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| Monday, August 20, 2007 |
| He's Still My Little Brother |
I still remember where I was when I found out that I had become the big sister to a little brother named Buddy (ok, that's not his real name but it's what I call him). I was sitting in the side yard of my grandparents' house in Pawtucket, RI debating with the other kids on the block whether I wanted my mom to have a boy or a girl.
I may have been just 4 days shy of my 6th birthday, but I was still adamant. I wanted a little brother. The reasoning for this escapes me now, more than two decades later, but then, I was sure, absolutely sure.
And for the first couple of years it was great. He was like a living doll. I'd dress him up in my Cabbage Patch Kid Clothes and stick him in a playpen with all of my stuffed animals until all you could see was his chubby little face.
But then he learned how to get around. And more importantly, how to get into my stuff. That's when I turned to my mother and asked him if it was time for him to go back yet. And around the time I left him out of a family portrait I had to draw for school.
The years that followed involved a lot of me being a really big bitch. All this little kid wanted in the world was to play with his big sister. He'd wait at the screen door for me to come home from school holding my Barbies out for me to play with (since that was ALL I would allow him to participate in). And for his devotion he received all of the Ken's without heads and the Barbies I had given hair cuts to. Oh and did I mention they were also without clothes? Not to mention that they lived in the next neighborhood over, so they could NEVER speak to my Barbies. That was completely against the rules.
As I moved into my teens and began fighting with my parents, Buddy had finally reached the stage where a healthy sibling rivalry had formed. Any time I was fresh to my mother he'd run up to her, wrap his arms around her, and say "Mommy, I'd NEVER say that to you!" At which point I would promptly kick his ass. Like I said, I was kind of a bitch. But he was asking for it!
But once I moved away to college things began to change. Six years is a pretty large age difference when you're young, but as the years pile up it suddenly seems to lessen. These days, he and I couldn't be closer, and I couldn't love the kid any more than I do. He's grown into an amazing man; smart, funny, kind of a jerk but in an endearing way.
For his 21st birthday I wanted to do something big for him. So I did something competely uncharacteristic for me - I planned ahead. On a dreary day in March I spent 4 hours online and bought two tickets to this past Saturday's Red Sox game at Fenway. Buddy hadn't been there in somewhere around 10 years.
 With him leaving to go back to college tomorrow, I had to make sure that I warned him well in advance of his birthday that I had the tickets. Which meant I lost out on the "Oh my God" moment when he opened the present, but the look on his face as we walked up the walkway? The half-joking "Hey, hey Finy, you see that guy right there? That's David Ortiz. Right there. Like, in person." The goofy smile on his face? Totally made up for it. Nevermind the reaction when Big Papi hit the grand slam to take the lead. My God.
There may now be a beard where dimples used to be. And he may be able to legally drink a beer now. He may even tower over me by at least 7 inches. But that day proved he still is, and always will be, my little brother.Labels: baseball, Boston, family, Red Sox |
posted by FINY @ Monday, August 20, 2007   |
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| Monday, July 30, 2007 |
| The Best Family Ever |
Have I ever mentioned how fantastic my family is? Yes? Oh well, I'm going to do it again.
This weekend, in honor of my 27th birthday, Mom, Dad, and my newly-21-year-old brother all came down to NYC to celebrate. And let me tell you, best birthday weekend ever.
It started out on Friday night with dinner at Good, which lived up to its name (at least for my mother and I. Dad and my brother weren't as happy with their selections). The birthday cake which Mom had arranged before she even arrived in New York (got to love the power of the Internet and a determined mother) was absolutely to die for. It was like a doughy chocolate pudding. Not too rich, kind of melty, oh God it was just so ... well, GOOD.
After dinner the four of us made our way to the White Horse Tavern where many drinks were had, MM and her boyfriend met up with us, and I laughed harder than I had in a long time. Mom and Dad called it a night around 11pm and my brother and I promptly found another bar near my apartment where more drinks were had, I kicked his ass at darts, and we got to catch up in a way that's not really possible over the phone.
Saturday found my brother and I nursing hangovers and heading with my parents to the Central Park Zoo. It may be kind of small, but it's a very nice zoo for being in the middle of Manhattan. They've done a lot with a small amount of space and I swear I could have sat and watched the penguins all day.
Next came a trip to the 7-11 in midtown that was recently turned into a Kwik-E-Mart in honor of the new Simpsons movie. Too much fun. With large character cut outs all over the place, signs that were fashioned in the style of the show, and merchandise such as Buzz Cola and Squishees, there were a lot of photo opportunities. Going to have to get them up here soon because they really did do a good job of making you feel like you had walked into the cartoon.
After killing time for a while at Dunkin Donuts and a bar nearby in midtown (where my brother and I decided it was time to rally and had two pint-sized red bull and vodkas) we headed down to Professor Thom's for dinner and to watch the Sox game against Tampa Bay. Having heard so much about it and knowing how much time I spent there it was really great to be able to share it with the family. The Welshman met up with us for dinner and the game as well (he's met the fam multiple points at this point)And even though Mom's not a sit-down-and-watch-all-nine-innings kinda person, she and dad made it all the way through the tenth and to around 10:30 before bailing and heading for the hotel.
