This seems like a good place to share this life update. We are moving to Costa Rica! I got a teaching job at a very cool K-12 bilingual school in the Monteverde region. The kids will attend the same school and Symeon will work remotely. It is a big change for our little family but we are ready for the adventure. We are looking forward to slowing down, learning Spanish, and exploring the outdoors like never before. The kids are nervously excited about this. We’ve been reading about sloths, zip-lining, and Costa Rican slang. I know they will make friends very easily and fall in love with this new school so I’m not worried, but it’s still a lot of big emotions and will be a tough transition. We look forward to having our parents and siblings come visit. I have always enjoyed writing more when I’m outside the U.S., so expect to read more from me about our adventures in Costa Rica. We will be having a big yard sale (June 19th) so we hope Philly friends will stop by and take all our stuff. We are heading down in late July. For now check out these fun facts about where we are heading:
Costa Rica is a small country, roughly the size of West Virginia, but has amazing coastlines (Caribbean and Pacific beaches), rainforests, volcanoes, and multicultural communities.
Famous for its cloud forests and ecotourism, Monteverde is bursting with biodiversity. It houses about 100 species of mammals, 400 birds, 120 reptiles and amphibians, over 2,500 plant species and thousands of types of insects. It is about 3 hours from San Jose, the capital.
The Monteverde Friends School was founded over 60 years ago by Quakers who left the United States in search of a country and community that supported their peaceful principles.
Costa Rica abolished its military in 1949. It has since invested heavily in health care and education, which are free for all. No surprise, it is one of the happiest countries in the world.
“Pura Vida” translated means “pure life” but in Costa Rica, it is more than just a saying. Costa Ricans (called Ticos) use the saying to say hello, to say goodbye, to say everything’s great, to say everything’s cool. No worries, no fuss, no stress—it means being thankful for what you have and not dwelling on the negative.
St. Patrick’s Day was a big deal growing up. This was a day to celebrate our Irish heritage and spread cheer by dressing up, toasting to our blessings, and being with family. My mom loved all holidays and found creative ways to celebrate everything (see previous posts about Halloween, Super Bowl Sunday) but this one was her favorite. Being a tall, freckled redhead, she wore her “Irishness” all the time, but this was the day she could be Queen of Green.
St. Patrick’s Day in the United States is a fascinating cultural phenomenon. It’s a holy day in Ireland, marked by Catholics that go to mass. St. Patrick was a Brit that was captured and enslaved by Irish pirates. In servitude he worked the land and developed his faith. He converted to Christianity and became a missionary. According to the legend he used the shamrock to teach about the holy trinity (the cross)- father, son and holy spirit.
When the Irish immigrated to the U.S. fleeing famine in the mid 1800s they faced extreme poverty and bigotry. The holiday became a way to celebrate ethnic and cultural pride and push back against the prejudice they experienced. While ham and cabbage was eaten in Ireland, corned beef was a cheaper substitute for the impoverished immigrants. Irish living in the slums of NYC purchased leftover provisions of corned beef from ships returning from the tea trade in China. Almost four million Irish people immigrated to the U.S. between 1840 and 1900. Many Irish newcomers entered commercial life by running pubs, which were also grocery stores and everything else new immigrants needed to get a start on their new life. My great grandparents had a pub called the Harp in Milwaukee.
My feelings about the holiday are complicated today. The story of St. Patrick is part history and mythology. Christianizing missions accompanied colonization and cultural genocide. Many argue that aspects of Irish life were completely eradicated and replaced with Roman Catholic ideals, styles, and practices. Others say that language, music, folklore, and art have survived quite well and these old customs live adjacent to the Christian traditions that are practiced throughout Ireland. Alcoholism is a serious disease that plagues our families and yet this holiday is honored by drinking beer and whiskey. The Irish-American police and firefighter guys that promote Blue Lives Matter rhetoric and racism in their families are the worst yet. I stopped going to the Philly St. Patrick’s Day parade because I was so uncomfortable about the propaganda they spewed a few years ago.
At the same time, I love the stories I was told growing up. I love the folklore about wee people playing tricks on foolish humans. I love knowing I come from a people that suffered a great loss by leaving their land, yet survived and ultimately flourished for generations more. I LOVE drinking beer and dancing with my family while wearing obnoxious amounts of green. I love telling my kids about their multiple heritages and celebrating each one. And most of all I love my mom, who represents all the good in the world to me.
Before my mom died we did our DNA tests. My mom is 93% Irish and I’m 79%. I have hundreds of cousins in the U.S. but no direct connections in Ireland. My husband did his DNA test as well and although his entire family is African American and he has very little Irish DNA, he found a distant cousin currently living in Ireland. Crazy right?!
