Test Run

We are getting ready for the Third Annual Joedance Film Festival and of course we had do a test run with our new equipment.  No longer will you have to crane your neck to watch the movie on the side of the house.  We have a screen, a big screen, and you can watch every movie in the comfort of your chair.  There will be Mike's hotdogs, Mollie's popcorn, and of course a Joedance drink cup for a small donation and yours for the keeping. And the Carolinas Healthcare Foundation and Levine Childrens Hospital has partnered with us.  Well, that is big news.

But the bonus is that a neighbor has offered his film that he wrote, directed and filmed in  Fourth Ward.  I am loving the connection.  Joedance 2012 is going to the best ever.

Moving On Up

This past week was devoted to moving my parents into a continuing living home. I experienced the upheaval of moving through very different eyes. It was not the same as when Mike and I moved alone or with the boys. It was a move to another stage of their lives. One where cooking for themselves is not a thought, one of navigating a new space at 88 years old, one of saying maybe I don't need four different muffin pans. They are onto another stage of their lives and I will miss that only three blocks seperated us these past six years.  Now it is a twenty minute drive to their new sunny apartment filled with  everything that has meant so much to them.  We settled them in with only a few things left to unpack and I know in my heart before long they will be part of the Southminster community and loving everyday. I wish you well Mom and Dad. 

Dallas, Death, Surgery and 21

Ok folks this is a mixed bag for sure. First, who in the world thought that Dallas would return to television. I try to forget my big hair and over the top eye makeup while attending Dallas parties. But while we were reliving our past I received news that my sister in law's father passed away. My dear friend's son had surgery on his leg that has left him with a long road to recovery. And Joe's friend Matt finally turned twenty-one. Life has moved on, we have moved on, but not really. I still chase the dream of Joe coming back. I look up the street and am convinced he is walking in front of me or towards me. I think every knock at the door is Joe because he forgot his keys only to see it is the UPS delivery guy. And my heart aches again.

Not Nineteen Anymore

What started out as a casual trip to Chicago to retrieve Tony turned into another Restaino road trip nightmare. Why in the world do we always run in to traffic jams and road construction? What would have taken eleven hours to arrive in Chicago turned into fourteen hours. What should have been eleven hours back turned into fifteen hours. We drove all day and through the night arrived home at 6 am, caught a few hours of sleep and then went on to the task of altering Tony and David's suits for a wedding. Then as I picked up my dress from the tailor the car died. So now I am finding a way home for my boys who have been up for at least two days, searching for a tow truck all the while trying to keep calm with the whirlwind of my sister being here. Stress was defined in my face, my shoulders were pointing to the sky and, yes, I experienced the enviable bloating of my stomach. No, I am not nineteen anymore, I am fifty-six and I don't recover from the road trips as easily or the stress of surprises of a car that dies. But with all of that I will never give up the chance to listen to my boys chatter on about their lives as they were trapped in car for fourteen hours. Fiftysix will be just that, but nineteen will always be the future.

How To Die by Joe Klein

Thank you Joe Klein for taking the brave step and writing about all of us who have gone through the steps of a dying parent or child. Thank you for telling your story of the last days of your loved ones. And thank you for letting all feel better about not prolonging life for the sake of life. Our son Joe was given the life sentence of a few months, and he did his bucket list, but in the end it was our family that helped him, guided him to a dignified death. Our home was his refuge, his brothers were his comfort and in the end it was us alone in our room saying goodbye to Joe. It was simple and beautiful and in the middle of the night. Most likely how Joe would have wanted it to be. As I read Joe Klein's article I remembered the last days with Joe. He never talked at the end but he gave one last breath and looked at me and I drank that look like a long tall drink.

Two Cards

Working at the Blis gift shop we have customers come in asking for very specific items. This past week one came in to buy a gift for her friend's sister who was in the hospital. She was wheel chair bound and contracted a cold, which can be deadly for those who are paralyzed. Four days later another customer came in to buy a sympathy card for her friend's sister who passed away. Yes, the one in the wheel chair had died and she was trying to come to terms of the loss of such a young girl. I told her not to buy a card but instead write her a letter. If you can find the words it would mean more than a card. Then two days after that a man entered the store that was empty of customers, he asked in a clearly agitated way, a distraught way, I need a card for my good friend who just lost his son. He was 23, and he said I don't even know what to say. I laid my hand on his arm saying if you can write a letter or even a sentence it will mean more to them than any card you will send. What was kept from Joe's death were not the cards but the notes, the emails and the letters from friends. Even if it is a one line note of "I don't know what to say" or a lengthy letter it means so much more than any canned sympathy card.