Not Today. I Have A Headache!

  
Yesterday, I was sitting most of the day with a pounding headache right above my eye, feeling like it was going to explode out of its socket. I very rarely get a headache, but I went swimming earlier in the morning and got chlorine water up my nose trying out my Esther Williams skills and somehow my sinuses were quite offended by the intrusion into their space and decided to punish me.  
 

While my eye socket was pounding out of my head and I was feeling very old and in need of some TLC, the phone rang. NO CALLER ID. I usually don’t pick up those calls, but my eye pain short circuited my brain and I picked up. 

Now if you are a mother. If you have always been a take charge, fix everyone’s problems, tower of strength mother. If you are a mother of anything- kids, dogs, cats, Guinea pigs, your husband, you’re going to understand this story. 

“Mother,” my daughter said in almost a whisper because it was during the day and she works for the DOJ and she never ever calls me from work. Never. Ever.  

“Mother, I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me, but it’s my phone. I don’t have one.”

 “What?! (The exclamation point here is important) The brand-new super expensive iPhone 6 Plus with the maximum amount of memory you just bought last week that your mother lusts after and can’t afford?”

“Yes. Well… it got run over.”
  

Silence. “What do you mean ‘it got run over’?”  

(Somehow with bad news my kids still revert to their six-year-old days when telling the truth right out of the slot is still very difficult.)

“Well……I forgot it was on the top of the car and I drove away and ran over it.”

“OK.” I said, trying to ignore my screaming sinus cavity. “At least it wasn’t my dog this time ( that’s another sad story we both lived through) ……being new, your insurance will cover it.”

“Hummm…. I didn’t take the coverage….but….” she whispered so her guilt of not insuring her pricy phone….and probably her colleagues ears were muted. ” I worked out a deal with Apple and it’s only going to cost me $150 to replace it.”  

I didn’t even dare ask her the details about “the deal”. I can only imagine. 

After a few short inquiries about how I was, I pulled a motherly fib ( my children call that ‘martyr speak’) and said I felt great and let her get back to her legal work. All visions of some much needed TLC evaporated into reality. Sigh. All of those childhood kissed scrapes and hugs when it was the best medicine for what ailed her disappeared through the airwaves that separated us. 

My phone rings a lot. I’m always happy when it’s one of my children with updated news about their lives. Positive news. My nose is pressed against their windows hoping to witness the good stuff.  

  
Whatever idiot spread the notion that once your children are grown and out of the house your job is done and you can go merrily along your way in your own life. NOT. You will always be the sounding board. The anchor. The cheerleader. And maybe the first to hear their troubles and last to hear of their successes. And you just have to live forever. Really! End of story!

Copyright©Sandra Hart 2016. All rights reserved

FAMILY REUNION MEMORIES

  

I don’t know about you, but my childhood memories are very much a part of who I am especially now that I’m older and I’ve had a lot of time to think about my childhood and how it actually molded me into the person blogging here today.

I have often alluded to my thoughts on  one of the saddest things about families today is that we are spread so far apart many times because of the way the world is now. The old fashioned nuclear family, unless you’re one of the lucky ones, is not intact and not what it used to be. 

A television colleague of mine I worked with back in the 70s recently posted on Facebook a video that brought back so many delightful memories for me of my early summers back in Ohio. Because of my grandparents having 10 children, our parent’s extended family was extremely large so every year we would have a Lewis family reunion at a park in Canton, Ohio called Myers Lake.
  
 My brother and I always looked forward to this one summer’s outing to Myers Lake, not only because we could see all of our aunts and uncles and cousins, but the thoughts of all the great amusement rides that they had in the park. 
  

Sherman and most of my cousins enjoyed the roller coaster, the Ferris wheel and other spinning rides. Just watching everyone go up and down and whirl around made me dizzy. From my beginning motion sickness has been my curse, so I found happiness with a younger cousin in trying to win things. My favorites were all the toss games where you could win prizes. (I still have a prized pussy willow carnival glass vase that I won one year at a Myers Lake concession stand that I recently saw on eBay worth quite a lot). 
  
