The sun, the surf and the memories

20 years.7300 days. 175,200 hours. 10,512,000 minutes.

A lifetime and just yesterday.

Life does not stop when someone dies. It changes. There is a new normal as day to day activities, routine and milestones are re-defined around the absence.

I think of her often – especially in these summer months. The beach, every time I see someone with that golden brown tan (however unhealthy) or see pictures of the sand and surf. During the next few weeks there will be countless pictures posted of friends and family at “the beach” – the great getaway down Route 50, over the bridge, take Route 404. Stop at Adam's Fruit Stand. Bethany Beach, Ocean City, and Rehoboth – the sleepy towns of my childhood have changed but still bring back the same old memories. And, the beach always reminds me of Rona.

It’s funny how a place can remind you of people – as much as any other shared memory with that person. Rona isn’t the only one I think of when I think of the beach – but I always think of her when my toes hit the sand.

Me, Bethany Beach House, 1970

My beach thoughts always start with Big Susan. It was her beach house that brings me my earliest beach memories. The old bikes stored under the house. I was too little to keep up with everyone and would ride on the handlebars. Destination? York Beach Mall where the grocery had donuts every morning. Off we went – to bring them back to the house. Everyone grabbed their favorite and my mom would eat only half. Half a donut. Who the fuck eats just a half?

Swimming in the ocean. Doesn’t matter if it’s just my toes getting wet or if I’m out diving under the waves. Always reminds me of Big Susan’s kids – I would go out soooo far into the ocean. One of the big kids pushing me on those old thick rubber/canvas rafts when I was too small to manage on my own. I’m sure I went ass over tea kettle more than once – but I do not remember ever being afraid.

Once summer, we stayed at a hotel – Summer Place. It was near the beach house so we spent our days there. It was me, my mom and my sisters. My biggest memory of that summer was that our bathing suits got stolen off the clothes line outside. It was my blue and white bikini.

Mini-Me, Bethany Beach, 2014

As I got older, the beach brings me memories of other friends. In high school, D and I went to her family’s beach house. Alone. No parents. Did I say alone and with no parents? There we were, relishing that bit of freedom to set our own hours and act like grownups. We laugh about that parenting choice and how we would never. I was lucky to go to that beach house often – and I have wonderful memories of her dear dad in that house. I can hear his laugh as he told jokes. I hear his voice telling great stories as we sat around the table eating hard-shell crabs and drinking beer. I am grateful that I was able to take my mini-me to that house – and share with her the magic of Bethany Beach.

Not all of my beach memories were of my time there. There is an old story of my mom and Big Susan driving to the beach house to set it up for the summer. There they went in the old station wagon. Two broads – two best friends, with no kids, and a car loaded to the brim with toilet paper, cleaning supplies (my mom was quite the cleaner), cereal, cans of tuna and other assorted necessities for the summer at the beach. The only thing between them and the sand that year was the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and a major summer storm. They would tell the story of driving across the bridge in rain coming down so hard you could barely see, winds pushing against the car so hard they swore it blow them off the bridge. They made it across the bridge, pulled over, hugged each other and cried. I told that story to mini-me as we drove across the bridge – she said she completely understood their feelings as she peered out the window to the water far below.

Beach memories and the people in them changed as I got older and changed coasts. When I moved to CA, I was just a short drive to Santa Cruz. Many a Sunday morning found my brother and me flying over Hwy 17 to spend a day in the sand. There was nothing earth-shattering that happened, no major event. Just a memory of a place that always makes me think of those Sunday mornings with my brother.

