The Year of Jo-Ann

Today is my mom's 59th birthday.

Not too long ago she decided that she was going to celebrate being 59 everyday, so she would ease into 60 instead of hitting it head on. She declared the next 365 days to be The Year of Jo-Ann.

I recently asked Jo-Ann (eh-hem, Mom) to share some of the wisdom she has gained in the past 59 years.

Jennifer: You have declared the next year to be The Year of Jo-Ann. What does that entail?

Jo-Ann: I am going to celebrate every day of my life like a special day.

Jennifer: Looking back, what is the most fun age?

Jo-Ann: 19. You're old enough to have independance, but young enough that if you screw up people will still say, "She's just a kid."

Jennifer: Between you and I, who is really your favorite child?

Jo-Ann: Jessica

Jennifer: What did you never do that you should have done?

Jo-Ann: Kicked your father (smile).

Jennifer: If you could go anywhere, where would you chose to go?

Jo-Ann: Paris

Jennifer: If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would it be?

Jo-Ann: Ben Franklin.

Jennifer: Favorite beverage?

Jo-Ann: Fountain coke, complete with sugar which I never drink

Jennifer: Favorite food?

Jo-Ann: Cheeseburger, which I never eat.

Jennifer: Favorite treat?

Jo-Ann: Anything chocolate.

Jennifer: Happiest memory?

Jo-Ann: As a child on Christmas Eve, we were walking down the dark city street to Midnight Mass and the snow began to fall. It was beautiful.

Jennifer: Worst memory?

Jo-Ann: I was about 5 and we were at Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother's. My father cracked a joke at my mother's expense and she threw a cup at him.

Jennifer: What are your words of wisdom regarding life?

Jo-Ann: Shit happens.

Happy birthday, Momma Mia!

Game 3

On March 29 my dad was told he had 3-6 months to live. I cannot explain in words what I felt burst through my heart when he told me those words over the phone from his hospital bed. I write for living and I know a heck of a lot of words, yet nothing in my vocabulary is powerful enough to describe that moment.

My brother decided to order three Phillies tickets for us, as my dad was a huge fan and it would give him something to look forward to. In fact, my dad had said to me he would spend his last months watching the Phils and hoping to see them win the World Series this year and watch them parade down Broad Street.

My father, as you may be aware, didn't make it to the game. He died the following Sunday, April 3.

Chris and I still went to the game last Friday night. His beautiful wife, my sister-in-law, Jessica, joined us. I am so grateful to her for coming -- sitting there with an empty seat would be unbearable.

But it was still hard.

It was hard to watch the team do well because I know he would be cheering.

It was hard to watch them loose the lead because I know he would call them a "bunch of bums".

It will just continue to be hard until it...isn't.

The day my father died I was at the tail end of recovering from pneumonia. I was tired of looking at my own four walls, so I called my mom and asked if I could come over for an hour...to look at her four walls instead. I just really needed to get out for a tiny little bit.

She opened the door and said, "Come in."

I knew something was wrong from her demeanor. Then she told me my dad passed away and we were going to my brother and sister-in-law's house.

While at their home, the Phillies game played on TV.

A few hours later I came back to my home. I threw my purse, coat and scarf on the floor. I fed my cats. I sat down at my dining table and sobbed.

He was supposed to go to the game on 4/15. Watch the Phillies this summer. Watch them win the division, the Pennant, the Series. Cheer as they paraded down Broad Street.

"You didn't even make it to Game 3," I cried out loud.

I love baseball. I love the Phillies. And I hope and pray that they do win the Series this year because I'd like to go to the parade for my dad. Unless they screw it all up -- the bunch of bums.

The Years Run Too Short and the Days Too Fast

My father and me on my Christening Day, 1972.

I have wondered during the last two days how I would acknowledge my father's passing in my blog.

I have always strived to be as honest as possible when writing this here. There is no point maintaining a blog about your life for almost five years, if you aren't honest about your emotions, no matter how silly, juvenile, disturbed or dark they may be.

I thought about a proper eulogy, but those words aren't coming to me tonight. Perhaps tomorrow; perhaps in years to come.

