Father's Day

My nephew Jack graduated from Kindergarten today.  I can't imagine him graduating from anywhere - not because he isn't brilliant, but because I can't believe how the years seem to blend into one another and travel at light speed.  When Jack came into the world, life was so different.  It seems like a century ago and his wisdom continues to impress me and leave me in a state of awe.  When I called this morning to wish him well, I told him that I will be visiting my mom on Sunday and hoped to see him too.  He responded, "Aunt Chrissi, Sunday is Father's Day, but you don't have to worry about it anymore, because your Dad died already."

It hadn't even occurred to me until last week as I pondered my options for how to celebrate Father's Day, that the last time I saw my Dad was on Father's Day 2007. He died the following September.  Ironically ... or something, I spent last year with a dear friend and her family who I was very close to.  Unfortunately, it was the last time I would spend a holiday with her Dad too, so I struggle to not adopt a superstition about Father's Day.  So as I fought to maintain my composure and suppress the fit of hysterical laughter that racked my body, I told young Jack that he was right.  For me, Father's Day is a day to remember him with love.  Quite simply, my wise little man agreed. 

This Sunday, I will remember:

Guitar playing

Laughing

Chocolate Milk

Chocolate Malteds

Morning coffee rituals

Marlboro Reds

Being called by the wrong name and happily responding

Half eaten Oreo Cookies on Christmas morning

Irish serenades

The Clancy Brothers and James Taylor's Greatest Hits on Sundays

St. Patrick's Day

The rules of life: never get married, never buy a house, never buy a car, never have kids, never get a dog

And most importantly, being the apple of someones eye. 

 

Hudson River Distortions

Those days now seem a distant memory,

Or maybe I dreamt them,

Or maybe I imagined them, 

As I stared out onto the Hudson,

I remember you were there,

Or maybe I dreamt that you were,

Or maybe I imagined you were

From a rooftop on the riverside

As I stared down onto the Hudson

The waves tried to wash the images from my minds eye,

Distorting what I thought I knew in the murky current,

Leaving salty remnants of a time,

Rinsed away with tears of sorrow,

For what was,

Or what I thought was, 

Or what might have been.

Never A Bride

I have made my way down the aisle many times and have managed to stay single.  My method is simple: I am ALWAYS the bridesmaid - NEVER the bride.  Having experienced this privileged distinction, I can honestly say that these hand picked friends and relatives of the bride-to- be do not get the recognition they deserve.  Instead, they get emotionally abused, verbally abused, criticised, generally burdened, and above all, bankrupt.

I selfishly admit that upon hearing the news of a girlfriends engagement, the emotion that I experience following my initial reaction of joy, is sheer terror.  My mind races with excuses.  What if she asks me? How can I get out of it? Why have I been putting off moving overseas?  Is there some terminal illness I may have that will get me off the hook? ... And then we are having drinks after dinner and she hugs me and tells me how much she loves me and needs me to be a part of her special day.  I am drunk and flattered and ready to call it a night, so I say, "I would be honored".  At that moment, in my minds eye, I see the hillbilly roller coaster mechanic flip the switch and in a violent lurch forward, I am stuck on this ride.



Tea & Sympathy
108-110 Greenwich Ave.
 New York, NY



For the next 6 months to 2 years, life consists of all sorts of drama.  Phone calls, emails, text messages from the other bridesmaids, suggesting high tea parties (I suggest we go to Tea and Sympathy and chuckle to myself) to discuss the wedding plans. 

For every event, there is drama.  Debates on venues, gifts, and favors become more complicated that the Lincoln Douglas debates of 1858.  Color schemes, fabrics, strappy vs. pumps, bus or limo, Friday or Saturday, flatware vs dishware, and on and on and on   You know how I get through it? A lot of yessing, nodding, talking behind their backs, and drinking. 

The lovely bride-to-be has morphed into "something" that her best girl relatives and friends never thought she would fall prey to ... a ghoul of sorts.  She cries at the drop of a hat.  She cuts her sister off because poor big sis suggested Lillie's instead of Roses.  She goes to weekly appointments, with her groom reluctantly in tow, to learn about and dissect the art of napkin folding.  She is removed by security at Bloomingdales for causing a scene over bridesmaid gifts.  The bridesmaids are yelled at, manipulated, accused of being jealous or in my case indifferent.   She wants bridesmaid #3  to lose 10lbs and bridesmaid #5 to color her hair to match the hideous dress.  All communication with the bride-to-be consists of statements beginning with: "We like ...", "I want ...", "my parents said they would ...", "She is being a bitch ..."

Notice anything missing from these conversations? YOU.  Make no mistake about it chica, you are just a player in this play, and yes it is a play.  The good news about this perspective is that Mrs. Soon To Be So And So most likely has an understudy waiting to replace you in case you are fired or quit.  From costumes, to lighting, to sound, makeup, props, scenes, scripts, and players.  Where did you think the term "Rehearsal Dinner" came from?  So what are we obligated ladies to do? I don't have a clue, beyond yessing everyone to death and drinking as much as possible.  The good news is that there are websites and forums out there to help us through this ardous experience.  Click away!

