On Christmas Cards....

Thirty years ago Suann and I sat down at our kitchen table in Harrison NY and took a photo surrounded by spices. We titled it “Seasonings Greetings” and so started a holiday card tradition that has seen some good and not so good puns. We both have our favorites - Suann’s is Happy New Ear from 1999 (appropriate this year as she deals with hearing loss) and mine is “Hope Your Holidays are a real GAS.” We have been “reprimanded” for one (“Best Witches”) as one of our friends felt it was a little too pagan and congratulated for another. Our 2010 card, “Marry Christmas” doubled as an announcement (we had gotten married earlier in the year and besides our families no one knew) and elicited numerous texts after it arrived in people’s mailboxes; the texts were kind and loving and downright funny: “WTF? Did I know about this?” 

We have tried to honor moments - in 2001 we dressed as priests and simply said, “Priests on Earth.” Last year, still reeling from the election we tried to emphasize the positive (“We BEElieve....). And people. The year Debbie died we did a take off on a card she had given us years before (“It’s true no two flakes are alike...”) and this year we dressed as bananas, a salute to Wally who thought bananas were the cure to everything.

Just as we have changed so has the technology. We do it all on a computer now and have moved from black and white to color. We started off sending postcards (stamps costs 19 cents in 1988) but now it depends on the message. This year stamps cost 49 cents. 

I will admit that sometimes I think we have come to the end of the road but then someone asks, “Have you done your card yet?” Apparently puns are always welcome in the mailbox.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

(As an aside, should you be in need of any costumes: cows, bees, bananas, etc...give us a call we can probably hook you up.)

From Perfunctory to Celebratory

When it comes to holiday decorating Suann and I are rather perfunctory. Simple. Minimalist. Very different from when I was a kid and Bunny would wrap greenery and garland around everything - from bannisters to chandeliers, cover the mantel and built-ins with cut greens, pull out the Christmas Spode and light up each window with a single electric candle. Bows were abundant as were our beliefs - the crèche stood front and center on the mantle, the Advent wreath in the middle of the dining room table, the Advent calendar on the counter and for a few years we created a Jesse tree on one of the doors in the kitchen. 

There’s been a bit of a shift this year @297. Our mantel, which has always housed the crèche my parents gave us many years ago (all seven kids received the same one, found in a shop in New Orleans) is a little bit more dressed up. It started last weekend when I was in Evergreen Crafts in Guilford, Connecticut. The first thing I saw were these little wooden cardinal ornaments. Too small for the tree Suann and I would put up but perfect for the next thing I saw - a simple, mantle sized wooden tree. My mother loved cardinals. When a cardinal showed up at the bird feeder first thing in the morning it was always a good omen. When I got home I set up the crèche, placed the tree and shifted some other things around. Stepping back it dawned on me the mantel could become our way of celebrating those we have lost. We already had some pieces: cardinals for Bunny, a small globe Wally gifted us a few years ago; an angel the PTA gave me when Debbie passed away. For Suann’s family we have added a US Mail truck (some of her favorite memories are riding in a truck as her dad transported mail from Albany to Montreal), a toolbox for her grandfather who built his own house and a sign to Lakeview, the tavern her grandmother owned on Saratoga Lake and where Suann spent her summers. And greens. And driftwood garland. They bring it all together.

These days I’m not sure what I believe when it comes to religion but I do have unshakable faith in the power of place, the power of stories, the power of sacred objects and the power of love. 

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Significant? Sacred? Both!

Friends who make you think and remember are the best kinds of friends. For me one of those friends is Sue. Sue retired seven years ago but whenever we ask her to join us for our annual School Full of Readers celebration, she never says no. We always look forward to seeing what’s in her bag because it’s never just about the book. This year was no different.

This year Sue brought along a candle stick/holder, a pin and two books. One of those books was Significant Objects by Jason Grote and Joshua Glen. (I don’t remember the name of the second book; while that is the book Sue read from, it’s not necessary to this post.) Sue explained the premise of Significant Objects - that when you add a story to an object it becomes more valuable. Sue’s mom, now almost 90, took the time to write and tape a note to the bottom of the candlestick - what year it was from, who used it and where it was used. The pin had an etching on it and was signed by the artist; Sue did research on the artist and a story evolved, thus the significance and worth became greater.

