Remembering My Girl Crushes

Have you ever experienced a “girl crush” on a teacher you admired? As I celebrate the 60 women who helped me to 60, this blog honors two of my teachers—my “girl crushes.”

My first crush was my 8^th grade teacher at Anderson Elementary School, Mrs. Hamilton. I think her full name was Maureen Hamilton, but I knew her only as Mrs. Hamilton or “teacher.” Mrs. Hamilton was tall, thin and wore a cool shag haircut and great wedge shoes. I was the chubby, lonely, awkward new girl. Eighth grade can be a tough age for many girls—for me it was the year I suddenly had to carry a purse one week a month.

Mrs. Hamilton was not only pretty and cool, but she was also kind. She ate her healthy lunch of carrot and celery sticks at her desk and welcomed her students to eat lunch in the classroom too. That made it a safe space for me. She also was passionate about the daily pledge of allegiance. She often got teary while reciting the pledge, explaining that members of her family served in the military. She taught me to treat the pledge with the same reverence—and I still do today.

In eighth grade, we explored careers. I thought I might like to be a reporter, a travel agent, or a florist. I am unsure where “florist” came from! Tony and I did end up spending our life together traveling and I did become a journalist. I credit Mrs. Hamilton with the start of that journey.

My love of journalism continued at Anderson Union High School with my second teacher “girl crush.” Connie Chrysler was my Spanish and Journalism teacher. She was young and fun—at the time I had no idea just how young! Mrs. Chrysler celebrated her 70^th birthday earlier this year, making her exactly 10 years older than me.

Mrs. Chrysler was a dedicated, enthusiastic teacher who worked at our small local paper the summer before she began teaching journalism. This was in the days of no computers. We used light tables, exacto knives, and rubber cement. Under Mrs. C’s leadership, our newspaper (and several of its reporters) won awards. Working on the High Views was a highlight of my high school years.

Mrs. Chrysler took her students on adventures, which was especially important because many in our little town rarely traveled anywhere (including me!). She took the Spanish Club to Lake Almanor for a weekend, bravely took the Journalism class to San Francisco, and even took a group cross country skiing. I had never been before. I have a memory of knocking her down in the snow after sliding into her. I was not a natural ski bunny (surprise!!). My walk down memory lane led me to contact Mrs. Chrysler to let her know what she meant to me. We shared messages via Facebook and reminisced about those long-ago years. Her memory of the skiing trip was that she had never cross country skied before either and made the mistake of wearing brand new jeans that left the snow blue on her frequent falls.

I had other terrific teachers, but most of them are “teacher blurs.” I remember things they said or things that happened in their classrooms, but I don’t clearly remember THEM. If you have someone who impacted your life in a positive way, I strongly encourage you to tell them. I believe we should “eulogize” people while they are still breathing and can appreciate our words. It feels good to spread genuine compliments.

But, Wait!! There’s More…

I had planned to blog more frequently this year, but life threw me a curveball. My new hip I got in January this year is already breaking up with me. Next week I will have it removed while my doctors work to cure the infection I have had for four months. Once cured, I will get a new hip. This medical saga has curtailed the plans Tony and I had for this year, but it has offered lessons too—including not to take one day for granted. I wish you health and happiness. I will join you on the dance floor soon!

PS Taking these goofy photos with an old copy of High Views made me smile, gave me another opportunity to wear my tiara, and reminded me that I am a bit of a hoarder!

Marinating in All that Life Offers

My partner in all things gives me great joy! Life with Tony is a gift.

Yesterday was my 60^th Birthday and I feel happier and more satisfied than I ever have. Obviously, I have experienced moments of pure joy—our wedding day, the births of our children and grandchildren, seeing Mount Rushmore and Niagara Falls for the first times—but this feeling I have is one of sustained bliss. I know that sounds corny and even being corny makes me smile.

This sense of perpetual joy snuck up on me. I usually err on the side of “happy”—my motto is “I refuse to have a bad time”—so, it’s not as if I were miserable one day and happy the next.

