What Is A Mom?

Albert Brooks is one of the most underrated actors, in my opinion. In the movie "Mom,"

which he wrote and co-starred in with Debbie Reynolds, he moves home as a middle aged

man, trying to figure out where his life has gone awry. At first his mother, Debbie Reynolds, is completely clueless why he wants to do this....... but by the end of the movie, she changes as much as he does. I have seen this movie more times than I can count. I am a big fan of the subtleties of life that Albert Brooks takes us through. The dry humor, that is so real it is almost nauseating for those of us who have lived certain oddities! The pain that we see, unfiltered,

raw...... through his sometimes brash and rusty armor he has taken off, laid aside...... let us in.

I understand him so much, his quest...... Why? I have been on that non stop quest to try to make sense of where I come from. Why I behave the way I do. I, too have tried to go back, short of

moving in with the folks again, to find out why? It has unfortunately not brought the wonderful resolution as in the ending of the movie that Albert Brooks experienced.

I once again visited home, as many other times before. Her home is within twenty minutes of where I live.

My tolerance for things in life has increased the older I have gotten, but deceased with my Mom.

I have tried in every conceivable way to rectify this situation. Endless stories I have written about this woman. The problem for me is and always be..... the name. The words MOM attached to her's. So confusing, such a contradiction. Sheer pain. I have walked away so many times,

only to come back to try again..... she's my mom. This weekend, the after affects hit hard, once again.... from seeing her.

It had me come to some deeper realizations about the affects this woman leaves on my soul.

It is not that I don't realize that she has always informed anyone within ear shot my business.

From the tender age of twenty, people that were near strangers would come up to me and state:

Your mother tells me you are getting a divorce..... you left your husband, why? It went on and on through the years. Nothing was off limits... whatever suited her fancy.

When I tried to explain why I couldn't be around her, needed to take a break but loved her, she would tell people I was in a Cult. As the years went on, went through a deep depression and learned I was Bipolar, she would announce it to anyone and everyone my most private details. These were things I hadn't told anyone, yet I wasn't allowed the dignity of sharing

in my own time. My friends I hadn't seen in years knew, because of her lack of boundaries. I didn't even have a chance to get comfortable with myself first.

She would announce anything, usually what she perceived negative. Get it off of her..... point the finger wherever she can. Never the positive. A couple of days ago, she started

in again. It always takes me a little while to process the level of betrayal. I was sending out my writings to some Publishers .........it wasn't that I just started shaking and cracking from general

nerves. It was the undermining that I realized I allowed myself to still be part of. During the night I felt like an earth quake hit me....... and I was shaking, being ripped apart. I was shaken to my foundation. I realized, how can I allow this anymore? I know what love is. I certainly was not shown it. Have worked my whole life to find it, be a part of it, know it, and hopefully in some very small way....... try to spread it.

This anger, rage, bullying, unkindness, backstabbing....... and then throw Religion into it. All in the name of God. I am going to burn in Hell so she tells me. For simply living life according to me, finally. She will pray for my soul. I burst. I have tried. So hard. Ridiculously. Each time I have come back, trying with love. My heart is broken. It needs to heal.

I have no more to give to an unhappy woman who will not look within. I have wanted nothing more, than to be able to be with her in her final years. My soul is crying. It is scorched and on fire.

I need to now put a salve on it and heal. Really heal. There is nothing more I can do, and that is the greatest conflict I have..... pain. What I do realize. I cannot subject myself to this unhappy, angry woman's tirades and wrath anymore. I cannot afford to. I crumble and break. She gives it no much as an afterthought. Mine or anyone else's devastation. She chooses to shut it all off...... point fingers at.......the nearest and dearest. Those who show her kindness.

My heart hurts. It is Valentines Day. I am surrounded by love in my home. I am typing on the new laptop my Raymond gave me for Valentines Day. I cried and cried because I felt so unworthy. What I need to do is wrap myself even tighter in it..... the warmest, plushest blanket made of purple velvet. It is her world...... the cold, dark anger. I do not accept the

residue from my mother's poison. Inappropriate, thoughtless public discussions about her daughter. Unkind words.