That night as I was doing some food shopping I came across the season’s first pfeffernuesse display. Pops loved pfeffernuesse cookies. He also loved Mallomars, Fig Newtons, Rice Krispies, Time Magazine’s Person of the Year issue, the NY Times Magazine puzzle pages, and biographies, among other things. As we go through the grief/remembrance process it has not been unusual to receive a text or an email from one of my siblings with a photo attached - a pallet of Mallomars at Costco, the Corningware outlet in Maine. For me when I come across something that is inherently Wally I can’t help but smile because it doesn’t matter what it is, there’s a story that goes along with it.

As I sometimes do, I substitute one word for another and as I thought about this blog post I often found myself referring to sacred objects. If you have lost a loved one you totally get this. My sisters and I wear a necklace with two charms on it - one says sisters, the other is a Joan of Arc medal. It is our way of honoring our mom and sister. My friend Fionnuala has a cornucopia pin that comes out this time of year. She and her sisters and sisters-in-law purchased it while her dad was in hospice. Her dad loved Thanksgiving and passed away the day after. That pin is sacred.

As we get ready to celebrate Thanksgiving and then Christmas, there’s little doubt in my mind that plenty of stories will be told as china is laid out and ornaments hung. The story may be as simple as remembering the second grader who gifted me with the angel that sits atop our tree. (Ben was a thoroughly delightful kid who at seven loved a good political joke. He died tragically in his early twenties and the angel went from from significant to sacred.)

Significant? Sacred? In the end I’m not sure it matters. What matters are the stories we tell and  the love those stories evoke as we remember.

So here's to stories of love and the objects and people who bring them together.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

Sister Friends

When we were kids our parents rented a house every summer in Bay Head, New Jersey. To say those memories are sweet is an understatement. The beach brings us joy so it was only natural when my younger sister chose the Jersey shore to celebrate her 50th birthday. Clare rented a house for four days in Point Pleasant and invited some of her favorite gals to join her.

Suann and I went down on Thursday for the day. Our sister Deirdre arrived Thursday night and three of Clare’s friends on Friday. I headed back down on Saturday with our sister-in-law, Laura. We laughed a lot as we celebrated, first at the beach and then at dinner. The love these women have for Clare and for each other is beautiful. Their kids are all about the same age and swimming connected them but love keeps them going. 

Here’s to Clare and sister friends. We should all be so lucky.

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What?

We are living the randomness of life at 297. The Saturday of Labor Day weekend Suann woke up and discovered she couldn’t hear in her right ear. No symptoms preceded the loss. Off she went to the doctor on Tuesday, the same doctor she had seen for a physical the week before, who in turn sent her off to an ENT. A hearing test was administered and she was told she had profound hearing loss; maybe caused by a virus but this happens sometimes and they don’t really know why. She was prescribed a two week round of Prednisone to help with the presumed inflammation. The numbers were in her favor - 8O% of people respond favorably and 60% of those folks regain must of their hearing. Any residual loss can be helped with a hearing aid.

Fast forward two weeks, anecdotal data said the hearing hadn’t changed so this time I went to the doctor with Suann. Her hearing was checked and she was still profoundly deaf on the right side and because of this, hearing aids were out. We left with orders for an MRI to see if there was a tumor causing the loss (apparently these tumors are very common) and new terms to research (ie. vestibular therapy). The MRI came back clear but she still can’t hear and her balance is off. Thankfully there’s vestibular therapy for that.

It took me about ten days to embrace the randomness of this but once I got there I knew what the answer to said randomness was - love. I am not the perfect partner by far but I get up every day and hope that my patience will last as we deal with the new normal. Suann’s path is obviously much tougher (she actually likes talking to people) but she has embraced what’s happened with curiosity, laughing at the bad jokes, getting back to real life as she feels ready, convinced that maybe, just maybe she will be in the one to two percent of folks whose hearing spontaneously returns. Until then...

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Happy New Year!

