The Queen of Hearts

“Happy Valentine’s to the Queen of Hearts!

 This was the message that awaited me as I logged onto Facebook Valentine’s Day morning. It was a gift from a wonderfully witty, equally sarcastic and an extremely loving woman.  She happens to be the mother of one of my friends.  I love her company.  She has lived through her share of heartache and loss, but somehow she manages to make those around her smile and laugh, really laugh! However she does not hide behind a curtain of laughter she shares from her heart.  Whether the emotion is good, joyous, dark or painful touches you deeply. I love her for that.

  This simple sentence was packed with acknowledgement.  The “Queen of Hearts” refers to the countless heart shaped images that I have found and shared. My friends may not comment on a photo that I post but they are affected by it.  Every so often someone will post a heart photo or image to my wall and each time the post begins with.

“This reminded me of you.” or “I saw this and I thought of you.

   For forty eight plus years I have walked this earth and had never found or saw a heart shaped image in nature.  A little over two and a half years ago I happened to read two memoirs where the authors’ spoke of finding heart shaped rocks in Montana and heart shaped sea glass in Italy.   Two totally different places and removed from one another by thousands of miles, but they shared a common bond, the heart.

   Several months after reading these books I was out for a lunchtime walk. While walking I thought of those memoirs and said to myself “Why have I not found any hearts in nature?”  Ironically, (well, if you understand how the Universe works there wasn’t any irony at all) during that walk I came across my first heart shaped rock.   I found my talisman, well really, it found me.   

  These past few years I have shared many of the hearts that I have encountered.  They have appeared in rocks, pavement stains, clouds, leaves, snow, and road debris.  Each one is unique and conveys its own message.

  I have stumbled across a broken heart….

 

 Light hearts……

A hollow heart………

 

Puddle hearts…..

 

 A gummy  heart…….

A two toned heart……..

 

Sedona hearts….

 

 Montana hearts…..

And those found in Miami….

 

Pavement hearts….

 

Ice hearts…

 

……and tree hearts.....

 

   The heart is the keeper of life and the holder of emotions.  Each and every heart image that I encounter causes me to pause and remember that we are connected, loved and alive.  People ask me how I find all of these hearts.  This past summer I attended a work related dinner with one of the people who had asked me that question.  A quick thunderstorm had passed through.  As we arrived at the restaurant I spotted a heart shaped wet spot in the parking lot.  As this woman walked over it I said to her. “Stop and look down.” 

 She did and exclaimed “It is a heart!”

“See, they are around all of us. You just have to take the time to notice.  I do not possess any special talents.  I’m just aware.” I said.

    And recently I have learned another heart lesson.  Last week while snowshoeing with my friend I came across this stray piece of tree bark resting upon the newly fallen snow.   Seeing what I did, a heart in a piece of tree bark, I stopped to take a few pictures.   In their natural state they were amazing.  A little off center, but the shadow cast beyond the bark made the picture a double heart.

 

  Using Instagram I took the same photo, cropped it, enlarged it and changed the lighting. In the matter of moments I possessed a truly magical photo.

 

  I was astonished by the results of the tweaking. Looking at the enhanced photo I got the lesson.  We can airbrush and enhance ourselves.  It may be through fashion, makeup or false airs. We can do all of the masking, covering and hiding that we would like but in the end when the enhanced layers are removed we are ourselves, beautiful at the core and true to our hearts!   

 

An Onion and a White Feather

This was a difficult week for my family.  On Saturday February 2, 2013 my cousin Kevin completed his journey upon this earth.  He was fifty four years and thirteen days old.  His heart, which was as large as his wisecracking personality, failed him.  Now his children, siblings and parents begin living into their new reality, life without him.

  On Sunday as I headed out into the bitter cold for a walk I did so with a heavy heart. My thoughts were with Kevin and his family. I found as I walked I no longer felt the cold.  I only felt warmth. The warmth was fueled by family memories.  There were the holidays at our grandparent’s house, family barbeques, graduation celebrations, weddings and birthdays. Yes, as children the siblings and cousins disagreed…..okay, we fought at times. But isn’t that what families are all about? Sharing the good and the bad, creating the stories and the memories and as years progress the incidents that seemed horrible and overwhelming in that moment are now laughed about.

  After two hours of walking and reliving memories I returned home.  It was Super Bowl Sunday and we were going to a party at a friend’s house. Yes, despite hardship, life does go on.  With this in mind and a 5:30 party date I figured I better get busy in the kitchen and make the food items I committed to bring.