Which left my brother, the Welshman, a few of my friends who showed up towards the end of the game and I to head to 2nd and 2nd for karaoke. I should have known the night was going to go downhill when we did a round of soco and lime shots and then a round of Jager Bombs. But I had no idea that at 4am I'd have watched my brother sing Annie Lenox's "Walking on Broken Glass", that I myself would have sung two songs, or that my little brother and the Welshman would have found each other to be twin souls and how entertaining the two of them would be singing "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" together.
Sunday at brunch the Welshman, my brother, and I tried to recount the night to my parents and failed miserably as there's no way you could adequately do so (and I am doing just a woeful job right now). But the mimosas helped my hangover at least!
So sure, I got a new iPod for my birthday (mine broke a year ago and I never replaced it) but what really made it so great was to have all four of us together for the weekend. I mean come on, I've got parents that I actually like having hang out with my friends and who don't mind having a drink or two out at the bars and a little brother who's just the man. There's no other way to say it.
Am I the luckiest girl in the world or what?!Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, July 30, 2007 |
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| Friday, July 27, 2007 |
| My Name Is Zoom ... |
I've talked before about the song that my mother plays for me on my birthday each and every year. The song, which has lodged itself into a loop in my brain, was played yet again this morning, over the phone, as my family finished preparations for a weekend long trip down to NYC to help me celebrate my birthday.
And after much searching, I finally found a youtube video in which the song can be heard. Which means I FINALLY know all the words. I literally try to find these every year, so this is a pretty big discovery for me. So of course, I clearly need to share them with all of you:
All systems are go for your message to Finy
Hey Finy, it's your birthday
I'm in charge of the stars and I'm here to say
Hey Finy, you're the big start, today!
My name is Zoom and I live on the moon
And I came down to earth just to sing you this tune
Cause Finy, it's your birthday, today!
A present for you I wanted to find,
An outerspace creature, a one-of-a-kind,
A wild wop or a kookoochoo
An applethwop or a buzzardsnew
Or maybe a three eyed tickleshnay
For your birthday
Did you ever ask, "Ah what's a kookoochoo?"
Well up on the moon it's nothing new.
But that won't do for you!
On your birthday
I've searched behind the clouds and stars
I even Zoomed my bike to Mars
And met my friend, the Saucer man
And he said "Hey Zoom, I've got the bestest plan,
What your friend needs, is something new!
So how about a song, just from you!"
And so tonight, when you're in bed
I'll be singing to you as I zoom overhead
Singing Finy, Happy Birthday
Singing Finy, Happy Birthday
Singing Finy, Happy Birthday
Happy Birthday Finy, see you next yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrLabels: family, misc. |
| posted by FINY @ Friday, July 27, 2007 |
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| Tuesday, June 05, 2007 |
| Papa |
Looking back, some of my favorite posts on this blog have either been about, or related to, my Papa. There was the one when I wrote about his house in Pawtucket. The time I wrote about the dance we shared at my cousin's wedding. I wrote twice about his time in WWII.
And it's appropriate. Papa is an amazing guy. He's sturdy. He's solid.
He's also sick.
In the last few years, my parents, aunts and uncles, hell, even my brother and I, have tried to convince my mom's parents that it was time to move back from Florida. They've spent over a decade down there, but my grandmother's physical health has been diminishing for quite some time. She can no longer be left alone. She has to use a walker or scooter to get around. And while my Papa has been doing the best he can, when it comes down to it, he's still in his 80s. Loading a 100lb scooter into the car isn't getting any easier for him. And then there was always the constant fear of "What if something happens to him?" Flights can only get to FL so fast, and all of my family lives at least a four hour flight away. No one would be with grandma.
This may not be the worst case scenario, but it's close. Papa has a tumor. Yesterday we were informed it was only 3cm long and the procedure would be minimally invasive. Today? Further testing shows it’s 5cm long and that his kidney will have to be removed. This is complicated for a number of reasons, all of them involving the fact that he’s not exactly a spring chicken anymore. And all requiring various family members to take weeks off at a time to be down there to care for my grandmother.
From all reports, the likelihood of anything spreading, or of Papa not making it out of the surgery are minimal. But I’m scared none-the-less. Fully realizing that I am incredibly lucky to be almost 27 years old and still have 3 of my 4 grandparents doesn't make the thought of their mortality any easier to face.Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, June 05, 2007 |
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| Sunday, December 24, 2006 |
| T'was The Night Before Christmas |
Christmas always brings with it a feeling of youth. Memories of waiting up for Santa Claus. Swearing you could hear the reindeer on the roof. Leaving out milk and cookies. Trying your best not to taunt your siblings for fear that St. Nick would see you and put you on the "naughty" list and leave you only a lump of coal in your stocking. And that feeling of magic when you woke up Christmas morning to a pile of presents that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It's a holiday geared towards children and that child-like innocence.
But as I sat tonight, on Christmas Eve, wrapping gifts for family and friends, I realized that I might just take more joy in Christmas now that I am older. Listening to "Santa Baby" (which is so clearly an adult song ... "hurry down the chimney tonight"? Come on try and tell me that's not a euphamism for something decidedly un-child-friendly ...) I smiled as I imagined everyone opening the gifts I had chosen for them. I spent way too much this year, but didn't even give a thought to the fact that I spent outside my means because I truly take joy for giving presents to my loved ones that I know will make them happy.
It's no longer about what is the shiniest, what's the coolest toy, or comparing your gifts when you get back to school from Christmas break. Christmas as an adult is about sharing time with your loved ones. Taking a moment to remind your friends and family how much they really mean to you. Sure it's become commercialized, and sure we shouldn't need a holiday to remember to cherish what is simple and beautiful in our lives, but isn't it better that we at least do it once a year than never at all?