Tomorrow is the first day of school. I do what I do because my dad saw a teacher in me long before I did. Back when life was simpler, he hired me to work as an aide at Murray Ave School where he was principal. When I wasn’t busy he made sure I was in classrooms of gifted teachers who loved what they did. Eventually I got it; eventually I understood teaching was my vocation. That was more than thirty years ago and while it hasn’t always been an easy ride, I never doubted it was the right path for me.

When I landed at my current job as a school librarian in 2001 he was thrilled. His condo was across the street from my new school and he had spent some time there volunteering when he and my mom first moved to Cos Cob. I could count on him to pop in once or twice a week. He’d ask questions about the current state of education, what I was working on with the kids, what the kids were like and remind me how lucky I was.

When he heard my colleague Sue and I were organizing what we hoped would be an annual reading celebration, he was the first to volunteer. Wally loved the idea of being with kids again and my very kind colleagues would let him go way beyond his fifteen minute time slot. Of all the notes I received when he passed away, one written by a third grade teacher perfectly described who my dad was:

“I know I only met him a few times, but knew he was an exceptional man.  I loved when he came to my class to read for Read Across America. He would bring in his thick book about Albert Einstein and his picture book every year. I never got tired of listening to him read to the class and sharing his stories. He inspired the kids to think like scientists. “

This year will be different. While my dad has not dropped by in quite some time, it was still easy to imagine him coming around the corner, a spring in his step. He was forever a teacher, at home in the classroom. Passing that legacy on to me was his greatest gift and I am forever grateful.

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From "Toughen up" to "You can do it"

Today my sister Debbie would have been 60. Would have been. Those are tough words to write, tough words to say aloud. And just as I have done with my mom who died nineteen years ago at 67, sometimes I get caught thinking about what Deb has missed the last three years. That’s a great exercise for the tear ducts, no so much for the heart.

Deb was tough and practical. Our birthdays are within a few days of each other and when I didn’t arrive in time for her 7th birthday she went to spend time with cousins out on Long Island. Before she left she had one request, the story goes, “I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl but I hope they’re quiet.”

At her memorial service I shared some of my favorite Deb lessons - from the importance of kneading Irish Soda Bread to explaining not everyone was a morning person. After she died and I found myself caught up in grief I could hear her in my head, “Get over it. Toughen up.”

As the grief lessened the message changed, now the voice says, “You can do it.” And I think ultimately, that’s the most important lesson Deb taught me - I can do it. What “it” is depends on the day. And yes, some “its” are easier than others but when you add love (thanks Pops) to the mix, anything is possible.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

Dear Kate.....

When we were kids our mother would often respond to a situation she disagreed with with, "I'm going to write a letter." It became the stuff of legend as we never knew her to ever write a letter of complaint and it's something that even 19 years after her death we continue to laugh about, often suggesting to one another, "Why don't you write a letter?"

I'm not much of a letter writer either but on June 15th, the day we buried our dad I was moved to start my first ever fan letter. Kate DiCamillo, a children's book author, posted an update to her Facebook page about love. It took me a while to finish, in fact I finally mailed the letter on what would have been Wally's 91st birthday. Here's what I wrote:

July 19, 2017

Dear Kate,

I started this note on June 15th. Today, I finish it.

This morning you posted about an interview you did where the writer substituted love for luck, "When the interview appeared in print, the word "luck" was replaced with the word "love." Now, many years later, I still think that luck matters. But love matters more. Love matters most of all."

I cannot thank you enough for this post as the timing was impeccable - we, my siblings and I, buried our 90 year old father today. A retired elementary teacher/principal, he was an incredible man who believed in the power of love. He challenged us to be better people, to put kindness out into the world and to keep our hearts open.

Here's just one example: four years ago he moved into an assisted living facility. He was in the beginning stages of dementia and we knew that he would eventually move to the memory unit. For three years he walked the halls, smiling and greeting everyone, "Hey, how you doing?" and introduced whatever family member was with him, "This is my daughter Amy, she's a teacher, too." Or, "This is my granddaughter Megan and my great granddaughter Quinn. I wasn't crazy about that name but it's growing on me." Last August the memory unit became his home. The adjustment wasn't without pain but he battled. And because there were some safety issues, we arranged for him to have an aide by his side. One day when I was there he was cranky. It was a side we very rarely saw and was not who he was. I said to Lorna, the lovely and kind aide, "I want you to know, this isn't him. His heart overflows with love." She looked at me, smiled and said, "I know. I know your dad from upstairs. He always said hello. Always smiled. I know exactly who your dad is."