Instead my mind is filled with a kaleidoscope of memories, twisting and turning into each other and leaving me with many small snippets of the man I knew as Dad. The one thing that stands out more than anything is one of my father's favorite songs when I was a child, Time Passages by Al Stewart.

My Dad was many things, but he was not a singer. But he would sing Time Passages in his off-key voice over and over again, spinning that album so many times I'm stunned the grooves didn't wear away. A few years ago I bought that CD was transported to a simpler time in my life when I listened. To days when The Dukes of Hazzard ruled the TV airwaves, to days when I was reading Judy Blume and blushing, to days when phones had cords.

Because that song represents my childhood and my father to me, the lyrics seem even more poignant now.

The song follows. Have a listen if you like. This song has brought me comfort, laughs, tears and pain in the last two days.

It was late in December, the sky turned to snow
All round the day was going down slow
Night like a river beginning to flow
I felt the beat of my mind go
Drifting into time passages
Years go falling in the fading light
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
Time passages
There's something back here that you left behind
Oh time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn
Don't know why you should feel
That there's something to learn
It's just a game that you play

Well the picture is changing
Now you're part of a crowd
They're laughing at something
And the music's loud
A girl comes towards you
You once used to know
You reach out your hand
But you're all alone, in these
Time passages
I know you're in there, you're just out of sight
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

Take my hand; I'll lead you to Salvation

I just finished watching the 25th Anniversary special of Les Miserables. I am a big fan of that musical. The final song of the play is the death of the main character, Jean Valjean. In his final moments, two characters who have already passed away come to him and "take him" to the other side.

This and the lyrics that accompany this part of the show always make me cry.

Take my hand; I'll lead you to Salvation
Take my love; for love is everlasting
And remember the truth that once was spoken:
To love another person is to see the face of God

I recall one of the saddest moments of my life. I sat next to my cousin Christie underneath a window in Room 6 of the ICU of Underwood Hospital. My mother sat in a chair on the right hand side of the hospital bed and my Aunt Louise sat in a chair on the left hand side. In the bed, my beloved Nanny lay dying.

I can still hear my mother telling her mother that it was alright to go now. That she had done her job here and she could go to her sisters, mother and father now.

There was just silence and peace. No more struggles. No more pain.

And as strange as it may sound, it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

I am grateful to have been there as she slipped from this world to the next, where I imagine her parents were waiting to welcome her home.

And when I picture my Nanny in Heaven, she is in a South Philadelphia-style row home kitchen. Her sister and her mother are also there. There is a perpetual pot of gravy on the stove and a paper bag filled with fresh rolls from the corner store.

And some day I'll pull up a chair too, pour a cup of coffee and have the privilage of spending time with that amazing woman again.

So yes, that's what that darn song does to me.

21 Christmases

When I was little every Christmas my mother would dress me in my swanky Holiday attire and lug me to Echelon Mall to take part in the age old ritual of waiting on line to see Santa.

And every Christmas, as the line got shorter and I got closer to the scary big guy with the massive white beard, I would chicken out and refuse to sit on his lap and take the photo.

Not having one photo of her daughter with Santa, my mother and I evidently struck a deal when I was small that I would finally go and sit on Santa's lap when I was 21.

Growing up, every Christmas she would remind me that I'd have to take the plunge at 21. And it didn't seem like a big deal when I was 10. I could do that in 11 years.

But, as we all know, the years have a way of slipping by. Suddenly it was the Christmas of 1993. Oh my goodness...I was 21.

Mom hadn't mentioned it was the Golden Year. I wondered if it dawned on her, or if she assumed there was no point in mentioning it because I would never go take the photo anyway.

But I had to do it. You can't break a promise you make to your mother, after all. Not even one you make when you're four years old and about to pee your knickers from fear at the Echelon Mall.

So one day, in December of 1993, I went to my morning classes at Rowan, hopped in the car and drove to the mall. Echelon Mall. The mall where I tried and tried to see Santa, but failed.

I found Santa's Village outside of Strawbride & Clothier, where it had always been, and I stood at the end of the line.

