A Slice of Life: Family Vacation

Ever since I wrote about Aunt Betty, I've felt nostalgic for the vacations my family spent with her family in Ocean City, Maryland. They started around 1974 and went until about 1983...after that, we grew up and grew apart.

We looked forward to Ocean City vacations all year. Usually, we'd go for a week in August. My parents would split the cost of renting a unit with my aunt and uncle. The units were big enough to hold us all comfortably: my parents, me, my brother, my aunt, uncle and two cousins. We never stayed in the same place twice...that was part of the fun.

Here are my parents with my aunt and uncle.


I love everything about the ocean: the sight, the smell and the sound of the surf. On Sunday morning and every morning afterward that I could manage it, I would get up just before sunrise to go down to the beach and watch the sun come up. Most of the time I went alone because I couldn't persuade anyone else that the sight was worth it.


There was always something to do, rain or shine, day or night. On a cloudy, cooler day, we'd walk along the beach and collect shells or go down to the arcade on the boardwalk.

On sunny, hot days, look out! We'd be in the water, body surfing or riding the waves on rented rafts. These pictures are of first me and then my brother riding a raft.



We didn't need TV at all. In the evening, there was lots of ways to entertain ourselves:







Going to the boardwalk at night was always fun. There were two fantastic artists there. One sculpted in sand and I know his artwork has been on the internet. The other worked in chalk crawings. Both artists' work was religious and beautiful.

Other things we'd do on the boardwalk: shop, visit the arcades and play games, and go to the amusement parks. Those were always a lot of fun! I enjoyed taking my young cousin on the scariest rides or in the haunted houses. She loved going with us!

Our most favorite night time activity, though, was a big roundof UNO. The more of us that played, the more fun it was and we had some side-splitting times with the game!


Ah, those were the days!

A Slice of Life: My Favorite Aunt

I really think the song "Sisters" (from the movie White Christmas) was written with my mother and my aunt in mind. My mom and aunt are the youngest in a family of six children; both are deaf and both went to the same school in New York City. In this picture, my aunt is standing, looking down lovingly at my mother. They've always been really close.


The school they went to was Lexington School for the Deaf and in those days (the 1930s), the educational philosophy there was oralism (not signing). Not only was signing forbidden, the kids were taught that there was something nasty about it and so my mother and aunt were ashamed about using their hands to communicate. Isn't that sad?

The repressive attitude stayed with my aunt throughout her life. Out in public, her signs were always small and close to her body. She seemed very shy and inhibited but a great spark of humor burned within her.

Some other impressions of my aunt: she loves me a lot, is over protective and bossy (but it's out of love), and she loves to tease and have fun. She wouldn't let me cross the road with my 5year old cousin (I was 15) to buy a sand bucket but she loved playing practical jokes on everyone.

Here is a typical joke of hers: dropping ice down your back. The victim this time is my uncle.

When my brother was 25, he was singing "Happy Birthday to me" as the rest of us serenaded him.

My aunt decided to surprise him just after he blew out the candles.

Just check out the look on her face! Is that someone who enjoys life or what?

For whatever reason, my aunt took a special shine to me. Maybe it's because I am my mother's daughter. She always wanted me to come and stay over with her, my uncle and my cousins. When I was younger, I had a severe case of separation anxiety and so I was always reluctant. One time I finally agreed and she was so excited. She always made a special effort to talk with me...and this was when I didn't know any sign language at all. That's a long story best saved for later.

Once I did learn how to sign, my aunt and I would spend hours just chatting. Now she lives in Georgia-at least part of the year-with the 5 year old who grew up and became a wife and mother herself.

After my uncle died, a lot of the spark went out of my aunt I'm sorry to say. She still has a good sense of humor but it's just not the same. Still, I have very happy memories.

A Slice of Life: Heidi

The prompt asked for the birth of a child and I wrote about Billy but how can I leave out my two younger kids?

