Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

I have a friend that emailed me today with the following: "If I have to referee one more fight between these three kids, I'm gonna loose my mind!"

Boy did that bring back memories.

I asked her if she had a Grilled Cheese Sandwich moment.

She didn't. So I told her mine.

It had been another long winter and I had just left the doctors office with what seemed like the hundredth prescription for Amoxicillin, the medicine for ear aches. My kids were 4,5,6,9 & 11 years old at that time and they seemed to pass the dreaded illness from one to another. At least they took turns.

It seemed like we travelled in a pack back then, since I couldn't ever get anyone to babysit them on such short notice during winter break.

We were headed to a diner, as it was close to suppertime and I was beat. They had been fighting and picking at each other all day, partly because one was out of sorts, partly because they were getting hungry, and mostly because it was boring and Annoy Your Sibling was the game of the day.

They were pros at that game. At half time they would play the Let's Make Mom Pull Her Hair Out Game. That usually occurred in the evening and that’s how I knew it was time for bed. For me.

We had been ushered in and were sitting at the table waiting for the waitress to come to take our order. They were still called the politically incorrect moniker of "waitresses" back then and not "servers."

I had every intention of getting them a meatloaf dinner, or chicken, or stew, something substantial. It was my way of relieving my guilt over not being home over a hot stove.

It was a busy evening as everyone else in town had the same idea. It took a little longer than usual for the waitress to come over, and had only given us our water.

Which had been spilled several times. And salt shakers contents all over the table. And straw papers made into spit balls. And someone was whining because they were hungry. And someone else was antsy because they had to pee. For the twelfth time. Ah, the power of suggestion.

Finally I snapped. I sat straight up and made a motion with my hands, like an umpire at a ball game calling a player Youuurrrrr out!

"That's IT!" I hissed in a voice like Boris Karloff, "You're all getting grilled cheese sandwiches. Do you hear me? Grilled Cheese Sandwiches!"

The whining stopped. Actually they stopped breathing for a minute. They were stunned beyond words.

And then it happened. One of them started to smile.

Then the other started to giggle. Then another started to cough, and before we knew it we were howling on the floor.

My kids do a mean imitation of their mother, and whenever things started to get tense as they entered the teenage years, one of them would stop, make the umpire motion and say "You're all Getting Grilled Cheese sandwiches!"

It never failed to make us stop what we're doing and laugh our butts off till we cried.

So my advice to my friend was this: Find a grilled cheese sandwich moment.

If you have kids you're going to need it.

Every now and then I think about that day and the reaction they had to my frustration. In the big picture, it was just another day of kids being kids.

I'd give anything if they were all together again, fighting and annoying the hell out of each other.

So I go to the diner and I order one for myself. Somehow, it makes me feel a little better.

Posted by eloveman at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I most recently was a bean counter in a company with some pretty hefty beans.

Confidentiality agreements prohibit me from saying much else, except that I gave my notice the other day.  I was sick of counting someone else’s beans and want to start cultivating my own crop.

Not to say that I didn’t enjoy my job and the family I worked with.  Yes, it was a family business, which is a special dynamic unto itself.

You’d think I’d learn.

There comes a time in everyone’s life (or there should be, anyway) when they face their own mortality.  The fact we are all going to die someday is accepted, as there isn’t much we can do about it anyway.  But we all think we’re going to live forever, especially when we are younger.

Two fairly new friends of mine have sons the same age as my children.  They went to college and work at settling in a career path, something some of us continue to do for the rest of our lives.  

These two young men made the acquaintance of a young man named Adam, who was 24 years old and a transplant from Florida.  A gregarious and free spirited soul, he moved north to be able to experience the change of seasons and to witness the miracle of snow.   Most of us around these parts don’t think the white stuff is miraculous – but to Adam it certainly was a delight to behold. 

One of his roommates, who happened to be the son of one of my friends, snapped a picture of his face, awe struck and joyful as he tasted the new sensation on his tongue.  Snowflakes and the cool night sky, it was a wonderful memory for all of them.

Fast forward to the summer months, and they are all outside enjoying a summer evening, looking forward to heading home, eating a pizza and grabbing a beer.

“You go ahead” my friend’s son said to Adam….”I’ll get the apartment ready and you get the pizza….”  They were expecting a crowd as Adam had made a lot of new friends.

Adam was shot down in front of Mark’s Texas Hots while waiting outside with some other friends as the pizza baked in the oven.   An angry black man opened fire with a 12-gauge shotgun, killing Adam and grazing the girl who stood beside him.

