Christmas

"Lake is frozen over. Trees are white with snow. And all
around reminders of you, are everywhere I go."

'Christmas is going to be a disaster this year. Maybe we should call it off', your brother says. You reassure him over and over again that it's going to be just fine. It's late at night on December 22nd, 2000. Your brother, who has flown in from Florida for Christmas, your Dad and you are discussing your mother's recent behavior. Your mother is asleep in her bedroom while the 3 of you have a few drinks in the kitchen. It's 2 days before Christmas Eve, a holiday your mother spends weeks getting ready for, you host it at your home, and not one thing has been done for the big night. The menu hasn't been finalized, food hasn't been purchased. Shopping still needs to be finished, presents yet to be wrapped. You vow to help her as much as you can to make your favorite night of the year a success.

"It's late and morning's in no hurry, but sleep won't set me free. I lie awake
and try to recall how your body felt beside me."

The next day you finish the grocery shopping. You tell your mother to finish the present shopping while you stay at home and clean. Christmas Eve day is spent wrapping the remaining presents and preparing the food. Your mother seems aloof.

"When silence gets too hard to handle and the night too long."

The rest of your family arrives Christmas Eve night. Everyone is in great spirits and happy it's Christmas. Your mother is in the kitchen preparing the coconut shrimp. She has burned every single one and thinks it's funny. She's singing Feliz Navidad at the top of her lungs, almost like she's drunk, but she has yet to drink a glass of wine. Everyone thinks it's funny. The remainder of the night is a success, despite the shrimp, you and your mom have pulled off another fabulous Christmas Eve. The following morning, Christmas Day, your mother is overly tired. You have breakfast, you open the gifts with your family, and your mother retires to bed in the early afternoon complaining of a backache.

"And this is how I see you, in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness
surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and
by."

The following month your mother is diagnosed with cancer of the lungs, kidneys, liver, and brain. She dies 10 months later. It's now understandable why Christmas was almost a disaster, her brain had been taken over with tumors. You wish you would have known that was going to be your last Christmas with her. You would have sung Feliz Navidad at the top of your lungs too and you would have laughed at how burnt the shrimp were.

"Oh how I miss you now...my Mom. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry
Christmas, my Mom."

Christmas hasn't been the same since she died. As hard as you have tried, you just can't get the same Christmas spirit back as when she was alive. Yet something has changed slightly. This year is the 2nd year in a row your Dad has come to visit you for Christmas. It's becoming a tradition. Christmas Eve was spent at a family friend's home. It was not quite like the Christmas Eve's of old, but it was nice. For the 2nd year in a row you have made the same Christmas morning breakfast, 'Holiday French Toast', just like your mother used to make. And in the evening you host Christmas dinner. You can't expect the Christmas holidays to be the same as it was 20 years ago or even 10 years ago, especially after a loved one dies, but you are starting your own traditions and it's nice to have your father share in those traditions too.

"Sense of joy fills the air. I daydream and I stare up at the tree and I see
You're a star up there."

You think this might have been one of the best Christmases you have had in the past 8 years. You cry when you drop your Dad off at the airport. You feel sad for him for being alone. You call him a little later and he tells you he bought a few NY t-shirts at the airport to have souvenirs from the weekend. He said he wants something to remind him of how great this weekend was. You smile knowing he enjoyed himself. You pause remembering your mom's laughter while burning those shrimp. Your heart warms knowing she's smiling now at the relationship you have established with your father.

"And this is how I see you in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness
surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and
by."

(*Thank you to Sarah McLachlan for her song, "Wintersong". It gets me through each holiday season.)

Holiday Traditions

It seems when I was growing up, my family had certain holiday traditions that we followed, never breaking them. Thanksgiving day, every year, was the day we put up our Christmas decorations. As a child, I would wake up go downstairs where I would find my mother bringing up the decorations from the basement. She would tell me egg nog was in the refrigerator. I would have a glass of egg nog, while I watched the beginning of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. I would help my mother decorate our home while watching the parade and after the parade was over we would turn on Christmas carols. We would listen to Andy Williams' "red album" over and over again until we finally decided to move onto a Hallmark Christmas album. As I grew older I would normally pass on the egg nog being that I would be hungover, but would still help my mother decorate while watching the parade and listening to Andy Williams. It was a tradition, we did it every year.

My aunt and uncle (who lived next door) hosted Thanksgiving dinner and each year after dinner was over my father would ask everyone to come outside to see his outdoor Christmas light display. Inevitably his timer wouldn't work or a strand would be burned out, but each year the lights looked as beautiful as the year prior if not better. It was a tradition, we did it every year.

