93. Challenge Accepted
This blog is going to include some letters I received, but before we get there, I’m going to do a little housekeeping. Whenever a thought or a ‘happening’ takes place during my ass-sitting life, and I want to mention it in a blog, I quickly make a note in my cell phone and then I ignore it, for the most part. Well, my note section is getting full, so we’re going to do some clean up.
Let’s start with the most important person in my universe, yeup, you guessed it, Hadley Elizabeth.
The kid and I have had ‘sleepovers’ every other Saturday night dating back to when she was three. Keep in mind, she lived in my house from birth until the age of six so technically all she did was leave the upstairs in my house, and come downstairs for our slumber party. Still, she thought it was the real deal and would do her ‘bye, bye, Mommy’ in the upstairs hallway, give her little shout to me, “I’m coming down, MammyGrams,” and I’d return my, “Thanks for the warning,” then down she’d come with a little overnight bag and a basket of stuffed animals. It was endearing and it is one of my most favorite memories.
When the shit hit the fan, I modified the sleepover to half-sleepovers. Why? I’m not really sure, but I think I was feeling incapable or less capable about doing ‘normal’ stuff. Whatever the reason, I modified the event by putting a 9 PM curfew on our fun and games. Something happened recently that set me off on a little introspection. I didn’t go all ‘transcendental meditation’ with my thoughts, I just pushed in a bit. The outcome: I thought I was different in all aspects of my life because I had a TBA expiration date. I am not minimizing the shock and awe about my end of life circumstance, and I give myself a big old thumbs up on pulling back on all areas of my life, but I see now that I was depriving myself of certain things because it felt right to do so. The ‘sit on your ass’ mandate was sort of hard to accommodate without setting limitations on most things. I found, too, that there was a bonus result of the shortened sleepovers. In an innocuous way, I may have been preparing Hadley by showing her that things were going to change in a big way, so why not start changing them in small ways. In any event, we started having half-sleepovers. And they were wonderful.
A few weeks ago Hadley said, “Hey, MammyGrams. Do we have to have our sleepovers on Saturday nights?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I have a sleepover at Daddy’s on Saturday and then I sleep at your house the next Saturday.”
“Right.”
“Can I sleep at your house Friday nights?”
“Sure.”
“Every Friday night?”
“Sure.”
“And can we go back to full-night sleepovers?”
“Would you like to do that?”
“Yes!”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Yes!!! BRB, I’m gonna tell Mommy.”
Out the door she went. In came my period of self-review. I guess emotional trauma can change a person and it’s absolutely okay to change back. So there you have it.
Anyway, Hadley and I have had three Friday night sleepovers. Because of the frequency, we have developed a modified schedule of expectation. Every other week is a theme week. We’ve done two: the first theme was Squishmallow Keychain Review and Catalog week; the second theme was Fidget week.
A little sidestep. When Covid turned the world upside down for grade school kids and their families, it caused a lot of stress on both ends. Some genius somewhere, probably someone in the child psychology field, must have said kids could work off some stress by fidgeting with their hands. Way back in the day there was one option: squeeze a stress ball. Today, there is a multibillion dollar fidget industry. I know this because Hadley and her little schoolmates contribute parental and grandparental money in support of the industry — I’m already in for a half-million bucks or so.
I happen to think the little fidget spinners, and the seemingly innocuous looking balls that when squeezed pop a lime-green booger blob out one of the sides, and the modified Jacob’s ladder, or the Simple Dimple, or the Pop It, or the Air Blaubble, or the Monkey Noodles are very useful, practical, and effective devices.
A little known fact for those who don’t have grade schoolers in your day to day fray. Some elementary schools schedule fidget time into the daily schedule. Not much time, maybe ten minutes here and there where students can play with their fidgets and share them with classmates. It was seen as a way for kids to de-stress about being in classrooms that had been empty for a year or more, or deal with seeing nothing but eyes and surgical masks in hallways made for adorable, happy faces. I fully support this fun and games time for kids. Let’s face it, they dealt with some heavy crap during Covid.
As for our fidget themed sleepover, I fully support that too.
Every other Friday night, our sleepover will be dedicated to summer school activities. I know there are two camps on whether kids should or should not have to do school work during the summer months, and I am sooooo not getting into that dreadful debate; but since there is summer schoolwork that needs to be done, and Hadley happens to enjoy doing it, I happily watch her do her thing.
