I got to be a part of Paul Byrom history.

A couple of months ago my daughter and I attended the taping of a PBS special. In case you don't know who Paul Byrom is, he is a singer from Ireland, recently relocated to NY, who has one of the most amazing tenor voices you will ever have the privileged to hear. Paul was, up until a couple years ago a member of Celtic Thunder. A 5 member group of Irish and Scottish entertainers that began touring the US 5 years ago. I happened to catch a PBS show of Celtic Thunder about 3 years ago and to say I was hooked is a drastic understatement. I've attended several of their concerts over the years and have loved every second of it. Now, I was a little behind the times because the year I started attending their concerts, is the year Paul left the group to launch his solo career. He did attend the NYC concert that year and I got to meet him in the lobby of the venue. From that day on I've followed his career and done everything I can to help. While I think he deserves his star to shine brightly I also think everyone, ever, deserves to listen to his voice. I've attended every show he's done anywhere within a 3 hours drive. He is so much more than a singer. He is an entertainer of the first water. He interacts with his audience, tells stories, and jokes and does his level best to make sure every person in that room, be they 10 or 100 male or female has a night to remember. He genuinely enjoys being on that stage and you can't help but be drawn into his particular brand of magic when you see him perform. The whole room has "the craic" (an Irish term for fun) I have, along with many other people, tweeted, shared, facebooked, and screamed from the rooftops to get word out about his music. Several months ago Paul decided the time was right for him to tape a PBS special to help further his career. He had to do some fundraising to accomplish the goal and it took everything he had to have to ask people to help. Charging for show tickets was one thing but asking for money outright was very difficult for him. He did however offer different thank you gifts for any and all donation given. He made sure that if you could donate $20 or $1,000 you knew how grateful he was for your help. Paul has been very open and available with his fans from day one. I've had the opportunity on several occasions, to chat with him and get to know him just a little bit, and he is without a doubt one of the kindest, most caring, most genuine people I've ever met. In all honesty, I'm glad I got to know his music after his time with Celtic Thunder. I'm glad I've only known and been a wee part of his solo career. I am, for all intents and purposes a Paul purist :-) So, fast forward to Pennsylvania a couple of months ago. The money had been raised, the date set, and it was time to see his hard work come to fruition. I had the great privileged of being able to attend the taping with my daughter. The cameras were on, the orchestra was set and Paul came out on stage. This was it, this is what he and everyone had worked so hard for. This was his time. And I had front row seats (well, third row, but you get my meaning) to watch history unfold. There was an electric feeling in that room. We all knew we were seeing something extraordinary. When the special airs on PBS and you can buy the DVD, you will be able to have a glimps of what I mean. But there will never be anything that will compare to actually being in that room, with those people, watching him, Damian McGinty and the great Phil Coulter on that stage. There are a few amazing moments that are burned into my memory. When he sang "This is the Moment" That one made me cry. The first three notes came out of his mouth and I teared up. He put his whole heart into that one. All I could think was, "yep Paul this is your moment. This is it kiddo, and it is spectacular." Then he sang Danny Boy. Yea, so anyone who knows me well knows that one of my earliest memories of my dad is when I was about 2 or 3 and he was washing my hair in the tub singing that song. I heard him sing it a few times over the years and have come to think of it as Daddy's song. My dad died a couple of years ago and I will never get to hear him sing it again. I don't want that memory tainted, I want to remember always what his voice sounded like when he sang it. With this in mind, as my personal tribute to my dad, I will never listen to anyone sing that song again. I've been to gigs before where that song was sung, and I simply leave to room during that song and reenter when it's over. I make sure I sit to the side where my leaving won't be disruptive. But, here I was, third row, cameras rolling and he starts singing Danny boy. I imagine I looked rather like a deer in the headlights. I couldn't leave, I couldn't do that to him. There would be no unobtrusive exit. The only thing I could do was concentrate on something else so I wouldn't hear it. So I added. :-) I added 47+93 and 428+216 I added any two sets of numbers I could think of that would make me concentrated. And then it hit me that when you concentrate really hard on something, you tend to get that far away look on your face. Not a good look on camera. Hey, look at that girl, she's not even paying attention. So, then I had to concentrate on keeping that look off my face while I added. I'm here to tell ya, with all that going on in my head I didn't hear a note. Then he sang "Scorn not his Simplicity" a song written by Phil Coulter about his son. The love and compassion we all felt was palpable. You could almost see it grow and envelope Phil on that stage. And you could tell Phil felt it,was moved by it and grateful for it. And one of the cutest things I've ever seen is Paul and Damian singing "Me and My Shadow". Absolutely brilliant. He sang for hours. He put everything he had and everything he was into it. We took a break, and the set was changed and there was a bonus for those buying the DVD :-) No spoiler alerts here. You'll just have to buy it and see for yourself. Attending this taping was truly amazing. It is not something I believe I will ever see or feel again. I am eternally grateful that I had this opportunity. I am grateful I have had a chance to help him in the little ways I have. I am grateful that others will get to see and hear him. I'm grateful that I have a love for music, especially Irish music. But mostly, I'm grateful that Paul is Paul. He's a pretty spectacular individual and I'm blessed to know him.

The perfect gift. Or, Steiner Sports makes me look gooooddddd.