Wally, as we called him, had a stroke in November leaving him unable to speak or care for himself. He passed away on June 9th. We have spent a lot of time talking about the role of love in his life and the importance of trying to live like him. Your post that morning was a beautiful reminder. Thanks for that.

Fondly,

Yesterday I received a response:

This note has given me pause - there are lots of ways to be "heard." Perhaps one of the the best ways is to say thank you; to let people know you see them and you appreciate them and that while life is random love is not.

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The joy of riding a bike.....

Me, Tim and Deirdre who, when she saw this photo said, "I loved that bike."

One of the podcasts I listen to, Happier with Gretchen Rubin, had an interesting conversation more than two years ago about adding fun to your life. The premise was fairly simple - think about what you did for fun when you were ten and chances are that will bring you fun as an adult.

I have thought about that question a lot since I first heard the episode (interestingly, in my mind I substituted joy for fun) and I kept going back to the same activity. When I was a kid, I loved riding my bike. I rode it everywhere. In fact, I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 20 because I was perfectly happy riding my bike to get to where I needed to go. With this in mind, a couple of weeks ago I went and bought a bike. I’ve been riding it back and forth to the beach. I pedal and coast. Pedal and coast, smiling the whole time. John F. Kennedy was correct, "Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of riding a bike."

(Next up, roller coasters. I used to love those, too.)

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Wounds as lessons and a shout-out to the Senioritas...

Every weekday morning I receive an email from Box of Crayons. The subject line reads, “Great Work Provocation” and often it’s not just about work and being a more effective manager or leader but about life. Sometimes there’s a quote and a prompt. Sometimes there’s a short video. More than once I have spent my commutation time thinking about that 6am email.

Yesterday’s statement, “Wisdom enters through the wound. Your scars are sometimes your greatest source of strength,” and question, “How can that insight serve you now?” was perfectly timed. Wally died a month ago, Debbie, three years ago today. 

I will start by saying I would amend the statement to, “Wisdom enters through the wound. Your scars are sometimes your greatest source of strength AND LEARNING.” I would also suggest we must be open to that learning. Wounds hurt. Growing hurts. Realizing we’re not always right or not as smart as we think we are, hurts. 

As I pondered this statement over the last day I realized this blog was conceived as a result of losing Debbie. Yes, I didn’t start it until after the 2016 election but ultimately my rallying cry LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOT came from struggling to understand my sister’s death in a meaningful way. As I have grown older and more mature I have become more comfortable with this idea of love. We’re Irish so growing up love was implied but as I watched my dad navigate dementia he did so with a heart full of love. Dementia is an awful disease. Love is a powerful answer. 

Not every wound is big. Not every wound is memorable but I believe strength and learning can happen if we’re paying attention.

——————————————

It is inevitable that when I think back to three years ago I think about the Senioritas. I have mentioned Deb’s friends before - they are without a doubt the essence of the life is random love is not “movement.” They all settled in Ramsey NJ, they all had boys about the same age, all the boys played baseball….randomness. But those mornings and afternoons spent cheering their kids on led to deep and beautiful friendships. They took take care of each other and from the moment we met them they have embraced us. Put simply, they continue to show up….for my 50th birthday, for my dad’s wake; we have dinner a few times a year and talk books and politics and other minutiae; Quinn the Great was gifted with a Jersey Girl pillow when she was born 15 months ago. Most importantly we share stories and laugh. We get to see Deb through the eyes of her friends (and not as the older sister who implored us to cross our legs, take our elbows off the table, chew with our mouth closed). Her world was big and her friends, loving. Thank you, Senioritas.

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Showing up

When you live with someone for thirty years you are bound to learn a thing or two. About yourself. About the world. Some things you may like, other things you may not. And sometimes you learn a lesson that makes you a better person.

Suann travels a lot. She owns her own company and if she’s not in trial she’s looking for the next trial. Because her schedule is irregular, she makes big efforts when she’s in town. Her philosophy is simple enough - show up. Not just to the birthday celebrations or the dinners out but to the hard stuff, too. Funerals, wakes, keeping sick friends company. If she can be there she will be.