  First on my list to prepare was the coleslaw.  I grabbed an onion cut off the bottom and then the top.  As the sliced off onion top rested upon the cutting board I stood staring at it in amazement. I could not believe my eyes.  There within the layers of the onion top was a discolored section.  The light brown spot lying within the whiteness of the onion was a perfectly shaped heart! I felt chills from my head to my toes.  Then I simply began to laugh. My laughter continued and as it did tears ran down my cheeks.  These were not tears created by the pungent onion aroma these were tears born from joy.  I understood the message and I could not believe the object that was selected to deliver it.

  The onion is a metaphor for life.  It contains layers and layers circled around one another.  Each ring touches one another and some are intertwined. Based upon their position the rings vary in size.  They span from the center to the middle to the end.  Cut an onion open and you can see its life cycle from beginning to end.

  In their raw state onions are sharp in flavor and sting the taste buds. However, the raw onion sitting on my cutting board was delivering the gentlest and mellowest of messages. Life is not always what you expect, or what you think it should be. Within our layers along with happiness and joy, we experience bitterness, disappointment and grief.  As I stood looking at this onion top and wiping away my tears I was reminded that no matter what we may think or feel within those dark moments ultimately we are always loved.  Even if it is concealed (as it was within this onion) it is always there.

 Last night I attended Kevin’s wake. The room was overflowing with family, friends and flowers. I made my way to the front of the room. I knelt down at the casket and the first thing that I noticed was a white feather.  It was placed under the lapel on the right side of Kevin’s jacket. Within an instant I understood the significance of the white feather and why it was with him. As with many symbols there is always a family story that accompanies it.

 Kevin was my Mother's godson. When my Mom turned seventy my sister's and I threw her a birthday party. We asked each of our Mom's godchildren to say a few words. Kevin with his wise cracking charm delivered a memorable and heartfelt tribute. He spoke of a time when he was with our Grandmother and he found a white feather. He asked her about the feather and our Grandmother explained that when you find a white feather it means that someone in heaven was watching over you.

  It is funny how the smallest of exchanges can have the largest impacts upon our lives. The significance of the white feather was very important to Kevin. He wanted to share this with my Mom, whom he so loved very much.  My Mother was especially close to my Grandmother (my Dad's Mom). So when Kevin presented my Mother with the feather she knew that it was not only a heartfelt gift from him but one from all those above who were looking out for her and sending their love to her on that day.

 As I rose from the kneeler my Mother was standing beside me. She hugged me and whispered into my ear "Did you see the feather?"

  I replied "It was the first thing that I saw."

 Mom said "Kevin gave me one at my seventeenth birthday. I wish I could remember the whole story."

 As I hugged her I said. "It means that the angels and your loved ones in heaven are watching over you. Kevin is taking his along with him to acknowledge all of those that watched over him during his lifetime."

 Today was the funeral and the details of Kevin’s service are private and should remain that way so I will not discuss them. What I will say is that it was apparent how deeply he loved and how much he was loved in return.

 At the very end of the service I gazed across the church and it was then that I saw a glimmer of Kevin.  His son who is around thirteen years old had his younger sister in a head lock hold/hug. (I tend to err on the side of hug.)  And as he was doing this he grinned.  The grin so very was familiar and when he scrunched his eyes and furled his brow I saw Kevin.  He was alive within his son’s mischievous smile and playful eyes.

  As ridiculous as it may seem it was within an onion and a white feather that I found solace this week. An odd combination for sure, one is known to make you cry and the passing of the other upon your skin will make you laugh. Maybe the lesson is this; within the bitterness of our loss we will find our hearts, remember to laugh and more importantly live.  My family’s loss is deep but may we all find comfort in knowing that there is a new angel on the job.  He has a huge heart, a hardy laugh and a unique grin. Suffice it to say, from this day forward the earth will be blanked with white feathers. Don’t forget to pick yours up!

The Strong Box

    My first brand new drive off the dealer’s lot car was a 1986 Pontiac Grand AM.  She was a beauty.  Two door, two tone, maroon and gray, five speed manual transmission, cassette player and automatic windows, the kind that go up and down with the touch of a button, not the crank of a knob!  Wow I had arrived!  I was out of college just a little over a year.  I was financially responsible, and it was time.  I had run the numbers over and over again. I could afford this sassy car with the leather covered steering wheel. I signed the installment note. Forty eight payments of two hundred eighty eight dollars and forty nine cents and she would be all mine.

