A snowy place.

Sometimes I long to live again in a place that has seasons...perhaps one day, the mountains of North Carolina or Tennessee. It's 17 degrees in Dallas, and with that much cold, we should at least be able to enjoy snow on the ground...

"The wind was blowing, but not too hard, and everyone was so happy and gay for it was only twenty degrees below zero and the sun shone."
~Laura Ingalls Wilder

my parents' front yard in new jersey, a few days before Christmas

See the magical snow that fell last year...

14 weeks.

There is a human being growing inside my body.  At 14 weeks, I am still surprised everyday by the wonder of the miracle and the importance of the job we've been given.  What started as two microscopic cells will emerge in 6 more months as a living, breathing human being with thoughts, a personality, and a future - our daughter or son!  Will he or she have Steven's Asian eyes?   My bent towards creativity?  One thing I know...right around Independence Day, we will welcome our first child into the world, and our lives will never, ever be the same.

The understatement of the year: pregnancy is an emotional experience.  It started on a morning in early November when I woke up, peed on a stick, and before I could even put the stick down on the counter, not-one-but-two pink lines appeared.  "Oh my God..." I said as my heart started beating rapidly.  "It worked!  It really worked!"  No matter how many times you imagine yourself pregnant, you are never really prepared for the moment when it is happening to you.  I vividly remember the next thing I said aloud as I stood inside the tiny, locked bathroom with one hand on my belly: "Lord, I receive this baby.  I receive this baby into my body and into our lives."  

Then, I ran into the bedroom and shoved the stick in Steven's face with the instructions so he could verify.  "Look at this!  Look at this!"   For the next several minutes, we just lied there in bed together speechless. What else is there to say at that moment?  We had been given one of the greatest gifts. It was really happening.

For the next nine days, we had our own little secret that left us giggling all day long.  After we awoke in the mornings, Steven would greet me with a glint in his eyes, “Hey, Baby Mama...”  We were bursting for everyone else to know but had no idea how far along I was. So on November 19th, the day before we left for our annual fall vacation to New Jersey, we had an early ultrasound.  The ultrasound tech rubbed the gel around for a few seconds as I shifted nervously.  Then she said, "Yup!  There it is!"  And I saw it - a cute little being with stumpy arms and legs, and a tiny blinking light on the screen - the heartbeat.  Then, tears in my eyes, and a flood of relief.  Because no matter what the pee stick says, you really don't know what's going on in there until you see it with your own eyes.  I was already 7 weeks and 4 days along! 

The next two months of my life were dedicated to vomiting, gagging, and sleeping.  I barely made it on the plane to New Jersey for our annual trip at the end of November.  Nestled nervously in the aisle seat next to Steven {in case I needed to run to the bathroom, of course}, I clutched my bag of snacks - trail mix, pretzels, crackers, and bottled water - as if they were my flotation devices.  I concentrated on crossword puzzles and those Mensa games in the on-flight magazine to pass the time.  When we finally arrived in New Jersey, we excitedly shared the news with my parents over lunch at On A Roll.  For the rest of the 10-day trip, all the strength I could muster was to arise in the morning, hug the toilet, force down breakfast, and then stumble back into bed at about 9am for a 3 hour nap. Afternoon: same thing on repeat. Remember how much I was looking forward to Thanksgiving?  Let’s just say I might never be able to touch green bean casserole again. 

But I am thankful, so very thankful, that this, my first pregnancy, has knocked me down with sickness. Because the midwife tells me my hormones are “strong” and that means the baby is in there securely. I’ve never been so happy to be nauseous in my entire life.   What I realized during that trip to New Jersey when I had hours and hours to myself in bed: my body is not my own right now.  I am hosting another human being.  It just seems right that you have to suffer a bit in the process of bringing new life into the world.

"Had any weird food cravings?" people ask.  Thankfully, even my cravings have been pretty healthy, like fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice, for example.  I never could stand grapefruit juice before. Now I absolutely must have it.  Everyday.  I go through an 18-pound bag of Texas Star's in about three days and have kept Whole Foods' condiment aisle in business with the amount of crispy dill pickles I've consumed. 

