Working Through Some Things

Families are tricky places and none are perfect, though some seem to operate better than others and some people grow up nearly unscathed from theirs while others are a perfect mess as adults, and everything in between. Some would argue it's nurture versus nature and I can't entirely disagree.

My family was pretty suffocating, in many ways.  My parents, you might say, were overly protective.  The fact was that I was not allowed to make many decisions for myself, even when I had reached an age when I should have had some responsibilities for myself.  For example, I was not allowed to ride a bus or elevated train anywhere until I went to High School and had to ride public transportation to get there.  The truth is I never left my little neighborhood in Chicago unless I was accompanied by either my mother or father or some other trusted adult until much later in my life than was necessary.

This made me fearful about making any decision.  This and many other anomalies made me feel that there was something intrinsically wrong with me.  I remember, distinctly, thinking that I must be mentally handicapped when I was in grammar school, when I became aware that some people had this kind of condition.  It took me a long time to shake that belief.

Now as an adult I find it hard to keep any true sense of self esteem going.  I have worked hard to scrape up what inner strength I could.  In the past few years I feel stronger than I have in a long time. Still my mother can break through all that with some criticism.  I know my own self- speech can be pretty destructive to me, too.  

The only lasting healing can come through giving myself the loving care that was missing so early in my development.  Trusting myself and loving myself are the greatest gifts I can give.  We only perpetuate what poison was pumped into us, by harboring anger, malice or resentments against those people in whose care we had been placed.  True healing cannot begin until we are willing to forgive and let go of all that was done to us or not done, as the case may be.  

Hashing and re hashing all of that keeps us locked up with it.  Letting go and forgiving doesn't condone it or give anyone the right to do it to anyone else.  It just let's us move on without the baggage.  Forgiveness is more for the forgiver, than the forgiven!

Destinations

I was thinking about this as I was driving in town today behind a driver who was going below the posted speed limit, one of my personal pet peeves.

THE FINAL DESTINATION OF ALL HUMANS IS THE GRAVE.  
DO I REALLY WANT TO BE IN SUCH A HURRY TO GET THERE?

I guess that would make a great bumper sticker.  It made me think about how much in a hurry we are, especially in this country.  Time is money, but haste makes waste.  We have forgotten.  With all the great new technology, think of it, washing machines, vaccuum cleaners, cars, airplanes, computers and on and on, we are able to complete tasks and get places so quickly.  We also, have so much more free time than our predecessors. 

In my experience, faster is not usually better.  In the example of food, I know for a fact that the longer you stew something or roast it, at a lower temperature and let it take it's time, the more flavorful and tender it is.  There are a lot of examples to up hold this, but even more, the longer you wait to enjoy that slow cooking meal, the more heightened your senses and desire for it.  Isn't it true, that when you have to work hard to get something, or make it, don't you feel good about yourself?  Doesn't it make you happy and thankful that you finally got it?  Don't you feel the value of it for yourself more?

Let's take the idea of a meal.  I know when I spend a lot of time and effort putting a meal together, it means a lot to me.  I cook everything from scratch.  There are no boxes of mixes or cans of ready made in my cupboard.  First of all, I know exactly what I am eating and secondly, I have the satisfaction of putting it all together in the final wholesome product.  It is really very satisfying, on an emotional/mental level and on a physical level too.  I know I have chopped up every vegetable, kneaded every bread, stirred and mixed and rolled out every bit of it with my own two hands.

It's that way at work too.  It seems that big corporations have taken over everything, even the funeral home business!  The only thing they seem interested in is their bottom line.  If the return for the bigwigs in the company begins to shrink, who pays?  We all do.  Do they care if the product diminishes? No.  Do they care if the workers have to do more?  No.  So people just don't take pride in their work anymore.  Can't really blame them, when there isn't much reason for company loyalty.  The company doesn't have loyalty for you.  They'll cut your job, your pay, your co-workers jobs, until their bottom line is satisfied, with never a thought for how it effects you.

So what can we do about all this?  Well, unfortunately, we can't change the world, but we can change ourselves.  If each person stopped and took stock of themselves.  What is really important to you?  That new car?  Bigger house?  Expensive clothes?  Really??!  How about your family?  Your friends?  Your health? That's more like it!!  So maybe you can stop stressing about work and all the pressure.   Maybe if you put in that vegetable garden and eat less processed foods, drove that car another couple of years, take a camping vacation and biked to work, then you could get by on much less.  Then you might find yourself living healthier.  Having more time for your family and friends.  Happier?!  Really?!

