rolls around, I can't help but think, "Today, I would have been married (insert appropriate number here) years." A lot of people can't remember their anniversary when they are married, but I remember mine, even though I am divorced. Why? Well it could have something to do with the fact that I am not with anyone, there is no new anniversary to celebrate, but probably it's just that memory of mine. I can't help it, it's my brain's fault. Do I regret the decision I made to marry? Did that wide-eyed, excited 19 year old know what she was doing? ABSOLUTELY! Every step on our path of life shapes who we are. If I had not married, I wouldn't have brought two of the most wonderful people into the world that I know. I'm not about regret. Everything happens for a reason. They are the reason I was married. Things didn't turn out the way 19 year old Terri thought they would. All the dreams of "Happily Ever After" were not to be, or were they? I have lived "happily ever after." I have a relationship with my daughters that most people would covet. We love each other, we're friends, we talk about everything! We three are happy! The fairytale just had a different kind of happy ending. So, today is my anniversary, but I'm not celebrating the wedding. I'm celebrating the beginning of the journey that led to my little family of three. The memories I've made and will continue to make with them, that's the "gift" part.

Anything is Possible!

I haven't blogged in two weeks. Huge things are going on in my life. I feel like all I have been doing for the past two weeks is running from one place to another. Fixing this to make that right. I haven't stopped to think about anything. I'm just running on auto-pilot and hoping that the course will, once again, be smooth. Life is rushing by, and no matter how hard I try, I can't slow it down. Last Sunday I turned 47. I am 3 years away from being half a century old, and my life is not at all what I thought it would be.

If you have read this blog before, you know that from the age of three I wanted to be an actress. I was the kid who stood in front of the bathroom mirror and rehearsed my awards speech. I would be prepared when I won my Tony or Oscar or Emmy. I dreamt of getting the privilege to work with my idols, Ellen Burstyn or Alan Alda or Dustin Hoffman. I was going to make it! It's 2010 and I am a long way from that 10 year old looking back at me from the mirror making her acceptance speech. I also have not "made it." You see, I gave up on my "Passion". I let fear and doubt shake my faith that I had what it took to be one of the lucky few.

Now, before you get out the tissues to pass me for my pity party, I have had many blessings in my life. Not the least of which are my two AMAZING daughters that I may not have had if I had "made it." They both will make their mark in the world, and in that I will have "made it." But I haven't written this today to solicit pity or wallow in depression. I am writing today to encourage anyone to go after their "Passion" I have a motivational calendar at work. The month of November has a gorgeous picture of a tree that has turned a brilliant yellow in the peak of Autumn. In bold at the base is the word "PASSION" followed by this quote:

"There are many things in life that will capture your eye, but very few will capture your heart. These are the ones to pursue. These are the ones worth keeping." 47 isn't so old. I may just "make it" yet. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that I keep trying. Are you following your passion? What do you want to do, be?  Don't let life dictate your Passion. Let Passion dictate your life.

RIP Mr. "C"

I was and still am a TV kid. When I was little I had a toddler size wood rocker. My mother tells stories of how I would pull it right up to within inches of the television screen and watch my cartoons on Saturday morning. As I grew older my favorites expanded to more than cartoons. In 1974, ABC aired a 30 minute sitcom called Happy Days. It was about a 1950's family called the Cunninghams and their son, Richie and his friends, Potsie, Ralph Malph, and, of course, Fonzie. The patriarch of the family, Howard Cunningham, or Mr. "C" as he was known on the show was played by the actor Tom Bosley. He was the master of the delayed surprise take. He gave us the stern father figure with a heart of gold that every character came to for advice. And who could forget those tender moments with his daughter, Joanie, those heart-to-hearts with his son, Richie, his undying support of Fonzie, or his "Frisky" chases up the stairs after his wife, Marian? The show ran for 11 seasons, quite a feat for TV, even by today's standards. Characters came and went on the show, but Tom Bosley was a fixture for the whole run. I loved the show, and I loved Mr. "C". We lost Tom Bosley this week and with him will go some of our Happy Days.

