Day One Hundred: Want Versus Need

I started my One Hundred Days Of Norma with this photo. 

On this last day of my One Hundred Days of Norma, I would like to discuss a topic that caused a minor marital Mexican standoff.


I recently had a conversation with my sensible husband regarding something I really wanted. I won't mention the object of my desire, but let's just say that it's bigger than a pair of diamond earrings but smaller than a German sports car. Being fairly agile in the area of mental gymnastics, I thought I proved that what I wanted was something that I needed.

But my logic was skewed. Instead of displaying sharp reasoning skills, I had a Daffy Duck moment a la "Fool Coverage," producing a stampede of wild elephants--and one baby zebra-- during a hailstorm between 3:55 and 4:00 PM on the Fourth of July, just to say that I do, indeed, need this thing rather than simply want it. I should have just argued that wanting something should be reason enough to have it, and that's that.

Of course, we don't always get what we want, which means, no, I am not getting my coveted thing. Well, not now, anyway. (If you are reading this, Dave: I have no intention of letting up!)

Want versus need. It's something we always encounter in life.

When I began writing/venting after my Mom passed away, I needed to get past the grief and get on with my life. But as time went on, I realized that this need was an impossible one, that the grief never completely goes away. The hole she left will never fill up, no matter what I put in it. And I've heard it from many of my friends who have lost a loved one: you never forget or stop missing them. The hurt becomes a familiar face and you welcome it into your life. You greet it whenever it stops by for a visit, and you wave goodbye when it leaves knowing it will come back again.

So now I'm learning to want rather than need. I want to remember my Mom and all the ways she shaped and touched my life. I want to remember her kooky laugh, her silly mannerisms, the way she would tell me things with a sideways glance or slight frown, or the sounds she would make when words failed her.

I want to remember the last conversation we had and how we had the foresight of telling each other "I love you." I want to remember the way she felt when I last hugged her, and the way she smelled when I last kissed her. I want to hold on to every last memory of her as best I can and move forward.

I've reached the end of my One Hundred Days of Norma, but I'm not finished yet. I still want--I'll forever want--to share a good story about my Mom. But now I will take my time and get there when I'm ready.

This is the finish line for this self-assigned period. The next one has no ending.

Day Ninety Nine: The Finished Map and Stop Your Sobbing

Well, it's done.
I changed it from the land of "my" youth to the land of "our" youth. I've shared this journey with so many people that it seemed fitting to include them somehow. I know it's only a possessive adjective, but can you feel the love?

Ann Martin, Tamdoll, and my English twin Helen (aka icklebabe): you have been especially supportive and helpful these past 99 days. One more day is left in my 100 days, but I'm sure our friendships via our blogs will continue past tomorrow.

So I dedicate this last song on my "mixed tape" to you three lovely women. I will stop my sobbing! (I'm laughing as I write this...hope you are, too.)

The Pretenders/Stop Your Sobbing

Day Ninety Eight: Norma Fabian, Chronic Shopper

This was the last bag that my Mom ever gave me--which is not to say that I didn't recently procure a "Mom" bag.


Back in July, I sorta "borrowed" the orange bag below:

It's a typical Mom bag because it was a freebie that came with a Lancome makeup purchase. And my Mom was a chronic shopper, her favorite store being Macy's. If I close my eyes, I can see her perusing the makeup counters just for the freebies. Oh, Mom...

She was fond of giving me bags, which I can't seem to have enough of. These are just a few that somehow found their way into my closet over the years:

Some were bags she found during her many vacations to the Philippines. The others were either gifts that she didn't want or things that she bought for no one in particular. (She did that often, buying things for the sake of a great deal or just because it was, as she put it, simply "too cute.")

I used to feel guilty about taking her bags, but then I realized that she also collected watches, hats, bracelets, and all kinds of accessories and clothing. What exactly was she doing with all of those little items? She was giving them to my sisters, of course. Or her grandchildren. Or her siblings. Or her friends. Or...It was endless.