Our heritage and identity is complex. We can honor the best parts of ourselves and push forth cherished memories and traditions while recognizing our complicated history and interconnected humanity. St. Patrick’s Day is a great example of how the world is and always has been a place of global exchange. What ideas, traditions and practices do you think are worth preserving and spreading today?
Did you know that:
Less than 2% of the world’s population has red hair.
Red hair can occur in any ethnicity.
More than 90% of men with red hair have been bullied because of their hair!
My brother Patrick was named after St. Patrick and his birthday is March 20th. He owns and wears a green kilt every year!
My brother Ben is a freckly ginger and he married Kristen, whose birthday is today!
Hug your favorite ginger and raise a glass for all your blessings today! Sláinte.
One year ago your body left us. It seemed like the whole world fell apart in grief with us. So much happened this year and not a day went by that I didn’t want to reach for you.
…like when Dad got this book in the mail from the Anatomical Education Program at IU’s School of Medicine. It was written by medical students that worked with your body, thanking us for the donation of YOU. It has poems, drawings, and very meaningful letters of appreciation. And apparently there’s this tradition where the medical students light candles for each donor at the University of Notre Dame Grotto in South Bend and read the poem “O’ Captain, My Captain.” I immediately took pictures of this book and sent them to your sisters. It makes us all feel especially proud that you continued to teach in death.
…or like when the boys played on their first real soccer team this fall and I made Symeon coach Samson’s team. They totally dominated mom! Both were leading scorers and their teams won their championship matches. It was such a delight in such a shitty year. You would have the best ideas for how to teach Desmond humility and sportsmanship lol!
…or when we finished the Mandalorian. What an ending! You would’ve loved it and cried like I did. Pat and I texted each other for 2 days straight about it. Dad and Ben are behind and haven’t finished the 2nd season so they are still losers. We made baby Yoda cookies like you told us to by cutting off the heads of angels. Still funny. And cousin Tracey bought the boys these limited edition Adidas Star Wars sneakers that you would love. They are SO cool.
…or the hundreds of times per week that I see something online and want to share it with you. Sometimes I send them to Ben and Pat and sometimes people send them to me…
…and the week we got together with Dad and Ben’s fam over Christmas break in Cape Cod. We couldn’t do much but go see the beach and play together but it was totally worth it. Dad made us these awesome foot stools. Kids had plenty of naked and dress-up time and Dad and I got lobster. It seems so weird doing this stuff without you. Dad has a hard time around the kids because they make him happy, which makes him miss you, which makes us all sad. It’s a weird little cycle that’s gone on all year.
Rhode Island, his 48th state!
…and about Dad. I know you must be proud of him. He’s seen some really dark days that were scary for us all, but most of the time he’s hanging in there. He’s learning to cook more meals, taking care of his health like you’d want him to, and staying active as you can be in a pandemic. He’s been volunteering at the Food Bank and even mailed us handwritten letters about how he feels. He drove through Rhode Island this year, so Dad has now been to every single one of the lower 48 states! When I asked him what he was going to do today, the anniversary of your passing, he replied “it doesn’t really matter, a month, two months, six months…it’s been a year all the same.” What he means in Dad-speak is that his grief is endless. You took up so much space in our lives mom, we won’t ever get over missing you.
…People have checked on us in various ways- cards, messages, facebook posts. It has been tough that we can’t really be together with anyone. We had no idea the year would be THIS hard. On your birthday Mary Gorndt sent me a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers and this morning Kathy sent me daisies. They are beautiful, bright and loud just like you. Patti sent me a sweet book with daily affirmations by Mother Theresa this week. When I thanked her for the book she replied, “You are a beautiful example of pure love.” Isn’t that the best?
…I had this idea to create a neighborhood Free Little Library for you. When Dad came to visit I pulled him into my idea and we started this project. It took us a few months to finish. Now it is done and we are waiting on the ground to thaw before we install it in the neighborhood. We recycled a cabinet that Symeon’s dad made before he died so this is in his memory too. We found some old glass windows in the basement and turned them into the library door. The boys helped break glass, sand and paint. We got it registered so now anyone will be able to look it up on a map and find it. I can’t wait to see neighbors borrowing books! Do you love it?
….We are closing out this year with a new president and new vice-president. While watching the inauguration Samson took the oath with Kamala and I cried. You would’ve too. It was such a violent, grief stricken year for this country and I’m trying to remain hopeful about the next few years. There was this poem read by the youth poet laureate, Amanda Gorman, The Hill We Climb. It was wonderful. This is how it started,
“When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry.
A sea we must wade.”
…And this was how it ended,
“For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.”
I miss you mom. So so much that sometimes I can’t breathe and my whole body hurts. I love you. Tonight for “BaBa’s death day” as the boys call it, we are making Mexican food and I will drink some tequila. Cheers to being brave. Thank you for lighting my path.