Sitting at lunch this week with my husband of nearly 40 years, I was just suddenly aware that I am not currently seeking anything. That may sound strange. I haven’t given up on life or having adventures and making new friends. I just feel completely satisfied with my life NOW. I spent much of my life working toward something or looking for something—raising children, getting a better job, or improving myself. I am always a work in progress and am making choices to be healthier, but if it all ended for me now, it would have been enough. Life is good. I am good. Our family is good. I feel loved. I am satisfied. I am at peace. What a gift that is! Now each day is gravy! Each day beyond today is an opportunity to continue to love and be loved. Each day that I have with my husband, our children and grandchildren is an extra blessing.

This might all sound maudlin, although I don’t feel like I am being morbid. I feel grateful! I would love to live a long and healthy life, but I plan to enjoy each day as the gift it is. Two of my dear friends did not get to see their 60^th birthdays. February 6^th is the tenth anniversary of Ruthanne Lodato’s murder. She was a wife, mother, fabulous human, and my friend. She was just 59. Another sweet friend died last December—just two months before her 60^th birthday. Kelli Noble’s death was also unexpected, although not violent. I am still trying to process her passing. She also left children and a grandchild.

I share these stories because these beautiful women are counted in my 60—the 60 great women who loved me to 60. They didn’t get to see 60 themselves, so my promise to their memories is to live each day with gratitude. Ruthanne and I would have lunch together a couple times a week. We often moaned about our weight or other things that seem so trivial now—oh what I would give (and her family would give) to still be enjoying chubby lunches with my dear friend.

Dad as a "Tiara Victim" in honor of my 50th.

When my dad was nearing the end of his life, he started making phone calls to people. I dubbed these calls “closure calls.” We all took turns finding phone numbers for him—most of these people he had not spoken to in many years. Many of the calls were sweet. Dad expressed gratitude or shared a fun memory. On at least one call, dad let the listener know how badly he felt hurt and betrayed by him. Because we don’t all get a “10-minute warning” before we leave this planet, I am sending cards and notes to friends and family now. Shouldn’t we make “closure calls” throughout our lives? I plan to end calls and visits with genuine “I love yous” while I can. I pledge not to leave any of the good stuff unsaid.

My birthday reminds me to continue to breathe deeply and appreciate the weather, the sky, the breeze, the leaves and to savor the sounds of life—dogs barking in the distance, children calling out, birds.

If I should get that “10-minute warning” that my time on earth will end, I hope to take a good long, final look around and think, “I hope I have loved enough and given enough.” Then I will look up and say, “Thank you.” And if I am honest, I will add, “More, please.” But today, I am just peacefully grateful.

 But Wait! There’s More!

This blog is an example of preaching to the choir! I heard from so many of you yesterday. Thank you for the phone calls, cards, texts, gifts and social media posts. I love that so many of you sang "Happy Birthday" to me. It was especially sweet to have Azariah sing "Happy Birthday" in English and Hebrew during a video call. He ended by kissing the phone and telling me he loves me. I have saved at least four phone messages where my dad called and sang "Happy Birthday" to me over several years (as well as a  couple messages where others sang too!). I love to play these every year. 

You all got your “I love yous” said and I heard them and marinated in them. Thank you! You made my already sweet life even sweeter! I feel loved. xoxox

Happy Birthday, Kelsey!

 

Kelsey in Jordan.

As I celebrate the 60 women who helped me to 60, I plan to blog about some of them. My mom topped my list, but the beautiful woman who made me a mama is right up there too.

Our daughter Kelsey has always done life on her terms. We laugh about how when she was just three, she would insist she was six years old. That was funny until we were at an amusement park where we had to buy a ticket for our three-year-old because she insisted to the ticket agent that she was six! She was so convincing (and tall for her age!) that we looked like we were trying to skip paying!

