The best $4 I'll ever spend...

I have been writing letters to my daughter Gracie since she was born. Gracie knows about the letters. She even says, "Mom, don't write about this", when I comment on events.

I rarely share these letters. But, this weekend is Mother's Day and I am going to break the rule. I got my answer to a question I asked myself many years ago. Here is the letter:

Dear Gracie,

You have been at home sick with a cold for two days. Finally, you are feeling better so I thought we would go to Starbucks. You have grown to like a Vanilla Bean Frappaccino. I never thought I would see the day when I would spend $4 on a drink for a nine year old. You want to know the truth? It's the best $4 I'll ever spend.

We sat there in Starbucks on this cold winter day while your classmates were finishing up their day at school. What a treat to be sitting together, watching the snow build on the sidewalk. The high school lets out earlier and Starbucks was filling up with teenagers coming in to hang out.

As I looked around, I noticed that they were all with their friends, not a mom in sight. I looked at you, sucking down your frothy white drink and I asked myself, "will you always want to spend time with me?" Because I know that someday, Starbucks will be the place you are with your friends, not your mother.

And so the $4 drink. It is giving me a memory that will last me through those years when your friends sit opposite you at the table. Someday your friends will take my place in that chair and I'll feel sad that my little girl has other confidants in her life. That is the way it is supposed to be, but I can't help but wonder what will the teenage years will be like? Will you still want to talk to me, dream with me and pass time with me?

So for now, I'll tuck away this memory for someday in the future. Like I said, it's the best $4 I'll ever spend.

Love,

Mom

Now my little girl is in high school and yes, she spends more of her time with her friends than with her mother. But, this I know...she still likes the Vanilla Bean Frappacino and she still likes to share her dreams with me. The years are passing so fast and yet some things stay the same.

So, I'll have my own Mother's Day celebration. I'll buy Gracie that $4 drink and sit and talk about her day. God, I am blessed. Happy Mother's Day everyone!

Thank You Michael, for the gift of hearing my world

Such a simple little device...and yet, this little instrument in my ear, it signals the start of my day. Kind of like when the screen on your computer lights up and all your applications come into view, that is my world. I live in total isolation until the little gizmo turns on.

Every morning, I click on the switch and instantly, the small amount of hearing I have left in one ear tunes me into my world. All because of Michael, my audiologist, for more than half of my life, has been my resource to listening. You see, this man who I call my friend, has been my link to the hearing world.

I hated my hearing aid growing up. In fact, I would hide it in my purse when I was a teenager. My hearing was much better in those years and I could get away without it. I am a strong lipreader and this allowed me to be "normal". I just wanted to be like everyone else and the hearing aid, well, it didn't fit my image. Not cool, not me.

So, onto college, I started wearing them more to hear the lectures. Then the career years started and hearing aids allowed me to make a living. It was a combination of luck and hard work, I advanced up the ladder and worked for amazing companies. But, there is one other very important component, those opportunities were possible, because I could hear.

So, every morning, when this little hearing aid goes into my ear, I am so thankful.

Thank you Michael. Thank you for this amazing gift of hearing that you have given to me through the years. With hearing came confidence. I wasn't afraid to strike out on my own, move to The Big Apple and take on the big job on Park Avenue. Through conversation I cultivated lifelong friendships. I could hear my wedding vows and my daughter's first words.

Thank you for your friendship, for the many hours you would spend with me. There were times that those meetings were incredibly sad, the audiograms revealed yet another drop, more loss. And yet, you never gave up on me.

Today, I celebrate the Michael Santucci's of the world and their life work of helping the hearing impaired to live a better quality of life. I thank my teachers so many years ago that taught me how to lip read and the speech therapists that helped me to overcome my speech impediments. Thank you also to the music teacher that helped me to listen to notes and overcome tone deafness. Without all of you, my life would have been so different.

So each morning, when I turn on the little hearing aid, I have incredible gratitude. You see, it isn't just about a hearing aid...it is the gift of listening, learning and living.

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

When I am in Trader Joes, I love to check out the 99 cent greeting cards. One of the cards jumped out at me, with the question, "When was the last time you did something for the first time?"