Tomorrow my brother, my parents, and I will sit in the same places in our living room as we have for as long as I can remember. My brother's presents will be on the left side of the tree, and he'll open them one at a time while sitting in an arm chair that gets used basically only on this day. My presents will be in the center, and I'll sit cross-legged in the middle of the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons. My parents gifts will be off in a corner to the right, next to the fireplace and all three of our stockings, and as they have every year, they will sit on the couch and refuse to open their presents until my brother and I are done with ours. We'll laugh at the gag gifts, and at my father's attempts to buy my mother clothing. But the difference now that my brother and I are grown is that we can show our appreciation directly to our parents. Instead of just sitting in awe and wondering how Santa knows us so well, we can smile at Mom and Dad and thank them in earnest. And in turn, our gifts to them are no longer made out of necessity. Class assignments in Crayola crayon (though let's be honest, we know our parents still miss the days of gifts made out of cardboard. Quick side-note, either last year or the year before, I forget which, my friend Meegan threw a holiday party in which we made our own plates. You know the kind, you draw a picture with special markers on round pieces of special paper and send it into the company and just a few weeks later receive a special made plastic dish with your design. On mine, I outlined my hand, elementary school style. And around it, I wrote "The print may be larger, but the hand is still your baby's. Merry Christmas. Love, Finy". Of course my mother cried, which was my intention all along). Instead our gifts have a knowledge of our loved ones behind them. A genuine thought to what would make them happy.
Sure the magic of Christmas as a child is wonderful. It's fantastic to see a kid's face light up when they see the tree on Christmas morning. Being six years younger than I, I used to love watching my brother find his presents in the morning. But I'll still take Christmas as an adult over that any day. I appreciate it more now. And I wouldn't change that for the world.
Merry Christmas, everyone. Thank you for spending these past twelve months with me. And know that I appreciate each and every one of you.Labels: family, misc. |
| posted by FINY @ Sunday, December 24, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, November 21, 2006 |
| Homeward Bound |
Homeward bound, I wish I was, homeward bound
Oh wait, I am! And I couldn't be happier about it. I know I'll miss NYC while I'm gone, and I will most definitely miss my kitty, who I leave in Meegan's more than capable hands, but God I just can't wait to round the bend on Rt. 114 in East Providence and see Hundred Acre Cove. To walk into my family room to be wrapped into a never-ending hug from my mother. To see my little brother who's home on his first college break. To visit with family, and friends, and eat turkey, and stuffing, and everything else that goes along with Thanksgiving.
I'm not bringing any books on the train ride. Or magazines. Or DVDs, crosswords, or any other piece of paraphernalia that could possibly keep my entertained on my 4 hour train ride home other than my laptop and a pen and notebook. I will be doing nothing but writing tonight, and every night from here on until the 30th. I'm woefully behind in my word count, but I feel like my plot has finally got some traction, my characters are taking on a certain amount of depth, and I'm finally starting to feel a little hopeful that this project might actually be worth revising in the end instead of simply walking away from which is what I've wanted to do to every other piece of writing I've gotten down on paper in the last four years.
And now, here's the admission I've been avoiding making.
Oh God, am I really going to tell you this?
Well, I have to now, since I've teased you with it.
Ok, dear internet, this book I'm working on? It's ... it's ... it's chick lit! Part of me wants to hang my BFA in Writing, Literature, and Publishing filled head in shame. But the bigger part of me? The one that's pushing me through this entire Nanowrimo experience, hasn't had this much fun writing in a long long LONG time. So judge me if you must, and I know some people who read here will, but I'm about to finish writing an entire novel in one month and I've never been happier doing it. What have YOU done this month?Labels: family, Rhode Island, writing |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, November 21, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, October 10, 2006 |
| Long Overdue |
 A massive B29 Bomber sits on the tarmac. Across the concrete comes a soldier carrying a brown paper bag containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an orange. My grandfather's lunch. As he begins to eat his meager meal he shouts to his crewmates. He is sectioned off in the plane's tail. The Peggy B, named after the pilot's wife.
"What are you guys having today?"
 The crew answers, detailing the hot meals they were provided. Being a tailgunner, Papa's meals were dictated by what could be fit through the tiny window in the plane's tail.
This story doesn't matter to you. None of the stories I heard from my Papa the weekend we took him to the World War II memorial would really matter to any of us that didn't know him. Papa never actually flew a mission. During the majority of the war he was in training - preparing to drop bombs on Japan. The Enola Gay, "Little Boy", Bockscar, and "Fat Man" got there first. He then spent a year as a member of the occupying force in Germany.
 It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things that the only plane my grandfather ever shot down was that of his instructor during a training exercise. Or that he did so with a few errant clay bullets. It doesn't matter that he only weighed about 130lbs when he enlisted at 18, and that's why he could fit in the ridiculously small space in which a tailgunner is confined. Or that the oldest person on the plane, the pilot was only 24. None of it really matters.
 Except to those of us who want to know the stories. Those of us who want to retell the stories to our kids. Those of us that are proud of him. Proud of him for serving his country. Proud of him for coming home. Proud of him for the life he's made. Proud of him for the wonderful family he's raised.