“It was an accident” Cyon Badger said at the trial.  

Badger, 41, was convicted Feb. 1 of second-degree murder for Adam's death and attempted second-degree murder for trying to shoot bouncer Frank Hall outside Mark's Texas Hots on Monroe Avenue on July 14, 2007.   He was sentenced yesterday to 40 years in prison.

Badger got into a fight with three young men after leaving Callahan's bar, which is next to the pizza joint.   Hall, a bouncer at Mark's Texas Hots, intervened. Badger went to his apartment across the street, got the gun, and started shooting.  The most innocent of innocent bystanders, Adam and his friends, were in the way.
The Assistant District Attorney maintained Badger had pointed the shotgun at Hall and pulled the trigger. When the gun misfired, Badger unloaded it, inserted a new shell, pointed the gun at the young woman with Adam then turned it on Adam and fired. 
The only accident I can see is that he meant he missed Frank Hall.

If there is anything remotely positive that can come from this tragic event, it’s the fact that witnesses came forth and spoke.  There is an epidemic in Rochester of people of all ages not talking for fear of being labeled a  ‘snitch’ and even for fear of their life.   There are far more murders unsolved than need be, and it is a living nightmare for those family members who know who did what and can not bring themselves to tell.

Many times there are those who feel they are just one person, one bean in a pile of bean counters whose participation doesn’t really mean anything.

I know the place where I counted will certainly miss my expertise. 

The beans in the pile are growing larger and larger everyday.

My most fervent wish is that they remember Adam.   Justice was served but it will never bring Adam back.

I take solace he is in heaven, surrounded by snowmen, with his mouth open wide to catch the falling snowflakes.

http://www.democratandchronicle.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070405/MULTIMEDIA05/301130001

Posted by eloveman at 11:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The more time we spent writing, the easier it became to talk to him, and the more I talked to him, the more I realized he was very much the kind of man I thought I would never find.   His passion was comedy; he loved to do stand up, the writing was a way to further stretch  his creative legs. 

At any age.  

This past week has been an avalanche of emotions and events.
 
I was assigned to cover the annual Blue & Gold Banquet here in Williamson, the annual ‘birthday party’ for Cub Scouts, and also a moving up ceremony from being a Tiger Cub to an official Boy Scout.  I had the honor of meeting a gentleman who at 97 years old, remembers getting his badges (the most you could get then was 21) in the year 1938. 
 
“Why don’t you write about that?” he smiled, as charming as he must have been when he was 40.   I will.
 
My cousin by marriage and his beautiful wife just had their third child, on the same day as their first child, and which also happens to be on her birthday as well.  What are the odds of that happening?  “Somebody should write something about THAT,” he said.
 
The Pultneyville Historical Society is having a walking tour of several homes and the newest winery in town on June 14, an event entitled “Sailors Return”, and I was asked to do the write ups about each beautiful home and their owners. I’m really looking forward to writing about that. 
 
My youngest son called and announced he got a promotion, moving to Maryland, and oh yes, by the way, asked his girlfriend to marry him.  That would make two engagements in one year. 
 
“No big deal”, he said, “but can we have an engagement dinner at your house?  Everyone will be there for Easter anyway.”
 
“Man somebody should write about THAT” laughed my beloved, as he picked me up off of the floor.
 
What I really want to write about is how as going on 3 years of marriage and never receiving a wedding proposal or an engagement ring, I did receive both just in time for Valentines Day.
 
So I’ll write about all those wonderful things and more, coming up this exciting, frigid cold February.  It is one of the best ways I know how to keep warm.
 
Stay tuned!

Posted by eloveman at 07:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I am constantly in awe of the human brain and the memories it is able to store.  The minutia of thought and emotions, a mere smell or quick turn of my head can evoke the most vivid of memories or recollection of a time gone by in my short and relatively uneventful life.
 
Opening the door this beautiful sunny morning, I let loose the dogs for their morning ritual of running around the fenced in yard.  A giant playpen, it is where they play with each other as they chase and jump and playfully maul.  Even though they are all different shapes and sizes, it is a way of expressing their love for each other.  One will jump on the back of the other, trying to nip at their collars, or run around to the front, tugging on their ears.  It is never done in anger, and if they could laugh, I am sure there would be large guffaws and back slapping as they race round the yard, doing lap after lap of their own Indy 500.
 
They learn from each other and they teach each other. 
 
As I opened the screen door to start their morning ritual, I breathe deep the air.  It is a clear, winter morning and the wind has died down.  After a few days of wind and snow, the grassy area is replaced with the hard packed white blanket on which they will run.
 
