Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

As the older brother ran down towards the neighbors, taking the lake side so we could watch his progress, I smiled as I remembered the first time he arrived here.  Sometimes adjusting to a step dad is hard; learning the ways of new step grandparents is kind of scary.  What if they don't like me can fill a young boy with terror.

Sure enough, I watched him as he ran to the front door of my neighbor’s house and asked the boy sitting on the ground playing marbles if  “….he could play too…..”  

Every now and then I sit back and think about the choices I’ve made and the directions taken; some of them have been great, and others, not so great.   But I’ve never been one to really worry about the destination, anyway.  The fun was in the route traveled to get there.

These last few years have been especially exciting because the drive to where I was going has been slower.  It sounds like a contradiction in itself, doesn’t it – how can going slower be exciting?

In other times, the goal was to pack as much as I could into one day; it was a necessity born out of having children close together in age.   The limitations were obvious, be they physical, practical or even whimsical – I was only going to get someplace as fast as situations and circumstances would allow, and the time allotted by fate, karma or God.

More often than not it was like banging my head on concrete slabs, the frustration so real for me I could taste it.  When they were finally old enough to not be where I was all the time, other obligations of life seemed to take their place.  The sense of humor instilled in me by my father (“Laugh, dammit, it’s funny!”) came rising to the top of every crisis and chaotic adventure, allowing us all to survive with our personalities intact, and with just a little bit more wisdom in our knapsacks.

I am, however, a slow learner.

Perhaps it is because I am now able to sit back and analyze the ramifications of decisions and choices that I can afford to ramble on and get to where I’m going somewhat slower and with out much fanfare.  Signing on to a writer’s website afforded me the ability to travel in a direction I never thought possible, or even thought of at all.   I’ve gotten the enviable job of interviewing the mighty and the meek, the artistic and the bland, unsung and not so quiet heroes - all in one little town.   Beautiful water color paintings painted by retired architects and poetry written by farmers, its all in there waiting for me in one gigantic ball of adventure.

Putting my thoughts to paper brought a job at a newspaper, with the luxury of covering not only the coming and going of small town life, but to also share my heart with the community in which I live, and those communities who live far away.  I have become syndicated in a round-about sort of way – mothers and grandmothers who enjoy my thoughts make sure their children in other states read me by sending them subscriptions.  I am read in Alaska and New Jersey, Ireland and Spain, a comical paradox if ever there was one – even I couldn’t have made that one up.

Realities of life are forever looming, however, and the small sense of being ‘recognized’ still doesn’t pay the bills.  I have to get up and go to work like everyone else.   Until the Great American Novel is written, I will have to be content with my employer – which is not a hard thing to do, by the way – and to balance the both sides of this wonderful life I have been blessed with.

The hardest decision I have to make now is whether to keep working another hour to get the overtime, or make the 7:00 pm interview I had with the proprietor of Pumpkin Town.

Rest assured, Pumpkin Town always wins.

Posted by eloveman at 02:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I didn't get to go to Cape Cod this year.

I looked forward to going every year with my girlfriends, some who I saw on a regular basis, some that I only saw once a year on this trip.

I was anticipating the rituals we had set up for ourselves, unpacking and picking our roommates for the 10 days, the Morning After Arrival Breakfast where our hostess always left us a gift at our place setting where we sat. Sometimes home made, sometimes expensive, sometimes even shipped from another country.  But whatever it was it was from her heart.  In turn, we all snuck her a little gift periodically in our own way throughout the days of the visit.  

Those morning after breakfasts were almost the best part of the trip.

But not quite.

The other ritual we had was to go shopping at the Christmas Tree Shops. All fourteen of them.  Located in various towns throughout Cape Cod area, each one had the home and craft sections, holiday decoration and food section. Each store carried the same items, but always had something a little unique unto that individual store.   Now that they have opened stores in New York, it seems almost like cheating by going into one of them.  

We'd pile in the van and then scatter once we arrived, 5-7 grown women running into the store and grabbing shopping carts, we looked like children on the last day of school before summer vacation, only we were running into the building. Then we would come back home and compare our treasures for the day. Whoever bought the most items won the "most items bought" contest, as well as the one who "spent the least amount of money."  It was great fun... and another reason I looked forward to going.  It was more than fun, it was tradition. 

But not quite.

