Margot is the quiet sentry of our lives.
Bonjour Margot Poisson,
I wrote much of this back in January when our lives were intact. You were still here, as was Fenway. We were settled in our little rental house and adjusting to the quasi-southern lifestyle. We three creatures had a rhythm all our own, bobbing and weaving about each other’s days. Now it’s just me from the original trio, and our new boy Miles. You tolerated Miles with much grace, putting the little nipper firmly in his place when he ignored your warning hiss. He learned quickly to bow to your authority—and claws.
You rebounded well with the move to our new house. On our car ride over to Beaverbank Circle, you looked with curiosity out of your crate, uncharacteristically quiet. I think you sensed this was to be your final home and were excited in your own cool cat way. You claimed the downstairs bedroom as your own, safely gated away from the new puppy. Gazing from your perch on the corner of the bed, and often the floor just beyond his reach from the other side of the gate, you teased him mercilessly as he whined to get in and play. You simply squinted with delight at your cleverness as you sat comfortably with your legs tucked under while Miles pawed the opening. Read the rest of this entry
Today at 8:46 a.m. with thousands of other people, I stopped to offer prayers to the victims of the 9/11 terrorist bombing at the World Trade Center. 8:46 was the moment when the plane hit the first tower.
I played “Amazing Grace” on my iPad as my prayer to the victims, families, friends and coworkers. And for myself. I didn’t have grace that moment or the next ones on that September morning because I was too consumed by my job. When my graphic designer came into my office, ashen and unnerved to say a plane had just struck the tower, I barely paused from my email review. I made some trite remark that I cannot remember. Probably something like, huh, that’s awful. Then I told him I had to finish the email I was working on. I do remember the stunned look on his face as he took his 6’4″ frame through the door back to his office. Read the rest of this entry
Happy Birthday Sweet Sons!
Adam (l) & Alex (r)
Today you are 27—hardly seems possible that this much time has passed for you wombmates! I remember the night after you were born looking out from my hospital room, snuggling you up close as I looked over the city lights, baby in each arm. Who would you become? What things would you love in life? What are your special gifts? Would you be close as brothers?
The room was quiet and you were both snoozing, perfect contentment, baby A and baby B—Adam and Alex. I didn’t know then that you would become these incredible men who bring love, joy and light to those in your circle. Although it was my hope and wish you would.
Adam, you came into the world first. That’s your path in Read the rest of this entry
It is the sixth day since you crossed the rainbow bridge. It never occurred to me you would go on this adventure so soon. I imagined us growing into senior years together. Your slick, incredibly shiny black coat would slowly show the gray hairs of time’s passage. I inspected you often scouting for the changes. Only three hairs on the spot above your left brow. There was one, and then this past year two more arrived. You were barely five. I would have continued bragging rights to your youthfulness. Most people assumed you were a puppy because of your prance and curiosity.
Our peaceful spot.
You and me buddy. Bonded in a way as no other dog has ever touched my heart. Girl was special, as was Rosie. And long ago my Smudge. Yet you, and only you knew my soul. No matter what I was going through in life, you always stood by me. Your brown eyes filling me so deeply with your love. You heard my less than charitable rants over what I thought were important at the time. You patiently listened, head cocked just so, deciphering the words you knew from our time together. Your body wags to let me know, Read the rest of this entry
“Mirror Mirror on the wall, I’m my mother after all.”
Mom helping me dress wedding day 1982
It happened just the other day when I went into the downstairs bath to get a tissue. I looked into the mirror as is my habit and I saw her. My mother staring back at me. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen traces of her in my smile or my jowls. Yet this time her entire face was looking at me through my eyes.
At 56, I look like my memory’s version of my mother at the same age. You know, the one that shows up in the reflection during the unguarded moments when you’re thinking you really should skip the afternoon Starbucks run and get back to your writing. When my mother was 56, I was 24. Younger than my own sons now.
I was cocksure I knew what the world had in store for me Read the rest of this entry
What if I change course to pursue a lifestyle of fun, learning and writing?
Since moving to Baltimore last fall, I spent time just being, what I always craved when I had communications jobs where I had prestige yet no time to simply be. I’d be lying if I said these have been carefree months of lollygagging and leisure. The hamster wheel of “what am I going to do to earn my keep” spins relentlessly… Read the rest of this entry
Mark D’Agostino, my T, is a man who loves simple joys— family, friends, his bicycle, naps, Red Sox, an icy craft beer and church chicken barbecues. He isn’t a fancy guy, preferring jeans and sneakers to a spiffy suit and wing tips. And he definitely doesn’t like hoopla around him, especially for his birthday. Consider this the un-birthday post,T darling.
Enjoying the ride!
One of the best things about T is how he views life: don’t get worked up about things you can’t control—economy, terrorism, global warming. Do try to live lightly and find as much joy as you can, by taking care of the people around you, and giving your all to the task right in front of you.
By T’s example, we who share his last name have learned to avoid “piling”—reciting the litany of woes and things we don’t think are working out the way we want: work, life, money, people. His sage advice is to appreciate and focus on the things that are working : a sunny day, Read the rest of this entry
Come live me and be my love, the best is yet to be.
Thirty years ago today I married the love of my life, Mark Anthony D’Agostino. He is my sun , moon & stars; string to my kite; my Tony—my other.
T&V wedding day, August 21, 1982
I remember distinctly the moment I knew with absolute certainty that T was it for me—my soul mate. We had been dating for about a month, although we had been friends for many months before that. I was sitting on his stoop with my friend Kathy from work, on a hot August early evening, watching T wash his battered but beloved VW bug. He was so handsome and I was head over heels, beyond the moon in love.
“Kathy, I’m going to marry that guy.”
“How do you know that?” she replied.
“I just know. Every bit of me loves him. It’s something in my heart that tells me this man is the prince I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl.”
And so it is that my own fairy tale has come true. You just have to trust your instincts when your heart speak to you. I knew then that my life with T, though I couldn’t see the road ahead, would always be one filled with love, respect, fun, caring, adventure. I also knew that this man Read the rest of this entry
“My father didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”
—Clarence Budington Kelland
T is the Pied Piper of our family. From the moment the boys were born, he had a vision for teaching them the joys and adventure to be found in life. Sometimes the adventure was found in our own backyard. Chubby toddlers chasing fireflies in the summer dark, trying to capture their magic. Guarding snow castles from dragons coming to capture their most beautiful queen Mommy. To jump in the center of a pile of autumn leaves, where there just might be a Daddy waiting to scoop you up in his loving arms. Read the rest of this entry
“Mommy loves the breeze on her knees. And sweet peas. I love Mommy.” –Adam, circa 1993
Little Momma 1963
I always knew I wanted to be a mom. Every Christmas Santa would bring me a new baby that I would love up every day with walks, diapers, bottles, naps, playtime, baths. I would dress my babies from my mother’s stash of our old baby clothes. Mom nurtured this passion in me—she knitted me baby blankets, brought home preemie diapers for my babies from her work; she was a nurse on the labor & delivery ward at Hepburn Hospital for ions. Many a lucky baby was born under her loving care. Mom LOVED babies, and I got this gene from her.
As I grew up, I continued to dream of my own real life family. Tops on my list in a husband was a man who valued children. One who would eagerly love the joys of raising great people from the first breath. Who would show them how to live, love and have fun. T is the best Dad ever! Not just from my seat, but from the ones who matter most—the Boinkers.
When I found out I was pregnant with twins, I was ecstatic. I read Read the rest of this entry