It's not an easy sentiment to convey to him. The answer to countless questions that weekend was "We just did it". That was it. It was what the men of his generation did. You went to war. You came home. You didn't talk about it. You didn't hold on.
 Papa doesn't have his flight jacket anymore, though he described it to me while we looked at a fake plastic one in the gift shop of the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center where the Enola Gay is housed. He described everything to us. What the meals were like, how complicated it was to actually get into the tail, the "death switch" that the top gunner was to operate should Papa or the gunner underneath the plane be shot.
61 years after the war ended, Papa's stories were still captivating. From when he enlisted while living in Boston to how he met my grandmother just after returning home. He had driven to Providence to visit some friends and when he arrived they informed him they were going to a dance at Rhodes on the Pawtuxet. Not being much of a dancer, Papa declined, but being the only one with a car, finally agreed after his friends insisted. They'd have no way to get there without him. And it was there that he first saw my grandma. Apparently she had a great set of legs on her, honed from hours and hours on roller skates. Two dates in, and that was it – Papa knew.
 Fifty-plus years later I walked with the two of them through the crowds at the World War II memorial and marveled at how lucky I am to have these two people in my life. How grateful I am to be able to hear their stories. To see the looks on their faces as they remember. Papa met a lot of people that day. They all thanked him for his service. Now it's my turn. Thank you, Papa.Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, October 10, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, September 26, 2006 |
| Brain Dump |
Ok, it's been a crazy three days, and my head is spinning with stuff I want to mention, so a quick brain dump for you while I get an actual post together:
* The weekend in DC was absolutely awesome. There will be an entire post devoted to it once I get all of my notes together (because yes, I am a dork, and I took notes. How else was I supposed to remember all the stories Papa told me?) Matty, you were right, I didn't get your comment until I returned home. It would have been so great to meet you in person. Next time I am down there I promise I'll be in touch. And the same should go for you if you're ever in the NYC area.
* I know I haven't mentioned the Red Sox recently, but I have still been paying attention. But honestly, it hurts too much to talk about. Congrats to Papi though. At least there's something good that came out of the season.
* The Notre Dame game on Saturday ... yeah, we had absolutely no right winning that game. It was clear from the beginning that the media had overhyped the Fighting Irish, but holy lord, they have looked absolutely horrendous. It was quite the comeback and a very exciting game to watch, but damn, that was ugly.
* I made the mistake of forgetting to set my fantasy football line up before leaving for the weekend and got DESTROYED this week. I'm playing in a league with four of my guy friends from RI and one guy that one of them knows, so clearly I am trying to make sure I at least make a good showing as I'm the only girl in the league and this group tends towards the never-letting-you-live-something-down, so thankfully I am still in second with a 2-1-0 record, but still, I hope this isn't the beginning of a downward spiral.
* Is anyone else completely hooked on Studio 60? Watched the second episode last night, and yup, I'm in. I knew I'd love it since it's Sorkin, and I adored the West Wing, but I was afraid I had it built up too big in my head. Not the case. I love it.
* My job duties yesterday? Sit on a gold course for hours watching to see if anyone hit a hole in one, and then get dressed up to take people's money during a live auction all the while getting all the free food and drink that I wanted. Sometimes the non-profit world is awesome.
* This is going to get it's own post too, but it should be noted that in the week since my parents and I (ok more my parents than me) caulked and steel-wooled every nook and cranny of my kitchen a week ago I've seen only five or six roaches and they've all been tiny and on the verge of death. I am clearly keeping up the fight with sprays, keeping everything spotless, etc. But it feels like I am finally winning. And the major up-side of that? I am almost completely set up in the apartment. And loving every second of living on my own.
* This week is going to be crazy too, but damn if I'm not having a blast. Two weeks after The Twin walked out of my life, I feel better than I have in a LONG time. No more worrying about working him into my schedule. No more fears that I'm somehow annoying him. No more feeling like I constantly had to live up to some unknown standard. As selfish as it sounds I get to focus completely on me, and it's fantastic. Sure certain things still remind me of him - like the American flags I saw everywhere this weekend. Or the beads he bought me from Mardi Gras that I threw out last night as I unpacked my last box. But it doesn't hurt anymore. Now it's more of a "eh" feeling. Sure it's going to suck if I ever see him in the street with another girl, but only for a minute or two. Ok, maybe ten - days. But I'm getting there, I really and truly am.Labels: family, Fighting Irish, misc., Red Sox, sports |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, September 26, 2006 |
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| Friday, September 22, 2006 |
| Living History |
For most of our generation war is an abstract concept. Sure, we're waging one in Iraq, but the scale of troop deployment, the lack of a draft, and the advent of television news coverage has desensitized most of us to the realities of large scale combat.
For my grandfather's generation, nothing could be further from the truth. Almost all of the men in my family who are of my grandfather's age served in World War II. They fought on the ground and in the air, they saw things many of us have read about in history books. And yet ... they barely speak of what they did.
Or at least, my Papa doesn't. Papa was a tailgunner - a fact I only learned somewhere in the last ten years or so. I've never really gotten stories about the war, about why he enlisted, how long he served, what his rank was. When I was working at the Beacon Press as a summer intern I got the chance to work on a book called The People and the President. As I read through the letters of thousands of Americans to FDR after each of his fireside chats, I would talk to my grandparents about what it was like to have heard them. What the country was like at that time. And yet, I still have very little idea about what Papa's life was like then. They spoke in general terms of people gathering around the radio, neighborhoods coming together to listen to FDR speak. They spoke of feeling like he was a part of the family, of never having that kind of connection to our nation's leader either before or since.