  Why did I think of this car when I left work tonight? I owned it some twenty seven years prior.  Maybe it was the twilight sky dotted with streaks of pinkish red streaks, gray clouds and a furiously fast wind.  When I arrived home I went to the place where we store our strong box. You know the one with all the important papers, the birth certificates, marriage license, social security cards, life insurance policies, baptismal, first communion and holy confirmation certificates.  It is here that important papers that tell the story of a life are stored and protected.  I knew that the promissory note for my very first brand new car was there.

   I opened the box and flipped through the documents and I found the Retail Installment Contract between myself and General Motors Acceptance Corporation.  I promised to pay them on the third day of each month for the next forty eight months two hundred eighty eight dollars and forty nine cents.  Thereafter this beautiful mechanical wonder would be all mine.

  As I held that piece of paper in my hand I remembered what my Dad had said to me after I told him that in forty eight months this car would be mine.   In a clear and undeterred voice, Dad simply said

 “Don’t wish your life away.” 

I was puzzled by his response to my new purchase. The car was cool and so was I. In just four years it would be all mine, General Motors Acceptance Corporation could not lay claim to her any more.

  Dad continued. 

 “Four years is a long time, a lot of wonderful things can happen in that time.  If you keep pushing and wishing for this car loan to be paid off, four years of your life will be gone, and you can never get them back. And guess what?  Before you know it you will have another car loan and you will be counting again.”

  Tonight as I flipped through the contents of that strong box I understood what Dad meant.   I uncovered the layers of my life.  There were my college student loan documents along with several notes from one of my college professors.  I was so very fortunate that during my last semester in college my work study obligations were assigned to her.  When you spent time with Dr, Thorne you immediately realized that she was not only a brilliant, energetic and engaging professor, but she was a truly compassionate soul.  I knew I was drawn to her, but it wasn’t until years later that I realized that she was the true definition of   “living by the heart.”  I came across this note that she sent me along with the meaning of the sand dollar.  I have always been connected to the ocean and its treasures.  Dr. Thorne inherently knew that. She connected it to me and shared it. It is because of her gentle wisdom that these items hold a place within my strong box and within my heart.

  The box also contains wedding invitations and match books from my friend’s weddings.  Note to self, maybe I should remove these match book treasure from the dried out paper within this box. 

  As I dug a little further I came across a small red envelope addressed to me in.  The address was that of my first apartment and it bore a twenty two cent stamp.  Whew, this must be old!  I did recognize the handwriting. It was that of my best friend and college roommate's Mother, Every once in a while life throws you a life line and Stephanie was mine.  We met at Orange County Community College and became fast friends.  Stephanie gave me life in more ways than she probably realizes.  She was my champion when no one else in my social circle was.  She was my confidant and my confidence. I embraced life because of her and no longer ran to hide. But if by chance I did, she would pull me from the dark corner back into the sunlight.

  I was Stephanie’s maid of honor at her wedding and as difficult as it was to make this decision, with three sisters of my own, Stephanie was my maid of honor.  When Steph had her first child she was living in Florida and her Mother was in New York.  Financially things were not flowing for Steph’s Mom, so when the baby was born I purchased an airline ticket for her and sent her to Florida to meet her granddaughter.  Her Mom arrived in Florida with balloons in hand and declared that she was a birthday present from me.  Stephanie’s birthday was just four days before her daughters. There are times that a mother, child and grandmother just have to be together. Tonight I found the thank you note from Stephanie’s Mom for this trip.  On the front of the card were the words “Thank You” spelled out in balloons.

  In the strong box were memento’s from my wedding.  They included the newspaper clipping announcing this new union, a wallet sized picture of my husband and I and a packet containing the hotel receipts from our honeymoon twenty four years ago. All these years later, the prices in pesos still astound me.  But the one item in that envelope that caused me to pause was an index card. It was handwritten in impeccably neat cursive.  It was the blessing that my great aunt, Sister Cecilia Madeline not only wrote but read in our behalf.  I remember receiving this gift, but somehow time had a way of simmering the memories away.  I was mad at myself for forgetting this.