There were other things we did that I looked forward to every year, such as going down to the cove near the water, and picking fresh bittersweet vines, to wrap them round and around into beautiful autumn wreaths to hang on our front doors. Our neighbors always knew when we had returned from our trips for the houses were adorned with the colorful bright orange and red popped kernels of bittersweet. There was the traditional lunch of turkey sandwich on white bread, with a smattering of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and stuffing, all smashed together and glued to the bread with mayonnaise. Heaven indeed.  Of course, being in Cape Cod, we were privy to most succulent lobster everynight for dinner, something we would never miss.

And although those were great traditions and rituals we allowed ourselves as a group, we all had our own private moments alone and things that only one did to give themselves peace and serenity.

Mine was to go down to the waters edge of the Atlantic and listen to the waves. I would sit on the sand and just close my eyes, wrapped in a blanket, and let the briskness of cold autumn afternoon air wash over me. I would feel the sun on my face, and sit for hours, sometimes with a six pack of corona beer and limes in a plastic baggie. Other times I would have a white legal pad and a pencil, just jotting down my feelings or the bare bone outline of a short story.  I made some life changing decisions while sitting on that sand.

I didn't think I would be able to do any of that this year, because I wasn't able to go to Cape Cod.

But I was wrong, because this year someone brought Cape Cod to me.

Come and sit on the deck with Dad, Riley told me.  Sit with him and have a beer and listen to the waves as you watch the sun go down.  He likes the company.

I asked his Dad if it would be all right and his answer was more than what I expected. "

Come and stay as long as you want"  he said. "

Come and sit on the giant rocks, clear your mind and write your stories. I will bring you coffee in the morning and kisses in the evening. Just stay." So I did.

After a morning walk one day in October, I asked Riley what he thought about me and his Dad getting together sometimes. 

Ok by me he said and he plopped down next to me on the fallen log that had washed ashore after a storm. We had taken a walk he and I, and were relaxing a while before heading back to the house.

I had spotted along the path a bush of wild purple daisies, something I had never seen before. To a city girl like me, daisies were yellow with white petals. That was it. We sat there quietly, listening to the rustle of the trees, smelling the leaves burning outside down the lane, and the beginning of fireplace ash beginnng to form in someone's living room. I had gathered the wild purple daisies in my hand in a big bunch and was preparing to bring them back to the house for the table, when Riley looked at me.

"What is it?" I asked him out loud, for he looked so solemn.

"I love you"  he said with all the seriousness a brown chocolate lab can muster.

"I know..." I said with a smile.  For I did know and had known for a long time. I was just waiting for him to say it. 

"I love you too, Riley. You're a heck of a dog.  I'll be here for a while."

And with that, we turned and walked towards the house.  His Dad was standing on the horizon, hands on his hips like always, and shaking his head.  His voice was booming and he was motioning for us to hurry in and have our breakfast, what did we think this was a hotel?  And he was laughing as he walked towards us to grab my hands and pull us up the hill.  

Laughing.  Like always.

Posted by eloveman at 08:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It is officially sock weather.

The sun rose low, red and glowing. Casting an eerie glow on the water, it caught my eye while making coffee this early Saturday morning, and I realized I was cold.

I very rarely wear shoes in the summer, and the most I'll allow on my feet is a Dr. Scholl's sandal. Maybe it's a reflection of my stance against the cold, having feet held hostage all winter with thick heavy socks and cumbersome boots. Even spring boasts the need for a shoe with heel and panty hose. But summer is the season for bare feet and bare legs, baring souls and open hearts.

Autumn is in the air and it is chilly when I first put my feet on the floor. No need for the furnace as of yet, but I can feel it will be soon. I draw close my bathrobe, a homemade Christmas gift to me. The first year in the family, courtesy of my soon to be sister in law, she smiled and said For those early mornings on the lake. It quickly became my favorite piece of clothing, and it is well worn and much loved.

I pull on a pair of oversized socks and my thoughts are drawn back to my old days as a Pastoral Business Manager for several churches.  Another time and another lifetime ago, I remember the man who made a hobby of socks.  Gone nearly three years, he was a stately gentleman, a retired Professor of English. 