Born in Korea, Kelsey attended pre-school in the Netherlands and then elementary school in Germany. We moved back to the United States when she was in the third grade. Maybe those early days abroad helped her to love languages. She took high school French classes while in middle school. In high school, she studied Japanese and Spanish. In college she studied Hebrew before studying Arabic—those studies took her to Beirut, Jordan, and Morocco twice. She also spent a summer in Berlin and three weeks in Korea checking out her birthplace.

Kelsey in Beirut.

Our feisty daughter has never chosen the easy path. What would be the fun in that? While studying at William & Mary, she decided to study Arabic in Beirut. It didn’t matter that her college did not offer an exchange program there or that she would travel there alone the summer of her college freshman year, off she went! She made terrific friends and had amazing experiences. I followed her travel blog until it made me too nervous. I decided it might be easier for me to read it after she was safely home. Some of those adventures included couch surfing in Oman and being driven over a border covertly—I best leave those details for her to share!

Our girl is not only smart, she can run! After doing well in a 5K race in the 5^th grade, she was asked to run with the high school Cross Country team at Fort Campbell, Ky. I had my reservations about our 6^th grader being around older students and about whether she would willingly get up for the 6 AM summer practices. I told her I would not wake her up. She would have to wake me up for a ride. She got us both up every day that summer and competed with the team the next school year—placing at the Regionals and State meets and earning a Varsity letter. She went on to run Cross Country and Track until her high school graduation—racking up many more wins, a second Varsity letter from her Alexandria, VA high school and even serving as the girls’ team captain. She decided not to run in college but continued running for fun—entering 10K races and half marathons, sometimes with her dad and brother.

She continued to choose the more challenging route while working on her master’s thesis at The George Washington University, applying for and being accepted to study Arabic in Morocco for 11 months as a Boren Fellow before completing her masters in Global Communication—while working fulltime at Lockhead Martin as an intel analyst.

Forever a cherished memory!

One of my favorite memories was when I joined her in Morocco for a week to celebrate my 52^nd and her 25^th birthday. I was so impressed (as I continue to be) of her fearlessness in assimilating in foreign countries. When we lived overseas as a military family, we traveled as a family. Our brave, beautiful girl was flying solo. Being Kelsey’s mom has helped me grow and stretch in ways I never would have imagined. I cherish my friendship with our only daughter and am grateful that she has agreed to care for me in my older years—just kidding about that caretaker promise, although I love when she has allowed me to care for her and her family.

One of my great honors was being present for the birth of Kelsey’s first son, Azariah. When Elior was born in Jerusalem, I was not at his birth because I had the honor of caring for Azariah in their apartment, while his mom and dad were in the hospital. What special bonding times with our grandsons.  

Now Kelsey is navigating more unchartered waters, living in Jerusalem with her husband and two young sons during a war. Despite the sadness and fear that situation holds, Kelsey is working full time for a New York City Public Relations firm, while her role as “Ima” has her working hard to ensure that her sons (Elior, 10 months, and Azariah, not-quite-3) have normal, calm, happy lives. That includes potty training! I marvel at all our daughter accomplishes.

An earlier hint that she can accomplish anything happened when Kelsey was in kindergarten. She picked out cute red eyeglasses and despite my warnings that red is such a distinctive color she might tire of her glasses. She assured me she would “love them forever.” Less than halfway through her kindergarten year, her teacher called me to say that the students were fundraising for Kelsey to get new glasses. Ms. Randall politely told me that it was inappropriate for students to be donating to this “cause.” Sure enough, some of Kelsey’s classmates felt sorry for her because she didn’t like her glasses and had decorated cans to collect coins during class. That fundraising effort was quickly and quietly squelched. I must admit, I was proud that she worked to find a solution to her “problem” and that her classmates cared enough about her to want to help.

Kelsey also rallied the troops in 5^th Grade when she started a classroom newspaper, “Norris News.” Her teacher, Julie Norris, told me that she was impressed that the other students “bought into” Kelsey’s idea and took writing assignments from Editor Kelsey. Kelsey went on to be the editor of her high school news magazine in Alexandria, VA.