I'm Coming Out

Today is National Coming Out Day. In recent days much attention has been given to LGBT and Questioning Youth. Unfortunately what has caused this attention is that these young people are committing suicide. The reason they are taking their lives is because they would rather die than live their lives daily being harassed and bullied for being different.

From the time I entered the theatrical world at the age of 10 , I have been around gay people. Of course in 1973 most people weren't "Out" I didn't really understand anything about homosexuality. It didn't really make a difference to me. The words "Straight" and "Gay" weren't really in my vocabulary. In High School I can remember having intense discussions with my father about being open minded. It usually fell on deaf ears, but he was from a different time. He was raised a different way, with different beliefs about what was right and wrong. I'm not really sure when it happened, but somewhere in my late 20's I slowly began to become more and more judgemental. I finally got to the point where I and all the people I surrounded myself with became judge and jury, and we knew exactly who was going to heaven and who wasn't. We were going, "they" weren't. "They" meaning homosexuals. We weren't haters, or bashers. In fact you would never know we thought that way. We weren't Westboro Baptist Church. No, we were worse. We "loved" everyone. Isn't that what we were teaching in our Sunday School classes and Bible studies? Everyone but the people who didn't believe the way we did. It was a struggle for me because I had so many friends, good friends, best friends, who were gay. My friends who are reading this, please don't think that my feelings were not genuine for you, and don't stop reading here. I did and do love you! I just thought you were wrong, and tried not to think about our differences. What I have learned or been shown is that "LOVE" cannot be wrong!
The title of this blog post is "I'm Coming Out" I am not writing this to denounce the fact that I am a Christian or that I think that my faith is wrong. And, I am not coming out of the closet. I am still straight, but I am coming out of a darkness I have let myself live in for a long time. Coming out of a blindness to the loving, caring people that I was judging, people that have always been there for me.

A year ago I lost a very dear friend to cancer. I had known him for many years, but I never let myself really know him or his partner until about three years ago. Ironically I played his wife and I really let myself know who he really was, because I stopped seeing him as gay and just saw him as the amazing, caring, loving person he was. When he died, I took it really hard because I was so mad at myself for wasting all of that time. I had such a short time to be friends with him. I watched how much love and care his partner showed him all through his illness, and I cried along with 100's of people at his funeral.

¹"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. ²For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

 ³"Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? ⁴How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? ⁵You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye. .... Matthew 7:1-5

So, I am coming out! I am coming out of the darkness of judgement and into a light of love. I am coming out to thank all of my dear, dear friends who happen to be gay or lesbian for loving me without judgement in spite of all my flaws. You have taught me so much about what it is to be a true friend, and I love you all so much!

IMAGINE

On February 7, 1964, a significant event happened to music in this country. Four young men from Liverpool, England, named John, Paul, George and Ringo arrived in the USA. I was, at the time, just over 3 months old, so I don't really remember the actual arrival or the now, legendary, appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show, but The Beatles, as they were known, were a phenomenon. I would venture to say that if you stopped anyone on the street over the age of 10, they would know at least one Beatles song and probably several. I grew up hearing their music, and the one and only time I can remember seeing them on TV was an appearance on The Smothers Brothers show. They performed Let It Be live. You may like them or you may not, but no one can argue that they are pop icons and essential to any historical anthology of music in America. I wasn't an obsessive fan of The Beatles, but I did and still do love so much of their music.
Today, October 9th, is the birthday of one of The Beatles. John Lennon would have turned 70 today if he had lived. Just as I remember so vividly that amazing live performance on The Smothers Brothers Show with happiness, I also remember another event with great sadness. On December 8, 1980, I was up very late doing homework in my bedroom. I was listening to a local radio station, Q-94, when the DJ came on. You could tell by the tone of his voice that something was terribly wrong. He announced that John Lennon had just been shot outside of his apartment building in New York City. Shortly after they announced his death. I was shocked. Of all people, John  Lennon, the man who penned the words, "Give peace a chance." Someone had taken his life. It was senseless. The assassin had planned it, and in one split second he silenced forever John's contribution to our world.  Some of the most profound lyrics he ever wrote, in his death, were also the most ironic. Wherever you are, John, you don't have to "IMAGINE" anymore.