Mini-me & cousins, Manhattan Beach, 2013

Now, when I think of the beach – I often picture the wide stretch of sand, the picture-perfect pier and the long walk to the bathroom at Manhattan Beach. I think of my brother and his family. This is the beach of my mini-me’s memory – where cousin T took her out on a surfboard and taught her to love the waves. Where she played for hours with her cousins – digging for sand crabs, playing in the surf. Those super early mornings when only parents of young children were awake and we’d hustle the kids into town to get breakfast before we woke anyone else. She thinks of her aunt and uncle, her cousins, the family friends. We’d walk to those special places at the beach that we visited each time we were there – The Creamery, Pages and Udderly Perfect. Even in the winter. Mini-me has very vivid memories of Christmas Eve walking along the pier with me, her aunt, uncle and cousin and ending up in Shellback Tavern where the nice bartender made her a hot chocolate she could stir with a candy cane. Grownups opted for something a bit stronger. (I’m both proud and horrified that one of her favorite beach memories is of being in a bar on Christmas Eve.) Those evenings at the house where we’d have drinks by the fireplace – our skin a bit redder, our eyes a bit bleary and our souls the kind of blissfully tired that only the beach can bring.

We shared that beach house with friends. For a few years, K and I would pull the girls out of school and escape to the beach for the perfect September weather. Those girls would play for hours on the beach. K would obsessively apply – and re-apply sunscreen. We’d occasionally feed the seagulls that would hover over any potential snack. One year, there was a gull who had a string wrapped around his legs. There were K and I, trying to wrangle this bird to cut this string off – I made her do the cutting. She was a nurse was my excuse. We’d walk the piers in the evening as the girls ran down and peered over the edge. These are Mini-me's beach memories.

My mom loved the beach. Big Susan loved the beach. They loved being there together. Some kid was always getting yelled at. There was sand everywhere. No one watched much TV (only had about three channels so no one really bothered.) The ginormous dining room table that my mother was always – and I mean always – wiping down. Reading comics I found lying around and Stephen King books as I got older. An occasional evening out to Jolly Roger or the boardwalk but that was rare. The beach was the destination.

Rona loved the beach – everything about it. Our last trip was to Bethany. We stayed at friend’s house right in town on beach block. We’d get up early and walk along the water. Sitting on the beach or in the screened-in porch reading. People watching, possibly running into (or avoiding) people we knew. Hard shells at least once during our trip along with Thrasher’s fries with vinegar. It was one of her happiest places. Even when she wasn’t feeling great, she felt removed from her illness at the beach. More peaceful. It is the place I most often picture her. Remember her.

I am not at the beach today though I am wishing my toes were in the sand. And, I wish I was with those who loved the beach the most.

Miss you.

Rona Diane Majower

November 1, 1964 – June 27, 1999

My name is Randi and I can't....

My name is Randi and I can't live up to Pinterest, Pottery Barn or West Elm.  I can’t live up to a single Lifetime movie about friendship, sisterhood or the bonds between women, women and men, sisters, brothers or those that share an obsession with a boy band.  I most certainly can’t live up to all those perfect mom’s out there – those that create those fucking Pinterest crafts in the first place, those who have children that never get into trouble, always do as asked and never say anything inappropriate.  I am not that mother and I most certainly do not have that child.

I just read this awesome post about a mom who hit rock bottom.  It totally inspired me to look at myself and acknowledge my own rock bottom. I have judged. I have acted badly. I have not understood.  I have made less than stellar choices that go beyond a bad haircut and 80’s fashion (70’s doesn’t count – we had fewer options.) I wielded my sharp tongue and hurt others.  I was less than empathetic.  I didn’t apologize.  I've been a total jackass.

In my world, the TV is probably on too often, we sometimes eat on the run, stay up too late and my floor needs washing.  I’m impatient, bossy and anyone who knows me will agree that on some topics, I have very strong opinions.  I will admit to earning my “bitch” patch years ago.  I've been rock-bottom more than once. 

I have forgotten.

More than once I have forgotten a birthday, a meaningful time or a friend in need.  I’m so caught up in my own bullshit that I don’t always pay attention to what is happening around me. This happens to everyone – I know this. I just need to remember that before I get my knickers in a twist about someone forgetting about me….that they may be so deep in their own shit that they can’t wade over to help me with mine.  To my friends, I apologize for forgetting, for forgetting that I’ve forgotten and for what I will likely forget tomorrow.  Let’s talk over a drink – if I can remember.

I’ve gotten on my high horse.

