The times, they are a changing

My confession for today: I don’t keep up with the news the way I ought to. I don’t even have a good reason for this as I am friends with the people who present the news on both stations in town and enjoy seeing them on my television. But when they start doing their jobs I find my mind wanders.

So a couple of weeks ago when I started getting emails from our IT guy about the time change, I just figured they were talking about Illinois, our neighbor to the west. Then the subject came up in our staff meeting last week and I realized they WERE talking about Indiana. How did I miss that?

The last I recall on the subject was a county-by-county vote and I’d thought most counties, including mine, had opted not to change the way we do time. So hearing that we need to “spring forward” in a few days was a surprise to me. However, I kept that to myself, it’s embarrassing to be that out of touch with what’s happening around me when my job is to know as much as I can for my radio show.

I did think about my sister Chris and her family, who are on vacation in Florida this week for spring break. Perhaps in the flurry of getting ready for their trip they would forget to set their clocks when they get home this weekend, so I thought I’d remind them.

Chris was as surprised as I had been to hear the news. Matter of fact, she says they were just having that discussion in the teacher’s lounge the Friday before they left and she told the others she was pretty sure we were NOT changing our time zone. This woman is an educator.

The phone calls at the station began last week and have not slowed down yet. This time change decision seems to have caught many of our citizens by surprise and nobody seems to know how that happened.

I can tell you that tomorrow (Saturday, April 1st) if you live around here you need to set your clocks ahead an hour.

I can tell you Indiana and Illinois will always be an hour apart now, which actually matters here, where we live near the state line and many people work in one state but live in the other.

Another complaint I hear is having to go to bed while it’s still light out and getting up when it’s still dark. I’m learning one should interfere with the ordinary routines of people as infrequently as possible.

Some callers are taking it in stride, but the most common emotions displayed by them are confusion and surprise.

And after all the calls and all the educating I’ve been doing this week, I still had my own personal concern when it hit me that I had BETTER get it right or I’d be late picking up Granddad for mass on Sunday morning. I can just see the poor man sitting by the door waiting for me while the hour ticked away, minute by minute. Or would I have been early if I forgot to set my clock correctly? Once I had such a personal stake in the issue you can bet I made sure I knew exactly what needed to be done.

I went down there last night and had dinner with him and made sure he knew about the time change. I was concerned about confusing him but I needn’t have worried. He had it all figured out; at the age of 92 the man still has a plan.

We’re going to mass Saturday night.

Living in the light with Granddad

On Sunday mornings I go to church with my grandfather. At 92, he moves rather slowly, but his quick wit is still functioning at full capacity. I enjoy his company tremendously. Brain function notwithstanding, his advancing years allow him to sit in the front pew at mass, which carries a nice little bonus for me: it’s hard NOT to pay attention when the priest is standing right in front of us.

Father began his sermon by remarking on what a beautiful, sunny day it was. He arose that morning, threw open the curtains and rejoiced in the sunshine that’s been absent for days now. He talked about choosing to live in the light rather than the darkness. For example, we can sleep in and skip church (darkness) or we can embrace the day and our faith and attend church, thereby choosing to live in the light.

It was a pretty good sermon. And he’s right, of course. I’ve chosen the darkness for quite some time in many ways, so there was lots of food for thought in his words and I was deep in those thoughts as we made our way to the church door to leave.

Granddad and I stepped outside and were amazed to see the bright morning sun was gone, replaced by heavy cloud cover. It was almost comical how we turned to each other with the same surprised look on our face.

He spoke first. “Well look at that; where’d the sun go?”

I told him we must be so full of light after that sermon there wasn’t any left for the sky, to which he replied, in typical Granddad fashion, “Oh, you’re full of something alright.”

Obviously, he’s sharper than I thought.

Fun with babies

My brother Jim’s family was in town a few weeks ago. They don’t make it this way very often because traveling with four young children just isn’t the barrel of fun you’d think it would be. But they were in town and invited me to come visit the kids at the house where they were staying, so I headed that way after work on a Saturday afternoon.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think these kids are exceptionally cute and extraordinarily interesting, so I couldn’t wait to see them.