I am an introvert so showing up (in person) doesn’t come as naturally to me but I was reminded of the power of showing up during my dad’s wake and funeral. As folks walked through the doors at the funeral home and church my heart filled with love: high school friends, college friends, work colleagues (past and present), former students, everyday friends. They showed up. They helped celebrate my dad and lightened my load. And it wasn’t just those who came to the wake/funeral but also those who took the time to send a card, write an email, reach out on Facebook, donate to the scholarship fund, text. As I said in more than one thank you note, I think Wally would be a bit embarrassed by the fuss but so very happy his kids are surrounded by kindness and love. Surrounded by friends who show up.

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Of dragonflies and tattoos

A little over a year ago a friend I had not seen in awhile lost her son. I didn't know it happened at the time but was able to figure it out based on Facebook posts. My heart hurt for her and her family. It is never easy to write a condolence note, even harder when the loss is sudden. Where do you start? 

I started with, “Life is random love is not.” It was the only thing I had and I was hoping there might be solace in the words. They continue to help me make sense of a world that is often confusing, they have connected me to be people in ways I wasn’t previously connected and at the end of the day, those words are comforting to me.

Social media has allowed me to watch my friend heal - she has been open about the process of both mourning and celebrating her son. And those words? It seems they found a home in her heart. And on her arm. Here’s to Nancy and her son and her family and the power of love.

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Now, go be like Pops

Walter died today

Son, brother, husband, father

Grandfather, uncle

He died at ninety

Dementia staked out his mind

Love still filled his heart

Proud of being a 

Kid from the Bronx, he moved

To the suburbs for love

And seven children

with Incomparable Joan.

Laughter filled their home.

First he taught then he

Principaled. Connecting with

students and teachers.

Always curious

Walter never missed a chance 

To question, to learn.

He  loved his family,

reading, history, puzzles

the Mets and Giants

He preached God is love 

and lived that philosophy 

every single day

So that's the story

A great man has passed away

Now, go be like Pops.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

Happy Mother's Day....

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Walking as an act of love...

A couple of weeks ago I got up early on a Sunday morning, picked up my brother and his family and drove into NYC where we met some more Coupes for the annual Run as One (To Fight Lung Cancer) Run/Walk. It's become an annual thing - a way to get family and friends together to honor our favorite Debbie and Rick. 

Last Sunday I was up early again and made my way to Greenwich to participate in the Greenwich Breast Cancer Alliance walk with my sister. When a parent and breast cancer survivor from school started a team, we joined as did a whole bunch of others. And as we waited for the walk to start, we met up with "old/graduated” moms from school, walking in celebration for two of their own breast cancer survivors. (Between the two teams I'm fairly certain there were a dozen or so current and past PTA presidents; see previous post about NMS being the nice school.)

Recently, my friend Jenn, walked with her family and friends in the Stamford MS walk. They were celebrating her dad. As they do every year

My friend Liz and her husband spearhead Kenzie's Cause, a team named in honor of the fiercest three year old I know. Liz gave birth to daughter Mackenzie at 30 weeks. She weighed just 3lbs 5oz. Each year they lead their family and friends in the Walk for Babies sponsored by the March of Dimes. As Liz says, “Until all babies are born healthy we will walk.”

In a couple of weeks I will join Emsway Walk for Safety in memory of a former student. Emily died in a boating accident a couple of summers ago and her parents have made it their mission to educate as many folks as possible about boating and water safety.

It seems to me that in a world where people get cancer and multiple sclerosis, are born prematurely and die too early, participating in a walk to raise money/awareness is a wonderful act of love, a way to feel connected and a chance to say thank you.

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM

Connection

My dear friend, Princess Cureton  had an opening late last month for her solo exhibit at the Loft Artists Association in Stamford. 

Princess and I met in 2001 when I joined the staff at North Mianus School. She was the art teacher, I was the new librarian. Our friendship grows deeper each year. 

As I stood in the middle of the Friday night crowd, I was reminded of two things: 

1. Connection is vital to our own growth and we have a responsibility to find people to connect with so that we can move through the world together, hopefully making it a better place.