I purchased the card and it sits on my desk. I am guilty of doing things the same, safe way. As I get older, it gets even safer. This is bothering me. I think this may be a key component to the aging process.

When I lived in Manhattan, I made the decision to move to a little farmhouse in Connecticut. Oh a whim, I fell in love with Westport, a charming little town on the sound. I packed up my Manhattan apartment and bought a used car from a friend. I was all set to start a new chapter, new experience. Only one problem, the car was a stick shift and I had no clue how to drive it. I called my mom and dad and told them about my plans, my purchase. When they expressed concerns about the car, my response, "it's no big deal, I'll just learn how to do it."

One of the mover guys drove it out to my new home. I sat next to him and watched him drive my car. I realized it was a bigger deal than I thought. Especially when we got into Connecticut and there was this little rolling action while you waited on a hill at a stoplight. Yikes.

I had a few days off, so I unpacked my belongings and began to make this sweet little house with a wraparound porch, home. There in the driveway sat my Honda Civic station wagon and I had no clue how to drive this vehicle. I took cabs back and forth to the train. I knew I couldn't keep this up for long, I needed to learn how to master the stick shift.

My friend at Clairol, Adrienne offered to be my teacher. That weekend, she came out and gave me my first lesson. We went to a parking lot where I could stall, lunge and roll, without inconveniencing anyone. She was a great teacher, but I had a ways to go before I could set out solo on the hills of Westport.

I got up early the next morning to practice. I put a big sign in the rear view window, "please be patient while I learn a stick shift". The sign worked, people stayed far, far away. Soon, I could do it! What fun it was to whiz around the backroads of my new town. It was such a great feeling to learn something new.

Check out my picture of Gracie taking her first steps. The expression on her face is one that says "wow, look at what I can do!". So, I am going to make my list, of things to try for the first time. There is a big hill outside my house that is perfect for sledding. Gracie and her friends are on it all the time, while I watch safely from my kitchen window. Today, I am pulling on my snow pants and boots and going down that hill. Hopefully, no one will be watching as I make a total goof out of myself.

I'm going to keep the card on my desk and challenge myself to step outside of the box and try something new. Even if I fail miserably or make a fool out of myself, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I'm open to possibilities and willing to take a chance on the unknown.

And if I live my life this way, who knows...I may have discovered the secret to staying forever young.

For Christina Taylor Green

I am often asked, "what is your favorite image in the book...what sound do you miss the most?" Until last night, I never had an answer. I would tell people, I love them all, how can I pick?

Now, I know. It is the sound of sheer joy. Children laughing, playing. Surely, of all the sounds, nothing is more precious than the sound of a child discovering his world.

Our role as parents, as aunts and uncles or simply if you love a child, our role is to watch, guide and protect. Is there anything more wonderful than the curiosity, the wide eyed wonder of my daughter and her friends? Even at 15, she still amazes me as new experiences unfold day after day. And through it all, I watch, I guide, I protect.

So, this beautiful girl Christina, who had her life taken from those who love her, how do we make sense of this? For me, it isn't a political discussion, it isn't about the guns or mentally unstable. It is about loss. This time, even though I do not know her, I have been crying for days. I know I am not alone. It makes me realize that my ability to protect has limitations. Life is so fragile, for all of us.

I believe that our children, they represent all that is good in this world. They remind us of living in the moment and all the possibilities of the future. So, dear, beautiful Christina, you have become one of ours and we will mourn you like we knew you. We will pray for your family and for time to heal broken hearts.

I know that I will do what President Obama suggested. I will be a kinder and better person. I will thank God often for Gracie, this incredible miracle that sleeps down the hall from me each night.

When the President referred to "jumping in puddles" in his speech last night, then I knew...the best image, the best sound, is the one that shows the spirit and joy of our children.

God Bless You Christina.

Image Copyright William Huber, 100 sounds to see

I made a donation to the Community Foundation for Southern Arizona in Christina's name. Here is the link: www.cfsoaz.org

A new baby

I remember the first night home as a new mother like it was yesterday. I was terrified. Here was this tiny little creature looking up at me from her cradle in the middle of the night. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

I was surrounded by all the comforts a new mother should have, soft little burp cloths, warmers for the wipes, even the cotton blankets were embroidered with Amazing Grace. There was this diaper genie thingamajig that was truly remarkable the way it would carry away soiled diapers.