For many people who lose a family member, the holidays become harder. They mourn family traditions and nothing feels right anymore. For us, this won’t be Thanksgiving or Christmas. We all agree that Halloween and Saint Patrick’s Day will be the toughest without Barb. These were her holidays and she made them ours. I’ve got two guest writers this Halloween, my sister in law, Kristen, and my Dad who explain it best…
from Kristen~ When I was going into labor with Percy, Barb’s third grandchild, we texted the family to let them know that my water had broke. Barb quietly and subtly posted to Facebook a cartoon image of Superwoman and Superman, with their muscles ablaze and their hearts and heads held high. It didn’t say anything about me or how I was in labor but those that were in the know (the Sisters, etc) knew exactly what Barb was trying to say with that message.
Weeks before that, I had received a package from her with Superwoman fabric and a handmade card with Superwoman cutouts and the message “You Got This”. I brought that piece of fabric to the hospital with me and after 30 hours of labor, Percy came into the world on April 5, 2015. And all the while, I knew that I had someone quietly (or loudly!) championing me, telling me that I could do the seemingly impossible task of birthing a human.
For Halloween last year, Percy wanted to be a Superhero. He told BaBa (Barb’s grandma name) that he wanted to be Super Percy and so of course, a few weeks later a “SUPER” box came in the mail. Included in it was a flashy red and blue top with a gold emblem in the middle and small sash on the side and a matching pair of pants. But what made the outfit complete was that there was a big “P” right in the middle of the emblem and a small “p” on the sash. She made the costume for him, exactly what he had wanted. He didn’t want to just be a superhero – he wanted to be his own superhero.
Percy could not have felt more cool with his Super Percy costume. So much so, that over the next year – it was a constant favorite in the house. It mostly felt like it was on more than it was off. Fast forward to this year, 2020 and we purchased a new Spiderman costume at Costco as a complete impulse purchase and Percy was in love with it. I figured that it was going to replace the Super P costume this year. But lo and behold, two mini-celebrations have gone by this Halloween so far and the Baba-made costume is back. The P in the emblem has since fallen by the wayside but it doesn’t matter, he knows who he is. He is Super Percy. And every person that asks about his costume, he answers with “My BaBa made this for me,” with his head held high and feeling invincible.
What makes it even better is that Della, Percy’s sister, has joined in on the Super-ness. She was a Super Girl last year and this year is Super Della. This is how BaBa made each person feel. She left the feeling with little kids that they could be their own superhero – that the powers they had inside themselves were enough. They could be themselves and within that, magical things would happen. Who wouldn’t want to be Super Percy or Super Della, if BaBa had ordained them as such. Her Midas touch, subtle at times helped people believe in themselves.
On a daily basis, my cape and my sash may not be visible but I know having #belikebarb in my heart means that I can raise my head a little bit higher and center my heart in my actions. I know that I am enough, if my intentions are in the right place. I know that I can take off more than I can chew and come out on the other side. I know that I can, at the end of a hard day, a home-cooked meal, a cold drink and a hot bath for the kids can solve anything. Superheroes are the people doing the work, day in and day out to make this world a better place for us all. This was BaBa’s vision – tiny and large superheroes running around having fun together, laughing, voting, advocating, cooking, drinking and doing the things that are within our innate powers as human beings.
from Dad~We always liked Halloween, Barb way more than me. Back in the old Second street days we would have our greatest Halloween parties, the kind 20-year-olds have with a keg of beer and everyone dressed up. Some you wouldn’t even know who they were- like oddball stuff like a Tylenol capsule [look that one up!]. Years went by and we would still have parties with the kids. I remember one Halloween party, a Raiders of the Lost Ark theme, walking though acorns as hot coals and being so cold that the dry ice we got didn’t steam.
What has always been there was her painted pumpkins. October would start with trying to buy pumpkins and not spend much money. Sometimes Barb would come home so frustrated that they wanted too many dollars for the pumpkins, even if they were little. So we would search down country roads, sometimes out to the Amish area outside of town and we would usually find some successfully priced pumpkins. Then it was time to paint. It was always at least 10 or 20 laid out at a time, they wouldn’t be the big ones. Many were pretty small and a lot of them were gourds. Then she would start the painting. She’d get a can or tube of paint out and hope it wasn’t dried from the last time she used it. Then she might need to have to go out and get some more paint. First she’d do the white base coat for the eyes, done in production style like a factory. Most were happy and funny, not too many scary ones. Then the mouths, ears, funny cheeks, everything always needed an outline. Late nights and kitchen tables full of painted pumpkins. Sometimes she would sell them, most of the time they would be given away to nieces, nephews, sisters and friends. Any appointment we had would certainly be accompanied by a painted pumpkin or two. She really enjoyed that arty crafty time, always with a smile and she was always happy to see the target’s face. It was so much fun.