Christmas Eve was at our home. For as long as I can remember, my father would wear navy blue pants, a white shirt, a red and blue and green plaid tie, red suspenders and a Santa Claus hat. I can almost envision him coming down our stairs, his frosty beer mug in hand, saying 'ho ho ho' in that outfit. It was his Christmas outfit. It was a tradition, he did it every year.

The fireplace would be lit. You couldn't see the top of our dining room table as the amount of food my mother made was outrageous. We had the same thing every year: cheese balls, cheese and crackers, deviled eggs, veggie crudite, polish mistakes, scallops wrapped in bacon, teenie weenies, swedish meatballs, shrimp cocktail, ham, turkey and roast beef that you could make into mini sandwiches, turtle cheesecake, an array of Christmas cookies, and my red velvet peppermint 3 tiered cake. It was the same menu. It was tradition, we did it every year.

The family would arrive and our private family mass would begin. Father Paul would always have Jonathan and Libby read the readings. We would all have a chance to say a Christmas message. Someone would end up crying especially during the times when my mother was ill. My dad would get distracted by a burned out strand of lights outside on our deck. My mother would giggle at something odd Father Paul would say. My grandma always took communion when she wasn't "supposed to" and the dog would always lay in the center of our family circle. I would play the piano. The mass would start with "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" followed by "Silent Night" for the offertory, "The First Noel" for communion and end with "Joy to the World" where my Dad would do a solo. It cracked everyone up. It was fun, it was tradition, we did it ever year.

The alcohol would start flowing as soon as mass was over. I would be instructed to play Christmas carols while my mother, my uncle, and my grandfather would stand around the piano singing along. After food it was time for presents. I played Santa distributing the presents to everyone. My spot was always on the floor. We would open gifts in the order of youngest to oldest. I loved it since I was the youngest. The night would eventually come to an end. The 4 of us would recap the night while we had one last drink. It was normally after midnight and we would wish each other a Merry Christmas. It was tradition, we did it every year.

Christmas morning would consist of us eating breakfast, sausage and egg casserole, baked french toast, and cinnamon rolls. We would open presents after breakfast. Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner/leftovers at night. We were always a bit depressed once Christmas day was over. Such a nice time would come and go so quickly. We were sad, it was tradition, we did it ever year.

My mother is no longer here. I live in NY with my husband, my brother lives in LA, and my father is still at home in IN. I don't have a certain day to put up my tree. I put it up when I have the time. I changed my Christmas decorations this year. I didn't put up my North Pole Village that I have had since I was in high school. It didn't seem right this year and I didn't do it. I don't have a Christmas Day menu, I'll make whatever sounds good to me. My husband doesn't like egg nog, so I don't buy it.

My brother and father are coming out east for the 2nd year in a row to spend Christmas with my husband and I. Will this become a tradition? I'm hoping one day to have a family of my own and maybe start my own traditions with my children. Maybe one day when we have a family we'll put up our tree the day after Thanksgiving while drinking egg nog and listening to Andy Williams' album. Maybe each Christmas morning I'll make my own special breakfast, then we'll open gifts and at night I'll make a delicious dinner. It will be a tradition, we will do it ever year.

I Remember 8 Years Ago

I remember being so excited for my best friend's wedding weekend. I had just left the DMV. I was an official resident of Ohio (as if that's better than living in Indiana). The weather was a gorgeous Fall October day and I was cruising across I-74 heading West to Batesville. The windows were slightly down, John Mellencamp's Peaceful World was blasting on my radio. Even though I wasn't the maid of honor, since my best friend had 2 sisters, I was going to be the best bridesmaid ever. Her whole family was at the reception hall decorating and I couldn't wait to get there and help. First, I wanted to make a quick stop at mom and dad's house to say hi to my mom, give her a kiss and then go decorate the hall with tacky tulle and lace.


I remember pulling into the driveway and seeing the hospice nurse's car. A little odd because she was usually gone by 10:00 am. She was sitting in the dining room with my dad, both of their faces looked somber. I asked "What's up?" Determined not to let anything ruin the weekend I had planned. "Your mother took a turn for the worse" my father said. Followed by the nurse, "She won't make it through the weekend. You should take the day and say your goodbyes. She won't respond, but she'll hear you." WHAT?!? She won't make it through the weekend?!? But yesterday she was up, almost walking by herself, joking around with me. What do you mean she took a turn for the worse? The nurse responded "Sometimes, right before someone dies, they have their best days. They want you to remember them as being ok." She left my father and I sitting there blankly staring at each other. I looked over at her, lying in her hospital bed. It didn't even look like her. I had spent the past 10 months, with my mother, a cancer patient, and all of a sudden I didn't recognize her. I jumped up from the table and told my dad I had to go tell my friend I wouldn't be able to help her decorate.