I have found that attitude is everything.  Everything starts with attitude.  If we feel restless and perceive that we need more stuff.  Guess what, we'll be unhappy.  The key is not having what you want, but wanting what you've got.  It's not losing ambition, but turning that ambition on it's ear and focusing on what the really important things are.  We let ourselves get bent out of shape over all the little mundane things that don't amount to a hill of beans and forget about what the really important stuff is.  The people.  Starting with ourselves and moving outwardly from there.

One of the things I've noticed is people using the word "selfish" when what they really mean is "self-centered".   I think selfish gets a bad rap.  If you are being selfish you are putting yourself first, you are taking care of yourself.  That is not necessarily a bad or wrong thing to do.  If you do not take care of yourself, who will?  If you do not take care of yourself, how are you going to take care of anybody else?  So take care of yourself today, before you do something nice for someone else, do something nice for yourself.  You'll be amazed at how much it will elevate your sense of well-being.  You'll be a better person for it, too.

One of those nice things you can do, is spend some time with yourself.   Stop to smell the roses, as it were, literally or figuratively, your call.

Enjoy!

'Smarvelous

It is the day before Father's Day and it is a week after my daughter Jackie's wedding.  Incidentally, my father passed away almost four years ago.  I should be sad, but I think you can see that my Dad wasn't exactly a positive role model in my life.  If anything, I feel sorry for my Dad.  He never knew how to love, especially himself.  I just remember trying to please him and never being able to.  I finally, after years of therapy, found a way to forgive him and let it go.

So as Father's Day approaches, I can thank him for giving me the perfectionism that keeps me trying to improve myself.  I can thank him for all the things I had as a kid, for paying for my violin lessons and sending me to Roosevelt University and for trying the best way he could to give me what he could.

I wish he could have seen Jackie and Aaron profess their love to each other and celebrate that day with us. Though the weather was cool and damp, it did nothing to dampen our spirits or the love of those two dear people.  They had the wedding that they wanted and planned for and I am proud of them for putting it together, from start to finish.  It was perfect.

It is wonderful that they are both such talented musicians and both such genuine, real people.  I hope they will have a long and fulfilling life together.  They are in France for their honeymoon and will return on August 2nd.  They have already surmounted some hurdles and made some quick and dirty decisions for their trip.  I am confident that they will continue in their married life in this way.

All these things remind me how much fluctuation there is in life.  Nothing is static and we are always changing to rise to whatever the occasion requires.  Losing my father made me face the loss of having the father I had in my life, made me examine the quality of the forgiveness I had in my heart.  It is something I need to surmount everyday.

My daughter's marriage to Aaron, puts me in the new role of Mother-in-law.  I have related to him as her fiance and my other children have brought people they are dating home and I have had relationships with them, but this feels more permanent, closer.  It feels natural, but I believe these kinds of relationships are a balancing act.  I want to be close, but I never want to overstep my bounds.

I feel as if I am entering a new phase with my music, too.  I am now living in the Northwoods of Wisconsin.  This means I am starting out in new musical groups.  I have joined a philanthropic group here that raises money and awards scholarships to area youth who perform musically to win the prizes every spring.  I also sang with an area chorus last year and will continue this year again.  I got into a song circle that meets once a month too.  All these are great.

I am making my way in this community and am getting known for my talents.  I hope that I will find myself growing, personally and in my music.   I am also recovering from rotator cuff surgery three months ago.  I have been able to play my violin and guitar, already.  I am very happy with my progress so far and look forward to more.

So, Happy Father's Day to all the fathers out there, to my wonderful husband, and here's to you Dad.  You did the best you could and I love you and wish you peace.

'S Wonderful, The Early Years

I'm beginning to see this blog as a wonderfully therapeutic tool to cleanse myself through journalism.  I feel ready to delve into my younger days.  Maybe I should start with my parents.  My Father was born in Rhode Island, but returned to Italy when he was around 2 years old.  I don't think his Mother wanted to live here.  He grew up in San Giorgio near the Adriatic city of Ancona in the region of Marche (pronounce markay).

They were very poor and it was my father, Rino, his brother, Luigi and two parents.  He never told too many stories about growing up in Italy, just always laying into us that they had nothing and that we should realize how lucky we were and how good we have it.  What kid ever realizes what they have or how good or bad it is?  All kids want more, or I really should say, all kids test to see how far they can go and how much they can get.  This is their way of testing their boundaries, which actually makes them feel safe to find reasonable ones in place.

My mother, Leda, was born in Compe di Collito near the city of Lucca in the region of Toscana Italy.  My mother told me stories of growing up in Italy all the time and placed in me a yearning to see these places she spoke of.  I have been there twice and can honestly say I feel a deep connection to the people and places.  I'd be happy to spend my time in her little town and around Lucca and never see any of the "touristy" places.  As I told my friends, it doesn't matter if you go to the museums etc...  Even the place you have lunch at is filled with art and history.