That was my Mom. Retail therapy always made her happy.

Day Ninety Seven: The Land of My Youth

The map that inspired me.

I haven't encountered a map that I didn't want to own. The Rand McNally map of Brooklyn, a foldable and laminated map that I keep as a reminder of where I came from and want to eventually return to, is my prized possession. I heart this map.

Oh, Brooklyn. How I love you.


My cork map of Brooklyn, aka the Land of My Youth, is nearly complete, but I'm in need of a table saw. Can anyone help me out with a table saw? Anyone? Anyone?

It needs some color and I've made word stencils to paint over sections. What do you think: red, yellow? Maybe orange? Is gold too gaudy?

At least I'm done with the sewing bit. That was a pain in the posterior.

Here is my painting so far:

I re-used the stencils that I made for the cork map. Don't know where this one is going. But it should be interesting. I can't draw to save my life, but I can cut very intricate stencils with a craft knife. If anyone has a bright idea that uses my blade skills, I'd love to hear from you.

Many of you might be wondering how all of this map business relate to my Mom. It seems a little...odd? But consider this: the need to recapture the land of my youth is part of the whole grieving process and I don't think this particular cork map would exist otherwise. She suffuses every line, curved or straight. The idea of my Mom has become a map of memories that I'm still trying to render with my hands rather than words.

Over the past three months, very wise and experienced friends have suggested keeping a journal with all my memories of my Mom. I have three such journals sitting on my shelf, still blank and a little dusty.

I'm not there yet. I'm still making maps. Maybe when my 100 days are over, those journals will start filling up.

Day Ninety Six: Sundays

My lil peanut playing flag football.

A typical Sunday in the Morgan household revolves around sports.

If we're not rushing from one kid's game to another, then we're buying gear for upcoming events.

Trading in used equipment.

Sometimes it makes me crazy because I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of our car, watching the world go by.

Yep, that's me.

I don't think we've ever just kicked back and did absolutely nothing on Sundays. But that actually sounds a little boring to me. 

It's all about rituals and expectations. These are what Sundays are like for us, what they've been for the past 4 or 5 years. In the beginning, I found them exhausting and wished for days that did not include racing around town to fit everything on our schedule. Sometimes, to make life a little more interesting, a birthday party or family dinner was thrown into the mix. And I had to prepare wardrobes for everyone--occasionally, Dave included--ahead of time so we could jump out and then into the appropriate clothing. 

To use (how appropo,  I know) a sports metaphor, life has thrown me a couple of curve balls this summer, and my sense of what is normal has been sadistically skewed. I've questioned the meaning of family for months now.

This evening I made a chocolate cake for dessert.

This is what Sunday is all about. The chocolate cake at the end of the day. We run around like maniacs, hoping for a sweet reward when all is said and done. 

I've made this cake a thousands times before, and I'll gladly make it  a thousand times again, if it means enjoying our Sunday rituals together.

Day Ninety Five: Her Hats

My Mom had quite the hat collection.

I really don't like to wear hats, but I am hoping that one day I'll wake up and discover my hat-wearing gene has gone dominant on me.  I have four of my Mom's hats: the one above and the three below.

The main reason why I don't wear hats is because I think my head is misshapen, though my husband says I'm crazy. Honestly, he says that about a lot of things that I say, so I mostly ignore his grand conclusions of my premature dementia.

Well, I know for certain that my skull is quite flat in the back, which makes ponytail- and headband-wearing almost impossible. But I suspect my left side is not as rounded as my right side. The only way I can verify this is to make a plaster cast of my skull and that would require shaving off my hair. Which I won't do. Because that's crazy!

Back to my Mom's hats. She wore a hat every day for many reasons, one being her short, thin hair. But her hat collection was part of the accessories she amassed once she retired: scarves, necklaces, watches, and unnecessary bling. It made her happy to have a closet full of pretty things because most of her life she didn't have much. And, boy, did my Mom deserve it!

