If Curiosity Killed the Cat, Then What Did Sentimentality Kill?

My grandmother, mother and I share a tremendous amount of traits, but one we do not share is sentimentality.  The odd thing is that I am the sentimental one, not my mother, and certainly not my grandmother, who has lived to witness a lot.  No, I am the sap, the one who cries at the drop of a hat, the one who cherishes the most minute details of past events.  Why this is, I do not know.

Rendering of explanations aside, allow me to indulge in a brief moment of sentimentality.  It is a moment seared into my memory, one that affirms the sanctity of mother-daughter relationships.  While accompanying my Nana to visit my mom in the hospital, I observed their brief exchanges (my mom had just had a stroke) contrasted with gestures that were laden with meaning.  My mom had virtually no appetite; of course, my Nana prodded my mom to eat to maintain her strength.  My mom claimed the only thing that appealed to her was orange sherbet.  Nana, from her wheelchair, spoon fed the sherbet to my mom, who was not even paralyzed from her stroke.  She could have fed herself but resigned herself to Nana's insistence.  That simple gesture spoke volumes to me about the enduring ties mothers have to their daughters--no surrender of care, concern, or attention, despite physical or emotional impairments. 

My mom and Nana had a special relationship that I like to believe was different from the relationship Nana has with her four other daughters.  My mom was the most reserved of the five (I call her the "classic middle child"), the most stubborn, and the least likely to take care of her own ailments.  Perhaps that is why Nana was so drawn to my mom--she recognized when her most introverted child needed the most assistance.  Or, maybe I'm drawing too much of an emotional analysis from a basic human need being met without pomp or circumstance.  Still, I like to remember this moment between my mom and Nana as one of the most meaningful exchanges I have ever witnessed. 

What the...?

A new Triple Crown winner has been named, and he is the first winner since 1967.  I am embarrassed to have heard this news as recently as of yesterday.  While I admit I didn't follow much baseball this past season, especially in the wake of an abysmal season by the Red Sox, I still should have been more vigilant toward a milestone such as the Triple Crown race.

Mom, if you were here today, you would not believe your beloved Yaz has been dethroned!

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I have not seen this movie but have heard it's delightfully poignant.  I should add it to my collection of shameless '80s favorite, some of which reveal my affection for John Candy.

Let's work backwards:

1.  Automobiles -  I really couldn't care less about what I drive, as long as it runs well.  I bemoan the number of SUVs I see on the road; I think they are pointless.  I still occasionally lust after the Audi TT.

2.  My cousins and I saw Justin Long on the train back to Connecticut from the city a few years ago.  He is adorable.  We were too shy to approach him.  I recently asked my cousin who would win in a fight between Justin Long and Joseph Gordon-Levitt .  "Ugh!  JGL!" she stated exasperatedly.  I think it would be a close call.

3.  On my flight back from my mom's memorial last weekend, I sat beside a positively delightful guy.  Of course, he lives in California.  Or, he might be gay.  Oh, well.  Such is the journey of life.

Body Surfing

I chose the title Body Surfing for this blog entry because it recalls a few significant things. First, it is a novel by Anita Shreve, a writer my mother and I both enjoy. Second, it relates to my recurring dreams about waves and succumbing to their tremendous, dangerous force. Third, I feel I am surfing a tumultuous sea of emotions as I continue to deal with the death of my mother.

I could easily resent my mother for not having taken care of herself, for taking on too much of a burden by solely caring for a disabled child, or for exchanging her teacher pension as start-up capital for a small business. I won't, though. I want to stay positive in my remembrance of her. I cherish her intelligence, dry wit, generosity to strangers, and incredible work ethic. The problem is that I'm still just so sad without her.

I know I should accept others' promises that my mom is still here, just not in the physical sense. My lack of religion prevents me from believing this. I want her nearby, to hug, to share her smile, to help her brush her hair after her stroke left her weak. I wanted to make her a Nana, to rid her of small business debt, to help her more with my sick brother, and to make her proud by finally becoming a teacher (she was a fabulous teacher for 20 years).

Instead, the heavy waters of loss continue to crush me. At times, my sadness manifests itself in the form of anxiety, and I surf aimlessly without being able to concentrate on a destination. I valued her advice more than anyone else's advice, and that is why I feel so directionless. At least I have a reserve of wonderful memories to give me strength. I need it now more than ever.

(We won't be) Dancin' in September

What about September makes the Red Sox crumble? Is it the rush of cool, New England air? Is it the distraction of leaves changing colors? Perhaps it's being preoccupied with planning Halloween costumes.

Nah. The Red Sox fell from the grace of being first in the AL East by lacking a solid rotation. Millions of dollars invested in Dice-K went out the window as he missed most of the season. A once-reliable Lester failed to secure 20 wins this season. Beckett succumbed to multiple injuries. We hardly saw Buchholz, and we realized some batters are finally figuring out how to hit off of knuckle baller Wakefield.

Yankee management, on the other hand, was shrewd in its acquisition of Freddy Garcia. Although Garcia has not boasted an ERA lower than 3.05 since 2001, he managed to keep the Red Sox scoreless for six innings in a September 24th loss that added another nail to the coffin of Boston's playoff hopes.

Red Sox management should take notes from their rivals. With the second highest payroll in the major leagues, the Red Sox need to control their talent by looking at the right propects. Put simply: go after young pitchers. Tap into the farm system that produced great hitters such as Ellsbury and Pedroia. This time, look for the defensive players. There's no title to defend this season, but the rotation needs to maintain its dignity.

Rough Seas Ahead

The Pittsburgh Pirates shocked viewers and analysts last month by leading the NL Central. They stayed above .500 for weeks, boasting a young roster with players who aren't exactly household names. So what happened recently?

The Pirates are back below .500 and, although they snapped a seven-game losing streak with a win in San Francisco August 8, they were swept by the Brewers two weeks ago. Andrew McCutchen is hitting .274, above the league average, but not powering enough to compete with rivals in Milwaukee or St. Louis.

A four-game series against St. Louis starts this weekend, and the Pirates can only hope to save face at this point in the season. Playoff contention is a newly dashed dream that didn't seem too far-fetched earlier this summer. In the blink of an eye, post-season hopes fade as the longest season in the sports world navigates toward a close.

Rock of Ages

People often persevere under strenuous circumstances. Tests of tolerance prove how strong some of us are. My older brother has passed hundreds of these tests.

Over the past four years, my brother has endured a series of medical issues related to major surgery. Throughout this period, he has shown a remarkable attitude in the face of adversity. He yields to no self-pity or sadness. Instead, he laughs at his misfortune and turns his attention to others. He has gone so far as to meet the family of a young girl who benefitted from his skin graft donation. Upon meeting this young girl and learning her story of overcoming injuries sustained from burns, he expressed his gratitude for medical advances in today’s world. His positive outlook never ceases to amaze me.

Even before his surgery, my brother was strong, not only physically, but emotionally. Many were the times he shoveled our (gravel!) driveway so our mother could arrive on campus to teach her 8 am classes during the winter. He handled issues as serious as our parents’ divorce and as light as (but, to true fans, just as traumatic) Red Sox losses. He guarded my younger brother and me and always made sure we were financially secure. He took time to explain music to me, as he once loved to play drums. What’s more, he never grew impatient with me as I repeatedly asked him about fundamentals of baseball and football. His patience is one asset I admire most about him.

So today, every time I choose to complain about something trivial, I think about my brother, who has been my rock. From indulging in garish, ‘80s, hair metal music by Def Leppard, to comforting me through my divorce, to teaching me how to swing a baseball bat, he has been a cornerstone of major parts of my life. I wouldn’t be the same without him.