But it is the smell of the air this day that holds my attention and catches my breath, for it is a smell that I have breathed in once before, seemingly eons ago.  It brought back a memory in an instant that brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye.
 
It was a winter day in 1964 and I was in fifth grade.    I was the new kid in school, yet again, for my family moved a lot.  We never left New York State, but my father’s job required he manage different petroleum distribution plants.   The hours were long and it seemed like he was always working, so living as close to the plant as we could was a concession my parents always made.
 
Although it was hard to say goodbye to friends I had made over the years, I knew that it was really a good thing for me.  It taught me how to talk to anyone and to get the heart of the matter of someone in order to be their friend.  
 

This time around, we had moved very close to the elementary school I attended.  It was a move that suited me, for I loved going to school.  Our house was at the top of the hill and the school was located in the gully below.   Every morning I would open the back door of the kitchen and walk down the hill to be joined by the students milling around outside.   We lived so close I could hear the kids laughing and yelling, playing tag or throwing snow balls.

Opening the door one sunny, winter morning, I caught the whiff of the cold breeze wafting up from the gully, bringing the voices of the children waiting for the door to opening down below.   It is the smell that has stayed with me all these years and was awakened this morning, buried deep within my psyche in safekeeping for when it was called forth once again.
 
They saw me and I saw them.  “Hey!  Eileen!  Come on!”  they yelled and I smiled to myself that I was welcomed and loved once again.
 
I looked towards the dogs as they circled back around to the doorway, content they had completed their laps and ready for a kiss and a cookie. 
 
Letting them in, I lingered just a moment longer as I breathed deep the memory of being a 5th grader in the wintertime,  filling my lungs and my mind once again with its sweet fragrance.
 
 
 

Posted by eloveman at 07:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I have a daughter that I did not give birth to. In the pecking order of my family, she would be the eldest. She is the daughter of my second husband, from his first marriage. Born 32 years ago, I had heard all about her when I first married my husband 22 years ago. Born in Scotland, she was a sweet, skinny, little red haired, freckle face cherub, with one crossed eye that turned inward. She was his darling girl until she was 6 years old. Then she vanished.

I didn’t meet her until she was a married woman with a child herself. Survivor of a bitter divorce and more hate in a family than I could ever fathom, she had managed to grow up relatively sane and happy. I had heard all about her through the memories of her father, reliving holidays and getting through the sadness of missing yet another birthday without her. He had one picture of her that he carried around with him in his wallet. A pixie face framed by dark glasses to adjust the crossed eye, she was a lover of horses and dolls. How cute she was and precious was her memory to him. How my heart would ache to see him suffer.

He would often dream of her, waking up with a face wet with tears. She was discussed only at brief intervals, telling our other children about her and that one day we would all get to meet her. I knew she was constantly on his mind and in his heart. I prayed that one day they would be reunited and end this torture for him.

I suppose in my heart I had always known one day we would meet, but I wasn’t prepared for the power of the emotions that arose within me.

On a lazy, mid-afternoon day in Winter, the phone rang and I thought it was one of my sisters. Separated only by miles and as was our routine, someone would call to have a “visit.” We always talked for over an hour, while the kids were outside, playing in the snow.

Expecting to hear one of the girls, I was unprepared for what was on the other end of the line. It wasn’t my sister. At first the voice was low, hesitant and soft spoken.

“Is my Father there?” she asked in a voice I had never heard, but dreamed like it would sound. I thought perhaps it was a wrong number, but something about this little voice with a touch of scottish lilt spoke to my heart in a way I had only heard during the birth of my children. “I’m sorry, what did you say, dear?” I asked. My mind started to race. Could it be?

“I’m so sorry to bother you” she started again, and stumbled out a few words, “I just thought…I looked this name up in the phone book…..thought maybe, I’ve been looking for so long…..is my Dad there?”

I slid to the floor because the air had left my lungs. There was no sound. Some how I knew. This was the little red head.

“Hello?” she asked again. “Are you there?”

I was there. Did I dare ask the question for fear of loosing the connection? I didn’t want to scare her.

“Is this Karen?” I asked, barely a whisper. I couldn’t breathe.

Silence. “Karen, honey, is that you?” I asked again, more firmer than I wanted to sound.

“You KNOW me?” her voice starting to tremble, “You KNOW me, you know who I AM?” she asked, incredulous, getting louder. “YOU KNOW ME?” She said now, practically screaming.