Okay, so you know how every occasion you want to find that perfect gift? You think and look and search and wrack your brains. And if you're very luck you find a really good gift. But for the most part a perfect gift for whatever occasion you are purchasing or making a gift for you never quite achieve perfection. Well, last year, I found the Holy Grail of anniversary gifts. Well, if you're a football fan and more specifically, a New York Giants fan. I need to take you back in time a wee bit so you will fully understand what we have here. Way back, many moons ago, when I was very young, okay I wasn't that young but work with me here I'm tellin' a tale, I'm Irish and I get artistic license in the tellin' of me own tale. Now, where was I? Oh yea, I was young. It was April, 1987 and my "bestie" as a best friend is referred to now, was getting married. And I, also being her bestie,(how convenient huh)was one of the bridesmaids in her wedding. And she was to wed a man from New York. . As with all weddings, the bride had her friends stand with her and the groom had his friends stand with him at the altar to witness this joyous occasion. There were seven of us on each side, no chance of "take backs" or "I never said that" here. :-) It was just in this particular instance, we were importing the men over on that side of the room from New York. You see, I grew up in small town Colorado. I loved 3 things. My family, the mountains, and the Denver Broncos. Now, a horrible, horrible thing happened in January of that year. The New York Giants had beaten my Broncos,(yes they were mine,no matter what Pat Boland thought)in the Super Bowl. It was tragic, really. Hey I was 16, tragedy was a relative term. Anyway, so the men flew in and I got a call reporting on the one I was to be paired up with for the weekend. Yes, dear reader this tale just took a turn for the sappy, we did meet at a wedding. But I digress. So, I received intel that this man, this person I was to spend the next 5 days with had actually deplaned in Stapleton airport dressed in Giants gear from head to toe. At which point, I seriously considered doing a runaway bridesmaid. There was no way I was spending 5 days with a Giants fan. Seriously, a Giants fan? What had I ever done to Karma? However, remember where I grew up. We all had gun racks in our pickups. She had brothers. I liked breathing. So, I decided that 5 days wasn't so bad and I could do this. Fast forward 5 years and I finally got my revenge. We got everyone back together, switched up places, and I married him! Yea me. Shortly after, as in two days after, I moved to New York with my brand new husband. And within a year or two my loyalties moved to New York also and I am now what can only be referred to as a Die Hard Giants fan. No, really. My toaster toasts the Giants logo onto the bread. It has become an illness. My children say goodbye at the beginning of every football season. Now, fast forward again to last August. It was our 21st Anniversary and we would be spending it at the stadium watching a preseason game. Our anniversary was days away and I was on the hunt for a gift for him. What, you thought only guys wait until the last minute to get anniversary gifts? What could I get him that he'd like and would have meaning? But most importantly, would get here on time. When in doubt, go to google. Considering where we were going to be I thought sports memorabilia would be good. Something from the year we met would be better. Enter Steiner Sports and my personal angel JJ Molesso. I searched the website for something from the year we met hoping I could get something unique with an autograph if I was lucky. Suddenly, there it was. The holy grail of anniversary gifts. "THE" perfect gift. The thing I'd sell a kidney to get him. Cue the choir of angels. It was a full size helmet signed by 29 of the 1986 NY Giants. But it would take a week to get here. I had to have it. I had to be able to give him this helmet in the parking lot of the stadium. I HAD to. So, I called the number provided for help and JJ Molesso answered the phone. I babbled at him like a toddler who couldn't form complete sentences yet, about the helmet and the anniversary and the time crunch and the HAVE to thing. He was so helpful and wonderful. He very calmly talked the blathering idiot off the ledge, got the pertinent information from me and then said " you know, if you want, you can come get this. I'll pull it and put it in the office for you to come and get, you're only about an hour or so away" So, the next day off I went to get the helmet. I was in and out in minutes and drove home like I had my first newborn in the car. He loved it. He took it everywhere for weeks and showed it to everyone. I am secure in the knowledge that I have managed to give the perfect gift. Wait..... I've given the perfect gift. It's done. There's nothing I can ever do to top that. We're going to have another anniversary this year. And we'll be spending it at the stadium for a preseason game. (the Jets no less) I wonder if they'd notice if I sneaked him into the locker room to meet the team? Anyone got bail money? Just in case. Anyone?

Listen to your mother. She knows what she's talking about.

I can't count how many times I've answered the question "how come s/he gets to?" The usual answers are, " because s/he is (insert age here) and you're not" "There are privileged that come with age." Or "you don't always get everything everyone else gets" these answers are my standard go to reasons although every now and then I throw in a new one just to make sure everyone is paying attention and not tuning out the droning in their ear that is their mothers voice. Then of course there is the other end of the spectrum. "I didn't get to do that when I was her age" "I didn't get to have one of those until I was (insert age here)" "I didn't get to watch that when I was her age" My usual answer to these are "you didn't have much older siblings" "would you prefer no one gets to do it because I can't be in both places" and varieties there of. My youngest will be 10 in a few weeks. I bought her a used nook off ebay this morning for her birthday. I can already hear the complaints in my head. This is a clear violation of the rules. None of the others were allowed an electronic device of this caliber at this age. And she's probably going to loose it more than once. One of the stipulations before this has been that you have to be old enough and responsible enough to take are of such things. And at 10 none of them were or I suppose are. But as I was deciding if I should get it for her or not, it occurred to me that there is a vast difference between being the oldest at 10 and the youngest at 10. The farther down in the line they are the faster they grow up. By virtue of having 4 older siblings, she's been exposed to more things along the way at a younger age. Let's face it, it's completely impractical to have 2 different sets of rules in the house. And it's just easier to take her to see Iron Man 3 with the family than it is to make them all go to see My Little Pony as a family. But in the end, she's beyond My Little Pony and she's beyond Leap Pad. She's beyond Rugrats and Avatar. She's way more advanced and mature than they were at her age. Which is in itself an experiment in the nature vs. nurture thing. They all grew up in the same family, with the same parents, under the same circumstances. She's not any smarter than they were at her age, but due to being exposed to different things than they were, is more advanced. So, in the end, I've decided that she can have a nook. Partly because I feel bad she's the only one that doesn't have something like it. Partly because I'm tired of settling arguments when she wants to play with one of her siblings devices and they won't let her. Partly because I'm tired of her playing on my phone all the time. But mostly, I'm old and tired people and just can't keep up with who got to do what at what age any more. I now have a new phrase for my children. One I heard from my mother more times than I can count when I was growing up. "In 20 years you'll understand" You were right mom, I do understand now. And I am now passing down your wisdom to the next generation. In 20 years they'll understand.