Then there was a three-day stint when the only thing that sounded appetizing was an Italian sub sandwich on a hard roll with oil and vinegar.  Thank goodness I was in NJ at that point, where there's a sub place on every corner {I love you, Main Street Subs}.  After the sub stage, however, for days and days I insisted to Steven that our car smelled like a sub sandwich.  Bizarre.

And the aversions, oh the aversions.  I can barely even type the words oni_n or gar_ic.   So many things I loved to eat are now Repulsive with a capital R, and vice-versa.  Poor Steven.   He has endured my neuroses with such grace and fortitude {or perhaps just resignation}.  About a month ago, I woke him up in the middle of the night announcing that he would have to move to the guest room. "You smell like oni_ns!"  I exclaimed.  I had been lying there, frustrated, wondering what to do.  I couldn't sleep.  All I could do was smell them.  That horrid pungent smell.  Even though there were no oni_ons to be found.  But my sweet husband didn't even hesitate.   He just quietly grabbed his pillow and wearily shuffled off to the next room without a comment.   Now that is love.

So here I am, finally able to start experiencing the beautiful, fun part of pregnancy, and ever so thankful to be healthy, to have the opportunity to be a mother, to raise children with the love of my life. For awhile there, I was wondering if it would ever happen for us.  But at the risk of sounding cliché, His timing is always best.  It just takes patience and a surrendering of my own desires - two qualities I have a feeling I'm going to need quite a bit in the coming months and years, anyway.

Beautiful 2009: the year in pictures...

... A photo for each month of the year as a retrospective.  I enjoyed doing this last year and thought I'd take the opportunity to reflect on 2009 and all the blessings and joys we have celebrated!

"For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning."
~T.S. Eliot

JANUARY . . .

. . . icy home outside but a cozy home inside as the Year of Reading and Writing begins...

FEBRUARY . . .

. . . celebrating my hubby's 30th birthday with an Italian feast . . .

MARCH . . .

. . . a return trip to beautiful California to visit Marshall, Jen, and baby Ava.  Here we are in Palos Verdes . . .

APRIL . . .

. . . Greta gets a new little sister - Heidi Lou!

MAY . . .

. . . Amy comes to visit Dallas, and we have our first pool day of the season accompanied by juicy watermelon with lime. . .

JUNE . . .

. . . my first visit to breathtaking Colorado, where I want to return and never leave again. . .

JULY . . .

. . . 4 years of marriage with my strong, caring, thoughtful, wonderful husband - oh, how I love him!

AUGUST . . .

. . . 'lil reunion with Suz and Amy in Nashville - snapping a quick photo before the torrential downpour/hurricane blew us away. . .

SEPTEMBER . . .

. . . Lake Grapevine hike with Terrica on Labor Day. . .

OCTOBER . . .

. . . experiencing Key Largo's famous sunsets on a mother/daughter trip. . .

NOVEMBER . . .

. . . bundling up in the chilly New Jersey air for a day trip to Alstede Farms. . .

DECEMBER . . .

. . . my precious 7-year-old niece Ashley is baptized, and I cry like a baby.

I look forward to soaking up another year of this beautiful life I've been given!

For the love of autumn... (part 2: New Jersey/New York 2006)

"I've never known anyone yet who doesn't suffer a certain restlessness when autumn rolls around...we're all eight years old again and anything is possible." 

~ Sue Grafton

Bleary-eyed and jet-lagging a day after I returned from Africa, I joined my husband and our dear friends Brad and Mary Herridge (and little Grant, who was in Mary's tummy at the time) for a trip to New York and New Jersey.  During those few days in early November 2006, we walked all over God's creation - probably 8-10 miles a day with barely a rest!  If I can be half as energetic as Mary was when I'm pregnant one day, I'll be happy.  What a trooper.

The scenes on this trip could not have been more of a contrast to those I had witnessed in Africa just a few days prior...the wild, lush beauty of Uganda vs. the urban landscape and busyness of New York City.  Million-dollar mansions in the New Jersey countryside vs. the slums of Kibera.  I spent many moments on the subway staring out the graffiti'd windows in a daze, the voices of the orphans singing still echoing in my head.  Hard to believe that such contrasts exist in the same world...


