Category: Musing (Page 28 of 31)

so. it is this registry thing. my rant, that is…When I was a sweet young thing going through the whole process of wedding event, you registered your china, silver and crystal. I do remember a conversation with my sister, Belinda, about how cool it would be to register at Builder’s Emporium, a LA 60’s version of Home Depot/Lowes Home Improvement. I loved that store. I could wander in there for hours and figure out projects.

Actually we got little of practical use for the wedding. The shower, yes, that was practical, but thankfully stuff I didn’t know I and some of which I still have. Now, thirty-five years later, I love that. And, for the wedding, we received gifts of Dorothy Thorpe crystal platters and bowls, Lennox vases, crystal candlesticks, even matching Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy figurines about three feet tall! Tom hated them and I think that’s why we no longer have them, I think he helped in their demise….

Even today I can look around at the various gifts and think, that’s from John Castle, or that’s from John and Anne Myers or that’s from Mike McCall, or from my grandparents, my aunt and uncle. It’s kinda cool that my memories of dear friends and relatives are wrapped up in what others thought at the time we might enjoy. What might decorate our home. What we might use year-in and year-out for celebrations, holidays, everyday events made more special. Can you say that about a Cuisinart mixer or a toaster oven, Calphalon pots and pans? No. Unlikely that they will last as long as the memories of the people who found your registry and bought an item. Purchased, wrapped, sent, delivered. Done.

So. that brings me to the definition of a gift and why registries are becoming a bête noire for me. A gift: a thing given voluntarily without payment in return. To honor an occasion.  [2003 Revised & Updated Illustrated Oxford Dictionary] Similar words are grant, bestow, largess, confer, donate…you get the picture. Nowhere does it state demanded, requested, appealed, called for. To me, the current trend, and maybe I’m just off on another planet, is that when an event happens such wedding, birth, baby showers, bridal showers, for all I know divorce, first day of school, graduation, housewarming, birthday; all of which you can probably create a registry for now, is just another way of  saying, ‘I need these things NOW, so get me this stuff.’

Forgotten is the thinking about a gift that the recipient might remember and treasure for years, the shopping for the item that reflects your relationship with the recipient, the honoring the occasion, whatever that occasion may be, with the effort of finding the perfect gift, hopefully bringing joy and love to the gifting process. Bah! Humbug! Registries make it just too damn easy!

…tonight the rehearsal dinner and tomorrow Bayley and Dan will be, collectively and forever after, The Hochradel’s. WooHoo!

It was Miss Meghan who first looked upon each and every life event, sometimes with verve, sometimes with panache, and sometimes with a bit more pain than we all were expecting, and we all rejoiced in her progress….the first one in school, on a bike, ears pierced, boys calling, school dances, college applications, travel, graduate applications, marriage. MM moved along the road of life, scaled those milestones and left markers behind, some of value, some discarded because they were hers and not belonging to anyone else.

Then came Sweet Bayley who planted ‘done’ flag at the top and move onto the next one; making sure we would never, ever, to return to that place, time, or activity again. [Well, not never, 🙂 we may yet have grandchildren.] I can tell you when we no longer carried the humongous diaper bag on family trips, when day care became a distant memory, the last time we had a babysitter, when we moved past cupcakes at school, chaperoning field trips, the last time I had to drive with a daughter, I mean HAD TO, the last summer job, the last college graduation.

Tomorrow Bayley and Dan wed. A huge life marker. And, tomorrow, Saturday, December 10, officially and without a doubt, our entire family dynamic changes. We are no more the four Fannins. Not a whole unto ourselves any longer, more an amalgam, a grouping. We are now something different. With more diverse interests.

Congratulations to the newly weds, The Hockradels, and The Vogts. Thank you. For bringing a new zest, excitement, direction and joy to this family. WooHoo, indeed!

Today we head up to Baltimore. We’re packed. Truth be told, I’ve had this list in my head for weeks. Back to my old self in planning and executing. My old multi-tasking, double-down self. So. It’s a good day. I’ve been writing. I like this story. I liked the original. But. We’ve moved on. This is a better story. Because of practice. Just like the girls practiced trick or treating. Or Tom and I practiced, albeit shortly, retirement. Practice is worth it.