Aren’t we who we are because of who we were as children and how we interpreted life events? Perhaps those early experiences with compensating for my DNA flaws by ‘winning’ became the foundation for overcoming later life challenges and the embryo of my life’s successes.  

As my grandson said to me the other day during a conversation about November’s election, “Nana, you grew up in the best of times. I think your’s was the greatest generation.” So true. Sadly for the Millenniums, so true. 

Copyright©Sandra Hart. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

THANK YOU FACEBOOK

  

( Recent events have reminded me how important family is. I am also reminded of how special extended family can be, cousins especially. One of my second cousins, Nyna Giles, is writing a memoir about her mother*, my first cousin Carolyn, and another second cousin, Kacy Ferrar, recently posted the picture above on Facebook. Both of these have taken me back to my own memories of my cousins and Grandma’s house. I dedicate this to all of them.)

            

  

My mother grew up with nine brothers and sisters. As a result of that reality my brother and I inherited 18 first cousins on the maternal side.

The best part of that is we were born with friends. Every holiday or special occasion we would pile into grandma’s dining room with us cousins sometimes overflowing into the kitchen. None of us jitterbugs ever minded being set up at the long table covered with oil cloth because it meant we were out from under our parents noses. 

Pigtails could be pulled, unwanted food easily gotten rid of by a quick shove onto someone else’s plate and kicks under the table couldn’t be reprimanded.  

All of us flying in and out around that farm house like wild honey bees during those gatherings, the joy we all felt as children, as cousins, of just being, escaped us. We thought it would last forever. Of course, it didn’t. 

As I have written about so often, soon after the war prosperity was beginning to bloom and most of my aunts and uncles moved to various parts of the state and country where they could find work. Thus the fracturing of the close knit family began and my loving ties to my cousins unraveled.

My mother, though,  remained very close to her four sisters and brother who lived nearby. They were the threads that kept us cousins connected as we grew up and went our own way as adults, leaving behind fading memories of Grandma’s kitchen and a life that would never again be. We were never to be together again in that utopian state. Nor were we to know then that the only gatherings later on where some of us could reacquaint ourselves would be when we were grieving the loss of one of our own.
  

Christmas cards would be exchanged by a few of us throughout the years, but basically I would say most of us lost touch for many years. Everyone seemed busy with their own lives, their own children in their own dining rooms and kitchens during the years. Looking back, I realize it was such a loss of time for all of us. 

   
 
Perhaps the longest relationship as a young adult for me would’ve been with my older cousin Carolyn in New York. Carolyn was like me more than any of my other cousins.  Most of them were just happy to get married, have children and work at what they liked. I was different.   I had been born with big dreams. I couldn’t help it. It just was. Dreams of something beyond my existence in the small industrial town where I lived.

 My cousin Carolyn, when I was still young, was able to fly away and realize her dreams. She was our family’s shining star. She was the one who had made it. It was Carolyn. She was the hand that was there to pull me out and inspire me to not be afraid of wanting more. Unfortunately, as the cruelty of life sometimes reveals itself, throughout the years, circumstantially, no one was there with an understanding hand for her. 

I guess the point of all this retrospective and what inspired this blog is that through Facebook I have been able to connect with so many members of my extended family that throughout the years I have lost. My cousins, second cousins, maternal cousin’s, fraternal cousins are back. We’re not sitting in the kitchen at Grandma’s table in Ohio, but we are connected and we are back as an extended family. For that I am most grateful. Thank you Facebook. 

Copyright© Sandra Hart 2016. All Rights Reserved

* The Bridesmaid’s Daughter, Nyna Giles (coming 2017/18)

Facebook- Are You Wasting My Life?

Next time you’re in a bad mood, resist the urge to try and cheer yourself up by checking Facebook. It likely won’t work, according to a recent study, reports Rebecca Hiscott, Editorial Fellow, HuffPost Business. 

The reason? Even more than other areas of the Internet, Facebook makes you feel like you’re wasting your life.