Yep, I’ve been there. And let’s be honest – you probably have, too.  You’d like to think the view from up there is better…but really, it’s pretty lonely when no one wants to share it with you. To my friends, I’ll walk beside you. The company is so much better that the view instantly improves.

I have been more judgey than Judy.

Yep, I’ve passed judgment. I formed opinions and sometimes made them known.  To be clear, I’m not talking about knowing the nuances of a situation and thinking someone is taking the wrong path. I’m talking about knowing nothing or close to that about someone, something and deciding you still know best for them, how you would do it better or dismiss their reaction. I’ve looked at someone else’s situation and made an assumption – if for no other reason than to make me feel better. I should know better. I’ve been judged long, loud and often and I hate it every fucking time.  To my friends, I promise to ask to borrow your shoes so I know what it feels like to be you and if they don’t fit, to shut the hell up.

I’ve not taken the time.

Sometimes, I feel like my life is the autobahn and frankly, I am not built for speed.  Geek tells me

all the time that my weekends are busy and well-planned and then I complain I’m exhausted and don’t have time to just be.  I found myself home this weekend and really just wanted to chat with a friend – not in a self serving way. I truly wanted to know – how were things going? Does Lips like her new gig?  How did Kooky do at her sleepover?  Was Geek feeling better?  How was Crafty holding up in the cold weather she hates so much? I wanted to thank Stretch for a really well timed email I got last week – and let her know it made the difference.  And Patron, we haven’t talked in while – how are you?  I want to stop planning to do things with friends and practice just being a friend.  To my friends, I will take a deep breath and have a drink at the ready – when you have a moment, just stop by or call and we’ll visit if even for just a few minutes. I will drop a line or leave a message. I know it will mean something and you’ll do the same when you can.

I have forgotten.

Did I already write about that?

I have been impatient.

I hate waiting. I’m painfully prompt – it’s a family thing.  We’ll circle the block to get to the party on time so that we’re not there early. If you told my parents to come over at six, they’d be there at five.  Now, in my defense, being late is a huge pet peeve and I honestly don’t believe there are that many valid reasons for it.  But, that is not the type of waiting I’m talking about. I’m talking about waiting for the right time, the right moment, the right deal. Waiting for things to happen or be dealt with on a schedule that works for someone else or the bigger picture – not just for my immediate gratification. Now, I’m not the kind that reads the end of the book first – but I’m always in a rush to finish.  To my friends, I promise to smell the roses, sip my drink (well, most of the time) and enjoy the journey.

The fact that you are my friends despite my imperfections continues to astonish me. Some of you have pulled me out of a rock bottom moment more than once (many of you way more than that.) To you, I am so grateful that you stood beside me when you may not have wanted to.  You called me friend when I was undeserving.  You were your best when I was at my worst. That you held my hand, loaned a shoulder and dried my tears.  These are things I have not forgotten.

So my friends, in this Valentine week – I promise to be a better friend.  I will try to remember, to be more patient. I will not judge (okay, who am I kidding – let’s aim for judging less) and I will catch my breath.  And, I will totally continue to support you in your rock-bottom moments.  I will sink to your level as you have sunk to mine – just so you are not alone. I will not say “I told you so” or ask you why.  In fact, I will offer you a cocktail to celebrate because the only way to go is up.  This, I won’t forget.

Latkes, turkey, roast beef and a side of gratitude

Thanksgiving weekend dwindles to a close.  My house is quiet and feels empty now that my family has left.  I’m on my fifth load of laundry, beds are remade and the fridge is my emptier (though my wine rack much more full – thank you Mini-mom and her husband, Gardener!!)  We’re ready for the week ahead but I would be remiss if I didn’t express some long overdue thanks for the recent days.

I know it’s that time of year when we should profess our thankfulness and our gratitude while plotting which stores to hit and how to beat everyone else to the sale to get that one thing we don’t really need but have to have so that we can be thankful for it the next year. Now, I’m no Pollyanna – I like nice things as much as the next person but I’ve really been working on dialing it back and trying to really appreciate and use what I have.

So, in that spirit I have much to be thankful for this year – and I try to keep the gratitude greater than the grief.

