Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

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Posted by eloveman at 09:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

  I’ve written before about the switching of holidays to accommodate family members who can’t make it on the traditional day (read Mother’s Day Monday), and to make room for those who have to travel to get here.   It also means I have my family with me for the entire day, and not have to deal with cooking at a particular time or they rushing through dinner to get on to the next ‘party.’
 
It’s almost become expected the actual day of the holiday or birthday will be spent either alone or with very few close relatives.  It may seem strange to others, but it works for us.
 
So it was with this holiday that it was deemed our Christmas Dinner would be spent together on the Saturday before Christmas.  The explanation of the gifts under the tree already left by Santa Claus was answered with “Nana and Gobbie’s (his own name for Grandpa) Special Santa” had come by early, and weren’t you so lucky!
 
There are now in-laws and out-laws to deal with, and the family of my beloved also expressing their own “day”, so each day was organized and planned. 
 

With menu mapped and food cooking on the stove, I set out the night before, our own ‘Christmas Eve’, to lay out the table arrangements and making sure I had enough serving dishes and plates.

Which brought to light a new realization.  We now had a “Childrens' Table.”
 

In my own memory of Christmas passed, The Childrens’ Table was usually set in the kitchen away from the adults in the dining room – sometimes thought as an oasis by some, and a judgment by others.  A rite of passage for a 12 year old would be the welcoming acceptance of the aunts and uncles to allow admittance to sit at the Big Table.    The younger ones always wondered if the food was better at the Big Table, because there certainly seemed to be an abundance of it.  The gravy bowls were no where to be found on the Childrens’ Table, nor was there any evidence of butter or salt and pepper to be found.   There would be a constant foray from the kitchen into the dining room and back again, thus creating the air of mystery of wondering what else was back there?  Wine and spirits were set out on the table, with only soft drinks or juice evident on the smaller table. 

Even the lighting was different – the soft hues of the candles on the big oak table were so different than the harsher florescent glow of the kitchen bulbs.

So it was intentional as well as with purpose that I set up the “Childrens’ Table” just a few feet away from the Big Table, and the newest addition of a high chair, all in the Family Room.  I also renamed it the “Cousin’s Table” – because although we are not all united by marriage, we are a family.
 
Which is what Christmas is really all about.  Not how many gifts you received or who got the latest must have item.
 
Christmas is about love for one another, peace and good will towards those who don’t wish the same for you – it is those whom need it the most.   Even if they are not sitting at your table.
 
Merry Christmas, and celebrate it whenever you can. 
 
 

Posted by eloveman at 11:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Watch for me on Channel 13WHAM News This Morning at 8:15 a.m. on 12/26/07, the day after Christmas. 

I’ll be interviewed LIVE by Norma Holland and Evan Dawson, talking about my latest book “George & Bob Stories:  Life Lessons From Little Brothers.”

It will also be on the website after it is taped http://www.13wham.com/content/news/thismorning/default.aspxon

After you watch, please click back here and tell me what you thought!

As always, thank you for your love and support!

Posted by eloveman at 09:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

The two brothers sat side by side, watching the snow flakes as they fell in big clumps,  piling up right in front of them.  The big bay window seemed like a wide screen t.v. and they loved to watch the cars go by every morning as Mommy and Daddy went about their day.
 

But today was Saturday and everyone was home, scurrying every which way to get things done.  It was Christmas Eve and the boys knew that soon the good smells would be filling the kitchen of the little house they lived in.   
 
Daddy had lugged the tree up from the basement, a box full of greenery and stray tinsel leftover from Christmas Eve’s past.  Standing in the same corner where it always was, the brothers loved to watch the twinkling lights and the shiny ornaments as they sparkled during the evening hours.  They would lay on their backs on either end of the comfy couch, silent and content as Mommy hung the last of the candy canes, and listening to the Christmas music playing softly on the radio.
 
