Remembering Gramma Miller

At 89 years old, my Gramma, Eunice Miller, passed away last week.  In loving remembrance of her, here are the words that I spoke at my grandmother's funeral: 

I know that Eunice was many things to many people in this room - friend, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother.  We may have known Eunice at different times in her life and from different perspectives.  I have the distint privilege of saying that she was my grandmother for the last 30 years.  And I am nothing short of blessed to have known Gramma Miller for all of this time.  She was the perfect grandma. 


When I thought about a memory that I wanted to share about Gramma Miller, I thought of the times that we used to visit her and my Grandpa in Milwaukee, and she would take us on a big adventure to the Grand Avenue Mall.  We would drink orange juliuses adn watch the weird mechanical bear on a unicycle ride on the wire.  Although all it did was ride from one end of the mall to the other and drink a mug of beer at the same time, we could watch that stupid thing for hours.  My Gramma would watch with us.  My sister and I would each pick out one thing that we could take home with us.  My Grandpa would drop us off at the mall, but we would take the bus home.  The coolest thing ever.  Gramma would sit on the bus as she always did, poised gracefully with two little nutters, me and Betsy, arguing over who got to pull the cord on the bus that time.  Somehow or other, that would get sorted out - probably by the two of us pulling the cord at exactly the same time. 


I guess that was the thing about Gramma Miller, though.  She didn't yell or get angry about the two little nutters fighting on the bus, because she didn't have to.  Gramma taught us everything she knew not by talking or telling us how to act, but by simply being who she was.  In so many ways, my grandma is who aspire to become. 


I also though of all the family gatherings, ballet recitals, orchestra concerts, birthdays, confirmations, and Sunday dinners that she came to.  Family was of the utmost importance to my grandma - and she didn't have to say it out loud or preach it to us or get up on any soapbox about it - it's just simply who she was.  She came to everything.  She loved us unconditionally.  No matter what.  She was, unconditionally, our biggest cheerleader.  Even when we were screwing up or going through our awkward teenage phase or making bad decisions or acting like complete idiots, Gramma still thought we were the greatest things since sliced bread.  Our reality checks came from other places - like our family and friends - but it's also my Gramma's love and comfort that has carried me and my siblings through life thus far.  And I know that our memories of her and her example will carry us further in life. 


One of the things that I loved about my Gramma was her wittiness and ability to crack a joke. At 80 years old and having won a few rounds of rummy - winning her a grand total of 5 cents, she would joke about being able to retire early. 


Whenever I would say something nice to my Gramma or tell her how much I love her, she would sometimes respond by saying, "Well, my dear, this is a mutual admiration society."  That would make me laugh out loud.  But as I look out at all of you today, I am pretty confident that I can say to my Gramma that this is the greatest mutual admiration society. 


Gramma, you are so loved.  You have made a difference in each of our lives in so many different ways.  I will remember you every day when I catch myself making bad decisions or acting like an idiot.  You will be so deeply missed.  I will miss you, and I am glad you are at peace.  I love you, I will think of you often, and I thank you for everything you've done for us.   

I love you, Gramma, a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck!  : ) 

dogs make people happy

I think this is something that most people know.  Dogs, especially puppies, make people happy.  Dogs that look like puppies that aren't really puppies make people REALLY happy.  How do i know this? 

Well, it's certainly not because of Zula.  When we take Zula out for a walk, most people cross to the other side of the street when they see her.  (Even if she isn't acting all dog-crazy...which sometimes, she is...)  At 80 pounds, she doesn't look much like a puppy either.

Now Smyke, that's a different story.  He manages to make a lot of people very happy for a little full-grown dog who looks like a puppy.  Not a believer yet?  Check this photo out... 

Yeah. Told you. 

So Smyke isn't our dog.  But, he did live with us for a short time.  A co-worker of mine found this little dog outside her doorstep, so she took him in.  With no tags and no one claiming this poor little, hurt, hungry, lost pup, we agreed to foster him.  Then we transferred him to another co-worker and her husband, who were looking for a perfect little dog.  Man, did they find him.  (I mean aside from the obsession with shoes and peeing-in-our-house habit...) 

This past weekend, we dog-sat Smyke.  I have never been so popular in all of my life.  I know that's hard to believe, folks, but reminder:  I was a band nerd. : )  Almost every person we walked past stopped to ask what kind of dog he was, what his name was, how old he was.... 