Words Can Cut Deeper Than the Sharpest Knife

I have written in this blog before about the car accident I was in when I was 11. The reason I am talking about it again is something that happened to me because of the accident. I was permanently marked that night. The smooth, olive skin of my forehead was ripped to shreds by exploding glass. My eyelid was sliced in half, and the bottom of my nose was almost falling off. How does a surgeon even begin to piece something like that together? They do the best they can, and in my case, they used over 100 stitches. As you can imagine, skin that heals from 100 stitches is heavily scarred which brings me to the point of why I am writing this. The following year when I entered 6th grade, I received a note passed to me in class one day. It was a crude drawing of a stick figure, with a large head. All over the face of the figure were "Frankenstein-like" stitches and the word Scarface was written on the note. It had been passed to me by one of the boys in the class. I hadn't provoked it. I hadn't treated him badly in any way. In fact, I barely knew him, but for some reason he felt the need to tease me about something that was beyond my control. I remember acting like it didn't bother me. You see, I had an attitude then of "I'll show him. He's not going to make me cry." I did show him by showing the note to my teacher, who then showed it to my principal. The boy was suspended from school and was made to apologize to me. I often wonder how I would have gotten through all of that and the many years of teasing that would follow as I endured surgery after surgery if I hadn't had that "I'll show them" attitude.

In the last month 3 young boys have committed suicide because they were constantly teased and harassed for being different, something beyond their control and one college student because someone chose to reveal to the world that he was gay over the Internet. I am sick and tired of hearing the excuse of "kids will be kids" or "kids can be cruel" THERE IS NO EXCUSE!!! for bombarding another human being with taunts and name calling day after day after day. I don't have a solution, but I do know that all we can do is love our children every day, and teach them to respect everyone, and to never do anything that would cause someone hurt or pain. We teach them that it is wrong to physically harm people, but if we don't start teaching them the damage they can do with their words, we are lost.

Before "D'oh", There Was "Yabba Dabba Doo"

50 years ago today the world was introduced to a wonderful family named the Flinstones via a little box in their living room called a televison. On September 30, 1960, ABC, premiered the first Prime time cartoon about a prehistoric couple named Fred and Wilma Flinstone and their neighbors Barney and Betty Rubble. The show ran from 1960 -1966, and proved to ABC that an animated show could survive in a Primetime slot. Fred and the gang had a  primetime first. He and Wilma were the first married couple to be shown on TV sharing the same bed, so naturally a child would be introduced. At first pass Fred and Wilma were supposed to have a little boy, but when a sponsor came to Hanna Barbera and suggested that it be a girl so they could market a doll, an episode called "The Blessed Event" aired on February 22, 1963, and the Flinstones had a baby girl. The network sponsored a contest to name her, and, yes, you know the name that won, Pebbles. The little girl with the bright red hair that would forever seal the name of the ponytail on top of one's head as a "Pebbles Ponytail."

I grew up with "The Flintstones." I remember so many shows, and I especially remember that the episodes with Kazoo were some of the favorites of my sister and me. And Jenna and I sang "Let the Sunshine In" for weeks after Pebbles and Bamm Bamm performed it. I was only 3 when the series ended in 1966, but it ran in syndication for years, and most of us, I'm sure, can sing the theme song, but do you REALLY know the words?

Flintstones. Meet the Flintstones. They're the modern stone age family. From the town of Bedrock, They're a page right out of history. Let's ride with the family down the street. Through the courtesy of Fred's two feet. When you're with the Flintstones you'll have a yabba dabba doo time. A dabba doo time. You'll have a gay old time. I have to confess. I don't know what I was singing, but I never knew until recently that the line was: "Through the courtesy of Fred's two feet" Admit it, you know you're singing the Theme song right now, aren't you?
So Homer Simpson if Fred had not paved the way with his "Yabba Dabba Doo," and 6 years of a primetime series (longer than many sitcoms that run today) you would have never had the the chance to utter those immortal words on primetime televison, "D'oh!"