Mark was sleeping and it was a very silent moment in the middle of a summer night. Gazing at my little daughter, in her cradle...I remember thinking, somehow I'll figure it out and praying a "help me" type prayer. Perhaps this is normal? Kind of a new mom prayer, Dear God, help me figure it out. After the prayer, I remember wondering what my child would do with her life? What kind of person would she be?

What was it like for Mary when Jesus was born? Certainly the comforts were not there and the cradle was a rough, wood thing that was scratchy, the last thing a new mother would want for her newborn child. Can you even imagine the thoughts that Mary was having? She knew this child was going to save all of us...and this beginning, was out of her control.

So, this Christmas Eve, I am thinking about faith. That even when life becomes something very different and unknown, there is a plan for all of us. Just like that blessed Christmas, so long ago when a new mother, not unlike you and me, was chosen to be the one that would bring Him into our world.

My Christmas wish for all of us is this, let us have the kind of faith that Mary had that night long ago and know, that it will be as it should be. Know that when our life is like a scratchy manger, that God is with us and all will be ok. Perhaps this is the real meaning behind Peace on Earth? It is about having peace in our hearts and being thankful.

Silent night...

the sound of my mother's sewing machine

Maybe my mother should consider entering project runway? Her designs dressed both of her daughters all through their childhood. We both won best dressed and it was because of the many hours she would spend working at the sewing machine in the corner of her bedroom.

Mom worked a full time job and yet, she often had a project underway. My childhood memories are marked by the beautiful clothes that she made for events. For the roller skating party in sixth grade, I had bell bottoms with a matching v-neck vest. They had a giant paisley pattern, the height of coolness. For Christmas, a beautiful red velvet dress with white satin cuffs and matching covered buttons down the front. In the summer, I would have pinafore dresses with matching kerchiefs.

High school brought brown corduroy hot pants and dresses for homecoming dances. I remember all too well, the prom dress she made for me. My boyfriend broke up with me three weeks before senior prom. The boy that asked me to go was not "John" and I was so disappointed. Mom made up for it. She bought fabric that had a gold dust sparkle on the surface and a skirt that made me feel like a princess. That was her way of making the night memorable...and it worked. (She never did tell Dad what she spent on the fabric.)

We didn't have the money to shop for clothes in department stores, but the experience of my mom's homemade garments were so much better for many reasons. Together, we would choose a pattern and fabric. Then she would cut it out on the dining room table. Slowly, it would come together as she would run the seams under the presser foot of her sewing machine. RRRRRRRR, snip, cut...I would watch her as she labored by her machine, often at night after working all day.

The picture I posted shows me smiling...most likely at my mom. I had good reasons to smile. These garments were her gift to me as she shared her talent, her time and most of all her love.

I shop for my daughter's clothes in department stores and never once have I found anything that comes close to a Mary Engle original. I wish I had the patience and skill to create from the heart like my mom.

When I was a little girl, watching her sew, I said, "Mom, you are a good maker". How very true and how blessed I am to have a mother that continues to give of her time and talents not just to me, but to all who know Mary Engle.

Merry Christmas Mom. How about whipping up one of those beautiful taffetta christmas blouses for me again?

A note to the boy who came to the book signing

Dear precious boy,

You came to the book signing in Glen Ellyn this weekend and I didn't get your name. You were accompanied by a woman who served as our interpreter. You were signing and I was lip reading. We are both deaf.

I showed you my hearing aid and tried to explain that I am like you. You smiled at me and nodded your head. You handed me your book to sign and watched me write my name. Then we had a short conversation.

I looked you in the eye and explained slowly and clearly, "when I look at the pictures, I can hear the sounds in my mind." Your interpreter quickly signed these words. You paused for a minute and then with a big smile said, "me, too."

What I want you to know is that nothing will mean more to me than your smile. No matter what happens with the book as the world reviews its contents, your critique means the most.

This book is for you and your journey that lies ahead. Always remember, that what makes us different, is what makes us special in this world. And you are one special person.

Your friend,

marsha