But this weekend, I hope to learn more. As an 80th birthday present to my Papa, his three children, my mother included, each chipped in to pay for my grandparents to travel from Florida to Washington, DC to visit the WWII memorial. I'll join my mother, my aunts, uncles, and cousins for the trip. I'm ridiculously sick (yes, Michael, you warned me) but wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world. To see my Papa visit a memorial dedicated to him and the men he served with just isn't the sort of opportunity that arises every day.
I hope you all have a great weekend.Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Friday, September 22, 2006 |
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| Thursday, September 07, 2006 |
| My Mom Is The Cutest |
Seriously, she really is. The nonprofit organization that I work for is holding its annual Walk in a few weeks. My parents, being the ever supportive people that they are, are coming to visit for the weekend in order to attend the event. Since I'll be working I called my mother this afternoon with a proposition - volunteering. When given a list of potential duties we came upon one that got her all excited: passing out pennants to Walkers.
I can see it already. I know exactly what's going to happen. There will be thousands of very small, very cute children at this event. She will spend all day, with my father lagging behind her wondering how he got roped into this seeing as he's mildly anti-social, going up to every kid there and expressing how "cunnin'" they are.
I can't wait to see it, I really can't. She's going to have a blast with it. It's already bringing a smile to my face.Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, September 07, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, August 29, 2006 |
| A Daughter's Version |
My mother often quoted a saying to me as I was growing up. "I wish for you two things, to give you roots, to give you wings".
It wasn't until I left home that I realized how much conflicting emotion was contained in that sentence. Roots run deep, and serve to keep you grounded. Roots support you, they sustain you, they bring you life. Wings serve to lift you up, to help you travel, to let you fly. The two are as opposite as they could possibly be.
In theory, having both seems like a terrific idea. And my parents succeeded. They gave me the foundation to know myself. To feel secure enough with who I was and where I wanted to go, to use my wings and find my own way. My roots gave me wings.
But in practice, even 8 years after leaving home, being in possession of both roots and wings can feel like both a blessing and a curse. When things go wrong at home I feel guilty for not being there. But when things go right here, when my mother says she's proud of me, when she tells me my dad told a story about me to his coworkers, I am elated that I've done right by them. They're proud that I've moved to New York and have made it on my own. And when things go wrong here, all I want in the world is a hug from my mother, and again the conflicting emotions begin. Shouldn't I be old enough to not want to run home to mommy every time something goes wrong? But who would I be without her? And how do you undo 18 years when every bump, every bruise, every broken heart, every bad grade, every disappointment was met with a comforting embrace?
And I know that the same things happen with my parents. I know that they are happy for me, and excited that I'm doing what I always dreamed of. But I know too that it's hard for them that I'm not around. That they miss me daily. And it shows in the fights my mother and I have when I don't come home often enough. Or when I do come home and try to balance my family time with the time I spend with my childhood friends I don't get to see often. It shows in the daily phone calls. In the emails. In the half-hour long cuddle sessions that occur the minute I walk in the door of my parent's house.
And that's where my roots are. In a small town in Rhode Island. My wings serve as freedom. The freedom to fly back to those roots whenever I so choose.
Mom, Dad - I miss you and love you.
This post inspired by an article my mother sent me this afternoon. My little brother, my only sibling, started college last Saturday. This article, from the Boston Globe, is apparently exactly the way my mom feels. Read it, it's very well written. Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, August 29, 2006 |
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| Thursday, July 27, 2006 |
| Zoom! |
My name is Zoom and I live on the moon, and I came downt to earth just to sing you this tune. Hey Finy, it's your birthday, TODAY!
Every year for as long as I can remember, those lyrics have woken me up on the morning of my birthday, and this morning was no different. At 7:30 this morning the voice of a small martian sung to me via my mother's cell phone.
That's right everyone, it's Finy's birthday. Between the birthday party last weekend, MM buying me a birthday lunch this afternoon, The Twin planning some sort of surprise for the evening (I was only give clothing tips: comfortable. And I know it's outside.), and DTR taking me out to lunch next week, this is turning into a seriously drawn out birthday - but I'm not complaining!
But I would just like to take a second to thank my Mom today. It's been ridiculously hot the last couple days and I can't imagine that being 9-months pregnant in July of 1980 was all that comfortable. I LOVE YOU MOM.Labels: family, friends, misc. |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, July 27, 2006 |
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| Sunday, July 02, 2006 |
| 4 Weddings and a Funeral |
My father looked up at me the other night and asked, "How many weddings have you been to?"
"Four"
"And now you're going to a funeral"
"Yeah ... ooooooh"
So it's official, after years of friends telling me my life is like a bad sitcom, it turns out it's just a bad chick flick.Labels: family, misc. |
| posted by FINY @ Sunday, July 02, 2006 |
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| Getting to Know Uncle Arthur |
The last time my mother saw Uncle Arthur, he was on the local news. There, standing behind an on-the-scene reporter, was my great uncle, holding a picket sign, protesting the release of The DaVinci Code. Mom called me, laughing. Sure, we didn't agree with his politics, but you had to respect a man who was still fighting for what he believed in, when most men his age we sitting at home wasting away in their recliners.