On this trip, autumn was experienced through one long walk after another.  The leaves were at their peak - firey reds, golden yellows, laying a carpet underneath our feet as we trekked from my parents' house into downtown Madison to board the train for the big city.

my street in madison

a neighbor's fence around the corner

In New York, we ate at some new favorites, all recommended by our virtual tour guide, Tara Leigh, who was just a phone call away...places like Max Brenner's Chocolate by the Bald Man, Spring Street Natural, and Think Coffee.  We camped inside Chelsea Market hoping for a Rachael Ray sighting (no luck) and strolled through Central Park where the curbs were scattered with leaves, and folks were already ice skating at the whimsical Wolman Rink.
 

It was jacket weather, and it was heavenly, of course.


Back in New Jersey, we spent an afternoon in the woods at Drew University where Brad and Steven sat on logs and smoked cigars, and Mary and I walked under the canopy marveling at the leaves.

Finally, our friends The Sullivans who live in New York came to the "country" to join us, and we set off to find a roadside pumpkin and apple stand just like it was in our idealized minds.  They do exist...just a short drive away, outside of Chester, NJ!  Here is Alstede Farms...

brad, steven, and david

shawna, mary, and me

Back at my parents' house, since we were all together, we had an early Thanksgiving meal.  This had to be one of my most memorable meals, ever.  It was the perfect fall day, and we borrowed our neighbor's picnic table to set up an outdoor feast featuring my mom's vintage cookery and dishes filled with already-prepared items from Whole Foods - roasted turkey, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, chewy Italian bread slathered with creamy butter, and of course, lots of red wine.

As I look back on these autumn moments, I know that there is hope for the stark winter days that seem to literally and figuratively suck the life out of us.  As long as there are seasons and color and leaves and shared meals and friends, it is going to be okay.

Hometown beauty...

Wanted to share more photos from my dad on the beauty of my hometown right now during fall.  I just love these.  Have you seen the movie The Family Stone?  Remember the lovely Christmas scene where snow is falling and they're waking through a town square?  That's Madison.  Oh, how I miss it!

So here's a little tour...

downtown ~ waverly place with the millenium clock

main street

typical madison street scene...don't you just want to stroll along there with a latté in hand?

madison presbyterian church

lovely trees changing colors

this is where you board the train for new york city...

... and here is the lovely old restored train station, which is listed on the state register of historic places

view of downtown ~ waverly place from the train station

56 degree autumn day ~ perfect

Early fall in New Jersey...

Today, my dad sent me this photo he just took of the family homestead in early fall.  Autumn has begun to break in New Jersey!  I love the tips of the trees beginning to blush with a rosy orange glow - looks like my favorite ash trees that tower above the house in the back yard have already started shedding leaves.  That means dad has already started to rake them into piles. If only there was someone to jump in them and make them scatter all over again.   Can't wait to be there in November - my first Thanksgiving in New Jersey since college!

Here's to you, Lulu.

wedding day, july 16th, 2005: 

me, steven, aunt lucille, my brother glen, sister-in-law trish, cousin paula, mom, dad

A week ago today, my dear Aunt Lucille left this world.  I can hardly believe it's true that I'll never again hear her say "Christineey-Weenie," her lifelong nickname for me, or the sound of her contagious laugh.  She fought a 3-month battle with lung cancer and in the end, her body just couldn't take it.  "Get me outta here!" were some of her last words to the Catholic priest, Father Owen, who anointed her head with oil as she labored for each breath. He prayed a blessing over her in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, she closed her eyes, and never opened them again.

The day before she passed away, after previously hearing that she was doing well and about to leave the hospital, my brother and I got an unexpected call from my parents.  Aunt Lucille had taken a turn for the worse and was now asking for her last rites and for her family to surround her.  My brother and I tearfully booked the next flight out of Dallas that night, only to frustratingly have our flight canceled at the last minute due to bad weather.  We returned to the airport early Friday morning for the first flight out, and as we were boarding the plane, received the dreaded phone call: "She's gone."  After cursing American Airlines, a haze surrounded me as I realized that I would never see her alive again.  I thought back to my last phone conversation with her in late July - she had giggled a lot in her usual way.  She had sounded totally normal.  Her voice still echoes in my head.