Basically, Smyke is the best thing since sliced bread. Or velcro.  

The interesting part, however, is that even when people didn't stop to ask about Smyke, they almost always looked at him and smiled.  He made people happy.  Even if just for a moment, it was totally worthwhile and awesome to watch. 

Maybe Smyke is oblivious to how affects people.  Maybe he's just happy if you give him something to eat or chew on.  Maybe he's more interested in the sandwich in your hand than your emotions. 

But then again, maybe that's not the point. 

Cheers!  : ) 

Goals and Dreams v.1

Recently, one of my co-workers went to Mexico.  Then I was left out of getting a gift from her.  Her excuse was that she bought some weird keychain for our other co-worker because it meant "indulgence."  Or something like that.  Anyhow, she referred to how she is working on her goals and dreams this summer.  I don't quite get the connection between the key chain and the goals/dreams, but I wanted one too.  Dang it. 

So I promptly followed up with an email version list of my own goals and dreams so that the next time she travels for work, she can bring me back a hokey "indulgent" key chain too.  Ah.  Yes. It's the little things, right? 

Anyway, here's what I sent her.  You should definitely read this list before moving on:

#1.  Get a raise. 

#2.  Move to Asia.        

#3.  Raise funds for Asia. 

#4.  Become a morning person. 

#5.  Lose 5 pounds.  Mm, maybe 10. 

#6.  Read more books.

#7.  Become a photographer.

#8.  Become a professional blogger. 

#9.  Make crafts every day. 

#10.  Adopt some babies. 

#11.  Be on the special “I bring gifts for you” list

#12.  Get a PhD.

#13.  Look older so people stop asking me, “Are you a student?”

#14.  Get a medical/law degree.  Either way is fine. 

#15.  Move to the countryside.  Then move back to the city.  

#16.  Become famous. 

And here was my response back from said co-worker.  This made me laugh out loud, so I figured it was worth a blog post. 

#1.  Get a raise.  Doubt It!

#2.  Move to Asia.  Maybe          

#3.  Raise funds for Asia. Doubt it!

#4.  Become a morning person.  If you haven’t done it by now, not gonna happen

#5.  Lose 5 pounds.  Mm, maybe 10.  Aren’t you like 10 pounds anyway??

#6.  Read more books. You don’t have time if you want to get a raise

#7.  Become a photographer. I thought you want a raise, yet another extracurricular activity that will suck time out of where it counts-sitting at your desk working

#8.  Become a professional blogger.  attainable

#9.  Make crafts every day.  That’s for the kids in Tom’s class dear

#10.  Adopt some babies.  OK Angelina

#11.  Be on Gechi’s special “I bring gifts for you” list Doubt it!

#12.  Get a PhD. These poverty promoting things keep coming up…you are definitely not getting a raiseJ

#13.  Look older so people stop asking me, “Are you a student?” just wear a wig and put eyeliner as your eyebrows

#14.  Get a medical/law degree.  Either way is fine.  Plus a PHD ?? geez

#15.  Move to the countryside.  Then move back to the city.   maybe

#16.  Become famous.  HAHAHA is all I can say

Perfect.  

Blog Post for Michael Iannuzzi

I didn’t know Michael C. Ianuzzi.  I never met him.  But I knew who he was to my husband, and I went to his funeral.  The funeral was several weeks ago, and afterwards, I asked Tom if I could write a blog post about him.  Tom said yes and then asked me about it a few times afterwards, but I couldn’t seem to get the words down on paper. 

See, I didn’t even know him.  But I found out all kinds of things about him at his funeral.  He was about 30 years old.  He attended family baptisms and birthday parties.  He was a really big guy.  He liked to wrestle.  He was funny.  He talked to his mom almost every day.  He cared about people.  He was a really good friend.  He was terribly messy and a creative cook.  He had an infectious smile.  He had HUNDREDS of friends.  He was doing what he loved to do.  He was loved. 

Mike and Tom were childhood friends.  Practically inseparable.  Tom fondly remembers the time that he and Mike were fighting in the car, so his mom told them to get outside and fight it out.  When Mike (remember, I said he was a really big guy…) jumped out of the car to get ready, Tom immediately retracted and apologized.  He was no idiot to fight Mike Ianuzzi.  And while I think about it, Tom’s mom was no idiot when she figured out how to solve the fighting issue in the back of the car. 