My mother lived with her Mother, paternal Grandmother, older brother, Vincienzo and younger sister, Anna.  Their father left for America when my mother was around 3 years old.  From what she has said, it sounds like he was a big drinker and probably wanted to escape his responsibilities.  He never came back to visit, although other men who went to America to make their fortunes did return periodically and he never sent money, either.

When she came to America in 1937, because her brother sent them the money for the trip, she was 17.  She reunited with her father in Chicago after a 14 year absence.  Having last seen him when she was three, she really had no recollection of him and had to get to know him all over again. 

My mother had to do the hard work of farming in the foot hills of the Alps by the time she was five years old, climbing the mountain daily for water for their cow, chickens and rabbits that they raised.  They sold the calf the cow had every year and sold the milk and eggs from the chickens.  They could rarely keep any to consume for themselves.  She had one dress to wear everyday and one pair of shoes that she saved to wear to church on Sunday, but took them off for the walk home.  Otherwise, she went barefoot every where, even in the winter climbing the mountain.

I loved her stories about her cow the best.  She loved her cow, Rosa, and felt a deep connection to her.  My mother also instilled in me a love of animals.  When we would walk to the store, or anywhere, she would stop to pet every stray cat or every dog behind a fence or being walked past us.  There was never any fear of being bitten or scratched and I never remember an animal being mean to her.  They came to her like she was made of pure sugar.  She found pure joy in stroking their fur and I saw they found pure joy in her too.

I'm sure she still does this today and my children confirm her doing this with them.  They are all animal lovers, too.  In fact, one of my children became a Veterinarian and I'm sure her Nonna had a big impact on her.  She was an impressionable child who observed everything very closely.

My parents met here, and I have never heard the story of how they met or when they decided to marry, so I have none of that.  I know they were married a few days before my father would be called in to the service.  I mentioned he joined the American Army during WWII.  They were married for seven years and in all that time they never could get pregnant.

My mother had very irregular periods, but her doctor was never concerned about that.  One doctor visit, her regular doctor was on vacation and he had another doctor filling in for him.  She mentioned her problem to this doctor who put her on iodine tablets and within the next month or two my older sister, Dorothy was conceived. 

My parents were 31 and 30 when my sister was born early in 1951.  Old for that time.  My mother had two more pregnancies that ended in miscarriage, the last one was at nearly 6 months.  In mid 1957, 6 1/2 years after my sister, I was born to my 37 and 38 year old parents.  Ancient for those times, for sure.  My sister was celebrated, for proving they could have a child, but I think I was a disappointment at least to my father, because I was their last chance to have a boy, and I wasn't.

So this is some of my parents backgrounds, which definitely feeds into my background.  The Male/Female condition is very important in an Italian/American Family.  In fact, I would say it is crucial to most European families of that generation.  Girls are regarded for keeping house and bearing children, but all the real hope is focused on the boys, who will carry on the family name and in older times would inherit all properties and titles.

How did I get here? Continued...

So the Piano teacher told my parents I needed a violin teacher and that he had taken me as far as he could.  In searching for a new teacher, I'm sure money was a factor, my folks found a little old lady on Montrose Avenue, near California Avenue in Chicago, who taught violin from a little store front.  She actually taught, violin, piano, mandolin, guitar and accordion!  She lived in a small apartment in the back of the store front.

Her name was Columbia Havens, which now looking back on it sounds like a made up name.  She grew up in Kansas and would tell me stories of steam engine trains and riding horses.  I loved her like a grandmother and she seemed to be fond of me too.  I learned a lot from her and I'm sure she helped instill in me the idea that I could make a living someday, if I wanted to, with my violin.    She took me through most of my High School years.  Unfortuantely, one night there was a fire in her apartment, probably from an electric heater she used and Columbia suffered smoke inhalation.  She lingered in Swedish Covenant Hospital for almost a month before she died.  It was very devastating for me to lose her.

During my sophomore year of High School I joined a Folk Group that was starting at my church.  I had been singing in the High School Chorus and this seemed like a good opportunity.  I was able to use my violin at church too.  We sang together for many years, through my High School and College years and for many years after I was married and raising children.  We would bring our kids with us to rehearsals and such.  I'm sure this also had a good impact on my kids, many of whom have made music a part of their lives too.

Through the Folk Group, I began performing with one of the members at the local Ground Round restaurants.  We performed together through my College years and then again when we were both married we formed a group with two other people, a Son and Mother, in fact, and performed at a local Catholic High School at one of their fundraisers.

When we moved out of Chicago to Libertyville, I joined a community chorus out in Lake Zurich.  I sang with that group for 13 years.  It was directed by a woman who taught music at the school I was working at and I sang with her and a few other members of the chorus in a women's trio and a mixed jazz group.  These were some of the best years and experiences of my musical life.  Between the Folk Group and this Community Chorus, I was shaped into the singer I am today.