They have seared me. Made me slow to trust that I am loved ....... I am enough just as I am.

I am learning. All I have are my words, my truth. This is my heart. I am who I am.

This is all we really have anyway..... when we cut to the chase. Our hearts. What do we really want to say? We can dance around..... or we can get to the heart.

I choose the second one. No matter the consequences, that's all that really matters.

-Clare

I Have Changed

I don't know if I want to be your friend anymore...... I have changed and you don't really want to. I thought you did. Really, I listened to your words..... your actions tell another story.

We are not the same. I will no longer listen to you telling me that we are. This right I have earned on my own.... hard earned. I am my own person. I just figured that out! I stake my claim, it is mine. I will not go back into the dark cave I came out of... for you or anyone else.

It is no longer my responsibility for the steps you take, or don't. Two steps forward one step back. That worked for me. The no steps is what did me in. I don't want too pretend anymore.

The burden on my soul is too great. My hearts just not in it.

It drains me and takes me to places I can no longer afford to linger in. Darkness and fear and

drafty hallways. I am ready to bask in the sunshine..... drink in all that bright light. I am more than okay with whatever choice you make in life for yourself. I get it now. It took me a little while to understand. You hide things so magnificently...... I did not see the whole picture. Bit by bit. What a relief to let go and finally understand. This is what you really wanted all along. It was me who didn't, wouldn't look. If you really wanted a different life you would be actively pursuing it. I feel a pressure coming off me. I wasn't listening. You gave me all the clues. I think both of us will breath a lot easier now.We have differences how we view life. Cool. Let's just agree to disagree. I love that!

I accept what is important to you...... but it's not what rocks my world.

My family, my husband, building a constant bridge..... is what will always be my number one.

You are kind and loving. I just can no longer be on your time table. My clock is finally ticking.

I need to claim my life. Every step I have taken has been built from quick sand..... that I alone have had to turn into a concrete foundation.

I love you, but am no longer willing. It is not healthy for either of us. This is finally a love letter to me. To my darling Raymond. To my incredible Matthew and Katie. Sorry it has taken mama

so long to catch on. The light switch is blarin bright. We all deserve more. Follow the leader.

I don't think so. Time to stand up and be counted. I am standing on my tippy toes so I can pretend I am 5'5. that's some serious perching.

Your mamas on a reinvention campaign. So is your wife, Raym. I vow to be the leader I was meant to be. No more hiding. I will lead myself, even and especially when scared.

I dedicate myself to listening to my own voice, thoughts. Asking for help..... good sound help..... when I need it. I honor myself and my family. I love all of us. We're a team.

Layer by Layer

I wrote this 5-19 09 and revised it. Wow my writing has changed, a lot of cleaning up!

This was not so long ago when I only wrote in free hand. Could barely read it. I am in a forgiveness theme if you couldn't tell! I do hope you enjoy my story> As I wrote this story, it turned into a completely different one. These were the days I never wrote about myself..... all metaphors, or so I thought. This one sounds kind of good to actually do!

The most decadent chocolate layer cake on the table, right in front of me. Taunting me. So beautifully presented, I didn't want to disturb it's artistry. So sinfully rich and moist, begging to be eaten.

I was a goner and I knew it. Where was my tall frosty mug of iced cold milk, to accompany this

treasure? The first couple of bites......I realized I had not even begun to dig into the countless layers that awaited my trembling taste buds. The joy I felt was simply intoxicating.

As I realized this cake perched before me..... was all mine. The speed of the fork in my hand increased, as I dug into the second layer of this mouth watering delight.

The ice cold milk pouring down my throat at break neck speed. Something felt slightly off.

As delicious as the second layer was it didn't compare with the first. I shrugged it off ready for layer three. Yum, another flavor...... yet I detected something slightly off, once again.