As a working mom, Kelsey still finds time to make homemade Challah for her family and cook healthy meals. She is studying to perfect her Hebrew and yet despite working long hours, sounds patient and soft spoken with her children—even when things get crazy, and the babysitter is a no-show on a workday full of important meetings. Kelsey is who I aspire to be when I grow up.

I love you and admire you, Kelsey. I don’t believe you are done surprising us with all you will accomplish in your life. I am happy and honored to enjoy a front-row seat!

But Wait! There’s More…

I know every mom thinks this (or should!), but our daughter is gorgeous. I look at her and see movie star glamor. She would laugh at that because she has never thought of herself as beautiful, which makes her even more attractive. She has a quiet, classy, sophisticated beauty. I have always joked (although it is true!) that our children are smarter than us, but they are better versions of ourselves in every way. When Kelsey was little, she loved girly things. Dresses were her go-to clothing item after my mom made her a skirt or as Kelsey called it “a twirly!” I have never been very girly. Make-up? Maybe a smidge. I never learned to French braid or cared about styling my own hair. I don’t currently own a hair appliance. Our daughter is feminine even on days she isn’t “all gussied up.”

Never was this more apparent than at Azariah’s birth. After the hard laboring was over, Kelsey had me help her cover her hair to welcome her son. She then relaxed on the bed in the delivery room, reading Tehillim (Psalms) and praying between contractions. I have never witnessed a more calm, beautiful scene. Her husband, Nimrod, stood and prayed in the corner, while Kelsey prayed and read on the bed. After Azariah made his appearance and was warming on a table, Nimrod leaned down near his son and softly sang a Hebrew song. Azariah turned to look at his father as he sang the song he had sung to his child during Kelsey’s pregnancy. Thank you both for creating such a beautiful memory for me to cherish.

Xoxox MOM

 

Still Learning Lessons from Mom

My 60^th birthday is just days away, so I am reflecting on the 60 great women who have helped me reach 60. The beautiful woman who gave birth to me tops that list. Sadly, we lost our mom 11 years ago. I don’t know why I wrote it that way. She died. She isn’t out wandering around—although I wish she were.

Our mom (I shared her with my sister & brother) was an awesome mother. While most people probably think of their moms as awesome, as I have gotten older, I appreciate how wonderful she was. As a young girl, mom was in and out of foster care. Her parents were alive, but because of their own struggles (multiple marriages and drinking), mom and her brother were shuttled around. Despite not having a great example of what it takes to be a terrific mom, our mom instinctively did all the right things. She was our Brownie Girl Scout Leader and the Swim Team President. She welcomed our friends into our home, loved and accepted them. She sewed our clothes and listened to our teen-age drama. She baked cookies and made home-cooked meals that we shared around our dining table every night. When I was younger, I took for granted that she knew how to do those things. I now wish I had asked her more about her difficult childhood.

She did give us hints. I knew she grew up poor and because of that she did not like us to watch television programs that she thought of as sad—I never understood why “The Waltons” was one of the programs she didn’t like. She said there was “enough sadness.” She preferred sitcoms. Mom had a great laugh and a good sense of humor. She called me “Ju Ju” and worked hard to make each of us kids feel valued and equal.  

Mom was proud of all of us, but had a special
soft spot for her youngest and only son.

Mom & my brother
dancing in her kitchen.