The line consisted of me and about 10 children. I felt like a moron.

"Hi, Santa." I said, finally, after 21 years mustering the courage to get to the front of the line. I had never been this close.

"Who's the picture for?" he asked me as we posed for the Polaroid.

"My mother," I answered. "She's been waiting 21 years for this shot."

And yes, I may look like an over-grown baffoon. And yes, I may have an unrational fear of Santa. But I did it. And like all proud moms, my mother happily displays the one-and-only shot of me and the big guy.

Merry Christmas.

Twas Two Saturdays Before Christmas

My cousins Julia, Cynthia, Alysha, Michael and Robbie.

I love how the story has apparently sent Cynthia into a state of shock!

Tonight is the first "Cousins Cookies Exchange". The ladies are all getting together to have snacks, exchange cookies, toast our Nanny and have some fun. Sadly, my SIL Jessica won't be able to make it, so the evening will not be complete.

My cookies (Italian Anise Cookies) are ready, my snack item will be made soon and the bottle of Anisette is waiting on the counter.

Salute, Nanny!

A Great Weekend

We're nearing the end of Independence Day weekend. And what a great weekend it's been.

Work closed at 1 p.m. on Friday and after coming home for a few hours I drove to Philadelphia to visit with one of my most favorite people in the world, my friend Sean. I met Sean when I was 18 and he was 16...wow, 20 years now! He lives in Berlin, Germany now (squish, squish) and when he visits home I try to always see him. We spent a few hours sitting in his friend Chris' yard, drinking beers, smoking cigarettes and talking. It was a good night.

Saturday I cleaned like a mad woman (love it!) and then I popped in on my mom who had her best fried, Sue, visiting for the long weekend. After that I did some errands and enjoyed the evening.

Sunday my mom had a BBQ and I got to see my darling sister-in-law, brother and favorite little pickle, Zoe. Oh, how I adore her. I wish I could see her every single day, but her parents would kill me! :) She is just a perfect little girl...so smart and funny...just amazing.

And today is a day of rest. Well, rest and doing some organizing. I can't sit still for too long. There's always something to do. Like clean the ceiling fan and organize under the bathroom sink. But that's fun stuff (when you're insane like me!)

A Table for Five

Last Saturday evening the family met up to celebrate Christopher and Jessica's birthdays. We decided to meet at Cheesecake Factory and it turned out to be perfect for the baby -- it's very family-friendly.

I got there first and, per Jess's text, put in for a table for four adults and a baby in a carrier. Once our turn to be seated came, the staff called our shared last name, followed by the phrase "table for five."

Jess and Chris said it was the first time Zoe was included in a restaurant table head count.

I love that our little sector of the family has grown from four to five. How did we get by for so long with only four?

The East Coast girls are hip; I really dig those styles they wear

My brother's old bedroom contains three enormous Rubbermaid containers I refer to as "the coffins".

The coffins are stuffed to the gills with my mother's Spring and Summer clothes. Seriously, the woman has enough clothes to open her own department store.

The other day she asked if I would go up there with her while she sorts through the items and let her know which ones are hokey and which are not.

My mom wants to be spicy, and wants to rid herself of her oatmeal-like clothing.

She was to show me each item in each of the coffins and I was to say either "hokey" or "not hokey".

Simple rules, really. However, after I said "hokey" to almost everyone of the first grouping of items, I was banned from saying anything.

"Taupe, peach and pink are not spicy colors," I tell her. "They're not even spiced with something as plain as salt."

We laugh as girls and their moms are known to do.

In the end, I gave a super thumbs up to a denim jacket with a cute flower pin, a few dresses and a cool pinstripe jacket that could be paired with a black tee and a chunky necklace. So spicy.

After we came back downstairs Jo-Ann called to me from the kitchen, "I think I'm just a taupe kind of person."

Taupe, with a side of spice.

My title is from California Girls by the Beach Boys as chosen from this list of top summer songs.

Please visit Cousin Liz's blog as well during the Blogger Challenge.