I spend a lot of time on Facebook due to the fact that I am host to three different Facebook pages; my professional page, my personal page, and one of my son’s Facebook professional fan pages.

I’ve been sitting here today waiting for a new furnace to be installed in the back of the house so I have a lot of time on my hands with nothing much productive going on except for the simmering vegetable soup on the stove. Which brings me to Facebook and all the time that I spend with my FB friends.

I started thinking about exactly what posts are in my newsfeed. What is the profile of my friends and their interests. Just exactly what shows up as I scroll my newsfeed every day? Are the posts in my newsfeed a mirror of me?

Well, a lot, a whole lot of my friends love animals. Dogs, cats, kittens and unusual friendships between domestic and wild life. Videos that have circulated forever of cute, crazy and rescued animals. Then there was that crazy dentist who killed Cecil, Zimbabwe’s beloved lion. A favorite. My friends, including me, couldn’t get enough of that dentist of death! A pox on him!
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My Facebook friends and I share envious pictures of food – where we ate it and what we were doing and who we were with while we were having a good time eating food and taking pictures of it, including not-always-so-flattering selfie’s with our friends while eating at that marvelous place. I kind of feel left out of the good times when I see these friends of mine celebrating while I am sitting at home wracking my brain for a blog idea, or alone with a pile of laundry looking at me. They may be right on that point if you never ever have anything going on in your own life.
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There are the political posts and gun issue posts. This is where my friends divide. I find a spectrum of diversity on both of those issues, each friend so sure their conclusions are right. I have always believed that friends and politics don’t mix, so it is only on a rare occasion that I stick my nose into any divisive issue, rather than to have it bitten off. I don’t think FB is a forum of persuasion. Just my opinion.

And music. I love music and many of my friends also find music to be an integral part of their lives and we share all kinds of music information on Facebook. I love these posts. 

Finally, there are the myriad of shared posts with affirmations about how much we love being mothers, daughters, sisters and friends. 
Someone said to me the other day that when she logs onto Facebook and sees all of these people socializing and having a good time it makes her feel lonely. So maybe the studies are right, but I doubt in the very near future that people are going to walk away from Facebook. 
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In the meantime, in my own personal non-scientific study I do find that my friends mirror who I am and what I’m interested in reading about; with the exception of politics and keeping my nose out of it.

Copyright Sandra Hart 2015©. All rights reserved.
 

 
 

Throwback Thursday

  
Every successful musician has a history and usually that history is made up of important people who have helped inspire, shape and teach techniques that natural talents will eventually shape and mold into their own unique musical voice. 

When Emerson was about 10 years old he had such a teacher. I don’t know exactly the history of how they discovered him, but my parents found a young man in Steubenville, Ohio who was giving guitar instructions. That is when Pandel Collaros came into our lives.

I personally have never met Pandel and I don’t know what kind of student Emerson was, or just how long he took lessons, but this young man, Pandel, gave him a start by teaching him the basics of playing a guitar. 

It was wasn’t until I started the Emerson Hart and Tonic News Facebook page that I began thinking about all of the people who were responsible for helping Emerson along the way. That included Pandel. Curious as to what happened to this young man, I searched the Internet and finally found him thirty-five years after those first guitar lessons. And I was not surprised that Pandel has done very well for himself, too. He has not abandoned his love for teaching, nor his music.

Pandel is now a musician and Assistant Professor of music at Bethany College in West Virginia. He teaches music theory, aural skills, audio recording, and popular style guitar music, both acoustic and electric. He is also the founder and director of the Bethany College Rock Ensemble and performs frequently in a variety of area venues.
 

Pandel is a member of the Emerson Hart and Tonic News page. I hope to eventually meet the man who gave my son his first guitar lessons. On this Throwback Thursday I want to thank him for sharing his love of music and great teaching skills, not only to young musicians as Emerson, but to the many students at Bethany College who he has inspired by his love of music and to let him know it’s good to play it forward. As a musician one doesn’t have to be a platinum awarded artist for your life to have meaning. His life has mattered.   His life has mattered. 