I remember the 5 minute drive to the reception hall. I was thinking of how you tell someone your mother may not make it through the night and you can't be there to help her on her wedding weekend. My friend's mother first greeted me when I arrived. My friend's parents were good friends of my parents for 30+ years. She saw me and immediately knew something was wrong. She hugged me and that was the moment I started to cry. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It felt good having a parent take care of me, hold me, instead of me taking care of my parent. It was selfish I know, but it felt good. I stayed for an hour, told my friend I was sorry I couldn't help, but I would see her later that evening at the rehearsal dinner.


I remember walking in the house and I could tell that my dad just told her goodbye. His eyes were glassy, puffy. His face was flush. He told me he thought it was a good time for me to say goodbye as well. He left me alone in the living room with my mom. She wasn't even conscious. I sat there for a few minutes holding her hand. It was so cold. Say goodbye? How do you pack 22 years of love and affection into a goodbye? I started crying, uncontrollably sobbing, and laid my head on her shoulder. I told her how much I loved her. I told her I was so sorry this had happened to her. I told her life wasn't fair. I told her she was the best mother a daughter could ask for. I promised to take care of Dad. I told her I was going to miss her. I told herhow much I loved her over and over again. I wanted to make sure she left this world knowing at least that.


I remember sitting in silence with my Dad. There was nothing we could say. We knew exactly what each other was thinking. We were eating lunch later, when my brother walked through the door. He had flown in from Florida for my friend's wedding. In my brother's typical fashion he said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I remember my father and I standing in our kitchen waiting for my brother to finish his goodbye. He came into the kitchen when he was done, tears in his eyes and said, "She looked at me and said I'm dying."

I remember being upset that she spoke to my brother during his goodbye. Why didn't she acknowledge me? Why didn't she tell me she loved me back? Why didn't she tell me she was going to miss me too?

I remember that night. I left my Mom and Dad to go to my friend's rehearsal dinner. I told my Dad to call me if anything happened. I checked my cell phone every 5 minutes. After the dinner our group of friends were going out to some bars, but I opted to go home to be with my Mom and help my Dad. It was surreal when I arrived back home. It was dark in the living room with only one lamp on low. My Dad was sitting in his chair next to my Mom. The TV wasn't on. It was peaceful. For a second I thought she had passed, but then I heard her breathing. The death rattle they called it. That's how you know someone is going to die.

I remember that night. I remember it was the first time in a really long time my Dad didn't have a beer or a Manhattan. I remember the 2 of us sitting in the living room, me on the floor my Dad still in his chair. I remember us reminiscing about the past 10 months, about the funny things my Mom did and said, about how she said she saw Jesus smiling down at her.

I remember helping my Dad administer her final dose of medicine, pain killers. I remember falling asleep on the floor on the mattress my Dad had brought down from upstairs.

I remember the next day, the 27th. She was still alive, barely. I got ready for my friend's wedding, had my cousin do my hair and make-up. I went to the church where I kept peaking out of the vestibule to see if my Dad and brother had made it. I knew if they were there my Mom was fine. I spotted my brother who smiled and waved. It was such a simple gesture, but reassured me that he knew how I was feeling and I knew how he was feeling. The ceremony started and no sign of my Dad. I knew it then, that she was gone, she had died.

I remember going from the ceremony straight home and walking through the front door. Most of my family was already there. My Dad said she had been gone for a couple of hours but didn't want me to miss my friend's wedding. My Mom would have wanted it that way. He said he wanted some time alone with her too. They were married for 30 years and 5 months, he deserved at least a couple of hours alone with her.

I remember going straight to her, she looked so peaceful. I remember crying like a little baby. I remember kissing her on the cheek and telling her again how much I loved her. I remember all of us, my dad, my brother, my grandparents, my aunt, my uncle, my cousins, and my cousin's wife all sitting in our living room just looking at her. I remember my aunt (my mom's sister) arriving with her daughter. I remember my aunt commenting on how beautiful I looked in my bridesmaid dress. I remember thinking "holy shit you remind me of my mom" and I never saw it before that moment. I remember the funeral home coming to pick her up. I remember my Dad, my brother, my dog and I standing in the basement while they took her away. I remember the 4 of us emerging from the basement and the house being so quiet, eerily quiet. I remember my dog staring out the front window, as if she was waiting for my mom to return, we were all waiting for her to return.