Philly pumpkins, marking our first Halloween without her. How did we do?
The past few weeks have been filled with some tough blows. Every time I am down about something it always makes me miss my mom more. Maybe it is the inner child in me who just wants their mommy when they are afraid or sad. Or maybe it is because so much of what is going on in my life and at the national level makes me want to complain, vent and commiserate—something my mom and I were always very good at.
A few months after mom died, I received two small packages a few weeks apart. The first was a pair of gold Ruth Bader Ginsburg collar earrings from a friend who wrote on the card that she was inspired hearing about my mom, a badass feminist, and hopes that her daughters one day will look up to her the same way I look up to Barb. I know! Really sweet right?!
On my 40th birthday, a few weeks later, I opened a package from my cousin who was born just a month after me. Silver RBG collar earrings and this card. Now if you remember my mom, you know she was most always coordinated. Her outfits matched her earrings and she knew which outfits go with silver, which ones go with gold, and that you wear your animal earrings on the day you go to the zoo and the star ones on the day you go to the planetarium, and the red, white and blue ones on July 4th and greens ones the entire week leading up to St. Patrick’s day. I find the fact that I have two pairs, in silver and gold, given to me by women I adore the last months of RBG’s life just wonderful. It is so #belikeBarb
RBG, Black Panther’s Chadwick Boseman, and Civil Rights icon John Lewis all died of cancer during the covid pandemic. Cancer treatment and ultimately dying from cancer is a cruel process to witness. Witnessing a loved one’s body let them down is such a painful experience. Visions of my mom’s sick body haunt me. My brothers’ and I have talked about how messed up our dreams are and how we are still processing her death even when we sleep. Grieving often feels like you don’t sleep anymore, that you can never catch up and feel fully rested. The pandemic hasn’t helped and sorrow just compounds the sorrow.
This poem from Maya Angelou has been floating around. Every time I see it I think of my mom, who was the greatest tall tree in the forest. Who showed us how to “be and be better.”
When Great Trees Fallby Maya Angelou
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
In the spirit of #belikeBarb I am sharing some great ways to help our democracy. We have less than 40 days until the election and although I’m not convinced that all hell is breaking loose, silence is violence. We must stand up to hate and ignorance in our neighborhoods, schools, places of worship, at work, on playgrounds, and behind closed doors. We must take steps to be in a safer and healthier place in 2021.
This site helps you see who is running and what questions will be on the ballot. This is really helpful because I often know more about the president and senators and less about the other positions or the questions that will be on my specific ballot. It explains what it means to vote yes or no to questions that are often really hard to understand because of how they are written. You can save your picks and share via email or social media. I just made my ballot and shared with some young voters in Philadelphia, explaining why I will be voting the way I am and encouraged them to go through their ballot so they are prepared. https://www.ballotready.org/
This site helps you decide who to vote for based on your beliefs. They ask you your opinion about healthcare, the economy, immigration, women’s rights, education, etc. After you answer the questions they will tell you which candidates align most with you. https://www.isidewith.com/
Want to focus locally? Put your zip code in here and you can learn about the strategies to win near you. You can also donate, write letters or make calls on behalf of Democrats in your area. https://swingleft.org/
This is a great way to donate to candidates across the country who are in close races. It helps if you make small (we are talking a $1-5) but monthly recurring donations. Once you set up an account you can select who, how and when. https://secure.actblue.com/
These are some candidates that I suggest focusing on. You can also see which states are battleground states here: https://votesaveamerica.com/states/#battleground-states Biden/Harris, Jon Ossoff (Georgia), Raphael Warnock (Georgia), Amy McGrath (Kentucky), Sara Gideon (Maine), Doug Jones (Alabama), Mark Kelly (Arizona), Steve Bullock (Montana), Jamie Harrison (South Carolina), Cal Cunningham (North Carolina), Theresa Greenfield (Iowa), John Hickenlooper (Colorado), Barbara Bollier (Kansas), MJ Hegar (Texas)
Simple to do letter writing. Sign up and agree to write your choice of 5-20 letters at a time. The letters can be downloaded and you add the reason why you are voting. The “big send” is when everyone mails them out together Oct 17th. https://votefwd.org/
“Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow. It’s what sunflowers do.” ~Helen Keller
It’s been six months since my mom’s passing. Since then, death stories pour in, the new normal, as the pandemic rips through the world. What we thought would be an additional shitty few months has become an endless state of despair. Everyone is trying to get on like we are ok, but we are not. I planted these sunflowers in her memory and they grew up super tall and strong just like her. Funny though, these flowers keep facing the house and not the yard. It’s like they are begging me to see them and trying to cheer me up.