Every Sunday, while processing down the aisle to begin Mass, he would stop me and stick his leg out.  Clad in whatever silly socks he could find, he would grin and whisper to me How 'bout them babies, eh Missy?  I would then show him whatever I was wearing, a contest of who could make the other laugh first.  He usually won. *

The floors in my house are carpeted, although threadbare in places, used from breaking in puppies and kitties.

That's okay says my beloved. We'll show the bare wood next year when everybody is finished.

I smile because I know that it is part of the cycle of our life together. Slowly weeding out the old that I brought with me and working around what was here when I arrived. As time goes by, we'll find a midpoint and agree on what can be saved, what needs to be put away.   Memories, both old and new, have a special place on the mantle of our hearts.

It is okay. I am content to wear socks and slippers just a while longer before the need to encase my feet in rubber soled boots once again.

Our hearts are warm.

Posted by eloveman at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Though there shall be more years to pass
For which the joy will alway last
And my dear friends will join enmasse
Making way for passage gone

Her eyes are wide, though somewhat worn
Her jaw is squared and mettle strong
She's just begun to hear her song
Of seasons moving on

No longer needing arms of mine
Her life begins for her to find
Keep her strong and safe to thine
Own self of truths be known

September's sky is bright and blue
The glaze of life has cast it's hue
I'm glad you let me share the view 
Of Seasons moving on

Posted by eloveman at 09:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Another new season has begun.   Time to put away that which is light and airy, to be replaced with the somewhat deeper hues of beiges, browns and orange.   Bright yellow makes way for softer mustard, voluminous red parts for calmer tawny greens and navy blues.

The colors of Autumn.

God's favorite season, it is a time when the brillance that lies within all of us is called forth.  Bursting in the shower of colors we possess, the aromas and flavors associated with such rainfall is as welcome as a comfy quilt on a cool fall evening.    A parade of new growth before the first frost, it is a final reach for the heavenly presence felt when looking at the clouds and enjoying the essence of nothing. 

The lake is translucent, the shimmering of diamonds on top the water.  Rocks glisten in the path of the rays of the sun, calling us to listen one more time to the waves as they crash against the shore.   

As the tide goes out and in and out again, it reminds me that time does not stand still, and does not wait for any being's command or plea to stop or slow it's pace.    The trees are bulging with fruit, begging to be harvested and relieved of the burden one more season. 

Time does not stop for heartbreak or disappointment, nor does it look the other way when one falls or is injured. 

Perhaps the balm to deal with such feelings is the changing of the seasons; for it reaffirms the continuity of life, the discipline of sameness, and the gift of renewal.

Autumn has got to be God's favorite season.   It reminds us that we are mortal, and our legacy is what we allow it to be.  

Posted by eloveman at 11:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It was twilight when I went back out towards the Lake, to the place where I always sit and listen to the waves. I was waiting for him, just like I always did, waiting for him to come and sit beside me and listen to me, patiently.

He is a good listener, an attentive and gracious sounding board for all my many questions and concerns. He doesn't talk much, just sit quietly beside me and captures my anxiety and grief. But when he does speak, his voice is deep and full, resonating with calmness, goodness and love.

I am missing my father this early evening at the Lake, and I am waiting for my confidant to arrive. One would think me mad if I told them this dear creature of God, this soul that captures my tears like a basin, is not human.

His name is Lionel.

Victoria had advised me to tell him, this great being of the Lake, one whom all brought their troubles to. Tell him flit flit flit she said Tell him and you will feel better flit flit flit Tell him and he will tell your Daddy flit flit and then she flew away.

She was right, of course. So I waited. Lionel arrived as soon as the moon did, being not mindful of time or season. He stayed under cloak of cover, beneath some rocks near the shallow end of the shoreline. I could not see him. But I knew he was there.

Daddy, I began, I miss you. I know that you are in a better place now, away from the pain and away from the sadness your body was feeling all those many years.

Silence. All I heard were the clicking of the crickets.

I know that you miss us as much as we miss you, but there is one who misses you most. Please let her know you are near, and that you are with her always.

The bushes moved in the slight breeze of the summer evening, but no sound came from beneath them.

I stood up and looked up into the night sky, the stars twinkling bright in tandem with the light of the moon. My eyes followed the moonbeams downward back towards the earth, landing on the form of Lionel, sitting on a rock besides my feet.

Lionel was smiling his frog smile, his eyes shiney in the moonlight, his green skin glimmering like diamonds on the water.