I'm hoping one day I can wear these hats with big Jackie O. sunglasses and a silk scarf around my neck. But I don't feel sophisticated to pull off that look. So for the time being, I'll play dress up with my daughter and we'll use them to accessorize our chic outfits.

Maybe one day I'll grow up and feel like I deserve to wear them, misshapen head and all.

Day Ninety Four: Daughter

Beginning to look like something.

I admit that it doesn't look like I've done too much with this whole cork map project. But did I mention that I'm simultaneously working on a painting that uses the same stencils that I've made for this thing?
I'm trying to get two projects made for the price of one. Call me frugal.

Okay, this is day 94 and I'm finally going to share a song on my mixed tape that I have a LOT of issues with. It's Pearl Jam's "Daughter."

Back in my roaring twenties, I held my Mom accountable for some stuff that really hurt me. Yes, I was angry. Very, very angry. Being a selfish young woman, I couldn't deal with her and her platitudes about forgiveness. I went through therapy only to learn the language of psycho-babble which resulted in me becoming--if it were possible--even more self-centered.

My anthem during my time of "I hate you and everything you didn't do for me" stage? Pearl Jam's "Daughter," of course.

I'm a mom now and I know that there will be a time in Masana's life when all she can focus on are the instances of  disappointment rather than the moments when I was her biggest cheerleader. That's life, that's motherhood. Most importantly, that's hindsight. I'm sure when we reach that point, I'll just have to suffer through it knowing that it will eventually end. Because I'm doing my best to put Masana above all the other people that shouldn't come before her. I know in my heart that I will never consciously let her down.

And I know that my Mom really did try her best with me. Our house and the (many) people in it were not the easiest bunch of characters to deal with. I just wish that I could tell her that all is forgiven. And that I'm sorry for being so hard on her.

Pride is a stupid thing when it gets in the way of loving someone.

Pearl Jam/Daughter (live SNL rehearsal)

Day Ninety Three: Her Necklace

I'm going to use the remaining days (of my 100 days) to talk about some of my Mom's things.
My Mom wore the black plastic bead necklace above, a little something pretty to dress up an otherwise plain outfit. I was told that she wore it often while on her last vacation to the Philippines, which she returned from just days before she passed away in June of this year. If I hold it up to my nose, I can still smell her--or maybe I was able to a few months ago and now it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. I found this necklace among the items returned to us by the hospital after she passed away, and I took it without thinking if anyone else wanted it. My immediate need to have something of hers was irrational and a little selfish, but I couldn't help myself.

After the funeral, I've worn her necklace every day either around my neck or wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet. If it's on my wrist, it jiggles a lot. Between typing and working with whatever tools are in my hands, I hear the happy clacking of the plastic beads and it makes me smile.

I love this necklace and consider myself lucky to have such a silly yet precious piece of jewelry from my Mom. It suits me. It's also a part of my Mom's personality that I really appreciated: the fun, stylish, and unpretentious side. And when I'm going about my daily business, it's a reminder that she is still with me.

Day Ninety Two: Smashed Chocolate Chip Cookies

When in doubt, make cookies.
That broad statement can apply to so many situations.

Don't know how to cheer the kids up? Make cookies.
Need to make up with your spouse? Make cookies.
Want to impress a suitor? Make cookies.
Getting your period? Make cookies.
Lost a pet? Makes cookies.
Got up this morning feeling aimless? Make cookies.

And what is the perfect cookie for any/all of these occasions? The chocolate chip cookie. I happen to make a rockin' smashed chocolate chip cookie, and lucky for you that I feel like sharing.