2. The opening was a perfect example of “life is random love is not.”

Princess had plenty of family present but  colleagues from her career in the Greenwich Public Schools came through that door, too. How any of us ended up working with Princess was completely random but the love we have for her and each other is not. She is kind and patient, passionate about her work and passionate about what’s happening in her friends' lives.

How passionate? She made a connection between the life is random love is not movement and her work. Check out her display below. 

You can read more about Princess on her website: princesscureton.com or by reading this article from the Connecticut Post. And if you're in the area, Princess has another opening coming up at the Sidewalk Gallery in South Norwalk on June 2nd.

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Happy Opening Day

This is me, circa 1972 on the left, 1975 on the right. I was happiest when I had a glove on one hand and a ball in the other. You don't see who is playing catch with me though my best guess is it was my dad. Or my brothers. They always seemed to have time for their tomboy sister.

I was thinking about this today - the joy baseball has brought to my life. From playing it to watching it, baseball is my happy place. And for many years I have shared this happy place with my dad.

Today was no different. It was Opening Day and there was only one place I wanted to be when the the first pitch was thrown. (It's also National Poetry month so as I drove home I counted syllables.)

Hanging with Wally

Another opening day

Forever Mets fans

Always hopeful, I 

root for both of us now. Grateful

for a happy life.

I provide play-by-

play of the Mets and the past.

Love wins every time.

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"Love and acceptance"

I came across this two minute video and decided to share it as it's a great follow up to my last post. Love and acceptance is universal as is the power of a father's love. (The video was created by Home Is Love, a Taiwanese gay rights organization; Taiwan may shortly become the first Asian country to legalize gay marriage.)

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No Mistakes

Nineteen years ago, a couple of weeks after my mother died I decided to tell my dad I was gay. If you’ve read the last couple of posts, it should not have come as a surprise. Suann was omnipresent in our lives. I was my dad’s second in command when it came to helping my mom out. I saw her every day and often spent at least one night a week “Bunny/Mom sitting” so my dad could go bowling. Suann never complained and joined us when work allowed.

I was at home, watching the Mets play a spring training game when I got up and told Suann it was time to come out to my dad. If I remember correctly, she was a bit surprised, asked if I wanted some company (“Nope. Need to do this on my own,”) and wished me luck.

I knew he would be home because, well, the Mets were on. I can’t tell you how many games we watched together over the years- he was a Met fan, so I was, too. Ever since I can remember. 

I arrived about the 6th inning which meant all the regulars were out and minor leaguers had taken over the game. I turned down the volume and explained we had some talking to do - or more specifically, I had some sharing to do.

I’m not sure why I knew this Sunday afternoon was the right time. We had been through hell together with my mom and here I was laying out my biggest secret to a man who had just lost his wife and best friend. He looked at me and I looked at him and we talked about timing (why didn’t I come out when Mom was still alive), about how the church he is a fervent supporter of thinks I am morally reprehensible, about who knew and who didn’t (I didn't officially come out to my siblings until after this conversation, though they were well aware of things). And then he had one request, “Will you please call Father Gilbert?”

Father Gilbert is a priest who came and said mass at the house during my mother’s illness. He is kind and holy and loving. I agreed as I knew my dad just needed someone to talk to.

When I explained I had finally come out to my dad Father Gilbert was surprised, "He didn’t know?”

Yes, Father Gilbert knew because every time he said mass and Suann was there he would ask her if she brought her guitar and what we were singing. He saw her as who she was/is - a vital cog in the crazy Coupe family.

Then he told me, “Don’t worry I’ll take care of everything.”

And he did. His message to my dad was simple, “Jesus doesn’t make mistakes. Love Amy the same way you always have.”

And that's exactly what Wally has done. He has loved me. He has loved Suann. Occasionally we would come home to a message, "Hi Amy and Suann it's Dad. Just wanted to let you know I thanked God for you today. You have taught me so much about tolerance and love."

This man who I alternately call Dad, Pops, Wally, has always been my hero. He looks at the world with love and the people around him return that love. It's a beautiful thing. 

LIFE IS RANDOM LOVE IS NOTTM