Today I received a letter written to my mom from my cousin, her niece Nicolette. I had wanted her to write something for this blog because she got us started on the #belikebarb hashtag and has encouraged others to live better by making art, being resourceful, creating with kids, and getting in the garden. Her letter is especially insightful for those of us that are taking care of others right now- teachers, social workers, and parents, and anyone that is dealing with loss. She said that writing it was like ripping off a band-aid. And that is so true. Moments of pain are part of the healing process…
Dearest Barb,
I am finally sitting down to push these thoughts into the concrete world. We are still feeling the oppressive heat of the summer here in Indiana, but some leaves are beginning to fall, and the evenings are becoming a bit cooler. Our hours of light in the day are becoming shorter, and the excitement of summer is slowly giving way to the calm of fall. This means that we are nearing a year’s time passed since we first heard the news of your diagnosis.
As a school counselor, I often help young folks deal with grief. One of the things we talk about is that unless people have been through it themselves, they will not understand. This is because losing someone that has had an impact on you in life is other-worldly, surreal, truly and fully incomprehensible. Existence can be so fragile, one minute here and the next- just not. The absence doesn’t give us a chance to negotiate, barter, or beg for more time. We have been so conditioned to believe that if we want something bad enough, or work hard enough, or sacrifice enough, that we will be rewarded with what we want or need. Loss is one of the cases that proves this wrong.
People with help and healing wishes in mind will tell you that “time heals all wounds,” or that at some point we need to focus on “moving on.” I share with the kids that this advice is likely all coming from a good place and from someone who probably has the best intentions but isn’t understanding their hurt at the moment. I encourage them to show these people grace, and to understand they are likely doing the best they can to support them. We then talk about how the English language doesn’t seem to have words to properly describe the aching void of loss. How sometimes it is also physical- a throbbing, an actual tactile pain. In the end I share with them, that there is nothing that I, they, or anyone else can do to make this feel better. All I can do is try to listen and be there for them when they need an ear, just a moment of breaking, or of peace.
Barb, you and I being educators-in-common have had discussions about this subject- young hearts and how fragile they are. We discussed the importance of living through it. How every action and moment can be changed by the living of it, and that though time will pass- it doesn’t heal a wound like this. At best, it can help to plaster a scar over it. Maybe with more time, the scar gets tougher- but it is still a scar and will never be the same as the unblemished mental and emotional skin that existed before. I feel like that is where we are now, just adjusting to this new normal.
A Mr. Rogers quote about looking for the helpers in the world in times of crisis has been circulating more and more as of late. Unfortunately- out of necessity. Our world has been turned steadily upside down since your loss. In fact, your beautiful memorial was the last time many of us have had contact with our family and close friends, as the pandemic hit us hard here just days and weeks following. When I hear that quote, I always think of you- you were one of the helpers at times like these. During the stay-at-home order, my mind wandered to you often, as I knew that you would have been sending all of the kids arts kits, FaceTiming with all of us on new projects to do, and supplying us with goodies and love from the SmithShownian to make it happen.
On top of the pandemic, folks have become tired of forgiving and hoping for systemic societal change- it isn’t working. People have set to the streets marching, chanting and loving one another, facing backlash together. Again, my mind circled to you. I know that you would have been marching, chanting, and loving right alongside them. I also know that you would have told us the importance of being heard and doing what we can to make this a better world for our children and those to come after us. I know that you would have been on the front lines with the artists who also plastered over cities’ wounds- a physical representation of lifetimes of suffering- with messages of hope, love, justice, and collaboration.
When we cried, you likely would have reassured us of our strength, and encouraged us to use it to make change. You would have said “you are strong, you are ok,” because you knew that that is likely all that we needed to hear. You would have told us to use what we have, make the best of it, use art to “get it out,” and find the ways that we can make progress. And if I am being honest, you probably would have also helped us find the appropriate choice words to use while we ranted together about the causes, the continuation, and the forced acceptance of the ills we deal with every day.
On acceptance of pain, one of the things that I also share with kids in grief is how to honor someone in their everyday life. In doing so, this helps to carry this person on even after they have physically departed from us. I ask them “What is something that you do everyday that makes you think of them? What is something that they taught you and you still continue to do? Did you have a tradition that you can continue with, to remember and honor them? What did you have in common with them that will allow you to keep them in your heart and present for you as you go forward?”