I remember 8 years ago like it was yesterday, yet I can't remember any time before that. Sure I remember things here and there, but when I think of my mom, I mean really think of her, I remember 8 years ago and I remember cancer. I miss her like crazy. Each year the pain gets a little easier, but there is always a moment when I wish I could see her, talk to her, get her response. Like when I met my husband, when I got married, when I find out I'm pregnant.

I guess the more I think about it, I remember more than just cancer: I remember my mom being beautiful inside and out. I remember my mom liking white zinfandel. I remember my mom loving to read books, smut books. I remember my mom being smart. I remember my mom's singing voice. I remember her sneeze and how I jumped every time she did it. I remember her enjoying cross stitching. I remember her loving Christmas and those silly Christmas sweaters. I remember where she sat on our couch. I remember her hands and how I envied her manicure. I remember her smile. I remember feeling loved.

R.I.P Mom. 10-27-01

Anxiety

For the past 2 months you have been feeling dizzy. Standing on a subway platform makes you nervous so you step a few feet back. Passing someone on a sidewalk on the street side makes you nervous so you pass them on the inside or don't pass at all. Walking through a cross walk makes you nervous because you might trip or even worse, pass out. You deal with it. You know when you feel dizzy you need to pause and readjust your eyes. If that doesn't work you give your head a little shake and try to refocus.


Now to go along with the dizziness you have waves of nausea. You wake up and feel nauseous, you go to bed and feel nauseous, and a few times throughout the day you feel nauseous. There's really nothing you can do to help it. You take a few sips of water and if there are crackers nearby you eat some. Other than that, you wait for it to pass. Your first reaction is maybe you're pregnant. You panic thinking you're not ready to be a mom. You take a pregnancy test, it comes back negative. You sigh with slight relief, however being pregnant would be an easy answer to your problems.

You suddenly realize your vision seems to be blurry. You have an extremely hard time focusing on the computer. Sunlight coming through your office windows makes it worse. You squint a little to help your screen come back into focus. If the light is too strong you start to get a headache. Even without bright lights you realize you are getting headaches on a regular basis. You used to never get headaches.

You got to webMd and track your symptoms. They say you could have anything ranging from post partum depression, to ear infections, to cancer. You rule out the depression factor being you haven't had a baby. You finally decide to call the doctor.

The doctor tells you your vital signs look good. Your blood pressure is a little high, but that could be stess related. He runs an EKG and your heart looks good. He's stumped. He orders blood work and prescribes you a prescription to help the nausea subside. He tells you to not have caffeine, don't drink, and take it easy, don't do any rigorous activity.

Stupidly, you google all of the check marks on your blood work sheet. There are 22 checks. 3 checks are for B12 deficiency, 2 of them are lyme disease, 1 you have no idea what it's for, 16 of them are cancer related. You curse Google for being so damn smart.

Anxiety has overtaken you. You can't sleep at night thinking too much. The anti-biotics have yet to kick in. Your headaches get worse. You can't wait until the 20th for your follow-up appointment. You dread the 20th expecting the worst.

Our 1 Year Anniversary

And they said we wouldn't make it! Ha! My husband told me a lot of people bet against whether or not we would make it through our first year of marriage owed him money. We did it! September 13, 2009 we celebrated our one year anniversary. The whole anniversary weekend was quite delightful. We started the weekend off with pizza at our favorite pizza joint, Saturday we had dinner in the city with some co-workers and saw a Beatles cover band, and Sunday we spent the day on our boat with our 2 best friends checking the NFL scores on our phones. It was perfect, quite delightful.

Tomorrow we are heading to The Sagamore Resort in Bolton Landing, NY where we were married. Our wedding coordinator was gracious enough to upgrade our cheap asses up to a suite instead of a regular room. We are both so excited to go. The week after we were married, the hotel was taken over by new ownership. Unfortunately a few people we knew were laid off, however the new company had the money to make much needed upgrades. My husband and I can't wait to see what was done to the place! One of my favorite things to do at The Sagamore is sit on the Veranda (shown right), have a cocktail, and watch the world go by. By the world I mean people, weddings, boats on the water, etc. It's so peaceful and so relaxing.

Our wedding weekend was the best weekend of my life, but so much more, it was when I started my new life with my husband.