“Oh God, Oh Honey, I know ALL about you” I answered, also crying and screaming now as well. “I know you, I know you, I know you! Where are you calling from?”

It turns out that she and her mother had moved back to Scotland for a short time, but returned to the States shortly thereafter. She had grown up down south. Her mother had been able to work odd jobs to support herself and her red headed angel, even getting the optic surgery needed to repair the left crossed eye. She had been looking for her father for 10 years. Never giving up after contacting “family” members who had told her they didn’t know where he was. Always searching, even though she had been told time and time again that he had remarried and was not interested in her. Evil in the face of once beloved Aunts. But she never gave up. Something in her drove her to keep going until she found him. Their bond was stronger than the dysfunctional extended family it was her misfortune to have been born into.

She gave me her phone number and I told her I would call her Dad at work to let him know. I would leave the next move up to him, but I knew what he would do.

Years have gone by since that wonderful reunion, but she and I have a special bond that will never be broken. She has been welcomed into my heart and is loved as much as my birth children, who readily accepted her as their sister. A beautiful tall redhead, she is a proud woman of integrity, a loving wife and mother. She is someone I am proud to call my daughter and also my friend. We have spent many happy visits together, getting to know her husband, their family, as well as her mother. She is a kind spirit who just got married too young in life. I could relate. She did a beautiful job in raising a fine young woman.

We know that what happened was a divine intervention from God. It was not coincidental she found us when she did. She was about to give birth to her second child and was so anxious for them to know us, to know their other grandfather. I am so thankful I was home to answer the telephone that day, and to hear that tiny but hopeful voice on the other end who never gave up against so many intentional road blocks set up to dissuade her.   Although her father and I are no longer married, I still feel fortunate to have been part of that wonderful reunion.

“I’m so happy I found him ” she said that day before we hung up “Thank God I found him. God is good.”

“Yes” I said, “You found him. Welcome to your new family. Welcome home, my darling girl.”

Love will find a way. Yes, God is good.

Posted by eloveman at 09:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Every year at Superbowl time I rerun this column - I'll be sure to get a call from all of them, even though they are most likely starting their own traditions.....

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Part of getting divorced is helping your children, no matter how old they are, understand certain things. That you are not divorcing them, just their father. That their father and you will always love them, no matter who else they may marry.

That their childhood wasn't a mistake, and that they can take those memories with them where ever they go.

Such is the memories of their childhood and the Superbowl.

I was never a football fan; my interest was more towards baseball and hockey.

But football was the rule of the house when they were kids. Football season was a time where no one got to watch cartoons, no body could come over to play; football was on.

Sundays were spent going to church, and then home to either play catch in the backyard, rake some leaves or shovel some snow, whatever the season brought.

But the Superbowl Sunday was different.

The Superbowl was a party, and even though we had no money, we always splurged for the Superbowl.

The splurge was filet mignon steak, a baked potato, and creamed corn.

And they got to eat on the floor in the living room, in front of the t.v.

Something so forgeign to them, it was my cardinal rule that no one ate in front of the t.v., and there certainly was no food allowed in the living room.

It started when they could barely chew the steaks themselves.  What a great surprise, they were eating in the living room! It was the most exciting thing they had ever heard of, and on the floor yet!! A blanket laid on the floor like a picnic, it became a tradition they looked forward to every year.

All grown up now and on their own, I thought about that today as I sat watching the ice melt on the lake. I wondered if they remembered.

They did.

The son in the Navy called from the ship.

"Got your steak ma?" and I almost burst into tears.

The son in Colorado called from his townhouse -

"Eatin' some baked potato today ma, how about you?"

The son and daughter who live in the city were partying, and I can only hope they can afford to eat a steak now and then.

Just like back then.

I can still picture in my mind's eye the look on their faces that first Superbowl afternoon.

Spread in a circle on the floor, they held their dishes up as I handed out the slivers of filet mignon, plopped a small baked potato wrapped in tin foil on their plate, and let them scoop their own creamed corn onto their dish.

"Are we rich, Mom?" my warrior daughter asked with all the awe of  Cinderella being told she was really a princess.

I looked around at the shiny faces, and my heart was filled with love.

This was one of those moments you keep close to you for when you need them.  It's what helps you get through the night when all is confused, and keeps you from killing them when they try to push their limits.

"Yeah, ma are we rich?"  Navy Boy asked.