Ingredients:

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 1/2 cups all purpose flour

2 sticks of butter
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 cup (packed) brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
1 pound bar of dark chocolate (I use Trader Joe's--what else, right?--1 pound bar of 72% dark chocolate)

Mix dry ingredients (salt, baking soda, flour) in a separate bowl and set aside. Place chocolate in sealable gallon plastic bag and smash into small pieces with a mallet. Set aside. Cream butter and sugars together in a large mixing bowl. Add vanilla extract and eggs one at a time. Stir in dry mixture one cup at a time. Mix cookie dough until it's a little fluffy, then gently stir in smashed chocolate chips.

IMPORTANT STEP: cover bowl with plastic wrap and place in refrigerator for at least 24 hours before making.

Once you are ready to bake, take out dough from the fridge at least an hour beforehand. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spoon dough into 1 1/2 inch round circles onto an ungreased cookie sheet, about 1 inch apart. Bake in oven for 10 minutes or until golden.

Yields about 48 cookies.

Oh, and you're welcome!

Day Ninety One: Looking Like Something

Wha??

Well? Does it look like something yet?


This map is the land of my youth, the part of Brooklyn that I grew up in. I know that many of you were wondering where I was going with this...this...THING. It's weird. It's unconventional. It's a goddamn map made of cork. But it means a lot to me for many reasons.

For one thing, nostalgia is a happy place. I don't think anyone can argue with this. Even if you can realistically recall some bad moments in your history, the overall effect of perusing the yellowed photographs of yesteryear is that the past is a golden era. We bask in the warmth of the colors even if they bleed a little.

Another reason why I am hellbent on getting this thing done is closure. I need to feel like I did something with my time other than piss my family off.

The end of my 100 days will be met with a sigh of relief. But I will also feel a little lost, I think. I'm going to try to not write about sadness and grief for the next 100 days, and focus on happy memories of my Mom. And my crafting and cooking, of course.

Well, let's just get through the next 9 days and see what happens with my cork map. One step at a time.

Day Ninety: The Bridge

Yesterday my daughter Masana had her "bridge" ceremony for the junior girl scouts.

For an event that she initially didn't want to attend, Masana was all smiles. In fact, she was beaming.

Ever since she was a toddler, Masana has always hovered on the periphery with hungry eyes. But whenever asked if she wanted to join in, her guard would go up and she acted aloof. Of course, this would frustrate me because I knew the truth: she's just painfully shy.

When she was 4 years old, she met a girl who was twice her size and four times her personality. She was Masana's first real friend, and they are still very close. I credit this not-so-little dynamo with helping my daughter cross her first bridge and giving her the confidence to make other friends. And when Masana was figuring out who she wanted to invite to her 9th birthday party, this particular friend was the first on her list. Masana crossed another bridge; she learned what it meant to be a loyal friend.

Bridges are everywhere in life, and watching my daughter last night cross this silly wooden one brought a tear to my eye. But not for the reasons that every other mother might have had in that room. Masana  didn't shrink under the weight of everyone's gaze or the clapping and whistling that filled the room. She learned to take pride in her accomplishment.

Masana may be a little suspicious of strangers, which I take comfort in. But is she still shy? Nah. After seeing her on that bridge, I am confident that she has completely outgrown that word.

Day Eight Nine: Clown School

It's been a hectic weekend.



But instead of feeling accomplished with all the "stuff" that we did, I am left feeling a little cheated. Where did the time go?

My kids have social and sports-related obligations that supersede everything else, which sometimes include sleep (my sleep, not theirs--I'm not that neglectful). So my projects that were progressing nicely during the week came to an abrupt halt early Saturday morning. And Dave and I became chaperones and chauffeurs for their various appointments. Football. Girl Scouts. Play dates. Birthday parties.

There is never enough time to do everything. Whenever the weekend sneaks up on us, I am ever hopeful that one of my kids will turn around and say, "You know what? I really don't want to go to ___'s birthday party. Can I just hang out with you, Mom?" But it never happens.

This morning over eggs and and orange juice, my son Mack asked me what college I went to. I jokingly replied, "Clown School."