But, as we all know too well, life goes on and things change.  Tom wasn’t part of Mike’s every day anymore – but when he passed away suddenly, Tom was shocked.  And affected.  And sad.  He wondered if Mike’s family would be angry with him, if they would accept him.  He wondered if Mike was angry with him before he died.  He wondered if he should have reconnected with Mike or said the things left unsaid.  He wondered if he should have apologized to Mike.  He wondered if he had done the right thing.  Tom asked himself these questions – he asked me these questions.  Of course, we don’t know the answers. 

But I do know that this answered some of those questions:  when Tom walked into the funeral parlor, he put his arm on Mike’s brother’s shoulder.  Mike’s brother, James, turned around.  And when he saw Tom standing there, he had a burst of emotion that I’m not sure how to describe.  It was shock, disbelief, relief, happiness, sadness, all rolled into one – but not anger.  In that instance, Tom’s relationship to the family meant more than the last few years of silence.  Tom’s relationship with Mike meant more than later mistakes that were made.  Tom represented something to James – a piece of Mike’s life.  A piece of who Mike was.  I wish I could describe it better than this, but this is all I can say.  Mike’s family welcomed Tom with sorrowful hearts and open arms. 

James gave Tom a small piece of paper that he had found in Mike’s desk.  In that piece of paper was a picture of Joe, Tom’s brother.  On that piece of paper, he wrote about Joe and his death.  Mike had truly struggled to make sense of Joe’s death, as we are all now struggling to make sense of this one.  Regardless of what had happened between Tom and Mike later in life, they both still cared about each other.  That meant the world to Tom. 

If I’ve learned anything at all in life, it’s that there may not be any sense to be had.  We lost another good one.  And there seems to be no way to make sense of it.  No rhyme, reason, or secret code. 

I sat in the back of the funeral parlor and couldn’t hold back the tears as I listened to people talk about the person that he was. The person that I would never get to meet.  The person that we’d miss out on.  The person who was so very important to Tom when he was young.   I can’t say that I’ll miss Mike Iannuzzi – but I can say that I will miss the opportunity to know him. 

And I’m grateful that I got a chance to hear about the person that he was. 

I guess death always makes us think about life.  Life always seems to get so complicated.  We do things and say things we might end up regretting later.  We seem to be left with these haunting questions – did I do enough?  Did I say enough?  Did they really know how I felt?  So for today, I’m just going to think about these things a little longer and leave it at that. 

Oh.  And one more thing.  Thank you, Mike.  You are missed by those who never even met you. 

My Blog Post for Michael Iannuzzi

I didn’t know Michael C. Iannuzzi.  I never met him.  But I knew who he was to my husband, and I went to his funeral.  The funeral was several weeks ago, and afterwards, I asked Tom if I could write a blog post about him.  Tom said yes and then asked me about it a few times afterwards, but I couldn’t seem to get the words down on paper. 

See, I didn’t even know him.  But I found out all kinds of things about him at his funeral.  He was about 30 years old.  He attended family baptisms and birthday parties.  He was a really big guy.  He liked to wrestle.  He was funny.  He talked to his mom almost every day.  He cared about people.  He was a really good friend.  He was terribly messy and a creative cook.  He had an infectious smile.  He had HUNDREDS of friends.  He was doing what he loved to do.  He was loved. 

Mike and Tom were childhood friends.  Practically inseparable.  Tom fondly remembers the time that he and Mike were fighting in the car, so his mom told them to get outside and fight it out.  When Mike (remember, I said he was a really big guy…) jumped out of the car to get ready, Tom immediately retracted and apologized.  He was no idiot to fight Mike Ianuzzi.  And while I think about it, Tom’s mom was no idiot when she figured out how to solve the fighting issue in the back of the car. 

But, as we all know too well, life goes on and things change.  Tom wasn’t part of Mike’s every day anymore – but when he passed away suddenly, Tom was shocked.  And affected.  And sad.  He wondered if Mike’s family would be angry with him, if they would accept him.  He wondered if Mike was angry with him before he died.  He wondered if he should have reconnected with Mike or said the things left unsaid.  He wondered if he should have apologized to Mike.  He wondered if he had done the right thing.  Tom asked himself these questions – he asked me these questions.  Of course, we don’t know the answers. 