The Roller Coaster

There is a roller coaster in Universal Studios that takes it's victims up a 90 degree angle before releasing them to the forces of gravity and inertia.

I was there last Monday night watching, safely from the ground, as the car crawled up, up, up...then let go. People's screams wafted through the park.

I decided to stay on the ground. Safe and sound.

Since Mother's Day of 2009 I have watched my brother and sister-in-law prepare for the arrival of little Tator, as we have lovingly dubbed her. This linen set or that? Custom configuring her bedroom closet to make the most of the space. Registering for all the items she'll need. Having nursery furniture delivered.

Up...up...up...the car the were on slowly accented up a 90 degree angle for nine months.

And suddenly...they were released into in new realm of reality.

And although tired, I am amazed at what wonderful parents they are. So loving, gentle and informed on seemingly everything.

There will be scary twists and turns along the way, but I, from my safe spot on the ground, am confident they are more than capable of handling this ride with grace and love.

Christopher and Jessica, I admire and love you both so much.

Zoe, there are no words to express to you what you mean to me. You have filled my heart.

Christmas Eve

Green socks complement the ruby slippers nicely, don't you think?



Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, how evergreen your branches...



Holly berries decorate the tree...



The dining table



Up close and personal with the Cardinal-themed place setting



Holiday treats



Dessert...a plaid cheesecake! It's an Isaac Mizrahi by Junior's and it's delicious!

The Ghost of Turkey Past

I love Thanksgiving.

The smell of the aromatic turkey wafting through the house for hours seduces my taste buds every year. Can you smell it? Yummy.

There have been big gatherings filled with Aunts, Uncles and darling cousins over the years. And much smaller ones with just the siblings and momma. But they're all good. Each holiday is filled with good laughs and an abundance of love.

I feared that my mom would still be in the hospital this year when the Holiday arrived. How strange it would be to have dinner without her. How could we possibly be thankful?

Yesterday I brought my mom home and she settled on the family room sofa. We talked about what time we should wake up on Thanksgiving morning to get the bird in the oven. She recalled Thanksgivings from years ago when she, Nanny, Aunt Gloria and Nanny Massanova would wake at 3 a.m. at Nanny's house in Camden, put the coffee on and begin stuffing a 25-pound turkey for the family dinner. (Can you picture them in that kitchen, Liz? Can you imagine all the pink curlers?)

And then I realized that we'd always have something to be thankful for, for we were a family and momma was still with us. Perhaps she would have been in the hospital still, but she'd be coming home soon. Unlike those ghosts in that house in Camden, with pink curlers in their hairs as they chop the celery for the stuffing and spill coffee in a sleepy stupor on the Formica kitchen table.

We still have the blessing of time in which to create more Thanksgiving memories like that little snip it.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Take time to smell the turkey.

Momma Mia

Gee whiz (yeah, I said 'gee whiz'), what a week it's been, my friends.

Last Monday, my mom and I were emailing each other back and forth a few times at work about this and that, when she mentioned that her stomach was really starting to bother her. Since a tummy bug at her office was going around, she thought she caught a touch of it. I called her Monday night and she sounded awful. We spoke for two seconds and she hung up.

It turns out that she was vomiting from 4:30 Monday evening to 12:30 Tuesday morning. It finally stopped for a bit, but she remained nauseous all day. Tuesday night the vomiting began again. She called me Wednesday morning at 7 am to tell me she was worse than ever and staying home from work again. I told her to call the doctor because no one has a stomach bug that lasts like that. Usually they are fast and furious...this had lasted about 48 hours at that point. She couldn't even take a sip of water without getting sick.

Side note...it was around this point that my mom noticed she developed a lump in her tummy...yeah, scary.

So she goes to the doctor and he says she has a bad stomach bug and gives her Prilosec. He also says the lump is a hernia that most likely just "popped" because of the violent retching she'd experienced the past two days. He gave her a script for an ultrasound.

Thursday morning at 4 am, my phone rings. It's my mom telling me she called an ambulance. She was vomiting again. And it wasn't normal stuff coming up.