And then, last Tuesday, my grandfather was at his apartment, about to take him to the doctor. Arthur hadn't been feeling well, and had called his older brother to drive him to his appointment. As he went to lock the back door he said three words; "Joe, catch me". And that’s exactly what my grandfather did. And just like that, his brother, my Uncle Arthur, was gone.
It's amazing how much you learn about a person after they've died. Arthur never married, never had children. What little is left of his family could be counted on my fingers. Before arriving at the wake, I was afraid. Afraid that no one would be there. That it would be even MORE depressing than a wake always is.
But instead what I found were dozens of mourners. Mainly people from his church group. It was astounding how many lives he had touched. And then, well, a little creepy.
Throughout the course of the evening, I learned just how religious my uncle was. As head of a group called the Legions of Mary, Arthur was more than devout. The man had nothing in his bedroom but a small twin bed that he slept only on top of, not in, and a prayer bench. At the end of the wake, approximately 15 members of the Legion knelt before his body and recited the rosary. The entire thing. All 50 Hail Marys. In a weird monotone not-quite-unison kind of chant.
The next day, at the funeral, it got even weirder. The two priests that eulogized Arthur, spoke of his willingness to stand in front of the "abortion mills" with his pro-life group. The term was used multiple times throughout the day. And then I looked around, and realized that there were people in the crowd, quite a few of them actually, that were wearing these large pins with pictures of fetuses on them that read; "I once looked like this too". It got to the point that when my little brother and I took up the gifts, I had to wonder if Uncle Arthur was looking down at me from wherever he was, and asking why in the hell these two heathen children were participating in his mass!
In the end, what turned out to be the hardest part of the day came after the mass. The cemetery in which Arthur was being buried happens to hold too many of my family members. Before going over to the lunch which followed the mass (which, just for you RIers, contained every bad stereotype from Federal Hill. Remember, this is the side of the family that has more than a passing connection to the mafia), my mother, father, brother, and grandfather, drove to the plot which contains my grandmother and my sister. It was the first time I had visited since my grandmother had been buried there. And as I looked at the headstone, and saw their names, I felt the tears starting. Tried to hide them behind the sunglasses. It only got worse when my aunt and uncle arrived, and my uncle walked off at a swift pace in search of his son's grave, which was right nearby.
I felt guilty for crying only after Uncle Arthur's funeral was over. I had cried for him when I heard the news, but as the days passed, and I learned more and more about him, I realized that I barely even knew this man. And I still feel the same way I did when I heard about him protesting the movie; I may not agree with his politics, or have his level of faith, but you have to respect a guy who lived his life exactly the way he felt he should, right to the very end.
RIP Uncle Arthur. Put in a good word for me whenever I meet you there. Lord knows, you've probably got the most pull of anyone in the family.Labels: family, Rhode Island |
| posted by FINY @ Sunday, July 02, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, June 27, 2006 |
| I Wish I Could Remember |
The wedding was only on Saturday and already I don't remember the song that was playing. I wish I did, and I know years from now I am really going to regret not paying attention to that tiny detail. But as my grandfather and I danced at my cousin's wedding, it seemed too trivial to pay attention to.
It's not often you realize that you're going to remember a moment for the rest of your life while you're living that moment, but this was definitely one of them. Standing on the dance floor, my head on my Papa's shoulder, surrounded by my family, a gorgeous tent, sparkling lights, and more flowers than I had ever seen, I knew, then and there, that I was living something that was going to be a memory.
It was a short dance. He had to get back to my grandmother who is now confined to either a walker or her motorized scooter at all times. As we danced he told me how proud he was of me, of all of the grandkids. He told me that all he ever wanted was for our happiness. He talked about how much he loved me, and how much we all meant to him and my grandmother.
And I'm always going to remember how solid he felt. How solid he's always felt. Papa's not a small guy, and he's got the kind of embrace that just dwarfs you. The kind you know could protect you from anything. And I'll remember the tears that ran down my cheeks for no apparent reason after the dance was finished.
I was reminded of all of this today when I received news from my mom that my great uncle Arthur died this morning of a heart attack. No one was expecting it, yes, he was in his late 80s, and yes, he was clearly getting up there in age. But he still drove himself around. He was still so independent. It's hit me hard. Arthur and I weren't particularly close, I only saw him at holidays and family functions, but I'll still miss him. And it serves as a reminder that my remaining three grandparents are getting older. And that scares the hell out of me.
I really wish I could remember what song was playing that night. Because eventually, those types of memories are all I’m going to have left of the four amazing people I am lucky enough to call my grandparents.Labels: family |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, June 27, 2006 |
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| Thursday, November 03, 2005 |
| A Question of Semantics |
Imagine if you will, my mother, a regular reader of this blog, signs on to the site and reads the post directly preceding this one. She thinks it’s adorable, and so sweet that I would write something about her marriage to my father (she’d also like me to note that I told the story wrong. My father broke up with her not the other way around. She just knew he’d come back cause he hadn’t realized yet how he couldn’t live without her).
So as she normally does when she sees a post she likes, she drags my father in to read it. Dad doesn’t seem to read the blog on a daily basis but is an occasional reader and always reads when my Mom tells him too (see 25+ years of marriage, she’s got him trained pretty well :) ).
But as he scrolls down he sees the post about “The One”. And to my horror, focuses not on my melodramatic “how do you know” conundrum, but on a single term I used. “Fuck Friends”.
So in answer to your inevitable questions, yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is ACTUALLY my father’s comment on that post. And no, I don’t think he will EVER be meeting The Twin.