* * *

The sound of laughter and the smell of marinara sauce and meatballs filled the entry way of the house on Kinney Street.  The air outside was chilly in the December New Jersey air.  Bundled in a wool coat and boots, a little girl of age 4 climbed the tunnel-like steps to the second floor apartment of her Aunt Lucille and Uncle Tony.  Her feet could barely reach above each stair, but the comforting aroma led her quickly into the warm home.


It was Christmas afternoon, and about twenty people were already crammed into the tiny kitchen and around the dining room table which was the centerpiece of the family.  It was the site of classic Italian-American meals of baked ziti, homemade meatballs, braciole, and garlicky salad with black olives {and that was just the first course}, along with every dessert you could possibly imagine.  Before dinner, the little girl's favorite thing to do with olives was to put one on each finger and call them "meatballs."   Her favorite Italian cookies were the ones shaped like leaves and shells.  After dessert, the little girl sat on their laps for awhile before going back to the livingroom to lay on her stomach and draw in her Sunshine Family coloring book that her aunt kept for her in the cabinet beneath the coffee table.  Meanwhile, those in the dining room erupted into a game of Pinocle or long conversation over unmarked bottles of red wine made by Uncle Tony...

* * * 

These are some of my most vivid childhood memories.  Most of them include Aunt Lucille, her warm home, and my loving Italian family.   As an adult, there was the long evening we all shared the day after Steven and I got engaged in Central Park.  I remember every moment of that night, how happy we all were, and how they received my soon-to-be husband like he was one of their own.

steven sitting next to aunt lucille in red

aunt lucille laughing

Last weekend, my cousin Paula, Aunt Lucille's daughter, asked me to write the Eulogy to be read at the funeral mass.  How do you capture the beauty of a person's life in 3 minutes from a church lectern?  It doesn't seem possible, but I did my best.  When the service was over, one of her lifelong friends came up to me and said, "You knew her well."
 
Then, we all went back to Paula's house where there was more food than you could imagine - it seemed every five minutes the doorbell rang with another neighbor bringing a tray of baked ziti.  When it was all said and done, every fridge was full of about 15 varieties of ziti and penne.  We enjoyed another meal together, and the warmth in the room was tangible, as always.  Choking back tears, I realized that some things change, and some things never do.

After dinner, I poured myself and my dad each a glass of Cabernet.  We looked at each other, and as if with an unspoken understanding that runs deep in our blood, we clinked our glasses together as a toast. "Here's to you, Lulu!" we said in unison, and threw our heads back and drank.

* * * 

My Aunt Lucille's Eulogy

We had many different names for her: Mom…Lou…Aunt Lucille…Grandma Lulu…Lulu Belle...Lucille. But there was one name we all had in common, and that was family. Even Aunt Lucille’s friends were like her family to her. That is just how she lived life – she was devoted and loyal and would do anything for those she loved. Photographs of her friends and family covered every surface of her home – the walls, her bedroom mirror, the refrigerator, leaned up against knick-knacks on shelves, even stuffed into a sauce pot in the closet. All those smiling faces are evidence of a life well lived, a life where she loved deeply and was deeply loved.

To me, she was “Aunt Lucille,” my dad’s dear sister, and in my 31 years of being blessed to share life with her, she was the epitome of fun, honesty, kindness, and love. I could write an entire book of my wonderful memories and stories of Aunt Lucille, but for now I’ll just focus on how well she loved other people, and how much fun she was to be around.

Aunt Lucille has been taking care of people her entire life. When she was a child, she wouldn’t let her brother Frankie leave the house without being properly dressed. All his clothes had to match – his socks with his tie, his shirt with his pants. As an adult, her home was a place you would always feel comfortable. There would always be a smile for you, and a plate of cookies. There’s no question that this is what Aunt Lucille was put on earth to do. We are all better people because of the way she raised us, taught us, celebrated with us, walked beside us, loved us, and cared for us.