Thank God she went to the ER when she did. It turns out she didn't have a tummy bug at all. She had a hernia which pushed it's way into her intestine and twisted it. The intestine was completely blocked and no waste could pass through the body. Everything kept backing up and she could have poisoned herself to death.

They performed surgery Thursday evening. Basically, they took the twisted piece of intestine and the hernia out and rejoined healthy intestine.

She is sore, but in very good spirits and recovering quite well.

Who'd have thought????

If it isn't Sammy Baker Davis Jr.!

My family are major fans of the Rat Pack crooners. And not just my immediate family...no sir. The love spreads far and wide; across the generations.

And evidently, the soon-to-be-born addition to the clan is also a fan.

It's true. Tater Tot Tomlin is a fan of Frank Sinatra.

Jessica told me on Saturday that when Frank was recently playing, Tater went wild and began dancing in Jessie's tummy. She stopped dancing for a Dean Martin song, then proceeded to dance again for Frank.

Once she's born, Aunt Jennifer will have to sit her down and introduce her to the rest of the Pack. She'll catch on to Dean and Sammy eventually.

Until then, keep dancing, little angel. Your Aunt Jennifer loves you very much and cannot wait until we finally meet each other. Oh, and I'll bring the CDs.

Cousin Elizabeth and I will be blogging to titles gleaned from John Hughes movies this week. Make sure you check out her blog too!

My title is from Sixteen Candles.

It Runs in the Family - Making Ourselves at Home

Normal people go to IKEA to browse and shop.

We go to IKEA and pretend to throw dinner parties...

And take naps...

It Runs in the Family - Silliness

This GORGEOUS, yet SILLY creature is my cousin Kaeleigh. I have informed her mother, Liz, that she is about to lose her spot as "Jennifer's Favorite Cousin" to her daughter, based on this picture.

Sister Christian

I know everyone thinks their family is the best and the babies they're related to are the cutest...

But they are are all wrong...

Because my family is the best...

And our babies are the cutest...

Case in point...my youngest cousin, Cynthia, who was Christened September 27

You see?

The best and the cutest...hands down!

You Say It's Your Birthday

My mother
turned 57 yesterday.

Happy Birthday
to the most
AMAZING
person I have ever known.

Love,
Your Baby

The Kitchen Sink

About five or so years ago I took my Nanny on some local errands. At the end of our journey we stopped at her bank. Nanny plopped her enormous black handbag on a counter top and began routing through it. Nanny's handbags were a true wonder. You know that phrase, "everything but the kitchen sink"? Yes, that was her handbag. Wallet, tissues, a wad of paperwork rubber banded together, and, of coarse, butterscotch candies.

Today I was out and about in Ocean City. I've been carrying the the tote that Jessica and Christopher gave all the ladies in their wedding party this summer. I plopped my tote on a bench for a moment and glanced at it as I lit a cigarette. It was jammed packed with a wallet, check book, makeup bag, sunblock, and -- as crazy as it sounds -- plastic garlic.

My heart was full.

The wonderment of being part of a family is that we all share each other's little mannerisms. For me, I slam my down to emphasize a statement just like my Aunt Gloria. My mother cooks barefoot just like her grandmother, Ann.

It is this sharing of mannerisms that keep those who have left us physically with us in spirit. They continue to live because we hold a part of their soul within us. They continue to live because a glance at your overstuffed tote bag can take your breath away in remembrance.

By the way, the plastic garlic is a decoration for my kitchen that I bought today. I just put it in my tote to avoid another plastic bag. Or, perhaps I am simple trying to fend off plastic vampires.

St. Vincent's Home for Boys

When my brother was little and horrible my mother would always say, "I'm dropping you off at St. Vincent's."

In real life, St. Vincent's was a home for orphaned boys. In the world of idle threats, St. Vincent's was a place where you could drop off your son when he didn't listen and had a smart mouth.

Years later, when Christopher grew up, I was in the car with him once in the Tacony section of Phildelphia. We drove past St. Vincent's.

"It's real!" he exclaimed.

Evidently, Chris was under the impression that the place was entirely made up just to scare him straight.

I wonder if he ever gets nervous now that Jessica will send him there.