I looked at them in their hand-me-down jeans and flannel shirts, worn thin in the arms but still wearable.  My quiet son smiling softly as he looked at the design of the tin foil and wondering if he could draw that. The baby in her pink sweat suit with a Care Bear applique on the front, an outfit I had picked up at a garage sale for 50 cents. 

"Today we are" I said, as I turned my face so they didn't see the tears.

Today we are.

Have a steak and a baked potato on me.

Eat in the livingroom on the floor. 

Make your own traditions, for they will remember them when they need them. 

Happy Super Bowl!

Posted by eloveman at 06:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

When you're away from Long Island, you love it and when you're there, you don't.

You think if you're not from Long Island or NYC, you're not really from New York.

You know the exact point at which Queens turns into Nassau simply on intuition.

You don't go to Manhattan, you go to "The City".

You never realize you have an accent till you leave.

At some point in your life you've gone clamming.

Either your parents or your grandparents lived in the city.

You'd pay $8.50 for a movie.

You don't live in Long Island. You live ON Long Island.

You know where the Commack Motor Inn is.

Your distant future might involve the state of Florida.

You can correctly pronounce places like Happauge, Commack, Islip, Islandia, Massapequa.

You know the location of 6 malls and a dozen McDonalds and 36 7-11's.

You never, ever want to "change at Jamaica..."

You've tried to find the Amityville Horror house.

No, you don't want mustard on that burger!!

You've had a seagull crap on your car.

You have or someone you know has fallen asleep on the LIRR and ended up in one of these three places; Babylon, Port Washington or Hicksville.

You went to an elementary school that promoted dodge ball as the number 1 game among children 7-13.

You know White Castle is terrible for you and the food sucks but you periodically "Get the Crave".

You want the Yankees to stay in the Bronx, but would probably go to more games if they moved to Manhattan

You've missed that "Drunk Train", the 2:42 out of Penn and had the dreaded wait until 5:30.

You or someone you know has owned an animal that came from North Shore Animal League.

Quick! Who's the Suffolk County Executive? Don't know do you?!

You've never taken an MTA bus.

The Long Island Expressway isn't really as bad as everybody thinks.

You don't associate Fire Island with gay men.

You know which parts of the Godfather were filmed on Long Island.

You've paid a $10 cover charge to get into a bar, but got nothing for it.

You miss wiffle Ball and running through sprinklers.

You think Islip MacArthur airport is cute and you enjoy watching it grow up.

Billy Joel said it best, "either you date a rich girl from the North Shore, or a cool girl from the South Shore".

You don't really see the big deal about the Hamptons, unless you got smashed at the Bordy barn.

When people ask "where are you from?" you answer Long Guy Land and automatically assume everyone in the world knows that answer means New York.

You've always liked Billy Joel and you own several of his "records"

The Belt Parkway sucks!

Your parents took you to Nathans or Carvel (on the way home from the beach).

Regular gas - $3.39 and you still pay it!!!

You hate paying tolls.

You don't have to go far to see your family.

You remember Grumman

You've gotten drunk on the bleachers of some high school

You know the color of the water at Jones Beach was not BLUE!

You were upset when all the Roy Rogers turned into Wendy's.

You can spout off all the LIRR stops between Penn Station and Ronkonkoma

Paying $35 for a haircut doesn't sound so crazy.

You think the people from Brooklyn are "da wunz dat tawk wit a accent"

Sledding in the sumps

You knew of Massapequa before the Amy Fisher-Joey Buttafuoco nightmare

You thought going to Queens was a hike

The first time you heard the term "Long Island Iced Tea" you were somewhere else and you laughed.

When you live somewhere else and are astounded to see that people actually stop at yellow lights.

When you just sort of presume that wherever you live, you'll be ableto find good delis, good pizza, and good bagels.

You can name at least three bands that came from Long Island.

When you walk in the city and you see two men holding hands...it becomes normal to you.

No word ends in an ER, just an AH.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Long Island.

.....and you know who you are :)

Posted by eloveman at 10:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Phil's official forecast as read 2/2/08 at sunrise at Gobbler's Knob:

Here Ye! Here Ye! Here Ye!

On Gobbler's Knob on this fabolous Groundhog Day, February 2nd, 2008
Punxsutawney Phil, the Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of all Prognosticators,
Rose to the call of President Bill Cooper and greeted his handlers, Ben Hughes and John Griffiths.

After casting a weathered eye toward thousands of his faithful followers,
Phil consulted with President Cooper and directed him to the appropriate scroll, which proclaimed:

"As I look around me, a bright sky I see, and a shadow beside me.
Six more weeks of winter it will be!"

Posted by eloveman at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)