Love you Dad!Labels: blogging, family |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, November 03, 2005 |
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| A Good Model To Follow |
My mother and father have been together for more than thirty years. They’ve been married for 27.
Have they had their ups and downs? Sure. Mom likes to tell the story about how she broke up with my father to make him realize how much he wanted to be with her. And yet she still holds true to the story that she knew she wanted to marry him before she had ever met him. The first time she saw him walking across “that bridge”. Sure they bicker, and of course they get pissed at each other. But I know they still love each other more than anything.
I come from a charmed family life. And I am blessed to be able to say that. My parents are still in love after 30+ years. My mom’s parents have been married for over 50. Before my Dad’s mother passed away a year and a half ago that set of grandparents had been together for around the same amount of time.
But it goes beyond them just being together. The amount of love that can be seen all over my family, aunts and uncles, cousins, everywhere, is truly a wonderful thing.
I bring this up because of the responses to my last post. I was amazed at the number of responses I got and I am so glad I got them. That post wasn’t meant to indicate that things were becoming difficult with The Twin and I. Things are great actually. Sure I go through my moments of insecurity. And I am still not totally sure where we stand on the relationship scale, but that’s ok. Like I said before, I’m twenty-five years old, I’m not looking to settle down.
But when I do, when I find the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, I can only hope I can follow the example that has been set for me by so many in my life. That there can be true love out there. Life-long love. And that while divorces have become as common as colds these days that that doesn’t have to be the norm.Labels: dating, family |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, November 03, 2005 |
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| Tuesday, October 25, 2005 |
| Dogs, Drinks, Dads and Do Nothing Days |
Well, it was a jam packed weekend. One which I only recovered from last night.
Friday night Meegan and I went over to our friends K&J’s house. K&J live only right around the corner from me and yet somehow, I had yet to meet the dog they got MONTHS ago. It was a great night, very relaxed and let me tell you I am now in love with their dog. Buster is a schnoodle and is literally like a walking stuffed animal.
One of the many conversations we had that night revolved around this blog. I hadn’t realized that J was a reader and he kept referencing things that I had written here (J I am still giving you free reign to post comments. Knowing you they’ll make me cringe and laugh my ass off all at the same time). The question came up as to what I would do if and when The Twin finds Miles From Fenway.
Honestly, I am not quite sure. I guess I don’t always realize exactly how revealing I am around here. I’ve never been the kind of person to hold things back, my good friends can easily vouch for that. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’m not ashamed of that. That being said there are still things I don’t talk about here. Personal things, intimate things, things I think you guys will find boring. For as much as a lot of people think of blogs as online diaries, they’re really not. As a blogger you know there’s an audience there, and 9 times out of 10 you know your audience. You may think it doesn’t affect how you write and what you talk about, but even subconsciously, it must.
So I guess I don’t know what I will do when The Twin finds out about this (because obviously it’s inevitable). He’s a pretty laid back guy, so I’d like to think he wouldn’t be upset. But then again I’ve been talking to the internet about him for months. I can see how that would weird people out. I guess it’s a bridge I am just going to have to cross when I get to it.
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I woke up pretty early on Saturday hoping to clean my apartment as much as possible before my father arrived that afternoon. Dad was picking me up to take me to Buddy’s hockey game in NJ and then the two of them were coming back to my apartment and staying with me for the night.
I was really excited about the entire thing. I love seeing my brother play, I hardly ever get to spend time with Dad, and Buddy had never seen one of my apartments set up before. Ever. I’ve lived in NYC for three years! But his busy hockey schedule and my frequent moving haven’t always made it practical. So this was a pretty big night for me.
Everything went to hell when we hit New Jersey. We got hopelessly lost, in the pouring rain, got pulled over for making an illegal U-turn, and took double the time to get to the rink than mapquest had estimated. Dad was, let’s say, not in the best of moods by the time we got there. And it took all the strength I had in me not to say I told you so after he got pulled over for that U-turn since I had literally said just moments before, “Dad you can’t make a U-turn here”.
So into the rink we go, expecting to have missed the first half hour of the game. Except … they weren’t even on the ice yet. Why? Because the ref didn’t show up. So instead they suited up the Assistant Coach for the opposing team and sent him out on the ice. Now let me just say this, I don’t blame what happened in this game on the poor Assistant Coach. A hockey game should have at least two refs if not three. This one had one and he wasn’t even a real ref. Keeping the game under control was next to impossible.
Actually, it proved completely impossible as with a minute left to go in the game the kids, frustrated, tired, and competitive, threw down their gloves, helmets and sticks, and started an all out brawl. Buddy’s team lost the game 5-3, and most of his teammates got their asses kicked in the various fights as well.
So on the way home I had father and a brother who were not exactly the happiest guys in the world, were bitching about how much they hate traveling for hockey, and how it sucks. Good to see you guys too!
Don’t get me wrong, they were sure to clarify the statement with, “except it’s still great to see you!” it was still a tough night. In the end it’s always wonderful to see them, and I loved having them there to play with the kitten and hang around my place. I just wish it had been under less stressful circumstances.
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Now Sunday I had just the most wonderful, do-nothing New York Day. After kicking my brother and father out of the house early I arrived at Riverside Park for Memory Walk 2005 bundled up in more layers than I can mention and ready to don my bright orange Junior Committee team t-shirt. The Walk was hugely successful and I would once again like to thank everyone who donated.