With any decision Aunt Lucille ever made - whether it was going to the grocery store or going on vacation - she always thought about how it would affect her family and others she loved. She was fiercely loyal and serious about her relationships. She was an integral part of the community. Everyone in town knew “Lou” who worked at the Borough and was a part of the Madison and East Hanover communities for almost 70 years. Some of her closest friends - many of you in this room - are friends she had, literally, her entire life.

She walked with us through marriages, divorces, baby births, and graduations. She was shopping partner, travel buddy, confidant, mother, sister, cousin, aunt, grandma, and the best friend you always wanted by your side. She loved fashion and good Chinese food and country music and the beach. Her meatball recipe can probably never be replicated. And who could forget that smiling face? Glowing cheeks, honest, sparkling eyes, wide flashing grin. She was vivacious, full of life…and oh so silly.

Yes, Aunt Lucille loved to laugh almost as much as we loved making her laugh. We would say something funny to get her going and she would giggle and giggle until she begged us, “Stop it! You’re gonna make me pee!” That, of course, only made us laugh harder. Her favorite recliner chair was the site of a lot of crazy antics. We'll never forget the day she decided to relax in her recliner chair and enjoy an ice cream cone. When she went to sit down, she didn’t just sit, she plopped. Well…that day, she plopped a little too hard. The force swung her back and tipped the chair until her back was on the ground and her feet were sticking straight up in the air! “Briiiiiiaaaaan!” she hollered for one of her grandsons to come rescue her. When Brian arrived, there was Aunt Lucille, still stuck on the floor, but holding her ice cream cone desperately in the air like it was the Statue of Liberty’s torch. I wasn’t there that day, but I’m almost 100% sure that when he tipped her upright again, her face was wet with laughing tears.

From Aunt Lucille, we learned how to be better people – how to laugh at life, how to embrace those we love, how to watch over our siblings, and how to treasure our children and grandchildren. So, how can we best remember her?   Go on living.  Go on loving. Be happy for her that she is at peace now, free from pain, and that she’s still doing what she does best, just now in Heaven.

From all of us here left behind, bye bye Lulu. We miss you so very much. Thank you for bringing so much goodness into our lives. We promise to keep laughing and caring and loving and serving each other well, as you taught us to do.

Snow, magical snow...

"The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment, then where is it to be found?"

~J.B. Priestley

My dad sent me this photo that he took standing at the back door of our home in New Jersey, looking out over the backyard. It's a fairytale land!

I miss the snow days of my childhood...bundling up like Ralphie in A Christmas Story with two layers of clothes plus snow pants...building icy igloos with my brother in this very backyard (our favorite fort location was bottom right, behind that tree)...sensing the warmth of our home as we retreated back inside to de-thaw our soaked yarn mittens on the radiator.

Here in Texas, it seems that we only get the cusp of each season - except for summer of course, which is so off the heat radar that it drives you to practically kiss the feet of October, begging for the just the slightest cool breeze to arrive.

In my book, there is just no match for the feeling of expectation that comes the night before a snow storm. What will it be like when I wake up tomorrow? I would wonder as I pulled the covers over my ears. I'd fall asleep to the newscaster's words echoing in my head - "Reports say that a big snow storm will blow in by midnight...we expect to have 24 inches covering the tri-state area by morning...."

And THEN! When morning came, I'd hear muted sounds in the kitchen downstairs...my dad hadn't gone to work! I'd pull back the curtain and open my eyes to see a white wonderland awaiting me in the backyard. YES! It happened!