Straight up, the cornerstone of her work is summer reading. She is going into third grade and therefore is required to read one chapter book per week. The books are her choice and have to be in the 80-100 page range. Hadley chose The Bailey School Kids series and is working her way through: Vampires Don’t Wear Polka Dots, Werewolves Don’t Go to Summer Camp, Santa Claus Doesn’t Mop Floors, Leprechauns Don’t Play Basketball, Ghosts Don’t Eat Potato Chips … and twelve or so others.
I personally don’t find it a life-scarring event that kids spend time reading and writing a little report about vampires and polka dots when it’s hazy, hot, and humid. And since I want to know the whys and wherefores of leprechauns not playing basketball without MY reading the book, I am dependent upon Hadley to read and write a synopsis so that I’m in the know, ya know? The End.
Okay. Let’s do a little scrolling to see how I got on that tangent.
Aw shit, this blog is supposed to be about the letters you guys sent and I’m off in God Only Knows Whereville. So let me reign this in. Hadley and I are back to full sleepovers. The other morning, just as the sun was rising, I sat perched on my chair staring at my girl, the one who’d been snuggled tight the night before with freshly braided pigtails, and freshly scrubbed face, and neat and tidy pajamas — and who now looked as though she’d wrestled a monkey, hair sticking out on all sides of her head, and blankets twisted and twirled around appendages, and snugglies covering the wall-to-wall carpet that goes from one wall to the other (Tim), and drool running from lip to chin. The sight was as stunning to me as an Old Masters painting. It captured my attention for nearly an hour.
And. Then. This. Happened.
Hadley’s eyes opened and a smile took over her face — really it went ear to ear and lit up her sparkling blues that instantaneously filled with tears.
“Oh, Hadley. What’s wrong?”
“I love waking up and seeing you, MammyGrams. Every morning at home I wake up and say, ‘Please, please, please have MammyGrams be in her chair when I get next door.’”
That shattered my heart. It hasn’t healed much since then.
I need a minute.
Okay, I’ll do some more housekeeping sometime soon, but for now …
I noticed there is an unfair advantage for women when it comes to getting handwritten family keepsakes, and it’s called the recipe card! I bet every woman reading this blog has several handwritten recipes on cards made specifically for that purpose, or on some note paper, or even on a scrap of paper. I know I do and because I have cards for Snowball Cookies, and Shrimp Scampi, and Date Nut Squares, and Pineapple Stuffing, and a whole bunch of other yummies, I have the handwriting of Meme, my mother, my Auntie Barbara, Donna Rosetti, Joyce McTigue, Bernice Peterson, Ruth Gedman, and several other woman who only signed their first name leaving me a mystery to figure out. Something right up my alley!
I have another writing challenge for you: start a recipe exchange project for the women in your life, maybe tie it into the holiday season. What a wonderful thing to be able to get a really good recipe and a keepsake that can be handed down through the generations.
And for the men out there, create your opportunities. Sit down and pen something to your son or daughter on their wedding day, or on the occasion of their children’s births, or when they buy their first home, or pay off a mortgage, or tell them how it feels to be retired from work. Don’t let some greeting card company try to express your feelings — do it for yourself. The gesture will bring tears to the eyes of your loved ones, and to yours, I’m sure.
Now for the main event.
# 11. This note came on a greeting card. It read:
Dear Sheryll,
I do hope this finds you on a ‘good’ day. When I say I pray for you, I really do mean it. I think of you so often during the day. Do you remember going to camp and “stealing” the gas grill and getting stopped by the police?? What a FUN day. I remember so much about 10 Hobson. The kitchen sink, the pencil sharpener in the pantry, the tea cup and saucer collection, etc. etc. Also, your mom made the best sandwiches.
Love, hugs and prayers to you and all your family. Much love, Sheila Lavallee
Tea cups and saucers - Mom’s culinary skills -
The big-ass porcelain kitchen sink and a pantry that had everything known to man, woman, and child -
I absolutely remember these.
The petty-thievery of a gas grill, ah not so much.
Although I absolutely don’t deny it either.
Thank you Sheila Lavallee Westerlind
#12. The letter was written on graph paper and tucked inside a card. It read:
Dear Sheryll,
S’appenin’ Kiddo?
Are you getting a lot of letters?
I have thoroughly enjoyed reading about your life these last many months, and I am in awe of your story-telling prowess. (By the way, prowess also means “bravery in battle.”)
I’ve also seen you inspire the writer in others, giving them voice. Very cool.