The first to greet me was Lily, who is five years old. She threw her arms around me in a hug so passionate she nearly knocked me over. Golly, I thought, I really should come ‘round more often. Feeling pretty good about my status in their lives, I hugged her back just as fiercely and heard her whisper in my ear, “Oh, don’t go Aunt Di! At least have something to eat first!” Where’d that come from? I assured her I really had just arrived and had no intention of leaving immediately, but I have to admit, the overwhelming feeling I got was that she was URGING me to leave.

I moved on to the living room, where Jack was watching TV. He sensed an adult approaching and buried his face in the corner of the couch. Being absolutely certain he would recognize my voice, I turned on my phone camera, pointed it at his little back and said plaintively, “Why Jack Cota! You don’t want to see your Aunt Di?” and bless his little heart, the second he heard my voice he shot around with a joyous look on his face and I was able to capture the moment. The picture is priceless to me and as soon as Nextel and Sprint figure out what they’re doing with this merge I’ll be able to share the picture with you. Right now that feature isn’t working, or at least that’s what they tell me.

Then it was time for the twins, Abby and Grace. They’re moody little babies, you never know what you’re gonna get with them. I got lucky. Abby let me hold her right away. What a blessing to visit them without the rest of my family around! Nobody to compete with over who gets to hold the babies.

By the time I got to Grace I was thirsty and my hostess offered a fresh bottle of water. Grace reached for it and I did what good aunts do: gave it to her immediately. What can I say? I’m weak. Besides, it was water. It didn’t occur to me it might be a problem. But it seems with Aunt Di there’s almost always a problem of one kind or another. This time it was two-fold: I wanted a drink of my water and she wasn’t giving it back, and apparently handing her that particular item was akin to putting her back on the baby bottle. I had to hide it from her before things got ugly.

When it was time for bed, I carried Grace upstairs where her mama Char was already trying to settle Abby down for the night. We were in a darkened bedroom, slowly swaying back and forth with our babies, while Abby got increasingly fussy. Trying to help from my side of the room, I began to talk/sing to Grace and threw Abby’s name in there at the end. Abby heard her name and instantly silenced. It worked! So I took a deep breath and sing-songed a few more nonsensical things, being sure to say both their names very clearly, very often. This was actually more of a chore than this little story can convey because Aunt Di cannot sing a note to save my life and even though babies don’t care about that my thoughts were on their mama, who surely did not appreciate the sounds emanating from me.

To make matters worse, my voice was now the only thing making noise in the room and I got nervous. So now I’m crooning to them in a weird, strangled, can't-catch-my-breath kind of voice. But by golly, I kept getting those little names out there and my reward was the sudden complete relaxing of the baby in my arms. Grace had fallen asleep…! And instantly became the heaviest baby this nervously noisy aunt had ever held.

I whispered excitedly to Char, “She’s asleep!”

Char whispered back, “She always falls asleep fast. It’s Abby who’s the challenge.”

Oh. For a crazy moment there I thought I was a hero. Now I was beginning to realize I could very well be the reason the girls weren’t already down and snoring.

I stopped “singing,” carefully laid Grace in her crib and crept back down the stairs. It was a crazy, fun visit and I would see them again in the morning. We were meeting for mass at nine.

God was smiling down on me then, too. The first thing that happened after I joined them in the pew was Abby reaching her little arms out for me. I defy any other adoring aunt to pick up a baby faster than I snatched Abby from her mother that morning. I really think I set some kind of frantic, baby-grabbing record.

So we’re sitting there, everyone relatively quiet and focused on the mass; everyone but me of course. I’m flirting with Abby. We were rubbing noses when it occurred to me that I probably needed a breath mint. I reached down into my purse for one of those Ice Breakers liquid ice balls I’d picked up the night before along with some sugar free jelly beans, which Jack was happily sneaking out of my purse when he thought I wasn’t looking.