Did the baker add a tad too much baking soda, maybe a pinch of salt was off. What is this slight bitterness I am detecting? I down some water this time. Maybe that was the problem,

a combination thing. Was the milk bad? In my overwhelming lust for this bit of heaven, I probably just wasn't paying attention.

Satisfied with this possibility, and a tummy that was gurgling, yet still yearning for more.... I dug into layer four.

Much less gusto, as my fork did not pick up the pace so quickly. Another beautiful layer dipped into my

mouth. Lazily resting on my tongue for a spell. This time no hurry to dive down final

destination ..... tummy! No question, I was beginning to sputter a little. This stuff tasted bitter.

A sinking feeling set in. I began to realize, after drinking every beverage in the fridge......

this taste of sour is not coming from the cake. It is coming from me. On my taste buds.

I am sick to my stomach from all the sugar. The room is spinning. I look at my beautiful cake.

Some of the flowers of blues and greens are still visible on the top, of this now very lop sided cake. Somehow my name has managed to survive. This turns my stomach somehow even more.

I am conscious enough to look down at my fingers covered in layers of chocolate. So, these too were my fork. I now remember. I touch my face and the thick, dark, once delicious treat now feels like mud. I lean over the sink and wash the cake off. How did the sticky flower frosting get all over my hands... face, hair? As the water flows, I watch the ingredients, of this once magnificent cake, now turn into a vibrant rainbow of colors, wash down the drain.

My breath is still, just like my emotions. Wave after wave hits me, as I lay down on the kitchen floor. My head feels as though I have been in the mightiest storm, crashing now on a reef.

The sadness and hurt I have been holding inside, now knocking at my door. I am in a rip tide...... Time to answer that door.

I realize as I look over at the table, where this all began. I walk over to this once beautiful cake,

and dig in, again. Now my hands feels like paws. It takes some time to make my way. I did not realize how many layers were in this thing. I begin to rip it up. Throw it around. I am finally getting to the bottom layer. The mess I am making is so uncharacteristic of me. One who does not like to lose control. I am once again covered head to toe. I no longer care. It just so feels good.I like these new animal instincts. I realize how well they would have served me earlier on.

I am primal.... my heart feels so light.

I walk into the bathroom, turn the shower on, feel rejuvenation.... rebirth.

Everything is not perfectly lined up. How unbelivably freeing! I smear the cake and frosting all over my body like the most delightful, pampering, exotic spa treatment.

I laugh, feeling so much lighter. Layer by layer.

Movin On Down The Road

Last night I felt one hundred years old. I was more exhausted than I could put into words.

Every time I write, I unwrap more of myself that has been far... buried, hidden away.

It shocks me, and I am the writer. I thought I knew myself so intimately, so well. Had this part

of my life pretty buttoned down. Time to move on down the road. Next. This morning I was reading more things on forgiveness. I wrote down a few sentences. Smack...... it hit me like a thunder bolt. I understand, thought I always understood the meaning of service. Giving service.

I have met a couple of gals in the last year who have changed my perspective significantly. They have helped me see service as not a chore...... but as a part of life. Joy.

One dazzlingly beautiful ray of sunshine who I have nick named Cracklin Rosie, has reconnected me to the exuberant spirit of my youth. She teaches me about the sheer joy of cleaning a bathroom. She brings out the playfulness- I had forgotten. She makes me remember. Today for some reason, my heart connected fully with her message.

I was cooking breakfast, listening to Andrea Bocelli. Cracklin tells me Mambo Italiano is

the way to go to get the house spic and span. That is barely a fingertip of an explanation about who this fabulous woman really is.

The body, spirit of this unbelievably talented artist, that is Cracklin. The words, exquisite. Masterpieces, jewels from the heavens, she writes. Spanning across

space...... time. Bringing us all to a higher place of joy...... knowing.

Another one that has inspired me through her beautiful, soulful....... uplifting words.