Do you think we can sneak one?  The older brother winked to the younger.
 
Do we dare?  The young one whispered excitedly and they brushed against the tree gently to make one of them fall silently to the ground.  Munching it quickly, they shared the sweet even though they knew it would never be missed, as there were many, many more throughout the tree.
 
Coming up from the basement with the last of the boxes in his hand, their father smiled to himself as he watched them lick their lips to get the last of the peppermint chips.
 
His face fell slightly as he spied the little box within a box, hidden unknowingly so as not to remind them.  The box that had once held an ornament he and his wife had purchased together, one of the few gifts they had gotten for each other for their first Christmas together.   It was plain, a sparkly snowman that had hung from their tree for many years. 
 
Suddenly it was gone, and they never knew what had happened to it. They surmised it must have fallen from the Christmas tree during the hustle and bustle of opening presents, mistakenly thrown out among the wrapping paper.   It was a sad reminder that sometimes, bad things just happen.    
 
“Better not let your mother see you do that…”  he said conspiratorially, and they nodded in agreement.   Besides, it was time to get back to the window.  They had an important job to do and didn’t want to mess it up.
 
I wonder what he’ll bring us?  The younger one said to the older. 

Who? He answered with mock innocence, knowing full well who his brother was talking about.  He loved to tease him because it was so easy. 
 
Who?  His brother screamed, and then calmed himself.  He didn’t want Mommy to know they were getting excited.  They didn’t want to have to leave the window and not witness his arrival.
 
Who?  He whispered now, almost to himself.   You know who!
 
Yes, I know, I know!  the older brother answered, the enthusiasm of the younger contagious.   
 
I can’t wait for Mommy and Daddy to see what we got them! he said suddenly, and his brother nodded excitedly in agreement. 
 
They sat there all day, in front of the big bay window, and watched with hearts pounding, their eyes darting from corner to corner as the snow continued to come down, coating the cars and the tops of hats worns by those who passed by.
 
They were becoming sleepy, the afternoon becoming dim until the lights of the tree shone brighter and brighter.  Their eyelids were getting heavy and long, dry yawns began to escape from their mouths.  Try as they might, they were no longer able to keep their heads up, and laid on the carpeted floor in front of the window.  
 
It will be ok, the older said to the younger as they snuggled up together, the warmth of each other’s bodies calming their quickly beating hearts.

Let’s just stay here until we hear him….the younger said as he drifted off to sleep.
 
Yeah, until we hear him…….and soon they both were snoring lightly, a slow and rhythmic breathing that comes from the sleep of knowing  you are loved.
 
Mommy and Daddy stood together, their arms wrapped around each other, smiling at the two brothers who lay contently on the floor.
 
“I wonder what dogs dream of?”  Mommy said sweetly, kissing the side of Daddy’s cheek.
 
“I hope they dream of Santa Claus, just like everyone else” he said simply and kissed her back.
 
“Merry Christmas, boys” they whispered, and walked towards the staircase and upstairs to their bed.
 
They left the two sleeping dogs in front of the big bay window, who dreamt the dream of children, of wrapping paper, presents and St. Nicholas.  
 
The slept close together, both of their furry paws protecting their gift for Mommy and Daddy, a gift of love and adoration for those they cherished. 
 
A white snowman ornament they had found in the dirt, just the day before.    
 
Merry Christmas!
 
 

Posted by eloveman at 09:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Getting closer to the end of my life than nearer to the beginning, I am often beset with memories and recollections of days gone by, holidays and celebrations forefront in my mind.  As it is the Christmas season, I am flooded with snippets of images and my ears ring with old conversations.

Of course, I don’t remember my first Christmas; in fact, there aren’t many childhood occasions that spring forward to the space behind my eyes, beckoning to be called out and polished once again for the season.

But I do recall a Christmas where I was filled with envy and jealousy, a lethal combination in someone so short in experience and wisdom.