I don't chew tobacco and I don't wear camouflage

I lost a friend today. No he didn't go to that great armory in the sky. He just made a request, more of a statement really, that in good conscious I had to follow. His request was along the line of "if you support the NRA, get out of my life you, sully it" It was a general post to everyone on his Facebook page. It was not directed to any particular person. I had the feeling it was a knee jerk reaction to the fact that the Senate didn't pass the background checks for guns. I had a feeling he meant if you support the lobbying the NRA does I don't want to be friends with you. At least I hoped that's what he meant. I hoped if he knew, he wouldn't have put it quite that way. I hoped that our friendship was something of value to him as it is for me. I almost ignored it. I did for a little while. But then my sense of honesty and integrity kicked it. Along with a sneaking suspicion I was being a coward. Darn it. I was going to have to do what he asked and go away. Having such a strong sense of right and wrong, and being brought up to understand that in most cases there is no gray area when it comes to such things, really sucks sometimes. A thing is either right or it's wrong. Simple as that. And keeping my mouth shut was cowardly, and that gets chalked up on the wrong side of the score card. So, I screwed up my courage, because I knew the finality of what I was about to do. And frankly I really really didn't want to do it. He is my friend and he's a really great guy, and he's sweet and he's a lot of fun to hang out with and he does wonderful things for people in need. And I knew I was going to miss him. And it hurt that because I am who I am he no longer wanted to be my friend. But, I support the NRA. Have all my life. Now, let me stop here for a minute and explain that viewpoint. Because, seriously, I don't own not one piece of camouflage. See, the NRA is way more than the idiots running it. It started almost 200 years ago. 185 to be exact I believe. And it was founded on the believe that every citizen of these United States has the right to own and use guns to protect themselves. We have the right to protect ourselves from The Son of Sam, and Uncle Sam. With the belief that we all have the right to live in peace the way we chose with the beliefs we chose. And we didn't want anyone coming in and trying to tell us how to do it. Like everything else in life it has evolved over the years. And what most people think of when they think of the NRA is the lobbyists in Washington who have more money than sense. They think we are all gun totin' tobacco chewin' camo wearin' lunatics that have a bomb shelter and a stockpile of weapons in our back yard. And we all walk around looking like Rambo wannabes with Jessie James attitudes. And that couldn't be farther from the truth. It's also the people in the community who teach people about guns and gun safety. They teach people how to care for and shoot a gun. They teach children safety and respect for guns. They teach us all to respect the fact that it is a weapon, meant to kill, and the gravity of that decision should you choose to make it. They do a lot for their communities in their area. None of these programs would be possible without the membership and monetary backing of a large organization. These people are also members of the PTA and they belong to Unions and countless other organizations. We are just like everyone else. I don't currently own a gun nor does anyone else in the house. We had a LOT of young kids for a lot of years and I just didn't feel comfortable having them in the house. Heck, I don't even let my kids play with water guns. Because GUNS ARE NOT TOYS. A water bottle works just as well on a hot summer day. Personally I don't have a problem with background checks. Maybe they'd do some good. Not to keep criminals from getting a gun. None of us are stupid enough to think they won't get them anyway. But say, a guy gets mad and on a whim decided to go buy a gun and shoot his wife. Give him a couple days to think on it and get over his mad and maybe he'll decide he didn't really want to shoot her after all. Lives saved. It's a good thing. I don't believe anyone outside of a war zone needs an assault weapon. Because frankly, if you need more than 10 bullets to take someone down who's coming at you. You can't shoot worth shit and need to get your sorry ass to a shooting range and work on your aim. There I was with my little cursor on the unfriend button. Having quite the internal war with myself. Because while I support the NRA, I don't support the idiots running it. Kinda of like how I support and love my country. But not so much the idiots running it. I've often said the worst thing that ever happened to this country was when politician became a profession. That gave birth to lobbyists and nothing has been quite right around here since. But, I apparently couldn't have it both ways. So, I lost my friend. I talked to a couple of people about it. Which is big for me because I don't talk about my personal life much. Oh people know what I'm making for dinner, and when I'm running to pick up kids and when my husband is getting on my last nerve. But I don't talk about who I know, what I believe, or the really important things in my life. But this bothered me enough to mention it to a couple of people and a comment was made that someone was surprised because she would never have pegged me as an NRA member because I didn't fit the stereotype. That I found fascinating. First, that I was a "type" at all. Let's be frank here, I'm a middle aged housewife with 5 kids. I thought I was long past being anyone's "type" ;-) And second that stereotypes are still going strong in this country. Not that I wasn't aware that they do, I just never thought of them in reference to me. No matter how hard we try and ignore it and pretend it doesn't exist, humans tend to put each other in neat little categories based on what we think we know about them. It's been a a few days since I started writing this and I received a gift in the mail as a thank you from my friend for something I'd done before all this happened and mailed out before all this happened. I wasn't expecting it and it made me cry a bit. Because it was a very sweet thing to do for me and because I couldn't just jump on the computer and tell him how much I appreciated it. It is something I will treasure forever. It will remind me to do good things for others always, to treasure every friend I have because I never know when they are going to leave my life and to try my best always not to categorize people because in the end we truly don't know someones story. I can say now that while I am still sad about it all, I do hope maybe some day we will be friends again. Everyone deserves a second chance, everyone makes mistakes. Even us camo wearin' tobacco chewin' members of the NRA. In the mean time, I wish everyone the best life has to offer. Be good to each other and remember that golden rule we were all taught as children. It's worth remembering.