Char. Such a gentle spirit, who let's her words so beautifully guide and inspire. Char and Cracklin are friends. I came much later to the game. Both are from entirely different worlds,

different styles....... yet not so different at all.... in heart and message. Funny, charming,

a depth that has no limits. Always learning, searching. Char has a compassion to her that

I have witnessed ...... it humbles me. She feels so sister like to me...... which feels so strange yet normal. Her heart is so genuine, I am glad we are friends. She teaches ..... without us even knowing we are learning. She takes us into her dance of light, and shows us that we too are born to shine.

Last but not least, this gal is one I have known for a good twenty years. She is a sister to me as well. She is Patricia. We reconnected this year again on Face Book. We had not seen each other in about five years, and along time before that. I have always loved Patricia.

Her gentleness. What an artist. I saw her recently, and had mistakenly thought a famous

work of art........ was hers. She laughed. I just remembered her style...... much credit to you Patricia. Quite an impact your beautiful art made on me. This shy, beautiful, old world

romantic girl. I am so happy we have made our way back in each others lives... hearts.

I am movin down the road, with the help from a lot of people. I am letting go and letting love in. I am accepting we cannot do this alone, we all need love. Interaction, friendship.......

connection. I had shut myself off from all that for so long. It was just my family, my hubby.

Poor fellow having to listen to me! I love my friendships with these amazing women.

I have mended very torn fences with my sisters and written extensively about our healing.

That is such an amazing and once impossible thought in my head. Grace is the only thing that comes to mind. I am now working on the most painful... and I believe the most necessary.

Where it all began. The original wound...... with my mother. I want more than anything to forgive her.... all the way through. Especially while she is still here on Earth. Writing about my Aunts death yesterday had me thinking about what my heart and soul want..... needs at this stage.

Peace....... to have the ability to really move on down the road with lightness in my steps.

It is the next stage today... I am declaring it. It is bigger than me. I now have the tools, the friendships, the love, the roadmap....... How appropriate..... "The Prayer, by"Andrea Bocelli and Celine Dion just came on.

Goodbye Aunt Joan

The phone rang and I was surprised who was on the other end. Katie spoke for a few moments, and handed it off to me. My dad's voice greeted me...... short of breath. Even though I knew it was him, it still caught me off guard. Listening to Katie's sweet melodic laugh, soothing him with lulling words of comfort. Simple acts of kindnesses that are so Katie. He is on oxygen, so it takes a minute or so for him to relax, acclimate sometimes. My dad never calls...... maybe once every 5 or 10 years, so I wondered what was up? He was telling me about his exercise program, everyone who is on Weight Watchers.

I know their exact weight, probably more than they do. Down to the 1/4 pound they lose or gain, when I visit or talk on the phone with him.

Donna, mom's friend is down eighty three pounds. Rockin. "She has that farm in the back. You know she has a goat, too." Well, this phone call was not just about mom's Weight Watchin Friends, and how long he did the exercise wheely thing. He does for three hours a day.... sometimes five. His Aunt,

one of my favorites... Aunt Joan had died. I thought maybe it had just happened today.

He was calling now to let me know what the details were. What I did piece together.... she died last week. This was his mothers

best friend, favorite sister. Aunt Joan was also my father's sisters best friend. They were only four years apart in age. I was really listening as my father spoke. I asked him if he was okay?

He pushed those words away in a hurry.... said he didn't want to call to make me upset.

Now........ my brain is doing this..... deee dooo deee dooo. Just like a computer. I am perfectly calm, asking questions. I am thinking: am I somehow on crack, do I sound upset? Have hysterics set in and no one told me? This is actually, strange as it would seem one of those things I am well equipped at. Hospice has taught me so much. More than anything, I was just listening to what he was telling me. What I realized, when I finally took myself out of the equation... he was in deep grief. Needed to process this before he could even place this call.

All his old wounds were fresh. Memories of his mom. His sister who had left him so long ago.

He was the only surviving member of his family. All those memories came flooding back when he thought of Aunt Joan. Childhood thoughts of growing up in New York/NewJersey area.