A year ago my life changed for the better. A year ago I married the man of my dreams. A year ago falling asleep became much easier lying next to my husband and waking up became much more pleasant seeing him next to me. A year ago I gained a 2nd family, I became an in-law. A year ago my best friend became my husband. A year ago I suddenly felt safe. A year ago I realized I was happy.

Thank you, hubby, for the last year. I can't wait for the next years to come. I love you.

Labor Day Weekend

"What is Labor Day?" I asked my friend yesterday. She said, "I'm not exactly sure. I was just researching this recently. It basically is a holiday honoring the achievements of social and economic American workers." Isn't it funny that I have celebrated Labor Day for 30 years now and never really knew the definition. As a kid, in Indiana, I always knew of it as a day we got off from school after only being in school a couple of weeks. Now, as an adult in NY, everyone says it's the last weekend of summer. But doesn't summer go until September 21st? So wouldn't the weekend prior to that be the last weekend of summer?

It's funny because here in NY, the first day of school starts the day after Labor Day. So I guess that's why everyone says it's the last day of summer. However, I haven't had the past 3 months off from work. I went to work this morning just as I did last week. So why do I consider this past weekend the last weekend of summer? I don't know the answer. Maybe it's because today is cloudy and 72 degrees or maybe because the weather for tomorrow and Thursday is supposed to be in the mid-60s. Maybe the weather Gods know yesterday was Labor Day and they transitioned the weather into Fall.

I found myself sad last evening. As much as I would like to say my summer goes until September 21st, I know it doesn't. I had that feeling in my stomach last night like I was going back to school today. Depressed the summer is over. I sat and reminisced on our summer and then realized why I was so sad. It was probably one of the best summers ever.

It all started in the Spring when my husband and I, along with his cousin and his cousin's wife (our 2 best friends) bought a boat. We bought it "off the hands" of my father-in-law in hopes of it providing us a few good weekends of fun. The weekends of fun started Memorial Day weekend where the 4 of us painted the boat, cleaned the boat, spruced the boat up before we took it to the water. It may not sound like much fun to you, but the day started with bagels and iced coffees and progressed to cold beers and chips. The best part of the day was at the end when my husband fired up the engine and it WORKED! We jumped and high-fived each other like it was the biggest success of our lives!

Our boat, which we named Foxy II (don't even ask how the name came about), turned into our safe haven for the summer. We went on the boat almost every weekend, sometimes both Saturday and Sunday. We went to the boat to relax, to get some sun, to get a break from the stress of the work week, to hang out with friends, to do water activities, to drink, to eat, to be alone with our thoughts, and to be alone with the ones that we love. One weekend we tied our boat up to the NYPD Scuba's boat and hung out. Another weekend we found an outdoor bar on the water called "Louie's" where we not only conquered the art of boat parallel parking, but also discovered a great place to eat and drink on the water. Another weekend my husband and his cousin stood knee deep in disgusting murky waters while changing the propeller for their very first time, while my friend and I "supervised". This change of the prop (as my husband likes to call it) prompted an impromptu boat trip to the Statue of Liberty this past weekend. We haven't taken this trip in a few years because we never really trusted the boat to go this far, but this year since it was our own, we had full trust in it!

The trip was truly amazing. The waters were a bit choppy, but it was worth it. The NYC skyline seen from the East River is absolutely beautiful, but to be able to pull your very own boat up to the base of the Statue of Liberty is amazing. Especially on Labor Day, whatever it may mean, it felt very patriotic. Never the less, the day had to end. That evening my husband and I, both exhausted from the day, depressed the summer is over, sat on the couch and recapped our summer:

-we bought a boat

-we renovated our kitchen

-we found out our closest friends were expecting a baby boy

-my sister in law graduated college

-my other sister in law celebrated her first anniversary

-we went to Indiana to visit my family

-we went to see Paul McCartney at the new CitiField

-we chartered unknown waters on our boat and found places we will visit every summer

-we caught up with old friends

-I celebrated my 30th birthday

-my husband celebrated his 31st birthday

-we made it through our first year of marriage

-we planned our future

We decided that this summer was a damn good summer...

EGBDF, FACE

I recently received a "forward" email which might have been the best "forward" I have ever received. I normally delete such forwards but since it was from one of my cousins, who never sends them, I thought I should take a look. It was called 'Hilarious Thoughts of the Day' and it was right, all thoughts were indeed hilarious. One thought said, "I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger." Could this be any more true? I would give my right arm if I had someone every single day tell me it was time to take a nap and MAKE me sleep for a minimum of an hour each day. I can only imagine how much more productive I would be instead of completely crashing on the couch from exhaustion when I get home at night. This "thought" provoked me to think of other things I didn't want to do when I was a child, and now as an adult, wish I still had the chance.