To honor you, I had begun the project of “Use What You Got,” and shared it with others each time in an intentional way. I was basically using up actual supplies that I had instead of always restocking. Surprisingly, this morphed into using what I had in the realm of skills or talents, being kind to others, giving of what I had, and artistic endeavors, all while keeping you intentionally in mind while doing it. I adopted the #belikeBarb hashtag upon sharing these adventures. What surprised me most, was how others who had never met you ALSO began doing this, and sometimes even using your hashtag. Your kindness, generosity, and creativity continued to grow and to pass to others, even after you were gone from this Earth. A true testament to how much you were and are still present.
I have taken a bit of a step back from social media, so I don’t share it as much, but I still think of you so often. I see you in my garden, my own inherent goofiness, our shared love (and sometimes hate/frustration) of canning, in my need to create, artistic projects, in my school office, in helping my students through loss. I see you still present in your immediate family’s lives, their successes, and their aching hearts every day. I especially see you in all of our family’s kids who adored and miss you dearly. You provided a piece of their puzzle that cannot be replicated.
Your family misses you dearly but are persevering. Your children and grandchildren have continued to amaze me with what they are able to do and accomplish- what an amazing job you and Don have done. Don continues to work hard to honor you and continue on in your memory- traveling, always helping others, and just being the all-around smart, loving, caring guy that you chose to spend your life with. Your nephew Zachary continues to amaze me everyday with what he accomplishes, and who he is as a husband. Your sisters miss you dearly, but you have all always had this power to band together and grow so much stronger in the face of heartbreak.
Poor Stace has been asking me for words for a while, and I am not exactly sure why I wasn’t able to put this all into words until this morning, but I just decided to do it. I suppose that is grief for you. The ups and downs are nauseating, but we have to accept them to be able to move through them. I will continue to keep you present with me and honor your memory the best I can going forward. I suppose that we will all keep on going about the business of toughening our scars. However, please know that even though it is super painful- this is a scar that I am so thankful to have had the opportunity to have. Without doubt, I am better for having known you, and having had a chance to love you, and be a part of your family.
I grew up around hundreds of books and so did my husband. Both of our mothers were educators and our fathers were readers. The local library knew our mothers by name. My mom acquired her vast collection by always stopping by the quarter book rack at the library but also through her many trips to the thrift stores, museums gifts shops, and every single clearance section anywhere. Because of this, we often didn’t have the latest or most popular books. But we did have an awesome variety of books, often about people and places that were different from us.
My mom passing out books at my birthday party in the 80s and reading to the grandkids this past January.
Today my family has many of my own childhood books as do my cousins’ families and probably many neighborhood kids and former students of my mom. Up until her death she was collecting books. I think she went to Darlington Holiday Warehouse three times in the last few weeks of her life, each time using a coupon to buy a new book!
At Darlington with a stack of books in her cart just a couple weeks before her death.
In honor of #belikeBarb I’m offering up books to borrow. Libraries are closed and families have been reading their same stash for months. At the same time there are hundreds of book lists going around to teach kids and adults alike about racism, Black history and white supremacy.
Sample kids’ books
I will loan out stacks of 5-10 children’s books for three weeks at a time depending on amount of interest. I am only loaning out our books about Black joy, African and African American history and folklore, or books with multicultural characters.For adults interested in Black history or anti-racism I am also loaning out some favorite books on those topics too. Full list of those below.
Sample adult books
Families play a key role in the socialization process and the development of racial attitudes of children. Research has shown that children’s awareness of racial differences and the impact of racism begins quite early, even before preschool. Creating safe spaces for children to explore these topics is more important than ever in today’s political and cultural climate, where these issues are highly visible. Parents have an obligation to teach and learn with their children about race and racism. I talk about that and more in an episode of the podcast Showing Up. Get more resources on parenting and racism here: https://familycentralny.com/parenting-and-racism-resources/
If you are in Greater Philadelphia and interested in borrowing a stack of kids’ books or an adult book, email me or send me a facebook message. I can arrange contactless pick-up at our home or drop off at yours. My kids would be glad to read some new books too so maybe you can share yours as well!
Happy Reading!
AdultBooks on Race/Racism:
Author
So You Want to Talk About Race?