Because that's what it takes to be a parent these days, to be a master juggler and all around clown, happy on the outside and a little sad right beneath the surface.

Day Eighty Eight: Make You Feel My Love

In my search for a proper night time tea, I found this box of decaf green tea.
Back in February, I stocked up on this particular tea for my Mom and Dad. Well, more for my Mom. I knew that she liked this stuff and found it one day while perusing the aisles of a local Christmas Tree Shop with my friend Barbara (whom I affectionately call B-Rock, but for reasons I don't care to reveal). For those unfamiliar with the Christmas Tree Shop stores: 1. no, they do not sell Christmas trees or related items all year long, and 2. it's a discount store, in fact one of the best 99 cent stores you can ever imagine.

So when I came across this box of tea in my cabinet, I momentarily lost my composure. Silly to be so affected by a box of tea. But I was blessed with good timing, being alone and in the kitchen. The sadness lasted a few minutes and then I moved on. Two months ago, I would have been on the floor and in the fetal position. It helps to be a little further along in the whole grieving process.

But what helped me most of all was this song by Adele. Yes, it's another romantic unrequited love song, but there's a line about making you feel her love:

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on you case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

My Mom may not be able to tell me in so many words that she loves me, but I know that, wherever she is, her love still exists. Thinking about this song helped me realize love that strong doesn't simply vanish. It gets passed on. It's something that she gave me, and I now have it for my own daughter.

Last night Masana had a nightmare and came up to our room to talk about it. After laying in our bed for two hours, she went back to her room and finally fell asleep. When she woke up (a little late for school, but that's okay), I made her pancakes and gave her lots of hugs.

If my Mom didn't love me as much as she did when she was alive, I don't think that I could be the kind of mother that I am today. And that's how I know that her love for me still exists. That's how I feel her love.


Adele/Make You Feel My Love

Day Eighty Seven: Play

My son had a friend over this afternoon, and we were presented with the opportunity to play with our food.



Marshmellows? Check.
Pretzel sticks? Check.
Grapes to raise the good nutrition quotient? Check.
Mango lemonade to wash it all down? Check.
Three kids that wanted to make something with their snack foods? Check, check, and check.

While they made buildings and other "structures," I also played, but not with food. I made a tiger print on a brown bag:

The black stripes are acrylic paint on brown paper bags.

Now I'm presented with the question "now what?" As in "now what the heck do I make with this thing?" Of course, a brown bag tote is my first instinct. But I'd like to think that I was more than a one trick pony, though. Oh, decisions, decisions.

As for my little cork map project, I've discovered that my sewing machine Kenmore is more than capable of sewing on cork tile. This makes my fingers very, very happy. The last time I made a cork map, I embroidered everything by hand. Let's just say my iron thimble got a lot of use.

Let's hear it for Kenmore! Yay!

Slowly coming together. You'll see...

I love being around kids and being influenced by their sense of play. It reminds me that whatever I do should always be fun and never a chore.

Day Eighty Six: Taking A Step Back

Ever since I gave myself the arduous (and cathartic) task of blogging for 100 continuous days about my Mom's death and my grieving process, I've become tied to my computer.
I've written and re-written sentences that last two seconds on the screen. I've gotten up at 3 am to review comments on my blog while sitting on the bathroom floor. I've surfed youtube.com for music playlists while making dinner in the kitchen. I've shut the door to my work room and ignored pleas for snacks and play time from my kids just so I could contemplate a recipe or a craft that I had just finished. I've slept with my computer next to me on the nights Dave has been away, only to wake up every few hours to write.

Needless to say, Dave has had enough.

He towered over me last night as I hunched over my laptop, ready to upload yet another photo from my digital camera. When I sensed his presence, I looked up and saw his face. "Not happy" would be an understatement. He was disappointed, a little angry, and, above all, sad. Yes, sad. And this man is NEVER sad. So I did what any other sane person would do: I shut my computer off and followed him into the next room.