By this time, all the hills in my small town of Madison had already been fluffing and primping, preparing for the deluge of children whose sleigh marks would soon cover their slopes. Only daredevils headed for the The Madison Golf Club, of course. The slopes there were so steep that with one of those cheapo plastic sleds, you could literally go airborne. My friend Jason and I...we always seemed to have a brush with death whenever we went sledding. There was the time we plowed straight into a thorn bush. Oh, and the other time we got wedged under a parked car, toppled over each other in our sled like dominos. And how could I forget the escapade when we piled into that two-seated-plastic-vehicle-of-death, went airborne towards the bottom of a slope, and flew out horizontally for several feet until gravity kicked in and landed us SPLAT into a ditch on our backs? Uhhhhhh........ That was the day I fractured my tailbone. But oh, we had fun, didn't we?

Here's the view from the front yard now, looking out over the field. Oh, I do miss it...I almost feel like I could reach in and grab a handful of that snow, throw it in the air and let it fall in cool droplets over my hair and nose.

Autumn path.

For anyone who ever thought New Jersey was the "armpit of America," take a look at this...

Ken Lockwood Gorge in Clinton, NJ

Autumn steps.

We just returned from a delightful trip to enjoy autumn in the northeast. I can't wait to share more about the trip! But until then, here are a few places my feet have touched...

Welcome, Autumn.

autumn in central park, 2006

Today is the Autumnal Equinox, one of two times a year when the day and night are of equal length. I'm not sure what that means, besides the fact that cool weather is coming. Yes, cool weather is coming to the land of Texas which this summer dried to a crisp. Here, Autumn, not Spring, is when we emerge from our hibernation. We get to drink morning tea+coffee not encased in an air-conditioned home, but on the back steps gazing into the yard as the squirrels scamper high in the trees. Autumn is when we get to take a walk in the middle of day without breaking a sweat. Autumn is when we dust off our firepit and start gathering stray branches to use as kindling.

There are exactly 37 days until we leave on our annual Autumn Trip to New Jersey & New York City! Oh, the memories I have there at every season, but especially this time of year...sipping a warm drink while walking up Park Avenue to Central Park. Enjoying a slow afternoon on a patio in the East Village. Layering on a jacket (and perhaps a light scarf) as evening sets in. Heading off to dinner in the coolness. This year, we'll get to take a true vacation for an entire week...no computers, no meetings, no schedule. We'll get to see our dear friends and New Yorkers The Sullivans. We might even take a drive to Connecticut and stop at roadside apple farms. I look forward to walking the leaf-carpeted sidewalks of my hometown, helping my dad bag leaves in the back yard, sitting on a bench and just staring, meditating on the change of seasons, and simultaneously, the change in me.

"Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn."
~Elizabeth Lawrence

The more I slow down my life, the more I realize we were meant to live with the rhythms of the earth. There is a reason we have seasons, and oh, how I need this Autumn to refresh me and remind me...that if not even one leaf goes untouched by God, then He can surely take care of me.

A day at the pool.

I've often shared my memories of swimming growing up...and how much I was looking forward to visiting my beloved town pool when I returned to my hometown in New Jersey this summer. Well, I got to spend two glorious late afternoons there...swimming underwater for as long as I could hold my breath.

It has been about 5 years since I was in New Jersey in the summer, a glorious time full of warm days and cool breezes. Summer there reminds me of women toting Land's End beach bags and an evening coolness that brings goose bumps and requires long sleeves after swimming all day.

On this trip, I could barely contain myself as we threw our bags into my mom's car to head for the pool. In my mind, I was 8 years old, ready to do handstands with my childhood friend Tara, and play "exploring" in the tree-covered area while our parents swam, and perhaps eat an ice cream pop (or two) while my hair dried in the sun. What would it be like? Would it be the same?

As soon as we arrived and claimed our parking spot by the woods, I heard the familiar sounds of my childhood - the diving board banging against the poles followed by a big SPLASH!, the bell of the Good Humor truck, and laughs of children sitting on the Three Big Rocks eating their pops on wet towels. Yes, it's been exactly the same for over 30 years. And I love that.




Once inside the pool gates, my mom and I claimed a spot on the grass in our usual location, surrounded by some of the same families who have been spending summer there since I was a child. It may seem a little overly sentimental or perhaps a bit dramatic to be this passionate about a pool. What is so special about it? Well, for one, it's the symbol of summer. Its opening heralds the arrival of longer warmer days, and its closing signals the start of a new school year and new possibilities. It's also colossal, bigger than any pool you've ever seen...with slides you would find at a water park, Olympic-size lanes, games like badminton and tether ball, and parties, and community, and personal history for so many people in this town.