I learned many valuable lessons from my mom and think of her often. She taught me how to pass a large truck on the freeway, at night, in the rain. I think of her every time I must pass a semi tractor trailer. She taught us that once we accepted an invitation, we could not cancel even if a “better offer” came along—it didn’t matter whether it was a prom date or a play date. If we wanted to cancel, we had to stay home. Mom was decent, fair, and respectful to all people. Mom (and dad) taught us to dance. They would have us close our eyes and move to the music. Mom loved dancing. I can still remember her favorite dance moves. Mom had deep friendships with other women. She showed me the value of maintaining close relationships. I am still friends with some of mom’s closest friends. So many days I wish I could pick up the phone and talk to her. I loved that she was crafty and creative. She was also very giving. One of the times Tony was deployed to Iraq, mom helped make Christmas stockings for everyone in his unit. Even when mom didn’t have much, she shared what she had. Mom was gracious and loving to dad’s mom—even though Grandma made no secret about not liking mom. Our mom was a class act.

I realize I am making her sound like a superhero. I think I tend to do that when someone I love dies. Suddenly, they have no faults. There is a light glowing around their perfect aura. But that’s not fair to them or their memory. My mom was beautiful (a movie-star beauty in her 20’s). She was kind, smart and loving, but she was also flawed and human—as I am too. I want my children to learn from my flaws and mistakes. Some of the most important lessons I learned from my mom came from her more “human” characteristics.

My mom was a smoker. She started smoking at 15, as many of her generation did. While our dad stopped smoking before we were even old enough to remember that he smoked, mom could not stop. I am not sure how hard she tried. Smoking ultimately helped lead to her early death at 68. From a very young age, I knew that I would never try a cigarette because I hated the smoke and stink of it.

Mom also neglected her health, in part because she was afraid of doctors and dentists. Because of her fear of dentists, she lost her teeth, which not only changed her beautiful smile, but caused her pain and embarrassment and affected her overall health. Whenever I am nervous about a doctor’s or dentist appointment, I think about how our mom suffered because of her fears.

Mom married three times. Her name was became "Crouch," but to not confuse
her grandchildren, she continued to be called "Grandma B."

Mom was also afraid of boats, planes, and most travel. She would complain that while my sister and I went to Hawaii with the high school swim team, she had never been. I remember being so proud to present her and dad with the money I had saved so they could finally go to Hawaii. I was sad to learn she bought patio furniture with that money. She was afraid to travel. When my dad was going to Mexico, she declined to join him, and he took our brother. Fear kept mom from many adventures. I have inherited some of that fear and work hard to not let fear rule my life.

While mom’s parents were alcoholics, she always vowed that she would not go down that road. While we were growing up, she kept her promise to herself, but as we got older, she began drinking—just socially at first. When she and my dad got divorced after nearly 25 years of marriage, she started drinking more. It was heartbreaking to watch. I knew I couldn’t talk to her late in the day because she would begin repeating herself. I had a difficult and honest conversation with my mom about her drinking when I ran out of excuses about why I wouldn’t take our children to see her when we lived across the country from her. She cried and said she understood. I offered her help if she wanted to stop drinking. Instead, our relationship changed to one of early-in-the-day conversations and annual visits to her home without our children. We both pretended not to notice.

My biggest regret was not spending more time with my mom.

When I think of my mom, I still think of the beautiful, funny woman who would stroke my hair when I was upset and reassure me that life was going to be okay. Mom was right. Life is better than okay. While I feel sadness knowing that mom’s life started out hard and ended hard, I am comforted to know that she was loved by her third husband, Billy, and his family, as well as her children and grandchildren. She left a beautiful legacy despite her demons.

I hope my children remember me as fondly as I remember my mom.

But Wait! There’s More…

I remember mom telling me how much she enjoyed the TV show “Monk.” She asked often if we watched it. We didn’t and now I wish I had taken the time to watch it and chat with her about it. Ironically (11 years after her death), Tony and I stumbled on “Monk” and have begun binge watching the eight seasons of mom’s favorite show. She was right (of course!). It is funny. Now, I think of her every time we watch an episode. Mom is still teaching me. 😉

Me, Mom, and Dad

Mom liked this wine and asked the restaurant
if she culd buy some. We all laughed at the size of the box!
We finished this wine at her memorial service.

Mom and her kiddos, Jake, Judy & Janet.

We all love and miss mom.