You got me rummaging around in the 60s and 70s, thinking of a story to tell you. Pretty cool thinking back on what was an epic childhood, before technology … when we played army with sticks and the Wizard of Oz was an annual treat. Lots of adventure exploring Hadwen Park. Always outdoors and aces at hopscotch and jump rope and dodgeball. The Go Play In the Road Generation.
One thing that was a big part of our lives was my dad being in the barbershop chorus — the Worcester Men of Song, also known as The Society for the Preservation and Encouragement of Barber Shop Quartet Singing in America, Inc. SPEBSQSA
We had a dog named Spebsqua.
There were probably 75 barbershoppers and they were so devoted. Always. Still going on — holiday parades in towns all over, an annual outdoor concert at Institute Park, competitions in Mechanics Hall, trips and barbeques to lakes and forests around New England.
The parades were so festive and the chorus would ride their old converted trolly car, dressed in striped barber shirts and straw hats. Singing along the route.
The outings were awesome, all family oriented … and pretty competitive. Swimming and diving, horseshoes, a softball game and volleyball. Being athletic, it was my time to shine.
And the dads couldn’t stop singing. Anytime three or more would be chatting someone would blow ino one of those disc shaped pitch pipes and they’d be off in 4-part harmony bliss.
There were various quartets and my dad was in one called The Mulligan Guards, based on Harrigan and Hart vaudeville skits. They were the creators of the Broadway musical and were HUGE worldwide from the 1850s to 1890s. The Mulligan Guards were a misfit Civil War era militia bumbling through misadventures. I still have their sheet music.
Tony Hart is an ancestral uncle of mine, through my dad’s mom’s side of the family, and the quartet was hilarious.
I guess that was back in the 60s. By my teenage years I drifted but would go to Institute Park and pop by a barbeque. My dad and everyone else were members for life. Friends for life.
Love, Kevin
Absolutely love this letter.
It introduced me to musical entertainment I knew nearly nothing about.
It shows that finding a lid for every pot isn’t only about love lives.
It showed an uncomplicated connection between father and son.
And it made me prouder than hell at being a member of
The Go Play In The Road Generation!
Thank you, Kevin Mullaney
#13. This letter came on, “Boring old notebook paper,” the writer noted. It read:
Dear Sheryll,
Here is your simple request. Today I spent time with myself. I have a seasonal camper and I am camping, hence this boring old notebook paper. I don’t have any fancy stationery out here. I’ve been a lifelong camper and upgraded to a fancy 42-foot 5th wheel this year.
It was actually last June when I decided to put my old camper back out in Barre, where I had a come-to-Jesus-moment about my sister’s tragic suicide and my mother’s slow impending death.
There is something cathartic about being in the woods. I had my old camper for about 14 years and pulled it everywhere around New England (yes, to your beautiful Wells Beach as well). I owned it. It blessed me, my two daughters and my step-daughters with some very precious memories. Pulling it got old and then I kept it seasonal here at Coldbrook RV Resort in Barre, MA. I laugh at the “Resort” in the title. It is not one of the best campgrounds I’ve been to. There is no ocean or lake near here. You may be asking why I’d stay here seasonal if it’s not that great. When my kids were younger we traveled a lot for AAU basketball and such. Coldbrook is about 25-30 minutes from my house and I have a lot of friends here, and it's one of the cheaper campgrounds around. So, I am getting what I paid for … which is peace, friends, and fun most of the time.
I decided to put my old camper back out here last June due to my mother’s deteriorating state last summer. I could not really travel far, but could still escape out here for short periods of time and still get back to my mother quickly if need be. Her cousin Ralph was her main caregiver. I am so grateful to him as I would not have been able to work as my mother declined.
Anyway my boyfriend and I have been together for 17+ years and when we began dating he had a popup tent trailer out here. That is how I really ended up out here again. Toward the end of last season we had to make a decision to put a deposit for this season.
Sorry … I got off track … back to my come-to-Jesus-moment. I was alone at the camper very early morning … probably around 6:30 a.m.ish. I just felt so much peace, honestly the first time since my sister’s passing in Oct 2019. Peace and joy without guilt. I never thought I’d feel that again. Don’t get me wrong, I was still grieving my sister and of course dealing with “anticipatory grief” you spoke of in Blog 83, but it was the first time I allowed myself to feel joy in anything since Lee died. I spent time with my mother almost every single day. She was the one that convinced me to put the camper back here. Once I got it all set up she couldn’t wait to see pictures. She loved camping too, but definitely loved the beach more.