I popped the mint into my mouth when the baby wasn’t looking (remember the water bottle experience) and instantly my eyes started to water and my mouth was on fire. The almost overwhelming peppermint loaded into this teeny tiny mint just about did me in. I was barely recovering from this sensory overload when Abby turned back in my direction and smiled at me. I smiled and whispered, “Hi,” and that baby gave me the most startled look I’ve ever seen on one so young. It was so hard not to laugh out loud!! Her entire expression was of puzzlement. Where did that smell come from? Not that it’s a bad smell, just where did it come from?!

You forget so many of the precious moments when they grow up, maybe because there are so many of them.

But I don’t think I’ll ever forget Abby’s startled look when I suddenly started breathing peppermint fumes at her for no apparent reason. It was one of those times you really wished a baby could talk.

Dreams come true

We were staying at a Hilton on the north side of Chicago and had just finished dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. My daughter was radiant. The devoted attention of both handsome young waiters on duty was clear testament to that. Chicago is her favorite city and she was in her element. Our dinner in the restaurant was surprisingly delicious and we had enjoyed good conversation throughout the meal.

Our plans were to hit the hot tub right away. She was already wearing her suit underneath the chic little black dress she’d worn to dinner, but I needed to go back to the room to change into mine. We’d checked out the hot tub and found it crowded with guests, so we were in no hurry to return. If we delayed a bit we might have it all to ourselves.

On our way to the elevators I heard my daughter’s little cry of surprise and I turned in time to see her drop her bags by the wall and run to a little piano sitting in one corner of the Hilton lobby. I was delighted. Any opportunity to hear her play is a gift to me. As she ran her fingers over the keys I found myself remembering what I’d told her when she first started taking lessons at the age of six.

I’d said if she didn’t like playing piano we’d look at other avenues for artistic expression, but she loved the piano from the start. I remember telling her that someday she would be able to walk into a party where a piano happened to be and just blow her friends away, playing the way she did. It was one of those little dreams a mother has…for her to stick with it long enough to be good enough to enchant people when she played. For her to see how talented she is and how unique her talent, was my mother’s dream.

I’ve always been fascinated by those who could play an instrument and admire the determination and skill it takes to be good at it. As it turns out, my daughter was really good at it. And when she plays, people are enchanted indeed.

As she played in that lobby the other night I leaned against a wall and took it all in. Christine is a classical pianist. She is fiercely devoted to her piano teacher, who became a sort of surrogate mother/counselor to her during our divorce. And music was her therapy. To this day, all the turbulent and tranquil emotions of those difficult years pour through her fingers into the keys when she plays and anyone listening can feel her delicate, heartfelt interpretation in their soul.

As the notes of a Beethoven piece began to drift through the air I couldn’t help but peek around the lobby to see if anyone else could hear the magic. Everyone could. There were the two young waiters from the restaurant, making excuses to walk through in order to see who was making that beautiful noise. To see their curiosity turn to surprise and delight was my dream-come-true moment. If she had seen their faces, no doubt the whole thing would have fallen apart in self-consciousness, but she didn’t see and she played on.

The desk clerks left the desk to look around the corner.
I saw a couple of guests pause on their way to the elevators, listening to the complicated music emanating from our formerly silent corner of the lobby before moving on.
Three nicely-dressed businesspeople had been strolling toward the hotel’s back entrance when my daughter sat down to play. They stopped short of the door, though; the two ladies appeared to admiring the art on the hotel walls while the gentleman leaned against the wall, his eyes half-closed, listening raptly to my daughter’s music.

As the final notes of Mozart’s “Pathetique Sonata” were quietly laid down, this small audience began to applaud. Christine turned around, startled to find them there. She collected her belongings while I collected compliments. It wasn’t until later that I realized one of my little mother’s dreams had just come true for my daughter. She had enchanted strangers with her musical soul and in return they had fed that very soul with appreciation for the music she loves so much and plays so well.

I move forward with a slightly different determination myself after that evening. I move through life with the certainty that sometimes dreams do indeed come true, and when they do, life is sweet.