The other day I was driving home from work, and on the radio came 2 songs in a row where I started playing the "air drums". Come on, don't tell me you never play the air guitar or just completely rock out to music while in the car! I laughed at my head banging drum playing and thought that maybe I should take music lessons again, maybe the guitar because I'm pretty sure my husband couldn't stand me playing the drums. This in turn reminded me of the days when I took piano lessons. I realized this was one thing I wish I wouldn't have given up when I was a child...piano lessons.

You see, my mother signed my brother and I up for piano lessons. I don't remember exactly what ages we were, I would guess somewhere around 3rd and 5th grade. I also don't remember whose idea it was, I am thinking it was my mother's. Our piano teacher was the music teacher at the high school where my mother taught. His wife was not only a teacher at the high school as well, but my mother's closest friend. So I think teaching piano was an experiment for this man, and my brother and I were the guinea pigs.

Mr. Bourquein, that was his name. It even sounds horrible, doesn't it? I was completely petrified of him, he was probably the coldest and most awkward mentor I have ever had in my life. Our lessons were on Monday evenings at his house at 5:00 pm. My brother and I would each make a mad dash to the piano once we got home from school on Mondays, because of course neither of us had practiced a minute of our "lessons". We always had some sort of silly paper work to do as well. My mother would scold us for not doing it in advance and I would always argue that I thought piano lessons were supposed to be fun, not "work".

My brother would go first. My mother and I would drop him off and then run a few errands before she would bring me back a few minutes before it was my turn. I remember walking into their house and feeling uncomfortable while I waited for my brother to finish his lesson. Their yappy dog, Charlie, would be there barking and biting at my ankles. (The dog was so putrid that I even remember his name!) My brother and I laugh to this day at how bad he played the piano. I would cringe as I sat in the chair waiting for him to finish while he pounded slowly away at the keys. For a teacher, Mr. Bourquein wasn't very patient. I would snicker while watching him get upset with my brother's lack of improvement.

Then, much to my chagrin, it was my turn. He would review my paperwork and inevitably make corrections on all of my mistakes. Some times he would even have me take it home and redo it! The nerve! I have to admit, I wasn't bad at the piano, I wasn't good either. I was tolerable, certainly no piano recital winner! Hell, Mr. Bourquein didn't even suggest me entering in a recital! Once the 30 minutes (which always seemed like 3 hours) were over. I'd walk out of their house to find my mom and brother waiting for me in the car where we would then head to McDonald's for dinner. And all was better until next Monday......

A year or 2 passed and much to Mr. Bourquein's dismay (insert sarcasm here) my brother quit taking piano lessons. Of course I begged my mother to let me quit, but she said no. As time went on, I found that I rather enjoyed playing piano, but only enjoyed the songs I knew. So my mother convinced Mr. Bourquein to let me start practicing/playing fun songs and not Beethoven or Mozart. Reluctantly he agreed and my next lesson I brought my Beatles book to class. The first song I learned to play was "All my Loving" which to this day is one of my least favorite Beatles songs probably due to the fact that I had to play it over and over again until perfection. Over the next few years my repertoire included The Beatles, solo Paul McCartney, solo John Lennon, Simon and Garfunkel, CATS the musical, and Phantom of the Opera. I found myself liking playing the piano and I soon became the entertainment at family gatherings and of course Christmas where my mom, uncle, & grandpa would stand around the piano singing Christmas carols.


I don't know why I stopped taking piano lessons, probably because I outgrew it and thought it wasn't cool anymore. I would still sit at the piano and play a few songs here and there, but never continued practicing. A few years ago my father sold the house that I grew up in. Along with the house, he sold the piano. At the time I didn't have any place to put it, but it still made me sick knowing the new homeowners had MY piano. Were they ever going to stand around it singing Christmas Carols, use it for entertainment while someone belted out 'Bridge Over Troubled Waters', play it while trying to re-enact Paul McCartney's concert version of 'Hey Jude'? At least I have the memories if not the piano. Now my husband and I own our own home with a room just waiting for a piano. His parents have a beautiful baby grand sitting in their living room, covered with dust and family pictures. Not one person uses it and I'm just waiting for the day when they offer it to us. Because then I'll be able to play again. More importantly I'll be able to force my children to take piano lessons, have them quit, and regret it when they get older.