This is the basic story of who I am as a musician and some of what my family life was like growing up, but like anything else this is only one aspect.

How did I get here?

I am a, soon to be, 54 year old mother of 4 grown children.  No, that can't be right, can it?  Sigh.  It always surprises me when I think in these terms, but that is how I am recognized.  I am the lady who volunteers at the local elementary school library,   I am Joe, Marilyn, Jackie's, Mike's...Mom.  I'm that girl who plays violin.  I'm the one who sings in that jazz quartet or community choir.  I am Jim's wife.

I am all of these and more.  But who do I think I am?  Now that's a tough question.  My earliest memory of thinking of myself, was as a musician.  I always imagined I'd grow up to be a famous singer.  I sang along with everything I heard on the radio.  I harmonized everything, all the time. 

One year my good friends and I attended a day camp at Jefferson Park in Chicago.  The counselors there taught us some spirituals with harmonies.  My friend, Linda and I wowed the kids on the play ground with our rendition that year at school.  They would request us in class all the time, that year.    It was probably my first memory of realizing how much I loved performing.

I grew up in a Roman Catholic, Italian American household.  Both of my parents grew up in Italy, although my father was born in Rhode Island.  He came to America to escape Mussolini's tyranny and joined the American Army.  He lied and told them he had worked in a hospital in Italy and served as a medic in a hospital in London during the war.

My mother's father abandoned her family in the Tuscany region of Italy when my mother was about 3 years old.  She had an older brother and younger sister.  It was up to her, her brother and her mother to run their farm so that they wouldn't starve.  Her father rarely sent them money and they worked hard to scratch a living.  Her brother took extra jobs to raise enough money to get himself to America and then worked even harder once he got here to send enough money to bring his sisters and his mother here.  My mother was 17 when she arrived in New York and hadn't seen her father since she was 3.

I loved listening to my mother's stories of her hard, hard life in Italy, because she always had a way of making it sound like an adventure and she always ended each story with, "but we were happy.".  I am sure I will have more blogs about my mother's stories as they are a part of who I am too.

My parents' were pretty old when my sister was born, around 31 and 32, in 1951, but by the time I came on the scene, in 1957, they were nearly ancient, at that time, for having their second child.  I remember my father constantly telling me to shut up, in Italian and always asking me to be more like my sister.  I think he meant he wanted me to act 6 years older than I was.  If you have siblings, I'm sure that you are nothing like any of them and this was certainly true of my sister and me.  Since Dorothy was older than me, I idolized her anyway, so it was a double whammy to have my father constantly reminding me that I fell quite short of the mark all the time.

When I was around 9 years old I begged my parents to play an instrument.  I wanted to play piano, but my father wouldn't spring for a piano.  I was willing to settle for the violin, which my father could rent for me from the music school where I was going to go for lessons.  I think I wanted to play an instrument, because the boy next door played the piano and the violin.  Yeah, I had a crush on him until high school.

The Berning School of Music was located on the Northeast corner of Milwaukee and Lawrence Avenues on the second floor of the building on that corner.  I remember, vividly, walking excitedly with my mother up Lawrence Avenue on the way to my first lesson, where I would receive my rental violin.  As we approached and came around the corner up to Milwaukee, it became evident that something terrible had happened.  The Berning School of Music had had a fire the night before and my violin was burned in the fire.  I would not be getting a violin that day, or a lesson.

To say I was crushed is putting it mildly.  I was beside myself with worry that my father would use this as an excuse to nix the whole idea of my playing violin.  My father would do anything to save a buck and I'm sure he felt that this would be a huge waste of money and that I would give up the violin not too long after I began.  What he didn't know is that I had a burning desire for music.  It really is a defining point for me and is part of the essence of who I am.

I fought tooth and nail and I'm sure I was unrelenting.  The boy next door took lessons from an old nun at St. Constance, where he went to school.   I went to St. Robert Bellarmine school.  It was odd that our neighborhood had two Catholic churches.  So Sr. Amadea, of St Constance Catholic Elementary School, agreed to take me on for lessons and rent us an instrument.   I took lessons from her for about three years and learned a lot from her.  She became ill and had to leave the school.

My father, trying to save a dime again, found a piano teacher at a local music school who agreed to give me lessons.  I believe I was in my last year of grammar school at that time and took lessons for roughly a year from him.  The best thing he taught me was the cycle of fifths, which gives you the basis for key signatures.  It was probably the only thing I ever learned from a violin teacher about music theory.

So that is a little of my early history.  Ok, maybe it's a lot!  Still it answers some of the question of who I am.