Love Cannot Die

Yes, 2 blog posts in one day. There is a reason for it, though. 18 years ago when my first daughter was born on this day, September 24th, something else took a back seat, my parents' wedding anniversary. Today, however, I must acknowledge another milestone in our household. Along with my oldest daughter turning 18, it also would have been my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. Back in 1960, my parents, Ralph and Peggy, were married in Harrisonburg, VA. The reason they were married in Harrisonburg rather than their hometown of Richmond was because it was a second marriage for both of them, and they couldn't find a local minister who was willing to marry them. How times change! I am thrilled that they found someone who was willing or I would not be here to write this blog. Through the life of their marriage, my parents had their ups and downs, joys and sorrows, and successes and failures, like all married couples, but the thing that I can say about them that impressed me most was their devotion to each other. They took their wedding vows seriously and lived by them:


Mom and Dad at their 25th Anniversary



                For better, for worse

               For richer, for poorer,

              In sickness, and in health,

              To love and to cherish,

              Till death us do part.





I wholeheartedly agree with all of those except for one, "To love and to cherish, Till death us do part." When someone dies, our love for them does not, nor do I believe that their love dies for us. It just takes a different form. Our love lives on in our memories of them, the way we feel when we hear a song that we danced to or see a picture of them. There is a quote from a show called Company of Angels. It is spoken by the character of "Joe", to his mother, "Toby" as he tries to help her accept his death and move on. "Love cannot die, Mama" I know my mother thinks of my dad often. I know she still loves him deeply, and I know my dad's love surrounds her and all of us every day!









My Little Girl Isn't Little Anymore

18 years ago today before the sun came up I was on my way to St. Mary’s Hospital. I had planned to be making this trip earlier in the month, somewhere around the 7th of September, but someone else had other plans. You see, I was pregnant, and my baby was 2 ½ weeks late. When I found out I was going to have a baby way back in December, being the TV buff that I am, my mind brought to memory all those sitcom episodes of the madcap goings on of getting the mom to the hospital. The nervous dad, a la Ricky Ricardo, when Lucy nudges him with that all too familiar sitcom phrase, “Honey, it’s time!” Madness then ensues and somewhere before the rush is over the dad has left for the hospital without Mom in tow. Call me crazy, but I kinda wanted that surprise element, that “Honey, it’s time,” but when Leah refused to come on her due date, we planned an induction. The date had been set for September 24th. I would arrive early and they would induce. For those of you reading this who don’t know, they chemically start your labor with a drug called Pitocin. Call me crazy, but I had decided that I wanted to have my baby naturally, yes, you heard me right, sans drugs, no epidural, feeling everything! What they neglected to tell me was that when you are induced there is no build up, you are in HARD labor immediately. Well after 7 hours of hard labor, and no further along than I was when we started, this chick elected to get an epidural. Good thing, too, I ended up having a C-section. Chemically induced labor was stopped somewhere around 5:00 PM because the stress of it was making my baby’s heart rate drop. The doctor was held up at another hospital, so we waited. Around 8:00 PM things started moving very fast. They wheeled me down the hall to the surgical suite and 16 minutes later Leah was born. 9 lbs. 10 oz. Boy, was I glad I had a C-section! She had dark, dark hair and a lot of it, and her eyes were so puffy I could barely see, but they weren’t that murky blue most babies have. They were dark, dark brown, just like mine. In those 16 minutes my life changed forever.

Today Leah turns 18, society’s and the law’s definition of an adult. That doesn’t seem possible to me. Last night as she walked up the stairs to bed, I jokingly said, “Tomorrow when you wake up, you’re a grown-up. This is your last night as a kid.” How odd that feels. Her childhood is over. When that little puffy eyed baby came into the world, I had such a different vision of what her childhood would be like and what it actually became. I thought she would grow up just like every other kid, with her mom and dad in the house together, a brother or a sister, maybe a pet. She didn’t grow up like that, but I can’t really say that I think it would have been better if she had. She’s grown into a remarkable, confident, talented young woman that has wonderful ambitions for her future, and I know she’ll make them happen! Enjoy your day, my sweet girl, and cut Mom a little slack if you catch me a little teary today. I love you so much!!! You’ll always be my little girl, and I will hold those memories of you close to my heart as long as I can, but I am also proud to call you my friend. Happy Birthday.

One small thing can make such a big difference.

Something happened this morning that has rarely happened in my life, and it gave me a whole different outlook today.