I’m beyond thankful that Neiman has beat cancer.  It has been a gift to be able to support her through this journey and I’m glad I was able to be by her side.  I will always be grateful that Robert, her mighty oak, was by her side as well.

I am saddened by the loss of such a mighty oak.  And while I will always appreciate the way the stars aligned that allowed me to be there, supporting Neiman, when we said goodbye to such an amazing man – the fact we had to say goodbye was a dark spot in this year.

I’m feeling cautiously optimistic that the bullying Mini-Me has experienced is tapering off – or at least maybe going dormant.  The start of the school year was terribly difficult but Mini-Me has come through stronger and braver than I could ever have hoped.  I learned how to better support her – so she could support herself.  I’m grateful for those that helped us along the way.

I continue to be deeply bothered that the bullying exists. That our schools don’t do enough, that they leave these children “to work it out among themselves” and that parents don’t know or acknowledge the role their own child may have played (and all the kids involved played a role – even mine.)

My year was made brighter by two visits with my dear friend, Runner!  She and her sweet daughter visited in July and just a few weeks back, she and her husband were here on business. We were able to really visit, catch up and share more laughs than drinks, which is just how it should be. 

As always, I relished the two visits we had with Geek and her sweet girl, Kooky.  Despite the fact that we talk every single night (and have for almost 7 years), the in-person visits allow us to connect differently. Mini-me and Kooky play, get annoyed, laugh, shriek and don’t want to leave each other’s side.  We are all content to just hang out in close proximity.  Mini-me and I are already excited about seeing them later this month.

Belle and I took our annual September trip to the beach. Once again, Patron and Beach were out of town and graciously let us take over their oh-so-comfortable home.  For a few days, we beached, relaxed, shopped and just hang out.  We visited with Mini-Mom and her family, took the girls to a few new places and even enjoyed the mind-numbing ride on the 10.  I’m grateful for that time with friends and that my family welcomes my friends so readily into their homes.

Last Wednesday, I watched Mini-me, my nephew and niece light the Menorah.  I heard them say the prayer and I got tears in my eyes.  I could easily blame it on the onions that were grated for the latkes…but I won’t take the easy way out.  As we raised our glasses – my table full of Mini-Mom, Gardener and the swimmers, my dear neighbors and friends – the gratitude was overwhelming. So blessed to have such good friends in my life but on a more significant note, thrilled to have kindled the lights with my sister, with whom I have not done so in more than 20 years.

So, at the end of this Thanksgiving weekend, I am most grateful that I was joined by my sister and her family.  Like many great things, our relationship has not always been easy – we’re sisters after all. We’re as alike as we are different.  But, oh how we laughed.  I loved how the swimmers made themselves at home.  I loved hearing the kids laugh.  I loved drawing with my nephew, watching Mini-Me look up to my niece (literally and figuratively) and just hanging out. I loved that Gardener took the time to share ideas about updating my kitchen and even showed my some things in Home Depot that could work. I even loved our 4.6 mile Thanksgiving morning hike – despite the fact I had the worst cough and laryngitis and could barely breathe. It wasn’t pretty but it was great.

I did miss our other siblings. We usually spend Thanksgiving at Patron and Beach’s house but if I was going to do something different – I did it right this year.  Both Neiman and the original Big Susan celebrate their birthdays around Thanksgiving.  I miss the former and know she’s only a phone call away…but the latter, well; I take comfort in knowing she and my mom were together. In matching robes and drinking black coffee. I miss my mom – I made her stuffing (though a slightly new version) but I know it would have tasted better if she had made it without the change.  I miss the early morning call from my father. I miss my stepfather telling me to add extra garlic to the turkey rub.  I remind myself that I’m lucky to miss such wonderful people.

Tonight, as Mini-me and I walked the dogs, she declared she had been really lucky this weekend. She said she had delicious Hanukkah and Thanksgiving dinners, she discovered she liked brussel sprouts (‘cause bacon makes everything better), got great presents, had fun with her cousins and aunt and uncle, learned to draw some new things, and went to some really cool places.  Very lucky my sweet Mini-me. We’re very lucky indeed.