She was really something else. Her humor was dark, dry...... just funny. I always told her she sounded like Marge Simpson on The Simpsons when I called her on the phone. She moved back to Oregon, about fifteen years ago to live with one of her daughters. Those Florio sisters were not the lightest in spirit. They carried heavy luggage from their people. Life had not been so easy in their household. My grandma and her sisters

grew up in New York. Life was a struggle from day one. Both parents came from Italy. They spoke only Italian in their home. Their father died early on, and mother was very ill with diabetes when they were young women. Money was always an issue.

I called them Charlies Angels, when I was in high school. Those Florio Sisters. That's just how I was, a smarty pants. When I really started going to town watching them..... two of them looked like Barry Mannilow in drag. I got more mileage out of that one. That would have me in hysterics. Little Grandma would just laugh. I am not lying. They really did! I am laughing, wondering if I will be looking like Barry Manilow in drag... soon enough. Well, I am only half Italian,

maybe that Scottish side will kick in, keep my nose down to a dull roar. How is it that our noses grow? Is that an Italian thing, or just the misfortune of everyone, as we age? I'll have to ask my about Doc that one. I don't want him to look at my schnoz too close. Possibly suggest that Carl Malden and I have more similarities than he once thought.

I used to take Little Grandma and Aunt Joan on outings. If that wasn't fun..... I don't know what was. Two opinionated Italian women. Fabulous, funny. There was this outlet for clothes I used to take them to. Now, these two gals did not like to spend money, even if they had it.... on themselves. They were very generous with others. That's just how they were! So, we'd go to this strip mall outlet. It was in El Monte.... it's all coming back to me. Not the nicest place to hang out at.

These two would jump out of my car and look at their polyester finery with sheer giddiness.

Now, you know there has to be something in it to amuse me. I love my gals like nobody's business, buy these gals were shy, proper....... Italian Catholic.

With outlet shopping, the clothes are such deep discounts, somethings gotta give.

Here's my pleasha! We would ...... no I would have 400 things in my arms, as these frothing

gals couldn't wait to try on their treasures. Aaahh..... then the curtain would open.

Giddiness would turn to horror, as fifty other older gals were packed like stuffed sausage

[Anne, that was for you] in this tiny make shift dressing room. Biggest under wear and

I think they were bras...... that I have ever seen in my life.

Laughing, checking them selves out... having the greatest time. These gals had to have been

ninety plus. I am teasing about all of this. It was just a shocker seeing the gigantic underwear.

Believe me...... it's not like I wear a thong. But ..... these things were sail boats, masts. Islands.

Watching Little Grandma and Aunt Joan have to let go, to try on their finery was the most fun.

They were the cutest little girls. Shy, waiting for the place to clear out. Really ... we had to wait it out. Now I see where I get my tendencies for waiting things out. Especially in public places.

They were so happy with their clothes. My thrill was sneaking up to the counter and buying everything they loved, while they were still tripping out in the dressing room. I knew where those little girls from New York came from. Those girls that wanted, too. They came from so little. My love for those sisters......

When Little Grandma died, about 6 or 7 years ago, a piece of all of us went with her.

On the flip side, so much of her is in all of us. We are learning to pull it out of us.

Love. To simply love. From a simple, uneducated woman. That's what some would say.

Not me. Not those who knew her. She knew what was most important. How to hold

a hand. Really hold a hand and send God's love through it. I felt it each and every time.

Her comfort was like none I have known. I wish I could manufacture it. Not for selfish

reasons. So everyone could feel what it felt like. To feel Grandma's touch. To know to your soul that you were her one and only. Everyone of us grand kids take that with us. We cherish it.

I know you were there waiting for Aunt Joan, Little Grandma. Your best friend came home to play. Aunt Nina welcomed you first, her mama. I bet that was some celebration to see your daughter....... after all these years. I bet there has been non stop parties in all your names.