I had only received thirteen Christmas presents that year; I was insolent and spoiled enough to count them – how I must have hurt my parents to bemoan the fact there were only 13 – I don’t think I’ve ever given my children 13 presents each for Christmas.

But there I was, crying and raging because I didn’t get the doll I wanted – and my sister did.  What an awful memory of Christmas to carry around with me, but I take it out year after year, and remember how NOT to behave during the most high holiest of holy days.

My first Christmas as a working teenager was filled with pride and accomplishment.  I had bought for my parents a decanter set, inlaid with gold and spun glass.  A beautiful work of art to my uninformed eye, but to see it now I am amazed at how gaudy a creation it really was.   Even thought they didn’t drink wine, it sat on the dining room buffet, glaringly opulent in all its glory.

The first Christmas on my own was spent in a small apartment with a 1 year old baby, a son who was to learn quickly the value of love as opposed to monetary treasures – he truly was happy with a GI Joe and some small metal trucks.   The first child always get shorted somehow– its just seems to be the nature of life.   But they are never shorted on love.

Children are the best part about Christmas, and I was blessed to have 4 and 6 at any given time, with friends and cousins also joining in the fray.  It’s part of the best memories of my life and I wouldn’t have done things differently if given the chance.  Gifts were not as plentiful as in my childhood, but the time was taken to make sure it was what they wanted and what they could share.  Leggos and dollies, army men and ninja turtles, tea sets and jump ropes, the toys were intertwined and woven between them all, a way to connect and continue to grow as a family and as siblings.

My Christmas as a grandmother took on a whole new level of joy and depth of feeling.  To see the creation that is part of you but not by you is amazing on so many levels. 

But finally I come to this Christmas, where the emergence of new love and companionship was a gift to myself one Christmas morning several years ago. 

The true meaning of the season is the gift we give to each other; the forgiveness towards a spoiled child who grew up to be a grateful woman – and the part of ourselves that is the most treasured. 

Our Hearts. 

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Posted by eloveman at 09:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

This is the story of George and Bob who were brothers.

 

One was older than the other.

 

But I forget which one.

 

It was Tuesday morning, and George was walking to school.

 

The snow was falling lightly around him, but he was prepared for the feel of the wetness of the snow as it landed on his nose and shoulders. His wool hat was secured around his ears underneath the hood of his coat, tied tightly under his neck by Mommy. She had pulled it snug just after handing him his book bag and lunch box.

 

George was walking the route to Samuel Jackson Elementary School by himself this morning. All his siblings were sick with the flu and, as usual, he felt fine.

 

"Thank goodness!" said Mommy as she poured the cereal into his breakfast bowl.

"You never get sick, George!" and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. She turned to go back upstairs with a tray full of other half full cereal bowls and glasses of juice, to deliver them to the sick ones, coughing and hacking and feverish.

 

Mommy, whose real name was Madeline, never got sick either. He supposed he got his strong anti sick germs from her.

 

As he crunched among the last leaves of Fall on the sidewalk, he thought about what it would be like if it were just him. He kinda liked walking by himself this morning, no one yelling "Hurry up, George!" like his brothers Bob & Frank, or "Wait up, will ya?" like his sister Francine.

 

As a matter of fact, he liked that Francine wasn't around bugging him at all. He was really getting sick of her lately, she always seemed to be bugging him about something! "Play with me, George?, Can I come too George?, What's that, George?, What are doing now George?" and on and on an on!

 

She was driving him crazy!

 

"Why does she have to be like that?" he said out loud to himself.

Two squirrels that had been munching on fallen chestnuts lifted their heads as if to begin a conversation. George decided he didn't want to be seen talking to squirrels because it just looked too, well, squirrely.

 

Why can't she be more like me? he continued in his mind. Always yapping about something!  