It was about a month before she passed she wanted me to buy a new camper that I liked. I said to my boyfriend that if we do pay for a seasonal site again that we needed to upgrade. My mother sat me down to have another “serious talk”. We had many of them to make sure her affairs were in order. She told me after my sister passed she had taken out a small 2nd life insurance policy, specifically for me. She said she wanted me to use it on a vacation or toward a new camper.
She was so worried about your mother and sister. Well, nothing will replace you or the void you are going to leave in your family, but I promise I will help Marjorie find her joy again. The camper, the $ — none of that takes away my deep sadness and longing for them, but I embrace the joy when I feel it.
Well, I wrote more than a blurb or a paragraph. I have enclosed some pictures of the deck that my cousin built off the camper, a picture of my two daughters and two stepdaughters in the gazebo and a couple pictures of my fairy garden.
Wishing you much peace, ~ Brenda
Places we love because they replenish the stuff taken during the daily grind can become places that rescue us from life’s unimaginable events.
An ocean, a lake, a forest — nature’s way of helping us heal. I am so grateful you found your place.
Thank you, Brenda Diggs
# 15. This letter came on notepaper and was hand-delivered. It read:
My dear Sheryll,
Here I am sitting in my trusty recliner, just letting my mind wander and I find I am back to the year of 1945. That was the year I moved from Nova Scotia to the United States. It was exciting but still a little unnerving.
Finding a new school was on top of the list and wondering if new friends were right around the corner. However, my newest and best friend I found at church.
My first day of Sunday School I met Margaret McKim. She became my dearest and longest friend ever and it remained so for 71 years. We sang in the church choir and sometimes we giggled, (that’s a no-no) and to top it all off, a lady in the pharmacy next door said, “You should be ashamed of yourselves.” We were.
Peg had five beautiful children and I was more than blessed with my three. There were parties, weddings, showers, recitals, holiday get togethers, and camp at Ramshorn Pond in Sutton, MA. We enjoyed our bringing up children phase and continued in our senior years with after-church coffee at Peg’s; forever so long.
I miss her infectious laughter and I know Donnie, Marjorie and you remember her lovingly.
I loved my life in the country in Nova Scotia, but also found a wonderful life when I moved to the United States. Sometimes there were difficult times but with God, family and friends we all weathered through.
So my dear Sheryll I know you have many special friends who love you as I surely do.
Hope you enjoy my rambling, but I’m sure you remember everything I’ve mentioned.
Closing for now with all my love. Your mother and best friend. Xxxooo
This was such a delightful surprise!
I am so happy you wrote about Peg; I’m sure her absence during this difficult time for you is profound.
I hope writing about her filled you with peace.
Thank you, Mom
# 15. This letter came by email from a pre-vacationer. It read:
Oh Sheryll I think you’re my favorite grandmother…
I absolutely love reading about you, Hadley and your rock solid bond. I have 3 granddaughters who I adore and a grandson on the way. Your blog has really inspired me to dig deep in mind and heart for meaningful treasures for my girls (and for my family for that matter). It’s also helped me out a lot with perspective, personally about what is and is not important. It’s helped me face some conversations that aren’t easy to have but are necessary.
During Saturday afternoon’s rain storms in the Woo my husband sat on our porch and had some great conversations about what it was like for him caring for his ailing dad in his last days. Although we were married and going through that time together he never really talked about his feelings during that time. I’ve told him all about your blog, some of the funny husband stories, your love of the Sox, and a lot of things that hurt your heart. It really helped him be able to open up and get out so much that’s been buried. I’m not sure if I’d have found my way down that path if not for stumbling onto your blog. Thank you for candidly sharing it all.
Going off topic (because I’m Italian and that’s what we do) your recent blog about so many Columbus Park kids revealed several mutual friends/family. The Hacketts are my husband’s first cousins. Helena was my father in law’s sister. Kevin and my husband are the same age and went to school together. We just saw them not that long ago at a celebration of life for their mom. Jan Harvey is one of my besties and I know she’s been lifelong friends with the other Hacketts, Donna and Fran. I think they lived next door. Another mention was Steve Kline who was my oldest granddaughter’s grandfather. Such a small world ( but I wouldn’t want to paint it) I really just wanted to reach out to you and offer my gratitude for your openness and honesty with so many topics that despite being difficult are necessary. It’s gotten me to reflect more on what is important and let go of so much that is not. I’m going to the beach tomorrow, not Maine however but I’m going to send you some ocean pictures. May peace find you and settle in during this journey.
In friendship, sincerely, Angela Moore