You three girls, I can see it now. Strolling Fifth Ave...... with the fanciest hats and coats.

How beautiful you all look. There is a parade in your honor. Bask in the sun light.

Until we meet again. I miss you all so much. I can feel the joy now that you are reunited once again. You taught me so many things, my fine Italian ladies.

It is okay to want the finer things. To love beauty. To laugh large. Cry when it hurts. Diamonds do sparkle and shine......... all I have to do is think of the three of you. Your hearts were pure and true. You showed me raw feelings were okay. Express how you feel to those you love. Be who you are, because that is who you are. Infuse love into all the food you cook. Take very good care of my family, and be so very grateful for the love in my life. I felt truly loved by all three of you, down to my toes. I know you are taking care of each other. Take care of my girls for me, until we meet again.......

Floating

So much activity surrounded these moments. It would be truly impossible for me to have the absolute accurate account, from a three year olds perspective. Much is bits and pieces from my parents..... the rest is my memory and my souls knowing.

I remember very accurately laying in my hospital bed, listening to the doctor telling my parents I would not make it through the night. I had a severe case of pneumonia, and had already been taken to one local hospital near our home and family doctor. He suggested to my mother it was time to bring in the big guns. On to Los Angeles Children's Hospital [That's where I was hearing this Doctor talking to my parents.] I felt my body leave..... I was watching them from under the crib- like bed. It seemed normal. My dad looked so sad. I still have a hard time talking about this. Allowing people to grieve.... feel the way they need to. Perhaps that is why I love Hospice. The need to understand grief, life, letting go....... death. To be with a person fully with your love. Your full attention in their most frightening times. Calm another's fears. Just be present.

What I saw and felt..... my mothers nothingness expression. It was as though I had already died. She was done with me. Simply had moved on.... gone. No one was home anymore, in her eyes. It is unbearable to express these feelings as I write. I searched her face. Hold my hand mommy. Tell me everything is going to be okay. Don't leave me...... I'm not gone yet, look I'm still here. Daddy is crying.

Am I not worth a tear drop. No emotion ...... I searched, I scrutinized through my three year old eyes. Off I went ....... further and further away. Soaring over the other children on the ward.

I saw each and of every one of them. Some with with cancer, leukemia. Other's who were dying. I knew.....something in me had changed. I could feel their pain, loneliness, fear.

I looked into their eyes as I floated.

It was unbearable. The worst part is ....I could feel who was going to die.

I have been put under hypnosis many times. Through the years I've had nightmares and visions

I couldn't get out of my head. It all came out finally when I was ready to accept this part of myself. I denied it, didn't like it. Felt like a true freak. I went to Hypnotherapy School.

I studied what the mind was capable of. I have never stopped.It fascinates me. That is my guilty pleasure. I can't get enough information crammed into my brain. Learning how our brain works.... how everything is related. I realized, much later of course..... through many years of therapy and self education...... it was way too scary for me to hear that Doctors

diagnosis that night in the hospital. I needed my mom to comfort me. That wasn't going to happen. I just went away instead.

I have been able through the years to see those kids faces..... as I became an adult. I allow myself to watch now. The pain is searing..... to see their aloneness. To truly feel it, and embrace it. I have always been extremely sensitive, feeling others emotions. Usually to my detriment in the past. I am learning to love this side of me that taps into people, instead of rejecting it. It is all part of my tapestry that makes me...... me.

I have learned only recently about illness and myself. I have had one form of illness or another my entire life. I have had an unbelievable fear of death with illnesses, that have not always been complex. Even things that were simple, I overreacted.

I have spent a lot of my days in Doctor's offices. Just in the past year or so..... I think I am

beginning to crack the Clare code. It comes in a couple of forms. Knowing.... accepting with

all my being that I have a right to be on this planet. My mother simply did not know how to show love. I was worthy of love....... but was a tender hearted little girl who needed her mommy. I lived my life looking to people.... for acceptance....... please love me.