 First let me say that lately, and I'm sure some of my Facebook friends that read this blog can tell from my status updates of late, that things just don't seem to be going my way. And, I am sad to say, I have let it spill over into everything, even the good parts of my life that are going right.

This morning after church the girls and I went to a local restaurant called Boychik's Deli. It's a great place for breakfast. The service is fast and good, and the food is great! On our way in we happened to run into one of the girls' former Sunday school teachers and his wife. As it so happens, they were going to the same place we were. We chatted a bit, and then went our separate ways to get a table in Boychik's. The girls and I ordered and enjoyed a great breakfast. When the waitress brought our food, she laid our check down on the table. Seconds later, another waitress came by the table and picked up the check. I chalked it up to a check mix up, and since we had just started our meal, I knew we would get the right check before we needed to go. When we were about 3/4 of the way through our meal, our waitress came to check on us, and told us that our check had been taken care of by a party up in the front of the restaurant. It ended up being the girls' Sunday school teacher. We were able to catch up with them in the parking lot to thank them.

I'm sure, to them, that was something very small, but it made a huge difference in my life today. It gave me a whole different outlook that there are good, decent people who care about other people in this world. Today someone thought about me. Someone did something nice for me, and they didn't expect anything in return, they didn't even wait to be thanked. They just did it because they wanted to and what an amazing effect it had .

"O Beautiful for Heroes Proved"

Nine years ago I was standing in the front office of the elementary school I was working for. I was getting ready to announce a new incentive program for good behavior in the lunch room over the PA. Just before I was to speak, one of the secretaries told me that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center. I didn't believe her. I thought she must be mistaken. As I made my announcement I didn't think another thing about it because I never dreamed that what she had said was true until the announcements were over. By then the second plane had hit, and started the beginning of a flood of feelings that would run the gamut for the next several hours. The effects of that day would last much longer. Because we were working in an elementary school we were instructed not to talk about what had happened with the children. The decision was made to let the parents of the students discuss the events of the day in their own way. I remember leaving the office and walking down the hall. I wanted to go outside, get some air. I wanted to be with my own children. I wanted to hold them, see their faces. I purposely didn't watch the footage. I have somewhat of a photographic memory, and I just didn't want those images in my head. The day went on forever. We kept the radio on in the workroom, away from the children. We heard the reports of the Pentagon and Flight 93. I thought, "How long is this going to go on?" I felt so many things, shock, disbelief, sick-to-my-stomach, sadness, but the one thing I didn't feel was fear. I don't know why, but I knew I was safe. I have always lived with the feeling that when it is my time, it is my time. There is nothing I can do about it. When I came home that afternoon, I talked with my children, 5 and 8 at the time. My youngest asked me, "Are they coming here?" Now, I must pause at this time to tell you that I live my life with the truth. I do not lie. At the end of every email that I send is this quote by Marcus Aurelius, "If it is not right, do not do it. If it is not truth, do not say it." So when the question was asked, I answered truthfully that I did not know, but that we couldn't live our lives everyday in fear.
So many things changed that day for all of us, all of us in our homes , in our communities, in our country and in our world. Our land of the free and home of the brave had been shattered. We would never again hear a jet flying low overhead and not have just a hint of fear. We would never again arbitrarily pick up a backpack left on a park bench and look through it for the owner's information. It would take us a long while before we would be totally comfortable flying again, and some of us still don't. Innocence was stolen that day, and things will never be the same. It's called terrorism for a reason.
But for all the bad things that came out of that day, the world also saw unity, heroism, courage and bravery beyond anything that could be imagined. So when you remember that day, think of those people who were thrown into a situation they never dreamt they would face and met the challenge with grace and selflessness and put others before themselves. Be thankful and honor their sacrifices by never forgetting 9-11-01.

Turn Around and You're 2, Turn Around and You're 4, Turn Around........