Heidi was sort of our miracle child. When Billy was about six months old, I finally persuaded Rich to go to the doctor and get his cold checked out. He'd been sick for months, snored so loudly people could hear him from different rooms and, scariest of all, his heart was beating so hard it would shake the bed.

The doctor sent Rich for an X-ray and we were stunned to learn that his heart was very enlarged. When we went to the hospital so he could have a scan done of his hear, Rich collapsed and was admitted. He was in the hospital all week while the doctors stabilized him and tried to figure out what was going on. Why had a young man developed heart failure like that? He was only 27 years old! After he was released, he was referred to Johns Hopkins Hospital.

The news was even bleaker than we realized. Not only did Rich have cardiomyopathy (an enlarged heart) and congestive heart failure, he also had an aneurysm in his aorta! If the surgeon didn't operate, Rich would die. While we were there having tests run on Rich, a geneticist came in and said he believed Rich had Marfan Syndrome. There was a 50-50 chance our children would have it too. Could anything else go wrong?

Rich had the surgery on December 26 and survived. The surgeon had to replace his aortic valve and made a graft back to his heart. The doctor used a mechanical valve and if the room was very quiet, you could hear Rich ticking like a watch. Unfortunately, the surgery didn't seem to help much. The doctor implied the prognosis was not good and when I called him later to ask him, he told me Rich had a survival average of about five years.

I was stunned. I was also pregnant with Heidi. My family doctor had suggested I not tell Rich yet because he was still recovering from surgery and the news might depress him. How could I not tell him, though?

I was glad to see that instead of being depressed, Rich was overwhelmed with joy. The news gave him hope, he said.

My pregnancy wasn't very eventful except for stress and the fact that Heidi stayed breech almost to the end. Ellen, the midwife, had me practically standing on my head to encourage the baby to flip...and finally she did.

About a month before I was due, we went back to Hopkins for a follow up with the surgeon. He did a physical exam, muttering that he couldn't believe it. It sort of scared us and he said, no, no, this was good. He then sent Rich for X-rays and then confirmed it must have been a miracle--Rich's heart was smaller and the prognosis now was very good!

Not long after that, I went into a cleaning frenzy. At the same time, Billy developed a painful ear infection and we had to take him to the doctor. I had to hold him upright in my arms so that he could sleep. We were watching the Olympics and it was close to midnight when I realized I was in labor. Luckily my cousin was home and able to come and watch Billy for us.

We got to the hospital around half past midnight. I was astounded to learn that I was already 7 cm dilated! Heidi was the easiest delivery of the three kids. I could have had a party in the birthing room. We continued to watch the Olympics during the breaks between my contractions. At around 3:06 in the morning, Heidi was born. Our baby of miracles--the miracle of birth and the miracle of Rich's heart.

A Slice Of Life: My Best Friend

I met my first best friend in junior high, 8th grade to be exact. I'd spent a year of misery in the enriched program of the 7th grade. I was a pariah and had just one friend, another outcast. I didn't fit in because I was just too emotionally immature. The other kids made fun of me and I crumpled. By the end of the year, I was begging to get out of the enriched program and back on the regular track.

That was where I met my first best friend. She was already hanging out with a sweet but terribly insecure girl and the three of us became fast and true friends. Having a friend makes life bearable in school. We laughed together, gossiped together, shared our notes and our dreams and our resentments of authority and parents.

When we were in junior high, anything could give us the giggles and I'd laugh so hard I'd collapse against a locker, practically in tears. Other people would look at us like we had six heads but I didn't care--I had friends now. My friend's parents had emigrated to this country after escaping the Communist regime in eastern Europe; I told my friend all about my family.

We shared a few adventures together, one day "breaking out" of school right after lunch and heading for downtown. We did nothing that day but walk around talking. It was better than being in school!

