Generation Gap

After six weeks living with my daughter and her husband while they welcomed their new squab, i have had an odd transition home this time. Re-entry after a long trip often has challenges. Beyond time zones and jet lag, it’s re-learning which way to turn my sink fixture to get hot water, reacquainting myself with where i keep the utensils in my own kitchen, and reestablishing the muscle memory to get me from my bed to the toilet in the dark of night.

But this time? Also feeling the distance. The experience was intense, the relationship with my daughter and her husband stronger and closer. And that little human? How do we not attach when they first start focusing those little eyeballs on our faces? i am not one to go squishy-gooey over babies, but they have a way of stealing hearts if you spend a little time with them.

Another feeling that has also taken me by surprise? The sadness that my parents were never able to see both of my children become parents. That they didn’t have the chance to meet these adorable spawnlets. They also didn’t get to see my surprise transformation into “Gamma”.

It’s a by-product of being born the youngest child of older parents. Mom was 34 when i was born. Dad was 39. Even though i was a young mother – dropping my daughter when i was only 24 years old – my parents were still pretty old when i became a breeder.

My kids were high school age when Dad died in 2001. They remember him, and know him through my stories, but didn’t have as much time with him as they did with my mom. Many happy hours spent talking shit with her over friendly games of poker (she showed no mercy) provided a foundation for their relationship. Their favorite side hustle with her? “Tell us more embarrassing stories about Mom when she was little”.

She happily obliged. The more embarrassing, the more she’d embellish the tale.

The next generation of my clan – these three little critters – will never know my parents. Maybe if they show interest in genealogy when they’re a little older, i can share some direct lore with them. Go through the endless silly pictures. The primary school projects on finding your roots sometimes tease out a few tales.

thoughtful bebek

i barely remember the tales my mother told me of her grandparents. There are bits and pieces written down, photos in black and white with spidery handwritten notes on the back. Eastern European names without many vowels. Tired farm women surrounded by a dozen unsmiling children. My father’s family history is much less clear – his parents were dead before he married mom, and he was an only child of immigrant parents. Not much written down.

And so it goes…

christmas critters

i will do what i can to teach these new little humans about their ancestors. But it’s just a little sad that they will never get to meet in person.



Riding the Storm Out

The Boy was home for the past two weeks – taking a well-earned break between contracts.  He’s been working as a power company field auditor, knocking out 50-60 hours a week on the job and needed the downtime before heading out again on his next assignment.

Given his new profession on the road, he wanted a chance to visit with Mom while he was back in town, so i arranged to bring her up to visit for a few days.  Good time spent hanging out together, but The Boy was working pretty hard to keep her in hot coffee and food while i was at work on Friday.

Arriving home after a day at the office, i learned that The Boy had been put on “One Hour Deployment” notice — he is among the power industry workers sent into the hurricane zone to prepare for the “Frankenstorm” heading toward the eastern coast of the US.

As he filled me in on what little logistical details he had, he started to laugh.

The Boy:  Yeah, I was in the middle of fixing Granny a grilled cheese sandwich.  Told her that I had gotten notice to be ready to go within an hour and she said “Well, you better finish up that sandwich first”.

Took Momma to see a show at our local theater, which shares space with a Senior Citizens center.  As part of the Halloween decor, the seniors had added Mr. Bones to the lobby.  This was pretty brilliant…


The Boy has come a long way over the past year – i’m delighted to see him settle into his skin as the fine young man he has always carried inside him.  As we discussed his first “Hurricane Deployment”, after just signing onto this job last summer, he was simultaneously excited and anxious about the job ahead.

“I’m driving into a fucking hurricane!  Holy shit!”

Making lists of gear he still needed to buy, i suggested he needed to get a badass rain suit like Jim Cantore, famous hurricane chaser from the Weather Channel.  Duct tape and trash bags.  He was already on it, also stocking his truck with cases of water, a carton of cigarettes, and road-suitable food stock.

He received more info on the nature of the job as he finished loading the truck.  His crew will be responding to emergency calls reporting downed lines.  Doing triage to determine if they are phone, fiber optic, or hot.  In the middle of a hurricane.


In general, i’m not much of a worrier.  Gotta admit, there’s a little bit of pucker here.


On the ‘stranger than fiction’ side, however, he is being sent into New Jersey.  A small town where my friend the unbearable banishment resides. E-mails have been sent, phone numbers exchanged, and fingers crossed for all involved…

Text Noir…

Text exchange with The Boy this week…

daisyfae:  What’s the word from your mouthpiece?

The Boy [20 minutes later]: What the fuck are you talking about?

daisyfae:  Lawyer?

The Boy:  Forgot to call him today. Probably tomorrow.  Why did you say ‘mouthpiece’?

daisyfae: That’s what gangsters in 40’s movies called their lawyers!

The Boy: I never heard that before.  You’re showing your age.  You dames and your jargon…

Awesome Cagney pic found here!