But I do know that this answered some of those questions:  when Tom walked into the funeral parlor, he put his arm on Mike’s brother’s shoulder.  Mike’s brother, James, turned around.  And when he saw Tom standing there, he had a burst of emotion that I’m not sure how to describe.  It was shock, disbelief, relief, happiness, sadness, all rolled into one – but not anger.  In that instance, Tom’s relationship to the family meant more than the last few years of silence.  Tom’s relationship with Mike meant more than later mistakes that were made.  Tom represented something to James – a piece of Mike’s life.  A piece of who Mike was.  I wish I could describe it better than this, but this is all I can say.  Mike’s family welcomed Tom with sorrowful hearts and open arms. 

James gave Tom a small piece of paper that he had found in Mike’s desk.  In that piece of paper was a picture of Joe, Tom’s brother.  On that piece of paper, he wrote about Joe and his death.  Mike had truly struggled to make sense of Joe’s death, as we are all now struggling to make sense of this one.  Regardless of what had happened between Tom and Mike later in life, they both still cared about each other.  That meant the world to Tom. 

If I’ve learned anything at all in life (which is questionable), it’s that there may not be any sense to be had.  We lost another good one.  And there seems to be no way to make sense of it.  No rhyme, reason, or secret code. 

I sat in the back of the funeral parlor and couldn’t hold back the tears as I listened to people talk about the person that he was. The person that I would never get to meet.  The person who was so very important to Tom when he was young.   I can’t say that I’ll miss Mike Ianuzzi – but I can say that I will miss the opportunity to know him. 

And I’m grateful that I got a chance to hear about the person that he was. 

I guess death always makes us think about life.  Life always seems to get so complicated.  We do things and say things we might end up regretting later.  We seem to be left with these haunting questions – did I do enough?  Did I say enough?  Did they really know how I felt?  So for today, I’m just going to think about these things a little longer and leave it at that. 

Oh.  One more thing:  Thank you, Mike.  You are missed by people who never even knew you. 

Our world...

It just occurred to me that tonight I had dinner in Sri Lanka with someone who is Indian and his daughter who became American, speaking English, eating Chinese food, with a bottle of Italian wine. 

Our world is amazing sometimes, isn't it? 

More Kindness...

So for those of you who haven't heard from me lately, it's because I'm in Sri Lanka.  Which I'll blog about a little later.  For right now, I thought I would blog about the day I left for Sri Lanka.  You'll see why in the end.

So leaving for work trips is kind of stressful.  Trying to finish everything that I need to get done before I go and making sure I don't forget anything important.  I found myself awake at 5:30 am because Wagner agreed to give me a ride to the office on the way to work. 

At 6:15 am I found myself outside of Tom's car parked outside my office with the keys locked in the car.  With the car running.  Shockingly, this was actually more Wagner's fault than mine...but nevertheless, there we were.  So we had to wait about 30 minutes outside before AAA came to our rescue.  (Good service, by the way...who knew?)  I'm beginning to think my black cloud is now following my husband as well. 

After this fiasco, I went about my business and had a meeting at 8am.  A breakfast meeting, which are the best kind of meetings, if you ask me.  Towards the end of the meeting, Karen was getting ready to leave for another meeting.  I was watching a man who had walked in.  He looked sort of out of it.  But honestly, he looked nice.  He didn't say anything. The man behind the counter saw him and said, "Just a minute."  The man behind the counter waited on the other people in line.  I dawdled putting my coat on and kept watching.  The man behind the counter scooped up some grits and handed it to the other man. I had to leave - the others were waiting for me. 

Later in the day, it was raining.  I had to go to the bank to cash a check.  As I was walking through puddles, I first stopped at the CVS.  I saw a man outside of the CVS asking for some money.  I said, "Sorry" and kept walking into the store.  On the way out, he called after me, "Have a blessed day."  I realized I was walking the wrong way so turned around and saw a woman handing him a bag of items.  I wasn't sure what was in the bag except saw a bottle of water.  He thanked her profusely, she smiled and walked away.  

So now I'm thinking.  Wow, Miller.  You had two opportunities today to help out a stranger.  But you were too busy being pissed off about how the rain had made the bottom of your jeans wet.  Seriously - am I that busy?  Is my life that important?  Most definitely not. 

So I'll call this a lesson learned - or two lessons learned.  And maybe next time I'll be better.