On of the thing I realized is that even though I am a good, no, make that great reader. I didn’t pay attention to the writing. I gobbled it up. I tore into it. I pushed through it until I found the story, ‘specially the bits that were memorable and fun, and tossed all the writer’s hard work away. Pulling the images into my brain in a free-for-all way. And most of those stuck.

Today we head up to Baltimore. I put the writing aside. I put the reading aside. I concentrate on the baby daughter. It’s Bayley’s time. It’s her day. There will be plenty of time to continue to practice.

Back to the counting thing. Thirty (30) days until Tom is officially home. We’ve practiced. We can do this. The only thing that didn’t get into the mix over Thanksgiving weekend was the WRITING.  Yes, yes, it must be in capital letters, BECAUSE.  It is a big deal. My choice to spend the time differently. We rearranged the furniture. Upgraded the stereo speakers. Pulled out the Christmas stuff.

[Note: Yes, I know I said I’m in Advent mode, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be done with the whole decorating thing and move on. Christmas Cards. Presents both buying and wrapping. Christmas Open House.]

So not only are we thirty, and again that 30, days until Tom is officially home. We are seven (7) days until Bayley’s wedding. The shawl’s done. At the dry cleaners for pressing. I have a dress, well, really an ensemble for the rehearsal dinner and one for the wedding. Purses, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, shoes, scarves.  My shoes have been stretched. Nothing will help, my feet will ache, but I will look good. I am so complete I am beyond ready. If that’s possible. Just saying…

…I firmly believe in practicing. When the girls were little we’d practice trick or treating the day before Halloween. So they’d know what to expect, how to behave and could do it on their own. When we ate, we practiced our manners. We’d practice reading aloud. I get practice from my Dad.

In the early 1970’s, my parents started talking about retirement. People were retiring, not to the alternate lives many are living today, but retiring to be with the grandchildren, or because of illness, or to a home away from the growing up places to the settling down quiet place. But there really weren’t that many ‘role models’ of retirement out there. Although the actuarial life expectancy had gotten so much better by the 70’s there wasn’t that feeling that 65 was the new 55. 65 was just that, 65. Not necessarily old…

When we asked Dad what he wanted to do in retirement, he said he wanted to fish. We laughed. He didn’t. He was serious. And, like all things Dad was serious about he targeted. He tackled it. He went after it with determination. Not that it was a problem. It was a project that needed to be addressed. Courted. Developed. And he needed education. Not about retirement. About fishing. Why fishing, we asked? Well, when he was a little kid, he lived with his grandparents. His younger brother was sickly, then came another and another and another, etc. and Dad lived until age ten or so with his grandparents. He was the first grandson. The first to carry the Hannick name into the next generation. Irish immigrants. Big Deal!

Joseph Hannick, married to Mary Judge, well-known as ‘the witch’, retired, well, stopped working at around age 45 or 50. We’re not quite sure. Being Irish we have some great stories. Truth? Well, maybe, not so much. Anyway, Great Grandfather like to fish. And he taught little Jimmy. Then came the great grandfather’s death, Dad moved to live with Ed and Mary Scott, uncle and aunt, and grew up as a singleton with seven brothers and sisters. And, he never forgot the fishing.

Then along came retirement. The possibility of fishing. Again. Dad took a class on how to tie his own flies, roll his own rods, cast in streams and in lakes. He read Rand-McNally’s best 100 places to retire. And he practiced. For several summers prior to their retirement, Dad quit his job, Mom was a teacher, so she had the summers off and they would ‘try out a lifestyle.’ One year they went to northern California, Irish Beach, rented a house and lived there. Dad fished. Mom cooked, read, met people. The next year they bought a camper and traveled. Dad fished. Mom cooked, read, met people. One year they went to the desert. Dad fished. Mom cooked, read and met people. Ah, so easy to see a pattern. 🙂

They practiced. Tom and I practiced retirement this past Thanksgiving weekend.  A little practice is a good thing.