Where do we go from here? 9/11/12

On this, our last 9/11 on site, I am compelled to reflect back on the last 11 years. I have give the details as I remember them on that clear September morning. I have given my thoughts on the anniversaries past. And now, I look to the future. For the first time since the day we all lost so much, the future is blank. It’s a very odd feeling. You know my husband survived the terror of ground zero, he worked rescue and recovery, he took a brief time to work another job and then he began the task of building the Freedom Tower. That sounds so ordinary. When you look at the words on a page that give the happenings of our lives for 11 years, it looks very ordinary. It looks like we have lived the same run of the mill lives as everyone else. My how looks can be deceiving. Our lives both individually and as a family have revolved around that 16 acre sight for so long. At first, it was the task of merely surviving the day. It was the rising in the morning, remembering how to breath, remembering how to function, remembering to smile and make things appear all right. And trying not to remember the nightmares. And we’d get through the day, he’d go to work, and the children would go to school and I would do the mom thing and at the end of the day somehow we’d all made it through. The day was at an end. It was time to face the nightmares, so we could survive them too, then get up and do it all over again. The days ran together, an endless tunnel of survival. And survive we did. Thrived even. Then, it became about remembering and rebuilding. Honoring and respecting. It got easier, as things always do. And we got on with life, as people do. And now, 11 years later, we are here in this place. But as we got on with the task of living, it was always there. We lived and we grew and we moved on, but always a part of who we had become was that 16 acres. We have lived in spite of, in honor of and because of that 16 acres. I remember when we first took this job, we did so with trepidation, with a certain excitement, and yes, with sorrow. It’s been 5 years since we started down at Ground Zero. We started way down underground in what is referred to as the bath tub and now, she has reached the 104th floor. And yes, we call the tower she, and she is our girl. Although I must say, I’m glad it’s Tony giving birth to this one. As I look back over these years, I think of what we’ve done, who we’ve become and who we used to be. We were different then, we were happier then. We’ve asked a lot of our children, we’ve asked a lot of us. Tony went to work, had insane hours that no human should have to deal with, and I did everything else, living insane hours no human should have to deal with. This meant that the very dynamic of our family had to change. Oh I spent most of my time with the kids, but it wasn’t at games, or parks, or movies like it was before. Like it should have been. Everything we did, everything we were was about the job. But then, nothing in anyone’s life is as it should have been. This, the world we live in, the people we’ve all become, none of it is as it should have been. I don’t go down to the site any more. And I miss it. I miss sitting in the memorial park watching them work. I miss walking around that part of the city. I miss the sites and sounds and smells. It was my place to heal. I never did bring myself to go into the church across the street. And I don’t know if I will ever bring myself to go to the memorial. But that’s okay, ironically, in the end, that 16 acre site was my place of peace and will always be. I don’t need to see the mementos to remember. I have all that I need tucked safely in my heart and my soul. It’s getting close to the end of the job. We won’t be there much longer. And then we will be on to the next one, just like we did before. And for the first time since that day, the future is unknown. For so very long, our lives revolved around this gaping thing, almost like revolving around the eye of a storm. And now we will move on from this place, like so many have already done. And we will find our way. And we will be okay. And we will forever be grateful to have been chosen to help heal the scar. We will forever be humbled that we helped the nation heal. And we will forever remember. We will tell our children and our children’s children the tales of our lives and the lives of those around us. The people we knew, the people we admired, the people we tried to honor. We will to the best of our ability be sure that those who perished, those who worked rescue and recovery, those who rebuilt, and those who have chosen to step up and protect us all were not just names on a wall, or faces in the papers. They were people, with families. They were fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, husbands and wives. Children and cousins. They were loved, they were amazing, and their story matters. So, I guess the answer is we go forward from here. We get up from where the monsters knocked us to our knees. We hold our head up, we walk toward the sunrise. And we live, we remember, and we never ever let anyone sucker punch us again.

The day we live now, written in 2010 reflections of 9/11

Many people over the years have read my memories of 9/11 (if you haven’t and would like to, it’s under notes on my profile page titled “The Day I Remember 9/11”) Recently I have been doing a lot of thinking about the changes in our lives and ourselves since we have started this job so I thought it may be time to update my yearly post to reflect these changes. After surviving 9/11, Tony spent three months working at ground zero on rescue and recovery. His lungs were severely damaged and he was really, really sick for a long time. We live in a raised ranch house. He couldn’t make it up both sets of 7 stairs to get from the garage to the living room. He would have to stop and rest half way up. He still gets pneumonia several times a year. I spent those months watching him walk out the door and then pace the floors, praying he’d make it home. I made him call me every hour so I was sure he was okay. After those three months, he had to go back to work on the next building the company we worked for had starting. He was too sick to continue down there. While I was correct in my original letter, our lives will never been the same, we are beginning to heal. We can remember our friends lost that day with a smile instead of a stab of pain. Tony very rarely has nightmares that wake us both up, although I know he still has ones that wake him up occasionally. I don’t panic if he doesn’t call me every couple of hours or is too busy to answer the phone when I call him. His lungs have started to heal, although they obviously will never be completely right again. We don’t flinch anymore when we hear a plane flying low overhead. Although, truth be told we do look up to check. And our personal greatest testament to life going on is our 7 year old daughter Jessica. Three years ago Tony was offered a job. For the first time since our marriage, he felt the need to talk it over with me. Taking this job would open old wounds and take us to places we weren’t sure we were prepared to go. It would force us to go back there, both figuratively and literally. He called me one Friday asked me what I thought and if I would be willing to entertain the notion. I told him we’d discuss it over the weekend. I went out to run errands but of course, that was all I could think about. I was putting groceries in the back of the truck when I finally admitted to myself that I had to face the reality in front of me. As desperately as I didn’t want him to go, he needed to. So I called him back. When he answered to phone, the only thing I said was “Who the hell turns down the Freedom Tower? Call Terry and tell him you’ll take the damn job” Funny thing was he’d already called Terry. My husband is now one of the head foreman down there. A lot of the current crew lived the same nightmare we did down there and that is as it should be. We are every mindful of where we are and respectful of why we are there. The first few months of being on that site were very hard for me. Every time I got close to the gate I felt like I was going to vomit or have a stroke. I still have not been able to bring myself to go into the church across the street where the memorial is currently housed. It was hard on Tony too. Especially the first month or so while he was down there setting things up before the crew came in. His mind had time to wander and that has a tendency to mess with your head. Then we started to man the job and things got busy. Our entire lives revolve around the job and will for a long time to come. Sometimes it’s hard and always it’s stressful. But when I start to feel overwhelmed, I go down and sit in the little Memorial park across the plaza from the main entrance gate and watch the crane. What we once referred to as Ground Zero has become the Freedom Tower Site. We have slowly begun to turn our worst day into our greatest accomplishment. I’m proud of my husband and our crew. Through all the red tape and political posturing by those above us in this venture, we have begun to heal not only ourselves, but a nation. And the cowboy in me gets a certain satisfaction out of knowing we’re putting something right back up bigger, better and stronger. It is our very own “screw you, and the horse you rode in on”. It has been a long journey these past 9 years coming back from the mouth of hell. Those of us who lived through that day in Lower Manhattan, Pennsylvania, and D.C., have a mark on our soul that is unique to us alone, it makes us part of a survivors group like no other. We go about our daily lives once again, and don’t feel the need to talk about the day the towers fell very often anymore. We recognize each other along the way. We can see the pain that most people don’t. We see in another’s eyes what we see in the mirror and give a nod of understanding as we pass each other on the street. Our pain is still there but it is no longer a raw gaping hole, it has become a constant ache held inside and no longer the center of our lives. We are a resilient people. We dropped to our knees and stumbled back up to our feet. We are Americans, that’s what we do. But once a year, on the anniversary of 9/11, we bring our private pain out into the open once again to remind this nation and this world, to never ever forget. They are still out there, they are still planning and they are still coming. Remember always what happens when you let your guard down, remember always how it felt that day. As for me and mine, we will always remember and we will never forgive and we will never again get sucker punched by a coward. 