In about 7 hours, the first of many lasts this year will take place. My oldest daughter will begin her senior year thereby starting her last first day of school. 13 years ago I walked an excited little girl in a blue flowered dress and a brand new backpack down to the bus stop for her very first day of kindergarten. She was excited! I felt quite different. Oh, I kept a brave  face for her and kept that plastered smile on my face as she stood so small on what seemed an enormous bus and waved frantically at me grinning from ear to ear. I kept that smile until the door of the bus closed, and then I fell apart. I cried all the way back up the hill to the house. How is it that I remember that as if it were yesterday, and 13 years have passed? She will not be wearing a blue flowered dress tomorrow, and I will not have to hold her hand walking to the bus stop. She will leave the house and walk to school without assistance and the watchful eye of a mom who's not quite ready to let her baby go. I always knew this day would come, but WOW it came fast!!!!! Good luck, my sweet girl. You have turned into a wonderful young lady, and I am very proud. Enjoy your senior year and savor every moment. I know I will!

Just Like Mama Used to Make...Almost

I have to say, without a doubt, fried chicken is one of my favorite foods. My dad would often tell the story of how when we were traveling on the road for family vacations, I would often fall asleep in the back seat, as small children often do. I would stay asleep until we passed any Fried Chicken Establishment, and then I would raise my head up, eyes closed sniffing, like some infant puppy in search of food. I can't say I have ever had any fried chicken I didn't like, but certainly some rank above others. First and foremost, I loved my mother's pan fried chicken growing up. There is nothing quite like pan fried chicken, but there is an art to cooking it, and not everyone can do it correctly. My mother taught me how to fry chicken, and I added a few changes, and it became one of my specialties, my signature dish, if you will. But, as anyone who pan fries chicken knows, it takes time and attention, so my craving for fried chicken must often be satisfied by the eat-out variety. Hands down, my favorite take-out restaurant for Fried Chicken would be Bojangles. Sadly, there is not a Bojangles near me. :o( However, Popeyes runs a close second, and although I must travel to get to one, it isn't too terribly inconvenient to get a fix. My side of town offers slim pickins' when it comes to fried chicken. It's not that the chicken available is bad. It's just not good! That is until Hardees introduced the hand-breaded chicken tender. Now, the chicken tender is an entirely different breed of fried chicken. It is meant to be dipped in the sauce of your choice and consumed. Until now, to get a fresh chicken tender you would have to pay upwards of $10.00 in a sit-down restaurant, but now Hardees offers 5 pieces, fries and a drink for a little over $7.00. It's fresh and crispy and juicy, and it's my new favorite fast food thing. It still doesn't beat Mom's pan fried, but it's pretty close.

Happy Birthday Daddy

Today would have been my Daddy's 75th birthday. Emphysema claimed his life in November of 2007. I am the baby of the family, and I was definitely Daddy's little girl. We also had our share of arguments, probably because we were a lot alike, and the qualities I most dislike in myself were the ones that caused most of the problems between us. But all those things aside, I felt we had a really good relationship. My dad was an honest and fair man. He was very sensitive, and I teased him often about the fact that he would cry at the drop of a hat, something I also get from him. And anytime I get anything new, I "always read the directions first." He was handy and extremely intelligent eventhough he never finished high school. He was an avid reader, and loved crossword puzzles, a trait I didn't inherit, and there are scores of inventions that came down the pike that he had the sketches and ideas for first, but he never acted on them.

My dad played a huge part in the person I am today because he always believed in me and encouraged me. He was fiercely proud of me, and if I could have made it big in show business on sheer belief in me alone, my dad's would have propelled me to stardom and beyond. He took me to my first audition when I was 10, and sat through countless rehearsals through my pre-driving years. If he had wanted to persue it, he could have been an actor himself and probably a pretty good one. He was great with dialects and voices, and he could tell a joke like no one else.

My dad gladly took on a dual role when I found myself single at age 34 with a 2 year old and a 5 year old. He became their caregiver and pretty much their Dad. He had a great relationship with both my girls, and they had a wonderful "Papa" for many years until the emphysema got so bad he was pretty much confined to a chair in the den. He loved them so much, and they loved him too! They took his death really hard, and I know they miss him as do I. If he were here, he would be so proud of the young women they have become, and if you're wondering.....yes, I have cried all the way through writing this. I miss you, Daddy, and there will be many times in the next several years that I will watch your granddaughters meet milestones in their lives and wish you were there, but I will strive to remember at those times that your love will always be with me and them. Happy 75th Daddy!