Bridesmaids101

Experience Project - I Was A Bridesmaid

On Being A Bridesmaid

Ultimate Survival Guide For a Bridesmaid

If Tomorrow Never Comes ...

I'm sitting at my desk, racking my brains on what to blog about.  I have some poems percolating, but nothing publishable ... assuming any of those already published are. What could I talk about on Writing In Life?  Boom ... it hits me like a meteorite that has plummeted from space just for me.  I have been purposely ignoring the fact that this may be my last chance to say anything meaningful to the masses. Today may be Judgement Day.  According to Harold Camping and, of course, the Book of Ezekiel, most of us will succumb to a westward moving earthquake.  There will be a few thousand who will be "saved", but I'm betting, based on the number of times I've been to Church in the past few years, that I will not be among the chosen ones.  Humph! If that isn't a pressure-cooker of a deadline, I don't know what is! 

There are tons of things I could talk about.  How grateful I am to have come this far in life.  How I am a decent and worthy person (according to just about everybody but one person I can think of!).  Maybe I could discuss my career, which is based in my value of human beings and the human spirit.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love my faith and my God and my life.  All of these things I could expound on, share stories about, and reflect on, but time is running out.  Instead I will talk about my hopes for the afterlife, which I firmly believe in ... on my good days. 

I really hope I get to go to Heaven.  My time on Earth has served as Purgatory enough and quite frankly I hate waiting.  As far as my destination being to the lower level- I've sinned, but I don't think enough to cause any elevator to plunge to the bottom of Hell.  It's safe to bet that I will either: not pass my parole hearing out of Purgatory, or, that He will give me the benefit of the doubt and let me through the pearly gates (if only on a trial basis).  Upon my admission to Heaven, my first priority would be to find my friends and family who perished with me in the earthquake.  Hopefully, everyone I love has reached the same destinations as I (if only on a trial basis).  How relieved I will be to know that they are with me and safe with God.  My second order of business would be to find a few people who also died in the quake, but who I had no longer been in contact with on Earth.  I would tell them that I was sorry.  I would tell them how much I love them.  I would forgive them and ask them to reciprocate.  I would rejoice that now we could be together again without the burden of Earthly things that made us part.  Finally, I would find those who died before this day.  I have waited so long to see them again and talk to them.  My father and I will be together again.  He will embrace me and tell me how much he loves me.  We will talk and laugh and sing and dance and love and forgive.  The joy will be overwhelming and I will weep with happiness.  Sounds pretty lovely to me, assuming all goes according to plan. 

We should regard today as our last day and take the opportunity to reflect on our lives.  Have you done everything you wanted to do? 

Have you told all those you love how you feel? 

Have you forgiven and put aside pride or spite or self righteousness? 

Do you strive to be all you are supposed to be? 

Have you been the person God wants you to be and gave you the gifts to be? 

I can honestly say that my answer to all of these questions is no, so if there is a tomorrow, I have my work cut out for me!!!
What about you?

The Violence Of Silence ... A Work In Progress

There is a certain violence,
In the notion of silence,
Not always a time of peace,
When sound begins to cease,
Sometimes the quiet is a threat,
And danger lurks in stillness met...

There is a certain violence,
In the notion of silence,
How it circles all around,
Never making not a sound,
It's sinister and hateful too,
Thounderous silence coming from you.

Dancing In Life

Nothing to see - only darkness,

No sound - only silence,

No movement - ever still,

Unseeing ... unhearing ... unmoving,

Faith's blessings undone,

Time's burdens unrelenting,

Hope's promises unmet,

Life's woes unyielding,

Then a shadow,

My eyes begin to squint,

Then a hum,

My ears hear a faint melody,

Then a twitch,

My muscles slowly relax,

Seeing ... hearing ... moving,

I search to find my liberator.

Suddenly we are dancing,

A beautiful new dance,

A dance that has no past,

A dance born in each moment - gliding,

A dance in steps known - not spoken,

A dance that knows no ending,

A dance of love and perfect synchronicity,

A dance not danced by anyone but we,

We dance to our own song,

A beautiful new song,

A song that has no past,

A song composed in each move - melody,

A song in notes known - not spoken,

A song that knows no ending,

A song of love and perfect harmony,

A song not sung by anyone but we,

Together we see light,

Together we hear music,

Together we dance in life,

Each step ... each note ... each moment,

Faith's blessings restored,

Time's burdens recede, 

Hope's promises fulfilled,

Life's woes abandoned.

Dancing in life ....

Dedicated to Danielle and Wil. May these lines inspire you as you dance on together in life.

Measure a Year

Then I was deaf,

Now I am listening..

Then I looked away,

Now I look closely.

Then I was paralyzed,

Now I move forward.

Then I thought I knew,

Now I know nothing.

Then I believed,

Now I have doubt.

Then I wondered "what if",

Now I know "then what."

Then I was low,

Now I am grounded.

Then I was impulsive,

Now I wait and see.