A LETTER TO THE AMERICAN SOLDIER FROM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN

I wanted to thank you, all of you. What you do there, and when you are here at home for that matter, is a big thing. Please don’t ever forget that there are those who know and understand that and are eternally grateful. I have 5 children I tuck in bed safely at night. I can put them to bed and know we will all wake up safely in the morning. I can send them to school and know they will come home. I can say goodbye to my husband every morning and not wonder if he will come home at night. I even have the right to have 5 children, which is not something every woman can say. All of this is because people like you who have chosen to wear a uniform. “They” have not, nor will they ever win. Not in the past, not now and not ever in the future. It is not because everyday people like us go to work and school and shopping. Not because, in an act of defiance of those who want to change us or our way of life, we bravely go on and forge ahead with our daily lives. It is because we know with absolute certainty that somewhere out there is you and others like you. We can only be “brave” because you make us safe. Because we know that even if sometimes bad things do happen, you are out there somewhere watching and protecting. If it were not for you we would not have the courage we do. It’s not hard to be brave when you know you are being protected by people who show us every day that a belief and a way of life, a code of honor and conduct, a clear definition of right and wrong is worth fighting to protect. You are out there and we are aware of your presence and we are grateful. Please, don’t any of you think that it goes unnoticed, that we are unaware. There is nothing we can ever say or do to thank you for what you all do, by choice. The sacrifices you and your families make are awe inspiring and humbling and I thank you. Take care and hurry home.

Happy Veterans Day to you all, Kris Collins in New York

This IS the way we live.

That was my aaahhhh hhhhaaaa moment this morning. We're refinancing the house. Stuff needs to get done around here so to the home equity we go. This of course requires an appraiser to come to the house and make sure it's worth what you told the bank it's worth. Not a problem, I need things fixed and if that means some stranger coming in and taking pictures of my house, so be it.
I've been out of the house since Friday. Today is the day the appraiser was coming. I got the children off to school and stopped to look around and see what needed a quick tidy before the woman got here. And then, I almost passed out. When did my house turn into such a wreck? We're doing the transition from Summer to Fall clothes. There are 7 people in this house. It takes a month to complete the task. I have piles of clothes everywhere! Cloths just out of the attic, clothes to go back in the attic, clothes to be donated and clothes to be trashed. Clothes to be folded, clothes to be washed and clothes to be ironed.
No one made their bed this morning, I have a sink full of pots and pans from three days of me not being here at dinner time. The breakfast dishes are in the sink, cases of empty beer bottles I just washed out last night from my latest donation. (My friends love me, I accept beer bottles as a donation for the breast cancer walk) and when was the last time I washed the kitchen floor properly? There's so much stuff we've thrown into the screen room until I get to it later you can't see the 8 person hot tub under the stuff. I never did get that load of garbage to the dump that's in the garage. The litter box needs cleaning. And the kicker, the creme da la creme, the top of the heap, my husband's back is out and I can't get him out of the bed. Not strong enough.
All of this went through my brain in 4.7 seconds. Now if you were smart enough to set up a nanny-cam in my house so you could watch the sheer panic and squirrel like behavior, your welcome for the entertainment. If not, let me describe it for you. I started down the stairs to tidy the garage, then thought I should put the dishes in water so ran back up the stairs. Then I decided to throw the clothes on the couch in one of the bedrooms, but then I decided I needed to do the litter box first. That's downstairs. Got to the bottom the steps, and remembered the water was running in the kitchen sink. I looked like a squirrel in in the middle of the road trying to decide where I was going to run to avoid the 3 ton vehicle headed at me.
There was a little man in my head screaming on a bullhorn holding a flashing neon sign saying you've got to clean it all NOW you don't want people to know you live like this. But wait, hold up a minute, we DO live like this. My house constantly looks like a hurricane went through it. I have 5 children who never clean their room the way I want it cleaned without a battle. I've got school papers, and clothes and fundraising things all over.
I've got happy, healthy, well fed, well adjusted, well mannered kids who like being home, and still like their parents. I'll get the clothes organized eventually. The breakfast dishes will be done before dinner,and the beer bottles will be going to the recycle center soon. She's appraising my house not my life.
So, I grabbed a cup of coffee, and waited. The woman came to appraise the house. I showed her around, literally threw a blanket over my husbands face and told her to ignore the guy in the bed. I'm pretty sure he was asleep under there and will never know. She was very gracious about the guy in the bed. She took pictures, asked questions and went on her merry way.
Just don't tell my mom I let someone see how we really live. I'm fairly certain she can reach 1,400 miles and pop me upside the head.
I need more coffee.......