I will tell him, he said in his deepest frog voice. A voice full of compassion and love, he gave me a message to give to her as well.

Tell her he is amongst the greenware and between the paint brushes. His essence is in the fires of the kiln and on the dust under her fingertips. His eyes watch her as she paints yet another face, and smiles as she welcomes another into the fold. He remembers and he will not forget, for he is with her always.

Tell her.

I began to cry now as I knew this would cause her both joy and pain, and I didn't want to be the messenger of any of it.

Lionel sat patiently, as he always did. And waited.

It is not time yet he said, finality in his voice. She is all right. Everyone is all right. Now go and make it right for yourself.

With that, Lionel turned and hopped away.

I watched him for as long as I could, as long as my eyes could see the outline of his green skin in the moonlight. I watched until I could see no more, my eyes squinting until they hurt.

Good night, Daddy. We miss you.

Posted by eloveman at 07:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

  Labor Day has come and gone once again, a beautiful sunny day spent with family and friends.  Although I am currently employed, I realized this weekend that I’ve probably had more jobs than I’d care to admit.  If I wasn’t downsized, focused out, reassigned, discharged, or terminated, it was because I beat them to it first. It's not that I am extremely incompetent or intolerant of other people. I love people! Its not that I haven’t spent a substantial amount of time on a job either, I lasted 7 years in one place. Its just the way things worked out, between balancing a career on one hip and babies on the other.

I can tell how long I’m going to last on a job after I’ve been there 2 days. I learned to never unpack my things until I’ve been there two weeks.    The first place I ever worked was a deli when I was 14 years old. I lasted two days because I couldn’t make correct change. Could make a great sandwich, but couldn’t make correct change. Next was a movie theatre. I was supposed to guide people to their seats with a flashlight. I was guiding an older lady one night and halfway down the aisle I forgot about her because I was too engrossed in watching the movie “Saturday Night Fever.” She tripped over some kid, down she goes and out I went.
 

As the years went by, I worked at various jobs, sometimes two at a time. I’ve been a pizza maker, a clerk in several department stores, a cashier at a supermarket, a home day care provider. That last job I fired myself. I was taking care of 13 kids all together (four were my own) and even though it was fun, I knew I had to get out of the Land of the Little People or I was never going to survive.
 

I worked for quite a while on a psychiatric ward. The floor that I was assigned to was for Geriatric Diabetic Women. Talk about mood swings. Its not just the mood that was swinging, let me tell you. That was a rough place if you reminded someone of their daughter who happened to have committed them! The nurses were paranoid someone was going to choke all the time, and if somebody stole a donut from the cafeteria, watch out, it was lock down time!!
 

I even sold cemetery plots. For one day. Too weird, even for me. I think the only position I haven't held is a waitress and school bus driver.
I’ve sold life insurance policies, I’ve filed car insurance claims. I’ve graced the halls of the Director’s Office of a hospital, in the legal department of the Yellow Box, and a Private Banking Assistant in a major bank. I have a closet just for my briefcases. Got to wear some great shoes, matching bags and suits for those gigs, too!
 

You would think that after all these differences of opinions (can I speak to you a minute, Miss?)  I would consider my self a gigantic loser. But I don’t. Nope. I have never felt bad about leaving a job because I realized that I took away from it another skill that I could incorporate into my next position. I always made friends and still keep in touch with most of them to this day. I was networking before it became fashionable.  It also gave me terrific empathy when it came time for me to have to fire someone.
 

I learned that all people really want is to be treated kindly, fairly and with respect. It’s appreciated when offered, grateful when its genuine. Sometimes it really is just a matter of finances. Budgets fail. Management comes and goes, positions change. I never took it personally. So every time I was asked to “ kindly walk with this security guard” or “give your keys to the officer”, or even “please get into the cab we’ve just called for you”, I walked away with a spring in my step, a song in my heart and a smile on my face. I hold no malice or ill will towards any of my former employers. I knew this was just another life lesson and that someday I would use it to my advantage.

Besides, the really mean ones always get their comeuppance – I would make them a villain in one of my stories and eventually kill them off.  Ah, sweet revenge.  I hope you had a great Labor Day, and don’t worry too much about things in the workplace you can’t control.  After all, we’re all in this together.  

Posted by eloveman at 11:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)