 

Coming to the end of the street, he turned the corner and headed towards the big building further down on his right hand side of the road. Yellow school buses were lined up like giant caterpillars, one behind the other, their bumpers touching the bus ahead of it. George imagined them connected together like a train, the first one starting up and pulling the rest behind it.

 

The school building was old, built when Mommy was little. It had been there a long time. She loved going to Parent-Teacher conferences, because it gave her a chance to look at the old classrooms, and sometimes she would get all teary eyed remembering when she was a little girl. Sometimes George wished she would just stay home. He didn't like to see her get all mushy and teary eyed.

 

Getting closer to the entrance of Samuel Jackson Elementary School, he saw some of his buddies. Charlie and Ralph and Joe were all standing outside waiting for the doors to open. They were kept locked until the last possible moment, and then swung open like a whales mouth, enveloping all the kids who were cold and waiting to get inside for the school breakfast.

 

His friend Joe was one of the kids who ate breakfast there every morning. George wondered if he ate breakfast on the weekends, when school was closed.

 

"Good morning, George", he heard a deep voice behind him.

It was Mr. Bartlett, the principal. All the kids liked Mr. Bartlett, even though they called him Mr. Pear behind his back.

 

George turned around to face the tall man. He was really tall, about 6'2 inches. He, too, had gone to Samuel Jackson when he was a kid, played basketball in the same gym as George and his buddies. He had also gone to school the same time as his mother, only he was one year ahead of her.

 

"How's your mother, George?" He asked him, smiling widely.

His white teeth were big and shiny, just like him. His face shone with the moisture of the snowflakes, melting on his neat bearded face as he spoke.

 

"Fine, Mr. Pea..., eh Mr. Bartlett" and he coughed into his hand, trying to make it look like he had a frog in his throat. Mr. Bartlett just smiled.

 

"Everybody is home, sick with bad colds" he added, trying to sound more grownup than he felt.

 

"Even little Francine?" he asked shaking his head

 

"Yeah, she's got it the worst!" and he kinda smiled when he said it.

 

"Hmmm." The principal noticed the fact the boy was taking delight in his sister's illness.

 

He knelt down on one knee and began tieing his shoe; it was not yet time to begin wearing boots.

 

"Let me tell you something about sisters, George" and he motioned for the bundled up boy to come closer.

George wondered if he was going to talk to him very long, it was getting colder and he wanted to get inside. And he definitely didn't want to talk about his sister.

 

"Sisters are a pain, but you'll miss them when they're gone", his head still down as he tied the last knot of his shoelace.

"You miss them when they're not around and you'll wish you had one more day."

 

One more day for what, George though to himself.  Torture?

 

The principal looked up at George and gave him a wink.

"You best remember that."

 

The school bell rang then, shrill and loud like usual, and the doors opened wide to allow the sea of bodies push their way inside.  George nodded as the man stood up, and started instructions to the swarm of bodies to go slow, single file.

The day went by as usual, with nothing particularly different, except for the fact he didn't have anyone to sit and eat his lunch with.

 

Charlie, Ralph and Joe had gone home sick earlier in the day, just after taking the math test. George got an 89.

 

At dinner that night, Mommy served macaroni and cheese.

 

She piled a big glop of it on his dish as they sat at the kitchen table. She had already washed the dishes from earlier in the evening, having fed all the sick ones more tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. They were all asleep, their fevers broken and resting peacefully.

 

Everything had been picked up and put away before taking the casserole dish out of the oven. Mommy liked a clean kitchen. The house was quiet, no t.v. or music in the background, how Mommy liked sometimes. The kitchen was nice and warm from the heat of the oven.

 

"So what did you do today, dear?" she asked him sweetly as she ate a forkful of the yellowy macaroni.

 

"Got an 89 on my math test" he said matter of factly. And Mr. Pear talked to me alittle....."

 

"Don't call him that!" she laughed, throwing a dish towel playfully at his face.

"Lord knows, we called him Pear face as kids", she said suddenly pensive.