I beg you, as though my life depended on it. To that three year old, it did. I am learning to fill up that hole...... those deep wounds that started so young. Misperception. My mom still is who she is. She will never be what I need.... she is what she is. She will always be the child. I have to reach out to, hug, risk...... she cannot, will not..... too much damage..... I don't know. I don't even think I care anymore. My illnesses have kept me from really living...... fully. I have needed to forgive myself. Whatever I saw with those children, in the hospital: it haunted me that I lived.

I cannot explain the feeling I have in my soul.... the knowing. Children have always been my priority. Mine..... my kids friends..... volunteering. Up at my kids school. Still now...... adult children, the worlds children. Whatever I felt was so painful then, is actually coming full circle in my life. I have not wanted to bring that side of myself forward. Feeling so deeply. It is agonizing sometimes. I don't think I would have it any other way now. The gift I am learning my mother has given me...... what I have felt a lifetime of rejection from her. I push through situations like nobody's business. Having her for a mother ...... it's like the best possible training ground

for wanting to achieve the impossible. Everything you say to her is going to be answered with a negative..... a rebuttal. Questioning yourself, dragging your ass out.... and wishing a car would run over you. Yet I wanted that woman's approval more than you can imagine.

She is old now, her life is winding down. She has a very good heart and means well.

I don't want to hurt her. I want to heal the rifts we have had through the years. I have tried endlessly. I think I have over thought this one. She is who she is. I have not accepted her. I have been very angry at her. I have tried to change her..... show her. I know writing this..... I have wanted payback. Passive aggressive of course. For all the digs, cruelty, low blows..... I liked getting her where she lived. Not having love in her life. She would try to make me feel as though it were a sin.... or I were a criminal that Ray loves me so much. That I was lucky.

She would pull out every punch. I did not understand..... until this moment, she spoke so deeply of her own wounds. I am humbled. I am not proud. I do not have a tie up happy ending to this story. It is just a story. What a three year old learned, when she overheard a Doctor speak of her demise.... to her parents. I simply went floating.

Liverwurst Sandwiches

On hot dog and hamburger day, I thought I died and had gone to heaven. There was always left over buns from the hot dog and hamburgers. The makeshift cafeteria sold them for a nickel or a dime. I would

feverishly scrounge up the money, or do some serious begging. Sad, but true. A gal does whatever it takes ....... when she smells fresh buns a cookin. I was so jealous of the kids who could afford to buy more than one

hamburger or hot dog. They had to be rich. I figured out peoples social status by two things.

Remember...... this is grade school, my world was slightly limited. Everyone wore a uniform. First things first, what were they sporting in their lunch pails? Let's not even go there about cool lunch pails. It was never gonna happen in my lifetime as a kid, dream on. I lived vicariously through many a St.Lukatrazer. {How funny, I haven't said or thought St. Lukatraz since I was a child.} Partridge Family, Brady Bunch....... now those lunch pails rocked.

Need I say more? On to the nuts and bolts of what was going on in those lunch boxes.

Let's start with twinkies and fritos. There was definitely some big bucks going on there. Parents must have been loaded! Definitely had double doors on the front of their house.{Another Clare marker for wealth, as a child}

When you really started diggin into some serious gold...... candy bars.... full size. That was crazy making.

Did they have a chaffeur? The kids with those soup thermos, all warm and toasty on a rainy day.

Well, let's just say they were my arch enemy. I knew their moms were the kind that made really yummy snacks when they got home from school.... probably fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. When some kids had certain snacks in their lunch on an every day basis.... I would have to put my tongue back into my panting puppy dog mouth. They were definitely showing off on the playground .... especially when they sported a full size bag of potato chips for recess.... and lunch.

Don't get me wrong, eating my liverwurst sandwich on frozen white bread that hadn't quite defrosted.... was pretty cool. Especially when one kid would invariably look

around and say "what smells like crap?" at the lunch benches. There was plenty of ventilation,

we were outdoors... that liverwurst, how it had a mind of it's own. Quite a smell, too.