After the Walk I took the subway home to Brooklyn and hung out for a while. Both of my roommates had their boyfriends over and I was in one of my “I really want to be alone” moods. So I showered, changed, grabbed my laptop and headed back into Manhattan. I had no real plan, no where specific to go, so I got out at the Prince Street station on the R line and just wandered. I love doing that sometimes, just walking around the city for no apparent reason. I finally settled into the Starbucks near St. Marks St., bought a grande White Chocolate Mocha, opened up my laptop and wrote nonstop for two hours. It has been MONTHS since I’ve been able to do that. All told I probably only had two sentences total that I was actually happy with and could use, but it still felt great.
I debated going to a movie afterwards and started up towards the Loew’s Cinema on Union Square, but as it always does, The Strand distracted me. I spent a long time in there just browsing the books. By then the movie I was thinking of going to see had long since started so I thought I’d head home. Instead I got distracted again by a street performer in Union Square who got the crowd so riled up he actually convinced them to let him crowd surf on them to end the show to the tune of “We Are The Champions”. It was fantastic :)
Days like that always make me so happy that I live in NYC. And my subway ride home only added to the sensation. We emerged from the tunnel to go over the Manhattan Bridge and there laid out in front of me was the Manhattan Skyline, same as it always is, with the Brooklyn Bridge extending across the river and the Statue of Liberty, torch glowing, visible beyond. And as a backdrop this gorgeous orange/red sunset that made me warm just to look at.
Written all out like this, it doesn’t seem like a lot, but that was a really fantastic day for me. And just what I needed.Labels: blogging, dating, family, friends, NYC |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, October 25, 2005 |
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| Wednesday, August 17, 2005 |
| Random Memories |
Childhood memory is a funny thing. You can never tell if what your remembering is an actual recollection of the event, or an amalgam of stories you’ve been told. For example, I will swear until my dying day that I remember falling into the deep end of a pool when I was three (or so) and on vacation with my family on Cape Cod. It’s not a full memory, just a vague recollection of going under and a hand reaching out to grab me. This belief, that I truly remember the sensation, even if it is in the hazy way you remember a dream when you first wake up, is most likely unfounded. I was most likely too young to actually remember and have simply pieced together a “false memory” (see what working on psychology textbooks will do to you) from the endless retellings of the story at family gatherings.
But the one thing that I know I will remember, and that I know is true, are the details of my grandparents house in Pawtucket, RI. Though they moved to FL when I was somewhere around ten, so many memories are stored in that house that is no longer theirs that for years I couldn’t drive by it without getting misty eyed. Oh let’s be honest, I couldn’t drive past it without bawling for at least a year.
Certain things stick out. The green shag carpeting in the family room for sure. I used to pretend it was grass and have picnics on it. With my mother’s parents living so close to my childhood home I spent an amazing amount of time with my grandparents. I used to sleep over with Grandma and Papa quite frequently, and perhaps that’s what contributes to the fact that I actually do remember that the Chips Ahoy cookies were always in the left hand cupboard above the stove. And that the Tupperware was underneath the microwave in the corner. It’s literally impossible to forget their kitchen table as it now resides in my dining room after living for a long time in my parent’s kitchen as well.
I remember the living room was a sacred place, only visited on holidays and when I wanted to be a rebel. I remember that at the far end of the hallway stood a bookshelf that had the greatest glass clown on it. I remember the “toy basket” that was home to my life-sized Raggedy Anne and Andy dolls. But most of all I remember the basement.
I spent more hours down in the basement than I ever would have imagined I could. I was a bit of a “’fraidy cat” and was never a huge fan of the dark. So a basement filled with stacks of boxes, a washer and dryer that made some interesting noises, and an old desk filled with more National Geographic’s than I have yet to this day ever seen in one place, wouldn’t have been the most likely of play places for me. Yet I found myself there constantly. Sitting at the desk, a small lamp my only illumination, looking at all the pictures in the magazines I couldn’t quite understand yet. Creating trains filled with cargo out of any box that was light enough that I could move. And best of all, getting rained on by pennies.
One lasting image I will always have of my grandmother is her standing at the top of the stairs to the basement tossing pennies down on the floor. I was never supposed to know she was throwing them. I always acted as if they had appeared out of thin air and then scampered off to wherever they had rolled to exclaim in my newfound riches.
I know that many of these memories may be, yet again, the product of numerous stories. But to me they’ll always be real. And for some reason they came flooding back to me tonight and I felt like taking a trip down memory lane. And what would a road trip be without company. Just don’t touch the radio. I like this song.Labels: family, Rhode Island |
| posted by FINY @ Wednesday, August 17, 2005 |
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| Tuesday, August 09, 2005 |
| A Terrible Realization |
You know, I was thinking about my epic post from yesterday when I realized something ... my DAD reads this thing. Ack! I know my mom reads it, and I have no idea who she's told about it, but since I tell her everything anyway, not such a big deal. In general I don't edit these posts for content depending on who might read them. For example, the Twin, a Sox fan, lord knows may stumble here one day. A possibility that would end in my mortal embarassment, but if I didn't write about him would this really be a chronicle of how I live my life? Nope.
But my Dad reading that last post? Oh crap. I hope Mom warned him. Perhaps I should start a rating system for each of my posts.
*This post has been certified as PF (Parent Friendly)Labels: dating, family |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, August 09, 2005 |
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