For a few hours, I was back home circa May of this year, before all the craziness ensued. We assumed our usual spots on the couch, sat on opposite sides but with our legs tangled in the middle, drank some hot tea, and talked--well, more like I listened, which I really haven't done in months. Dave talked about his work and I followed as best I could (bank stuff goes over my head, wouldn't you know). I let him make me laugh like he used to, silly inside jokes and all. We gossiped about our kids and what's going on in their lives, planning out sports and other activities for them. We discussed vacations and holidays, visits to his family in North Carolina. After I drained a second cup of tea, exhaustion came over me like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Night, night.

I slept last night for almost 8 hours, the most sleep I've gotten in a long, long time.

It's good to take a step back. Thanks, Dave.

Day Eighty Five: Progress

Yo, Brooklyn!

Still feeling crappy today, but made some progress on my little map project.

Here is where the cork tile comes in.
I cut out sections of the map out of cork tile according to major streets outlined in red.

The parts are then reassembled on the original map
which I spray-mounted onto a piece of 1/8-inch piece of plywood.

I'll continue to hash this thing out tomorrow. Stay tuned...

Day Eighty Four: Trouble

Working on my latest map project.

I'm feeling a little under the weather.
So instead of starting on a new project, I've been tinkering with an old map project that I will hopefully finish before my kids graduate from high school. (Yeah, that's like, in 8 years.)

You can't tell from the picture, but there's cork tile and sewing involved---which might be why I haven't finished. Or really started. I am still working on the map stencil, line by freakin' line...

I listened to a lot of Ray LaMontagne this afternoon, a man who always sounds like he's in pain. Kinda like Joe Cocker, but in a good way, if that's possible. This song "Trouble" is one of my favorites, so add it to my Mixed Tape.


Ray LaMontagne/Trouble

Day Eighty Three: Maker Faire NYC Part Two

ArcAttack !

Okay, I'm completely exhausted from my two days of exploring Maker Faire. So I'll simply share a few more photos and give my full report tomorrow. Cheers!

Can you see the guy wearing the metal clothes and playing with a little lightning?

He makes music, too. Yeah, he's pretty cool.

This little ride is called Jet Ponies. The two brave people being hurled in a mighty centrifuge
have sound reduction ear muffs on. This thing is LOUD!

360 degree swing. Yesterday, two guys were on this while sipping from cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
They must have read the sign that said "Safety Third."

Day Eight Two: Maker Faire NYC Part One

This pic is kinda grey and dreary. The day started off with a bit of overcast.

Today was the first day of Maker Faire NYC at the New York Hall of Science .


My friend and I took our lovely daughters along for the ride. Here are some pictures of our day:

Yes, you read the sign correctly. It's a Life Size Mousetrap.

Oh, my...

This was sorta scary and intimidating. But then...

Hmm. More bark than bite. And it was really fun!

Yes, you can fly a remote control plane.

Aforementioned plane.

Flight instructor. I liked his jumpsuit and my friend liked his hipster shades. 

A couple of things that caught my attention:

Dan Tesene 's collection of objects made of high density gypsum composite, silicone, beeswax, plaster, urethane, and plastic/rubber. His work can be seen at Devotion Gallery in Brooklyn (54 Maujer Street, Brooklyn, NY, 11206).

Dan is best known for his labor intensive drawings and intricate sculptures that "transform mundane patterns and information into conceptually rich images." I absolutely love his work, so go check it out if you can.

Adam Matta and his bicycle wheel scratching machine. Adam is a human beat box performer that completely hypnotized my daughter and her friend. And he was a really nice guy. Thanks, Adam.

Did I mention that there was a chariot race? Yep. Here are two gold-clad charioteers.

My daughter and her friend had a terrific day.

BFF!

My friend and I also had a great time. And we got a little hipster chic with our temporary tattoos. 

Until tomorrow...