"What that man had to deal with at such a young age......" and her gaze drifted off for a moment, remembering a simpler time and place. The pace of the day was beginning to catch up with her, and she rubbed her eyes with her fists, not wanting her son to see them begin to well up with tired tears.

 

"Huh?" George asked, shoveling another pile of macaroni into his mouth.

 

"Oh, it was just so sad," she said barely a whisper.

"His sister Christina, got polio, but the doctors didn't find it until she was barely able to move. It hit her very quickly; so sad. He was devastated. She was his only sister."

 

Mommy got up to get a napkin from the napkin holder on the counter. She blew her nose, and tossed the rumpled up tissue into the trash. She turned around, back against the sink and folded her arms across her chest; she didn't know how mothers beared losing a child. She knew her heart would break in two if she lost any of her children.

 

George looked at Mommy, remembering what Mr. Bartlett had said to him. He hadn't notice how sad the tall man looked when he was telling him what he did.

 

Sisters can be a pain in the neck, but you miss them when they are gone.

 

"Gone" George thought. He thought the man meant she had moved away.

 

"Mr. Bartlett's sister was gone and she wasn't coming back....You'll wish you had one more day. You best remember that."

 

After dinner, George helped Mommy with their dishes, placing them on the shelf as she dried them from the dish rack.  He felt more grown up than ever, being alone with Mommy for this short time. 

 

But he knew that he wouldn't want it to always be this way.  He missed playing with everyone, making funny faces at the boys, throwing green beans at his sister when she wasn't looking.  She laughed when she found out it was him who threw them.  Francine always laughed at his jokes, even when his brothers didn't.  Francine always laughed and he knew she did because she loved him.  

 

You best remember that. 

 

That's the story of George and Bob who were brothers.

 

One was older than the other.

 

But I forget which one.

 

Posted by eloveman at 08:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

There are Angels all around us everywhere.  But never do we see them more vividly then at Christmas time. 

Angels are known for acts of kindness and mercy, for opening their loving arms and enveloping those in their wings who need them in times of trial or sorrow.  Angels   carry the messages of peace and hope, a soothing balm for pain or suffering. They remind us that we are human, we are flawed, and that most importantly, we are all connected.

There is a particular Angel in our neighborhood who is so very humble, she didn’t want me to write this story; so modest she doesn’t want those around here to know her name.   She and her family feel they have done nothing special, they were just in the right place at the right time.   It is with grace they acknowledge this act of kindness and so that is what I will call her.

Grace.

They didn’t know how long he had been lying in the road.  The victim of a car accident, they thought him dead and were going to give him a proper burial.  

“He was just lying there” Grace recounted to me.  

“But when I touched him to pick him up, he opened his eyes!” 

Several visits to the veterinarian proved to be very encouraging, as Grace and her family nursed the animal back to life.    It was not known if he was a cat who had used all his lives; but it is safe to say it was as if he was brought back from the dead.   

They named him Lazarus.

Nowadays you can see him traveling with Grace as she does her chores for the day.  He stays particularly close by, as you would imagine, for she has been his protector and redeemer.   Lazarus stays very close.

He sits on her right shoulder like a parrot.

With neither fear nor hesitation he sits atop Grace, towering over others as she walks down the road.  With complete trust in the one who has raised him from the dead, he sits tall and calm as they walk down the lane on a journey together of their own choosing.  Whether they are off to the post office, the local fire hall or whatever destination she chooses, they are greeted with a smile and welcomed with arms opened wide.  

What a sight to behold, the Angel and her cat, the luckiest animal in the world. 

Yes, there are Angels all around us everywhere, but never more evident than at Christmas.  

Angels who perform those acts of kindness lovingly, quietly and without fanfare, wanting nothing in return.

May we always be open to acknowledge the Grace’s in our lives; even better, become Grace-like ourselves.  

It is the greatest gift one can give to another.

Love.

Posted by eloveman at 08:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)