 As I continued foraging through the box I came across two stories that I wrote.  One was written in 1991 the other was written in 1996.  They are the stories of my children’s birth.  I documented the moments and the feelings.  From what I ate the day they were born to when they were placed in my arms for the first time.  The funny thing is, is at that time I had no interest in writing.  But in these instances I had a need to document my children’s birth and my part and perspective in all of it.   I know this need is born from the fact that my Mother’s Mother died when she was just eight years old.  If that was going to happen to me I wanted my children to know about their entry into this world and how each one of them completed me in ways I could have never comprehended.

   I found a sympathy card with a note in the most recognizable and profound handwriting that I have ever seen.  The handwriting was my Grandmother’s and the Mass card was sent by my Grandparents after the passing of my husband’s Grandfather. (from one Irish family to another…McCarthy to Boyle).   The pure grace of my Grandmothers pen stroke still amazes me. 

    As I continued to delve into the box I came across a few pictures that I had stowed away for safe keeping. Each contained a defining moment. There was the one of my daughters dance recital.  Costume, makeup, sequins and her steps showed her style. I knew at my age I could not perform as she did.  She showed no nerves and was completly free of others expectations.

    Then there were the pictures of my Dad and my son.  Thomas and my Dad spent weeks building a pinewood derby car to spec and within regulations. Their efforts paid off, they came in third in the Annual Cub Scout Pine Wood Derby Race.

   I came across my favorite photo. My sisters and I planned a seventh birthday party for our Mother.  There were many shared memories, but Dad stole the show when he insisted on playing the song “Once in a Lifetime Love” by Alan Jackson and he dipped and swirled her around the dance floor like they were in their twenties and doing the “Dumont Drag”, but on this night the spin around the dance floor was not for speed but for remembrance.  Every movement was choreographed, not by a dance instructor, but by a life.  Each step was guided by a promise and it was one of fidelity and love.

  As I dug a little further, I encountered loss.  I came across the program from my Mother-in-laws funeral mass and her mass card.  This void is vast.  Many people love the person they marry and despise the people that raised them.  I loved my Mother-in-law. She was my friend.  It is funny how life works because my Mother had the same type of relationship with my Dad’s Mom.  Each and every day I yearn for the presence of Peg O’Neill in my life. I know she is with me but I wish I could talk to her over a cup of tea.

  And as I continued to sift through the items in this box I found a fifth grade moving up program.  The cover was designed by my son.  There was his Confirmation Program and my daughters Senior Night Awards Program and a letter from Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton congratulating my daughter on her Girl Scout Silver Award Completion. And then there is my daughters eighteen birhthday celebration.  Ticket stubs to prove it....I took her and her friend to see the comedian, Dane Cook. What we won't do for our kids!

  This small box contains so many lifetimes.  Within its clasp there is more than I spoke of here. It is no wonder I have to press down hard to connect the latch with the clasp on the box.  As I flip through the contents I find the loan papers for the 1988 Mercury Cougar.  I traded in my prize Pontiac Grand Am for a car with an automatic transmission that my husband could drive.  Soon thereafter I found the papers for the 1991 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. After the birth of our daughter we needed a four door family sedan.

  Looking at the dates and the time frames of the notes 1986, 1988, 1991, not one of these cars was ever paid in full. 

  When we purchased  1994 Plymouth Voyager I remember telling my Dad that we had to take out a five year loan. His advice was much the same as it was in 1986.  Dad said,

  “Don’t live your life counting towards the end of something….like a car loan.  When that payment is done you will have another.  Before you know it your children will be grown and they may even have children of their own.  Don’t keep looking forward.  Enjoy your life.  Enjoy your children when they are young, and enjoy each moment.”

 Thereafter we purchased a 2000 Dodge Caravan, a 1999 Mercury Sable, a 2006 Chrysler Town and Country and a 2008 Chrysler Pacifica.

 We had loans on each and every one.  Guess what some were paid off, others were not and the balance was rolled into the successive loan.  When I looked up my daughter was finished with high school and soon thereafter my son started. Today my daughter is a senior in college and my son is a junior in high school.

 My Father was right. Don’t gauge your life and measure it by events, “LIVE IT.”  Simply and purely, live it. Tonight as I sifted through that strong box and revisited with so many important people that have influenced my life I was not only humbled by their presence but renewed by their spirit.

 

  I have always listened to my Dad, but tonight as I sifted through that strong box his message was clear, instantly clear.  Simply said, enjoy each moment.  Do not wish them away, for once they are gone, they can never be recaptured.

  And then I thought, if I am lucky I will sign many more vehicles in my lifefime…..I will not be counting towards the notes completion, but living  each moment.