39 miles, 2 days, 1 cause

Hello everyone,

Well, it’s official. I am just not a sane person. I am what is referred to as a “three-peat” I’m honored to captain The Sisterhood of the Traveling Ta-Ta’s again this year for the Avon walk for Breast Cancer. The team will be walking 39 miles in 2 days through New York on October 15th and 16th.

I had seriously considered not walking this year. I almost had myself talked into not doing it. There was a whole laundry list of reasons I had. In today’s economy, $1,800 is a lot to raise. It’s a lot of time away from my family. All the training involved. It’s a lot to ask of my family. It’s a lot to put my body through, 39 miles is no walk in the park, pun intended. All very valid and completely reasonable. I had myself convinced the more I used the term "a lot" the more valid they became.

But then I lost my Dad to cancer in early January. It turns out they’re right. When you loose someone you love to cancer, awareness lasts a lifetime. Loosing Dad served to renew my commitment to do what I can to bring an end to death from cancer.

I can’t do research, I can’t prescribe medicine, I can’t give treatments. But I can walk, I can raise money and I can raise awareness. I can ask you for your support. Together we can help save lives.

So far I’ve raised $1,075 dollars toward the $1,800 minimum I am required to raise in order to participate in the walk. That's only 25 days away.
So please, do what you can to help. My personal walk page is http://info.avonfoundation.org/goto/redspage

Any amount you can donate will be very gratefully appreciated. No amount is too small. $20 will provide a ride for an uninsured or under insured person to a lifesaving doctors or treatment appointment. $100 will provide a screening test they might otherwise forgo until it is too late.

And now I have an even bigger thing to ask of you. Please forward this blog to everyone you know. I know, forwarding a blog to all your friends that asks for money is not only a pain for you but really annoying for them. Well, this is me being an annoying pain. And if it gains $5 more for research, and community programs. Then I'm going to be the biggest most annoying person you've ever met.
Thank you so much for your help and support.

We will continue to walk until cancer is a word you look up in the dictionary, not one you check on a medical history form.

My Heroes

Well, here it is. 364 days we can live our lives around it. That part of us that stopped that day. But one day a year we are compelled to remember not just those who fell that day, but those we know and love, who through their bravery and compassion stayed beyond that day and are now dying a slow and painful way. My love and respect to the men and women who worked rescue and recovery. Who painstakingly removed the pile one bucket at a time. Who breathed the toxins for months. Who found a necklace, or a shoe and sat down and cried right then because they knew the person who owned it was gone, but it meant a family would have a physical memento.

And they went back day after day. Week after week. They did everything they could to find something, anything, to give to the families to provide whatever comfort and closure they possibly could.

They are the silent heroes. The ones no one knows about. The ones no one ever thinks about. The ones I know and love. They are the men and women who build this city. And have for generations. They are the ones who went and took away what had been destroyed with honor and respect.

And they are the ones who are also victims of 9/11. Who will die as a direct result of that day. But there will be no media coverage, no crowds and no bagpipes.

They will be quietly laid to rest with the hope that during those months after the attacks, they made a difference for the families of 9/11.

They are my heroes.

My annual reflection of 9/11~The Day I Remember~ originally written 9/05

I was sitting at the computer. Maybe I was on EBAY I don't know for sure. We had dial up then so it was rare to get a phone call when I was on the computer. Occasionally we'd get knocked off but not often. The fact that the phone rang that morning is miraculous.

We had caller ID so I knew who was calling. When I answered, I was smiling. You know that feeling you get when you know you're love is calling, just to say hello, and it makes you all giddy and warm inside. The feeling was gone in an instant. He was in such a panic. I thought at first one of the guys had been hurt. I kept thinking please God don't let it be one of our "boys" It's hard enough to be the bosses wife and be the one to call a woman and tell them their husband has been hurt, (we decided long ago he and I that it would be better if I did it. I have lived that particular nightmare, receiving that phone call that says he’s been hurt and he may not be coming home. I was better able to talk her through it and I'd be able to stay on the phone for as long as she needed me to. He on the other hand, could focus his attention on the man down.) I always fear the day that it will be someone I am attached to, one of our gang, our boys. They work side by side watching each others backs, always aware of what a dangerous job they have. They are a close group of men. Somewhere along the way I became the “den mother” to this rag~tag crew of amazing men. He was so panicked I thought for sure one of our boys had been killed.

Slowly he started to make sense and I began to understand what he was saying. Between telling him to calm down and to repeat himself I was beginning to see the picture. A plane had hit the tower. They had heard the roar of an incoming plane, turned, and watched it happen. Then I really got scared. It must be bad, he doesn't panic. He wouldn't be this upset unless it was really, really bad. Then it became a little clearer. Some of the men on the job were standing next to him and I heard them counting 16, 17, 18 on and on. I asked what they were doing. "Counting floors" he said. Why, I asked? “Because Eddy's son works in that building” he answered. The counting continued for what seemed like eternity. They ticked off the seconds as they counted off floors. The sound I heard from the phone was one of the most heart wrenching sounds I've ever heard. It was primal and guttural, full of anguish and anger and from the depths of Eddy’s soul. And I knew, he'd finished counting, and his son was dead.

"Come home" I said," I want you home." Tony said he'd already sent Joe to get the car out of the parking garage. He said "Things are going to be nuts around here and I'm sending the men home. This is one big mess and I don't know how the plane could have been that far off or what happened to the pilot, maybe he had a heart attack or something but I'm not staying here. Turn on the news and call me if you hear anything."