The thing that makes me laugh right now.... thinking about those torn up soggy half frozen sandwiches with liverwurst oozing out the broken sides. Trying to act cool like it wasn't happening as Bobby and Susie were eating their ding dongs and snowballs. I would practically lick that liverwurst off my fingers as I watched those kids tossing their heads back laughing, enjoying their delicious sugary treats. Perhaps if we were really lucky, there would be an off-

off brand fake oreo cookie that had crumbled in my bag. I would scoop the contents hungrily, lost in my own heavenly high, as the remaining crumbs made a home under my nails for the rest of the day. I was quite a sight I am sure. I wouldn't have really cared. I was still a true innocent. Hmmmm... Susie's lunch looked so good.

I could just feel her mothers thoughtful hands packing that lunch box. Patting her head,

sending her off. Somehow there would always be traces of liverwurst on me. My breath,

my uniform, my skin.

On to the second knowing: Who had bucks according to Clare's world? Well, the key to this baby was of course: free dress day. With all things being equal with uniforms... there was really no telling. But free dress day, all bets were off. The fanciest of dresses would come out.

I think I may have had one or two church dresses, so....... selection was somewhat limited.

Most of my friends came from big Catholic families. Dress code was not high on the priorities

list. Home, food ..... schooling may have been a little higher up the ladder. There were really

only a few girls in particular who really stood out with dressed up fancy wear. I would

study them with endless fascination. Especially when the weather was cold and wet.

We lived in Southern California, so it rarely got that cold. I had never seen such beautiful

jackets and gloves in my life. They were truly what a Princess would wear. It was the bows on the back of the jackets that sent me over the edge. The gloves with the pom poms on them.

Sadly..... or perhaps sweetly, I had to buy myself some of those gloves, as an adult.

Of course, yes, I dolled my daughter up as a child. Who is kidding who?

I would walk home from school, and envy the kids who's moms picked them up.... everyday.

I never got how casual they were about it. I thought it must be the most amazing thing in the

entire world. To have a smiling face waiting for them, rain or shine.... asking them how their day was. It seemed too far fetched to me. I would see Leonard Maggio's mom come to school.

I thought she was so beautiful. She always came and helped out at school events. I couldn't believe some kid could have such a pretty mom. His dad reminded me of Jim Croce. How cool must that have been? It was the worst days walking in the rain. Again... praying one of my friends would take pity on me. Shame builds on that. Sometimes rain drops are just better.

It's funny looking back now..... what colored my world. The things, places, people I considered rich. My cousin and her dressing table. Her beautiful dresses. I wanted to be beautiful like her. She sure caught my dads eye. He would smile when she was around. Then there was us. I wondered as I looked at our shorn hair and simple dresses.... would I ever be a beautiful Fairy Tale Princess like her? Her castle she lived in.... it may as well have been.... compared to what we drove home to. I wanted. I wanted so badly, my own bedroom, a closet full of beautiful clothes.

Would I ever sit at a dressing table so fancy...... be beautiful with long flowing locks? I'm sure my older sisters felt similar. We felt so invisible as females. So desperately wanted to be told we were Fairy Princesses. We may have been chubby..... whatever we were.... we were. Still, we deserved to shine and sparkle like any little Princess in her own right.

Now...... we can be Fairy Tale Princesses. My daughter is the most beautiful Princess to me. She is magic, always has been...... since day one, and has always known it. I am not ready to be a Queen. I need to enjoy the step of Princess..... I have not worn those shoes yet. I wish for my sisters the same thing. Girls...... you always sparkled and shined like the most beautiful diamonds. The sky glittered with stars the nights you were born. Angels danced in Heaven at the sheer joy of just hearing your names. We are rich..... we have each other. Stardust is falling from the sky, the man in the moon is asking you both to join him.

Make a wish ladies....... find your shooting star....... greatest desire....... your dreams are coming true. Wanna go to St. Lukatraz with me and eat some liverwurst sandwiches?