Copyright Sandra Hart©. All Rights Reserved

How To Shop For A Husband

  

 My husband is like no other being I have ever met. He has either the strongest bones in the world, the worst balance, the fastest healing, or the best luck of anyone I have ever met in my life.

 During our thirty year marriage he has tripped and done face plants more than I can count without loosing a tooth or breaking a bone, often fallen off his bike without breaking anything, slipped and landed on me without getting hurt (but dislocated my shoulder) and once narrowly missed drowning in the undertow in Brazil during Carnival.  

He is always scraped, scuffed, and the cause of more dropped iPhones, silverware, broken glasses, dishes, exploding Gorilla glue and other ancillary items that I have to keep replacing. We are definitely keeping the economy alive.

When I was first introduced to Arthur’s boyhood friends they called him ‘Whitey the Smasher.’ The ‘Whitey’ part I could understand because he had beautiful blond hair, but the ‘Smasher’ part I really couldn’t figure out. The mystery revealed itself soon enough on an expensive Oscar de la Renta gown. 

After a few ruined outfits I learned that at weddings and bar mitzvah celebrations I didn’t want to be sitting next to him at the table. It never failed. Whatever he was drinking I would be wearing on my clothes before the evening was over; wine, water, champaign, or coffee. Arthur, that handsome devil of mine, is a spiller, smasher and tripper. 

  

Case in point, several years ago we were at the Friars Club at an event and I had invited Janice Leiberman of the NBC Today Show to join us. I had done several segments for her on Florence Henderson’s morning program and we had become friends. My son and his wife just happened to be in town, also, and I thought she would enjoy meeting everyone. 

Janice arrived in a beautiful cream cashmere outfit that was as stunning as she was beautiful. Within an hour my husband had spilled red wine all over her expensive cashmere outfit. She spent the entire evening looking like a Pollock painting. I’m sure if it had been legal she would’ve killed my husband. 

  

Arthur voluntarily has had brain studies done on him and nothing out of the order shows up. He just physically moves faster than his brain can register. His gray matter is trying to send him a message, but he is too busy to listen. He is a wired Type A personality who at 88 shows no slowing down. So mellow me is used to the ‘oops!’ bangs and crashes and the sound of another dish hitting the floor. It’s just the price I pay for finding a handsome and smart soulmate with a major case of the “Watch out!”-clumsy-dropsies. Hey! None of us are perfect.

  Copyright Sandra Hart. All Rights Reserved
 

 

EMPTY NEST SYNDROME

( Author Note: As former Romper Room Teacher and Pittsburgh CBS affiliate anchor, my children began their lives with Romper Room and Mr. Rogers as their ‘normal’ family. We relocated with my late husband to New Jersey 43 years ago, but no escaping for them – their friends here in New Jersey always remembered me as the lady on Romper Room.)

Growing Wings Of Their Own

It has almost been 20 years since one of my children took his sisters out from under the ‘Romper Room Mom’ shadow they had been living under for most of their lifetime. A new dimension was added to our lives and nothing would ever be the same again.

In 1996 my Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey singer/songwriter son, Emerson Hart, and his band Tonic released their first album, Lemon Parade, which rocketed to multi-platinum status and garnered him awards, including the Billboard Award for the #1 most played song on rock radio.

What followed in the ensuing 19 years would be world tours, six Tonic albums, two Grammy Nominations, ASCAP Award, movie soundtracks, two successful solo albums and concerts in war zones entertaining our American troops – even being knocked off of his feet by a bomb blast while the band was staying at one of Sodom Hussein’s Palaces in Iraq.

Springsteen. Bon Jovi. Both New Jersey icons, were already firmly established within the 80’s Rock frenzy by the time Emerson and Tonic came along. But the ‘new kid’ on the block from New Jersey, the late ’90’s talent entry, came into the game like gangbusters when music tastes were were changing. Emerson was on the tail end of Rock’s biggest roll, but he and Tonic have survived.

So have his sisters. Each of them with their own quiet, or not so quiet victories growing up and out from under the ‘Romper Room Mom’ memories.