I immediately called my mom in Colorado and told her that Tony had called to say there had been an accident in the city and to please pray. It hadn't even hit the news yet. And we talked for a few minutes and hung up saying we'd call each other later.

Then the news finally started to broadcast it. I watched and wondered just how close Tony's job was to this. (In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t know just how close he was. He was only a block away.) Thinking how awful it was for those poor people in there.

Then, the second explosion rocked the world. I remember thinking this doesn't happen on American soil. I, like everyone else, knew with that second explosion that this was no accident. My mind went numb. I could not think, I could not speak, I don't remember walking across the room and sitting on the couch. But when my mind began once again to take in the world around me I was sitting there. The phone rang and I held it like a drowning woman who had suddenly been given a lifeline. When I put the phone to my ear I heard him repeating over and over, "oh my God honey they're jumping. They've got to stop jumping." I don’t think he will ever forget the sound that comes from a human body falling all those stories and impacting the concrete below.

I realized he was still on the site. My blood ran cold. It was taking Joe longer than I had thought to get the car. He was still there. He wasn't on his way home and safe. He told me they would do the best they could to get home but it may take a while. He’d call me as soon as he’d crossed the bridge and was out of Manhattan. (it turned out that he was one of the last cars across the bridge before they shut down all the bridges and tunnels. There was only about 3 or 4 cars behind him.)

The next little while was a series of phone calls with my mother and sisters. I kept trying to get in touch with my best friend but she and her husband had gone shopping and neither of them owned a cell phone. I remember thinking over and over Tam, call me, I need you. Hoping somehow she would hear me.

I tried to call Tony’s cell phone but never got through again. The lines were just so busy and by that time they had turned the phone waves over to emergency personnel. (Did you know that they can make cell phones only work for certain phones that have a chip in them identifying them as emergency personnel and such? Neither did I.)

As hard as I was trying not to panic I know I was beginning to loose it. I could feel my mind trying to take refuge in that dark place where you don’t have to think. TJ was in school and I was going about the routine of putting Maggie on the afternoon kindergarten bus. Kat was 3 and Rita a year. I think I fed them, got them dressed, went about a normal routine so they wouldn’t be scared. All the while trying to figure out how I was going to tell our children if their father didn’t come home.

I was on the phone with my mother and we began to wonder if there was any biological warfare on the plane. Running through the possibility that he may be bringing something home to the kids and I. I wondered if maybe, just to be safe, I should try to reach him again and tell him to stop at a hotel until we knew so as not to take the chance. We couldn’t take that kind of chance with the children. I told mom if I did end up renting a room, she was to start driving here. My kids would be with Tammy, I told her where my important papers were and some other things she needed to know. It took Mom a minute to understand what I was doing but when she did, she began to cry. If Tony couldn’t come home, I was going to him. If he had been infected with something, I wasn’t going to let him die alone. I was choosing to die with him rather than let him die alone. I remember thinking how I had time to make arrangements for my kids and all those people didn’t have that chance. How many of them didn’t have wills thinking they had time to do it later.

That was when my mom decided I needed to talk to my brother. He was the only one who could keep me together. And I’m sure mom thought he could talk some sense into me. He was ex-military and would be able to answer the question of the possibility of anything being on those planes that was released into the air. He and I are very close, if anyone could keep me from shattering it was him. Bless him, the poor guy was working nights at the Denver Mint and had only been asleep for about an hour. They woke him up and he called me. He reassured me that nothing could withstand that heat. We were talking about that and how surreal this was and he was keeping me calm about the fact that I hadn’t heard from Tony and I didn’t know if he made it out of the city.

I was folding laundry in my room but my back was to the TV and the sound was muted so the kids wouldn’t hear anything. My mind had returned to some semblance of normality and Jim and I had begun to chat about life and mundane things waiting for me to hear from Tony again. He wouldn’t let me off the phone until I heard something. He was waiting with me. From two thousand miles away, my brother was holding my hand. Suddenly, Jim very softly asked me if it was possible that Tony never made it off the site much less out of the city. I told him “yes because the last time I talked to him he was desperate to help people. If Joe couldn’t get the car out of the lot they may have decided to stay and go see what they could do to help until things calmed down enough to get out of the city.” He very gently said “honey you need to look at the TV “ I turned and looked. The sound was still down so I couldn’t hear anyone talking about what was happening. I knew something was very wrong but it didn’t register at first. Then it hit me, there was only one building. “Jim, where did it go?” “Honey it collapsed, it’s gone. Is there any way Tony was in that building?” “ He could have been, I don’t know. I don’t know where he is.”

I don’t remember the moments that followed. I know I was on the phone with Jim and he kept me talking. I have no idea what was said. I’ve never asked him. I do remember saying at one point that people say they knew when their spouse or loved one died. “I’d know Jim, if he was gone I’d know. I’ve loved him since I was 16, I don’t remember who I am without him. I’d know if he was gone” I held onto that thought with everything I had. I prayed with everything I was that it was true.

It was just over an hour later that Tony’s car pulled in the driveway. I told Jim it was okay, he was home. I told him I loved him and hung up. I ran down the stairs to meet Tony. I didn’t want to wait for him to come inside. I had to get to him. We met in the garage. I stepped into his arms and held him. Neither one of us said a word for a very long time. There was nothing to say, there were no words. I had seen in his eyes all I needed. It was there, the horror and pain. He had seen things that no one should. He had seen into the mouth of hell.

My time to be shaky was over. My brother had seen to it that I was settled and strong by the time Tony came home. He knew how to “talk me off the ledge” and had done it without me knowing. I wonder if he even knew what he had done for me. It was clear as glass to me, Tony would need me to hold him together more than I could ever have imagined. I took a proverbial deep breath and my crisis was over, I was going to be fine. I would cope and get on with life and be okay.

I set about the task of holding my husband together. The first words he said were “where are the kids? I want them out of the school.” I went and got TJ from school and we never put Maggie on the bus. He needed his children. He needed to touch and hold and hear them.