Ijeoma Oluo
Unapologetic: A Black, Queer, and Feminist Mandate for Radical Movements
Charlene A. Carruthers
Motherhood So White: A Memoir of Race, Gender, and Parenting in America
Nefertiti Austin
The Racial Contract
Charles W. Mills
Why are all the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? (2 copies)
Beverly Daniel Tatum
Racism: A Short History
George Fredrickson
Uprooting Racism (3 copies)
Paul Kivel
White Fragility
Robin DiAngelo
From #Blacklivesmatter to Black Liberation
Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor
Killing the Black Body: Race, Reprodction and the Meaning of Liberty
Dorothy Roberts
killing rage: Ending Racism
bell hooks
The Measure of Our Success: A Letter to My Children and Yours
Marian Wright Edelman
How Capitalism Underdeveloped Black America
Manning Marable
Black Skin White Masks
Frantz Fanon
Discourse of Colonialism
Aime Cesaire
Black Protest Thought in the Twentieth Century
August Meier & Others
Zami A New Spelling of My Name (2 copies)
Audre Lourde
Sister Outsider (2 copies)
Audre Lourde
The White Man’s Burden
William Easterly
White Like Her: A Family Story of Race and Racial Passing
Gail Lukasik
A People’s History of the United States
Howard Zinn
White-Washing Race: The Myth of the Color-Blind Society
Michael K. Brown & others
The Debt: What American Owes to Blacks
Randall Robinson
Novels, Biographies, and other books:
salvation: Black People and Love
bell hooks
Sing Unburied Sing
Jesmyn Ward
The African Dream
Enesto “Che” Guevara
Loving Day
Mat Johnson
Create Dangerously
Edwidge Danticat
A Song Flung Up to Heaven
Maya Angelou
The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes
Arnold Rampersad
Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of An American Original
In 1986 funky hair dye hit the market and we went to LaDonna’s, my mom’s friend and the coolest hairstylist that was always up for adventurous dos. Mom got a bright blue stripe and I hot a hot pink one. I was in the first grade at Queen of Angels Catholic School. I had to wear a brown plaid jumper uniform everyday. I remember the teacher telling me to wash it out. I told her it didn’t wash out, that it was permanent, that my mom had one too but it was blue. I also told her my mom said it was ok to be a punk rocker! She seemed horrified. I remember making hair bows out of the pastel blue and pink school tissues and wearing neon pink shorts under my dress. That was frowned upon too. The following year I switched to public school. There I was a bit more free to dress as I pleased. I was called “Punky Brewster” the entire 2nd grade by kids and teachers. I wore jeans with colorful patches on them and my mom tied bandannas around my legs. I wore two tank tops of different colors. I felt cool because my mom said I was cool.
In 4th grade I went to a different school, a small public rural school. I had a gym teacher that terrified me there. He would step on my feet when I would approach him so that I would fall on the concrete. He told us girls to put our feet up on the table in the bleachers when we wore skirts or baggy shorts. He would look up our skirts and laugh and make noises. I knew he was a perv but I didn’t have the language to say that yet. I told my mom and we were in the office the next day with the Principal. She made me tell the principal everything about this teacher and then she made her demands. He was not to teach me or anyone else again. And he didn’t! I don’t remember a big drama about it but I remember being so happy he was gone and enjoying gym class again. I was so glad I told my mom!
The following year she gave me a copy of Our Bodies, Our Selves. I read the the section about puberty over and over. I loved the part where girls shared their own stories. I knew that any feeling I had, and changes I felt, were totally normal because there were so many different ways to feel and change. My mom had a hysterectomy before I even got my first period and I had two brothers so once a month I felt very isolated. That book was such a relief on the days that I felt like I was going crazy.
Today is my first mother’s day without her. This day was never that big of deal for us. I can’t recall ever doing an elaborate brunch or giving her an expensive gift. My dad usually brought home a bunch of daises, which she loved. I never felt like I needed to go all out to tell her I loved her, that I appreciated her. It was deeply understood.
Today I’m pretty tearful. Not because she is gone, but because I’m so appreciative of her mothering. I know that I am a good mom because of her. I learned from the best and my kids are so lucky to be descendants of an icon. She was the Queen of play, supportive love, and adventure. She mothered on hundreds of kids but not by baking cookies and giving hugs, her style was so different than the moms I knew growing up. She told them they were cool and made them try new things. She made unique gifts for just them and remembered what they were into. She was so good at being a mom and everyone around her knew it.
Tips for an awesome Mother’s Day:
I put some pink stripes in my hair today in honor of Barb! This pandemic is a perfect time to take some hair adventures. Get some dye, temporary or permanent, and let your kids feel cool with you. You don’t have anywhere to be right now so there’s no excuse!
Buy a kid you know the latest edition of Our Bodies, Ourselves. In addition to providing evidence-based information, the book addresses political, economic and social forces that shape women’s health. It also includes personal stories and experiences, along with resources for additional support and political engagement.
Women chefs make 20% less than male chefs and fewer that 7% of head chefs are women. Get some food from a woman led restaurant. ResaturantHERis a great way to find them.
There are many reasons why kids can’t be with their moms today. Poverty should not be one of those reasons. Today, there are over 230,000 women incarcerated in jails and prisons, a 750% increase since 1980. More women are incarcerated in jails than state prisons simply because they do not have the funds to bail themselves out. They have not been convicted of a crime. National Bail Out is a movement to end pretrial detention and ultimately mass incarceration. Make a donation today and post bail for a mom so she can get home to her kids.