So a toast from parents to our children and their victories growing up and out from under our wings. A toast for 20 more quiet and maybe not so quiet years!

Eliminate The Negative

  
This weekend I asked myself with all the negativity in the world assaulting us from every electronic and wireless gadget attached to our digits, or in front of our faces, what should I blog about this week? What should I tell people to help them to reduce their stress? What can I do to relieve some of my stress? 

 My reply in my own head to myself was to stop – put down my iPhone and turn off the television. Now that’s cheeky advice I thought, knowing how I have been Mrs. News Junkie personified most of my life. How personally I react to everything that’s going on in the world from war to kidnapping to the stock market falling precipitously, ISIS murders and child-abuse. Never ending gloom. And the politicians on both sides! Heaven help us.

Of course a forever withdraw from the worst in the world is not practical, but it sure wouldn’t hurt for a few days, or even a week. Wasn’t it Deepak Chopra who said the same thing? The peace of mind I would have not being bombarded with negative and horrific news about the grand transgressions of the human race every waking moment of my day. It would be refreshing.  

 Most of us are sponges that can’t help but absorb negative energy when we feel the stress of a world that seems to have gone all wrong. I think today I’m going to take my own advice and see how I feel in a few days. 

If you are up to a challenge, come along with me to the land of ‘political and world news’ free. 

Let’s spend our time counting our blessings, walking in the woods, hugging our children and sitting surrounded by nature reading a good book in hand. Add a layer of background music that makes us remember how lucky we are to be in the here and now. “Actuate the positive, eliminate the negative…”

Copyright by Sandra Hart. All Rights Reserved.

  

Friends For Life

  

Friends are the bows on the tail of our kite. Without them we are rudderless and we can’t fly. Although we don’t often look back to see them, their presence will always be a part of us. When I have lost a bow that has loosened from my string, I dip. I feel it fly away and my journey is altered forever. 
Copyright Sandra Hart©. All Rights Reserved.

  

Kudzu I Am Just Not That Into You

 
This morning I put on my African safari anti-bug clothing and went out the back door to our hillside that has grown into a waist-high thick green mess. 
Weedwhacker in hand I started getting my aerobic exercise by chopping through the brush along the ocean. The pesky Japanese Kudzu vine is choking my dogwoods and native mountain laurel on that side of the property. The last two seasons I have had to tear it away and sever the stems only to come home in the spring and see it thriving again. Hello Kudzu. It just won’t die.  
So my day started first with carving a path at the back of the acreage that our rainy summer has turned into a Japanese jungle, then returning to the house and next getting on a step stool to kneel on the top of our washing machine. While practically standing on my head with a wrench on one hand I fixed a leaky cold water hose with the other without flooding the kitchen, so that I can do the mountain of towels and sheets my family left me with this week. I wonder. How on earth did my life end up like this?
I remarried a man more than 30 years ago who should have taken over these masculine chores, but who could have guessed that there are men who can’t fix things. How did I know at the time although he was good at making money and controlling the TV remote, that’s just about it. That’s as far as his helpful expertise goes.  
Now you say that’s not really a bad thing, financial responsibity is positive, that’s a good thing. Okay. I agree. I am grateful for that. But he’s also very good at not wanting to spend it when his talented wife can do it for free. And for me that has not been such a great thing because I must be just like him. My labor via my children flew the coop years ago, I don’t subscribe to Angie’s List, so if I can do it, why hire someone? 
When I am here at the shore with all of these equations in place, unless I am at my computer writing, that’s how you will usually find me – with a hammer, paint brush, vacuum, rake, or on my knees upside down trying to fix the washing machine.   

Maybe not too many of my younger readers are familiar with Ralph Edwards and his early 40’s radio, then his television reality program from the ’50’s “This Is Your Life”?  
For better or worse, this is mine:

HUSBAND: HI, Honey. How was your day? The beach was beautiful. You should have come. Here are my towels.
WIFE: Oy vey!  
Copyright Sandra Hart©. All rights Reserved.