Then I was a shadow,

Now I am a better me.

Necessity

I was asked "What do you want"?

My response listed attainable things.  

Later I realized that I left out two essential elements. 

The most important two. 

The two that are essential to acquiring.

A voice and to be heard ....

That is what I need-
What I want will follow...

We The People

What good can come of this - the question recurring,

As towers topple upon the great metropolis and its citizens,

As the skies carry terror in unsuspecting crafts

And lovers pledge their eternal devotion,

As death's certainty plunges towards an eerie resting place,

As fire burns in Capitals and open fields - now crematoriums,

As jagged scraps of metal and concrete sand lay

In endless heaps of memories and lives lost,

As builders sift with bloodied hands the ruins of the unbreakable

And bagpipes whine in agony,

As citizens roam the now silent streets -

Praying for immortality beneath the fatal heap.

What good can come of this - the answer revealing,

As new patriots raise Old Glory and citizens sing in unison

The songs of their fractured homeland,

As strangers unite and embrace in sorrow,

As friends share tears of grief and pride of courage,

As neighbors pay alms and the once faithless

Seek solace in holy houses,

As leaders join around the globe to rid the world of terror.

As tears of loss and pride and fear and will pool into a sea of hope,

As history echoes the whispers of an old hero's cries,

The answer is resurrected - now a thunderous "We shall overcome!"

Written on April 10, 2002 in memory of all those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. Let us never forget.

Moving Away From Broke

Dear Followers,
I have decided to make an attempt to broaden my horizons and stop focusing on the intense, the morose, the at times melodramatic content I have been posting on Writing In Life.  Writing In Life is not easy.  Life is not easy, hence my desire to try to lighten things up.  Let's be real: this is my blog and I am me.  I believe in freedom of speech (obviously), and I am an emotional human being, so posts of a dramatic nature are sure to emerge in the future.  For now I would just like to focus on the nicer things.  The promise of Spring.  How I pretend I don't know how funny I am when my audience bellyaches from laughing.  That I secretely love my job in many ways and take pride in my work.  Instead of talking about the friends who proved themselves false and broke my heart, why not celebrate the ones who helped put me back together?  And my family - the ones who are living and make my life complete.  I should focus on these things more and more often...

I humbly thank you for coming to see inside of my heart.  You have seen it broken.  I hope you will come again to see it healed. 

With Gratitude and Regards,
Christina

Reparations and Lessons

All of the grievous mistakes have been corrected,

Except by you. 

All of the irreparable damages have been paid,

Except by you.

All of the unpardonable sins have been forgiven,

Except by you. 

All of the reasons to disappear are gone ...

Except by you.

You remain invisible, 

In your glaring absence, 

In your blind ignorance,

In your deafening silence,

I find greater absolution,

I achieve needed vindication,

Amplifying what the masses were screaming...

You were never really there to begin with.

Work in Progress....

“Confront the dark parts of yourself, and work to banish them with illumination and forgiveness. Your willingness to wrestle with your demons will cause your angels to sing. Use the pain as fuel, as a reminder of your strength.” August Wilson

I wish I could say that my time on the fronline of the battlefield of grief was smooth, (if there is such a thing as truly uncomplicated grief).  I wish that I had not waged war against myself.  I wish that I could say that I did not let it decimate me.  I wish I coud say that I took no prisoners, that there were no additional casualties.  I cannot.  I did.  There were.  By the time I was finally ready to retreat and wave the white flag in front of my own face, it was from the rubble and haze of a self inflicted emotional Ground Zero.  In taking inventory of the damages incurred since the war began, I observed that the ruins consisted of two categories that merged as the battle raged on: internal and external.  Internally, I was bombarded by the barrage of emotions associated with bereavement.  They seized my entire self and cast away all that I had before the initial skirmish, leaving behind a mere shadow of who I was.  The external damage was of the pain and misery that other's sufferred as they got caught in the crossfire, landing with a resounding thud of twisted carnage

The Stranger that I Knew

Bewildered am I to know you no more,

Close as I am to the depths of your core,

I still know what your thoughts say,

I still know how you feel,

Yet only in my mind are you,

At times to my dismay.

Opening a Gift 49 Years Later

On Saturday night my cousin Kate Forman and I threw a St. Patrick's Day party in our home.  During the festivities, my cousin Steven Grogan shared an amazing gift with us.  In 1962 my father, Robert Grogan, performed with legendary Jose Feliciano in a group called The Modern Sound Trio (Jose's first band) and appeared on  The Ted Mack Amateur Hour.  He would often refer to his time playing with Jose, an honor of which he was immensely proud.  Through the power of modern media, we can now share a part of my father's history that until now had gone with him ....

"Jose's first band, however, was quite a different story. As a teenager, he was part of a jazz ensemble they called "The Modern Sound Trio". Bobby Grogen was the drummer, Bliss Rodriguez, the pianist, and of course a very young Jose, played the electric guitar. They played at school dances and at the Lighthouse for the Blind in New York City, and even on the Ted Mack Amateur Hour, a major television variety show in the 1950's and '60's."