My mom loved Star Wars most for its creativity and imagery. She loved the creatures, the planets, the costumes, the spaceships, and the logos. She loved that there was space in the universe for tiny creatures, huge creatures, hairy creatures and droids. A huge fan of playing dress-up, Star Wars meant you could turn your princess wand into a light-saber and being the good guy or bad guy did not depend on your costume, but rather which scene you were role-playing. She loved going to watch each movie for the first time on the big screen and welcomed each new character, even the ones that devout fans criticized.
Rebel 4 Life
My mom loved a good underdog story. She strongly identified with Leia and the Rebel Alliance. She was scrappy and resourceful, never too flashy and had a rough crew from different backgrounds to laugh and plan the future with. She had no problem fighting injustice and standing up for others. To us kids she was most certainly our esteemed leader. Like Leia, she counseled and supported while letting us make our own decisions and mistakes. Never losing faith in us. She was absolutely ready for a revolution and a restoration to democracy.
Don was her Han Solo
Saturday Star Wars shots. Don’s whiskey and Barb’s tequila.
Han Solo, and most Harrison Ford characters of the 80s like Indiana Jones, is my dad. He is the more obvious rebel and smarter than everyone else in the galaxy. He survives on work ethic and being a nonconformist. He takes risks, gets hurt often but somehow survives to live another day. He needs little of the material world and finds honor in fixing his own things, buying things in cash and sticking it to the man. He would prefer to live on the edge of society but his love pulled him into a world of family life and exposed him to the Force, which he is still skeptical of.
A Family Saga
To my mom, Star Wars was about family. The original episodes on VHS were the background of her years as a young mom. We weren’t allowed to watch Transformers but we could watch Star Wars over and over again. When the newer episodes came out she joined us in the long lines, got dressed up and stayed up late for the midnight screenings. She let my brothers skip school to wait in line for Episodes 1 & 2. She never watched a new movie without Patrick. She collected Star Wars everything and mailed May the 4th boxes to her favorite little people. Loving her family was the ultimate resistance to the Dark Side. The Rise of Skywalker was the last movie my mom watched just a few weeks before she died. She called me after to tell me how hard she cried. She knew then, that the Saga was over for her.
Pick up a stick today and have a light-saber dual.
Get out your Star Wars Legos and figures.
Talk like Yoda.
Watch your least and most favorite movie.
Let your kids know about the Dark Side, international diplomacy, forming alliances, and defending all creatures in the galaxy.
Free prisoners, use technology for good, and pass on knowledge to the next generation.
“Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.” – Leia Organa
She died 3 months ago today. The whole scene of her last days plays in my head over and over and I feel angry and hurt. Other times I am overwhelmed with happy memories or activities, stuff and remarks that are SO her. Those hurt even more though.
I was doing ok, finding distraction with work, traveling, and the kids but then coronavirus took over our lives. I try to be grateful that she didn’t get sick and die during this. And then I think of all the people who are dealing with sickness and loss right now. Mostly I think about my Dad, who is living alone with all-consuming grief for his soulmate during a pandemic lock-down. It has only been three months but as of today, we celebrated all four grandkids’ birthdays without her. 2020 is turning out to be the worst and yet we keep going. Trying our hardest to make it go by faster.
If she was here now…
She would have so many good ideas on what to do with the kids. Kids would call her for advice.
She would decorate her Easter eggs with a pandemic theme. Some would be dark and witty and others would be hopeful and bright.
She would download all the best apps, join on all the birthday party zoom calls and send the best facebook messages, texts and memes.
She would send everyone a pandemic package- full of things to do for kids, art, and self-care items.
She would make art. All kinds of art. And give it all away to bring cheer to others.
She would obsessively watch my new tik tok videos and like and comment on each one.
She would be worried. Worried about the kids, worried about the elders, and worried about the people living alone.
She would cry watching the news and scrolling through her facebook feed. She would mourn with families across the world losing loved ones to this disease.
She would pray. She’d google “patron saints for the sick” and say things like “Did you know Saint Roch is invoked against epidemics and plagues?”
She would plant her garden and remind us to look to Mother Earth for answers.
Her garden and eggs were unrivaled.
This Earth Day I started prepping my yard for a new wildflower patch. It aims to be as wild and colorful as my Momma. I can’t wait to watch it bloom. #belikeBarb
Barb with her moped at her moped shop. She would tell you she never felt like a cool kid, but she definitely was. **Thank you Mary Ellen for sending me this.
The kids and I have been reading Hans Christian Andersen books because we were preparing for our summer trip to Denmark (likely covid canceled). I found this copy of the Little Mermaid on the shelf. She gave it to me on my 15th birthday, long before I traveled the world.
Be Like Barb 