It was a long night. We talked a lot and cried a lot and watched the news. And somewhere in the wee hours I knew he was going back. I made him stay home the next day and rest and get his feet back under him. I needed one more day alone with him before we stepped back into hell. Then he went back….and our lives will never be the same.

The relay for life: Loach Le Leigheas

wow, am I behind in my blogging. The relay was a month ago. It was an interesting first experience. Through a series of events, it ended up just the kids and I. We thoroughly intended to stay the night and do the entire 24 hours, but things don't usually work out the way I'd planned them. Comes from having 5 kids I think. (yep, blaming it on the kids. That's what there here for)
I'd never done the relay before but since we lost Daddy in January to bladder cancer, I decided to gather the family and start a team in honor of my Dad. I've always said my Dad was the only Irish son of an Englishman ever born. He never did fit into his English family, but he sure did love Mom's Irish roots. So, Loacha Le Leigheas was born. (loosly translated it's Warriors for a Cure)

The kids and I got there at 7 am and set up camp. Since I was the only adult present, I had to stay at our tent to handle the fundraising and the kids did the walking. The day went alright, with the kids having a blast at all the other fundraising stations. (I spent a small fortune but it all went to cancer research so it's good) I remembered to sunscreen the kids well and often, me not so much. By 4 the front of my legs were so burned they felt like they were on fire. Then hubby stopped by on his way home from work and he wasn't doing well. He'd had surgery less that a week before I was fairly concerned about him so I decided I didn't want him home alone and we would pack up and go home.

So there I was, packing everything up, in pain and worried about hubby, feeling kinda sad because I had really wanted to be a part of the memorial lap and see all the luminaries that were lit and my Dad's photo that was going to be on the screen. I could hear them on the loud speaker talking about the lap and remembering our lost loved ones.
Just as I was feeling really depressed about the whole thing and thinking the whole endeavor had been a miserable failure, the most amazing thing happened. the Balloons we had tied to a weight by our tent came loose. They floated up about 50 feet and then were blown over the track. So there I was, all by myself standing in a field, watching the shamrock shaped balloons float over the track during the memorial lap.
And there it was, my tribute to my Dad.
I softly whispered "I love you Daddy" and then I packed up my children and went home, where we belonged.

Mama always told me to wear clean underwear.

Yep, since the dawning of time mothers have given such sage advice. Mothers live by the just in case rules of life. Now that I am a mother, I say the same things to my children. I tell them to wear clean underwear, always keep the house tidy, brush your teeth, stay together, and all the other pearls of wisdom passed down by mothers everywhere. When asked why, and children always feel the need to know why, about everything, I give the age old response, just in case.
As it turns out just in case does not have a shelf life. Just in case can bite you in the tush any time at any age. Like when the town stops by and needs to see where your water intake pipe is. And it's in the garage. Which in itself is not a problem. Two very nice men were standing in my garage talking to me about survey questions and taking pictures of my pipes. I suddenly noticed they were trying to keep very odd looks off their faces. Okay, I admit, I had a moment of panic. I had just let two total strangers into my house and I was standing alone in my closed garage with them. And what's worse I had locked the dogs in their crates. I was never so grateful that I always have my cell phone in my pocket in my life.
I tried to very nonchalantly look over my shoulder and gauge the distance between myself and the door. And that's when "just in case" hit me right between the eyes. I had failed to remember to keep the garage tidy. I got lazy and procrastinated and didn't get to the bottle return as soon as I should have and I still need to put a second coat of paint on the bottle tops we're making magnets out of.
I can only imagine what those men thought of the 15 or so cases of Budweiser bottles I've collected from people and the 600 bottle tops on the newspaper on the floor. I couldn't have stored the 9 garbage bags of soda cans in the garage where they could see them. Nope, they're on the back deck where they don't need to go. I wil be smiling to myself for a long time at what the town water department will most likely be saying about that red-head who had all those beer bottle in her garage.
I will also, from now on, be faithfully returning the bottles on a weekly basis, just in case.

Give the kid his own name

That is my sage advice for anyone who is having a son. I made the mistake of allowing my husband to name our son after him. Which in itself is bad enough but my husband was himself named after his father. Who was named after his father. Yea, add 'em up and the poor kid actually has IV in his name.
I had no idea when I allowed this to happen that I would spend the rest of my life, or for however long they are both alive whichever comes first,asking which one every time someone calls the house and requests to speak to one of the two males in the house and correcting constant mistakes made by people. The latest of which was the bank teller accidentally deposited our refund check in his account. It gets confusing I guess when I'm joint on both accounts but that is just one of the millions of things I've had to correct since we filled out that darn birth certificate.
I understand that in days gone by it was the practice to give the oldest male child the same name and just tack on a number at the end because they had lands, estates and titles to keep in the family. And while, according to my paternal Grandfather, I do hold an English title. I really don't think an acre and a 3 bedroom raised ranch qualifies as lands and estates to leave behind.
So save yourself the endless hassle and give the kid his own name for pity sake. Life is hard enough as it is.....

So, if I write it, you have to listen right?

Well, isn't that special? Oh great now I have the voice of "church lady" from SNL in my head. And before you ask, yes I do frequently hear voices in my head. I like the voices, they keep me company.
I've been reading some blogs from a couple of friends and have been highly entertained by them. Of which, one is about frogs and one is the life of a sloth. I have some very interesting friends.
I have decided that I too can be somewhat entertaining when I put my mind to it, no, you don't get an opinion here, and want to try my hand at this blogging thing.
So, this is me blogging. I will periodically blog about whatever pops into my head, voices and all, for your entertainment.
And trust me, with 5 kids, 2 dogs, 2 cats and a husband I swear is the reincarnation of general Patton my life is definitely entertaining. Especially when you get to sit on the sidelines and watch rather than actually be the one to figure out how to get the teacher to believe the dog really did eat her homework.