Today, I stood on the edge of the 5 feet area and adjusted my swimsuit, about to make my maiden dive in several years. Almost 31 years after I first entered these waters, it was as if I was looking at a reflection of my own life. How many times had I stood in this exact spot, at all different ages, sizes, and good grief...bathing suits?

I dove in, feeling just like the girl in "A Moment of Clarity". I soared down to the bottom and felt my fingers and stomach brush the white concrete floor. My shadow swam along with me. We swam. And swam and swam and swam.

It was so quiet under there.

When I rose to the surface, I looked around for my mom. Not surprisingly, she was already fully engaged in her laps, the tip of her side-ponytail-braid skimming the top of the water with each stroke.

It's been so long that she and I swam together. She asked me if I would show her my freestyle, so she could be sure I "still knew how to do it." I indulged her without hesitation, taking a deep breath and showing her my most perfect 4-strokes-and-a-breath, 4-strokes-and-a-breath. When I came up for air, she was smiling.

At some point in my teens, I remember going through a stage when I declared that going to the pool was "dumb." Maybe it was rebellious adolescence combined with feeling awkward in a bathing suit, but those days I didn't want to swim anywhere near my mom and I got impatient with her, begging her to get out of the water before the last whistle blew at closing time at 7:30pm. She was always the last person left in the pool.

Today, I was chatting beside her as we swished our arms through the water and fluttered our feet, hoping that 7:30pm wouldn't come too quickly.

We began to reminisce about some of our memories here, and I unearthed one of her less favorable ones, which happened the last time I was here 5 years ago. The water slide. In her Jersey accent she quickly retorted, "Neva again! You know what happens when I go down that slooide!"

Boy, do I know! I'll never erase that image from my mind.

I had brought my friend Suz from Nashville to New Jersey for a short trip, and we were excited about going to the Moonlight Swim, one of several nights that the pool is open after dark for you to swim and bring water floats and listen to live music. That night, Suz and I were feeling bold and challenged my mom to go down the giant water slide in the diving tank.

I have to preface this by saying that my mom does not EVER go underwater due to an almost-drowning incident as a child. But that evening...for some reason...she accepted our challenge and went down that twisty tall slide in this photo, the image of which has now become legend.

Suz and I stood in the lap lanes across the pool, ready for the show. My mom climbed the stairs and paced back and forth a few times uncertainly before giving us a last nervous glance and sitting down to launch herself from the top. Then she was off...hidden from our view for 1 second...2 seconds...3 seconds....4 seconds...(seemed like a million seconds) in the twists and turns until we saw her emerge at the final turn. In a matter of seconds, her appearance had somehow completely changed from when she had started at the top: Her side ponytail was smashed and soaked. She was trying desperately to sit up but was kind of teetering on one hip, trying to keep herself from laying on her back. Even from afar, we could see that blue eyeliner was smeared under her eyes and running down her face. Her face held a look of sheer terror. Her arms were spread out to the side to brace herself before the final SPLASH.

Suz and I were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe.

The unforgiving slide then dumped her into the diving tank at full speed. We waited a few seconds, holding our breath until she finally floundered to the surface. We clapped and yelled cheers for her from across the pool. In fact, I think the whole crowd was cheering! Dawn Piccione had gone down the slide and lived to tell about it.

She emerged from the diving tank, hair matted and dripping wet and stomped across the deck with an "Are you happy now??" look on her face. She then started giggling along with us. That is one of the reasons I love my mom.

Just remembering the story today, she reminded me that she was "NEVA doing that again, so don't even ask". But that's OK. Because today I appreciate this place for what it is....and I appreciate time with my mom because it won't last forever.

The lifeguards blew their whistles at 7:30pm, just like always. I climbed the ladder out of the water and turned around to look at the unbroken, peaceful waters. We wrapped towels around our waists like two mermaids and lef the pool together, soaking wet and happy.