I wish I could say that I'm still best friends with her but we drifted apart a few years after high school. I lost touch with her until very recently. Two years ago, I got her email from our class reunion organizer and I wrote to her. She wrote back, very excited to hear from me but said she had to go out of the country for a few weeks. She said she'd write me back but she never did. I tried to email her once or twice but never got an answer back.

Oh well...I get it. Sometimes you just can't go back to the way it used to be.

Here is my first best friend with another classmate. We went back to visit our old teachers at junior high one day. I took the picture.

A Slice Of Life: Billy

Soon my son Bill will be 21 years old and yet I remember his birth as if it was just the other day. One thing I remember clearly is the baby pool taking place at work. My first husband, Rich, and I worked for the same market research company up until about 2 weeks before I was due. My due date was May 1, 1987, but people were guessing as early as April 1 and as late as Mother's Day.

Rich was one of the latter and I was horrified. "I'm ready NOW," I kept saying to him. "How could you have picked that day?"

He shrugged. "I just have a feeling," he said.

May 1st came and went and I was disappointed but not surprised. First babies are always late; however, I was more and more uncomfortable as each day passed. My midwife, Ellen, advised me to keep walking.

On May 8, a Friday, I set out to walk, lost my balance and fell hard on my hands and knees--right in front of the mailman, who totally freaked out. He helped me back to my apartment where Rich took over and cared for my badly skinned knees. Bandaged and wearing a new set of maternity jeans, I set out again. A block down, I ran into the same mailman.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "You're going to give me a heart attack!"

"I'm having this baby," I told him. "If I don't have this baby by Sunday, on Monday I have to be induced." Oh, horrors!

The following afternoon, May 9th, my water broke while Rich was at work. I was totally unhappy about that because I'd learned in childbirth class what that meant: go to the hospital. I didn't want to ... yet. I wanted the contractions to start. I called Rich and Ellen. Ellen said I could stay home only until 7 p.m. and then I had to get to the hospital. Meanwhile, I walked in circles.

My contractions still hadn't started by the time we got to the hospital. Ellen agreed to let me walk around the floor another 2 hours but then she had to follow the rules and have them start a pit drip (induction of labor). Oh, how I dreaded that...I'd learned that the contractions would come hard and fast!

Unfortunately, by 9 my contractions were still mild and I'd dilated only to 3 cm and so they would have to induce me. Yes, the contractions were hard to manage and very painful but I have to say I had the best coach in the world. I would not have been able to endure it without an epidural were it not for Rich's steadfast support. Every time I'd start to lose control, he'd say "Look at me, look at me" and then he'd begin breathing. I focused on him and breathed along with him.

Some funny things I remember from that night:

When I had to bend my knees to start pushing, the nurse took one look at my knees and freaked. "What happened to you?" she wanted to know. She wanted to redress the scrapes. I kept telling them I was fine and leave me alone.

When I got to the transitional stage, I kept falling asleep between contractions. It was so weird.

Another woman was admitted to the hospital soon after I was and we both had the same doctor. Actually, Ellen was in attendance but since she hadn't been credentialled at that hospital yet she wasn't allowed to "catch" the baby. For some reason, they put this lady way down at the end of the hall. We both began pushing at the same time and I could hear my chubby doctor running from one end of the hall to the other.

"Who's going to go first?" the nurse asked him.

Already I'd been pushing almost 2 hours and Billy was just beginning to crown.

"This one," the doctor decided. He ran into the room and began pushing on my abdomen.

I had enough presence of mind to be totally surprised and annoyed. I didn't complain, though, because Ellen had already saved me from a C-section. The doctor wanted to do one because he felt I wasn't progressing fast enough.

Doctors.

So Billy was born at 4:23 and the doctor ran down the hall to the other lady. Her baby was born less than 5 minutes later.

It was Mother's Day.

Rich won the pot and I got a rose at each and every meal. Best of all, we had a brand new, perfect little boy.

"Billy Bear," I whispered to him when I finally got to hold him.

He is the best Mother's Day present I will ever get.