Ten Years

Ten years today. We've been through a lot and I won't lie, sometimes, it's been a struggle... But I don't think anything worth fighting for is easy. I hope you know that I still love you with every inch of my soul, and I wouldn't want to live my life with anybody else. We have an amazing little family, and I am so proud of what we've overcome to create it. Thanks for sticking it out with me.

So many people have told me before that they don't know how we've done it; we were so young when we started, have been through so much, and had so many chances to walk away... I always smile and think to myself that I don't know how we wouldn't have. I can't imagine walking away and being able to stay away. I'm drawn to you and love you with the kind of passion that makes me want to fight for it. For us. For everything we want to become, and for our dreams- yours, mine, ours. Our little girl's. It still sets my heart a-flutter when you compliment me, and I still think you're a sexy beasat ;) Love changes over time... Things have settled down, for sure, and it's hard when you realize that the initial flame you had has somewhat died down... But it's settled into something that's really irreplaceable. Into something that I can fall back on when I feel like I'm losing it, into something that I can rely on, something that I know is more solid than any two-week flame of lust. Thanks for being my rock, and a better Dada Ruggle than I could have imagined. Here's hoping for ten more...


xoxo~~

Your wife. 

PS: We need to get more pictures of us together. Notice the one I used? It's from Easter 08... lol! ;)

Blog: Journal or Exhibition?

Everyone on the net lately seems to be scarce, including myself. Could be the nicer weather, the ability to be outside longer, to grill, to run and play... To do things other than sit on the computer, essentially :) But for me, it's not just that... Lately I've been struggling with what I want this blog to be. What voice do I want to use? Where am I coming from? Who is reading me? Is this my journal, or is it a place for voyeurs to come and observe my life?

These are questions that have sort of stopped me in my tracks with the blog, and I hate that, because I love blogging. I hate not knowing where it's going, or what I want it to mean. Originally, when I started this blog, it was sort of as my own journal, but more than that, a record for Ilyana of her life, what we did, how much we loved her, and what she was like as a little girl.

Once I started with this, I loved it. I still do. I'm just dumbfounded as to... well, my mind is saying "What now?" because I started this blog with one intention, but then I realized there is this whole WORLD of people out there, blogging about their lives, about current events, about politics, about food, about money... There is this whole community that I have gotten involved in and begun to really enjoy. My presence on other people's sites has drawn them here, and for me... That's sort of blurred the line of my intent for this space.

I mean, if other people are coming here and reading it, is the blog now more about me than Ilyana? I started doing memes and things like that for a while, because I saw other people doing it, and I figured it was a way for me to involve myself more in this community... But soon realized that most of those don't really fit in with my vision of what the meaning of this space was for me and my family... And that most of the family members I have who read this probably don't care as much about the silly little mundane surveys and when I am "tagged" with awards, etc.

So then I began wondering if I should address this more directly to Illy, more like a journal or letters to her, more back to the roots of what I had envisioned. But I waffle back and forth on this too, feeling like if I do that, it shuts everyone else out- and since I love this community so much, I wouldn't want to do that. I appreciate it when other people visit us here, I appreciate when they are interested in our lives and want to know what we're doing, want to engage in conversation over things that are relevant to my life.

Basically what I'm saying is that I haven't been on here as much recently because I'm struggling with my own intent, my own voice for this little ol' blog. I'm sure a lot of people go through this. I'm trying to get a grasp on where I want to be with this, and what it needs to mean to me. In the end, years down the line, am I going to care about the comments I received from people I don't know? Or am I going to care more that I kept a good record of what our lives were?

I'm definitely leaning more towards the latter... For me, this is about us. I love that I have made friends through this space (and yes, even though I haven't met most of you, considering that we allow each other to play peeping tom into our lives, and give each other advice, and support each other when we need it- yes, I do consider you all my friends in these ways) but that is sort of just a bonus.

When I think about this blog as something that other people will visit- when I write posts with the intent of being witty, or trying to seem too PC so that I won't be bashed by random blog-hoppers- I stump myself. I get into this funk where the words just won't come out. My thoughts flow more freely when I am speaking directly to my daughter, or to my family, or reflecting on my experiences without worry of the outside world. So I think that's what I'm going to try to do. I'm sorry if it seems to my blog friends that this is more boring, or that it's putting up a wall between my life and the rest of the internet, or that it's detaching myself from the community as a whole a bit more- that's not the intent. I just wouldn't want to give this up, and I've found that if I don't do it the way I'm most comfortable, I won't do it at all. I'll just keep wavering about what to write, and why, and why it's relevant... And it will never be honest, it will never be exactly what I had intended.

I feel like now I'm getting repetitive, so I'm just going to end here with a couple of quotes that I think are relevant to this struggle...

*****

"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting." ~E.E. Cummings

"He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away." ~Raymond Hull

**Pep's Birthday**

Today would have been my Pep's birthday.

When I was young, before the time of friend parties, we shared a couple of birthdays together (mine is November 2nd) and I still have the image of the two of us blowing out candles together burned in my brain.

He was a great man.

Pep, in your honor, I want to write down some of the things you passed on- the things you contributed to my life which will live on forever in my memory.

--You made the best toast ever. I never figured out what made your toast so special. I remember sitting at the kitchen table at the house on Stark Street in the early morning with Nicky by my side, studying you making toast. I was trying to figure out what you did to make it so good, but you only toasted and spread the butter. It remains a mystery.

--Your special touch went beyond just toast. You also made the best baked beans ever. Nobody makes them better, not even Nana with your recipe (sorry Nan!) so you must have had some secret ingredient that you never revealed. I got so spoiled on your beans that I have barely eaten them since you passed. It's just not the same.

--We could always count on you to make us laugh with a tickle or a pony-boy ride on your knee. Whenever I bounce Illy on my knee like that, I think of you.

--You always rose early, with the birds. I remember when us grandkids used to spend the night, we would bet we could wake up before you and Nana in the morning, and we NEVER did. I don't think even once. I certainly didn't get THAT from you, because I absolutely hate waking early.

--Your SNORE! I don't know if you would want this broadcast for the world to read, but if there was a best-snorer contest, you would win, HANDS DOWN! I remember you'd fall asleep on the floor while watching TV with us (pretty early, too, since you always woke up so early in the morning) and we'd be trying to watch but could never hear over your sniffle and roar noises. You were also pretty hard to wake up, and even when Nana was successful at waking you, you'd deny you fell asleep. As if we hadn't just been listening to you snore for the past (however many) minutes. :D I never thought I would MISS a snore. But I do.

--You would always open the pool up early for us. We were chomping at the bit to swim as soon as we could without getting hypothermia, and you would oblige and uncover the pool, switch on the filter and get it all ready for us before it was even really summertime.

--My love of camping came from you and Nana. I don't know if we ever went tent camping, which is what I prefer now, but Kings and Queens is where my love of camping started. I remember late nights up with you and Nan playing Uno... Bingo games in the big building next to the pool... And many, many trips down the big yellow waterslide. I remember walking to the craft hut with you and buying italian ices at the store with "my money" (that you gave us, of course)... I remember one year going with you, Nana and Nicky alone and feeling so cool, so grown-up because you would let us go to the playground alone. I remember you helping us search for marshmallow-toasting sticks in the brush, and building fires together... And I remember one particular ride where we drove poor Nana up a wall singing "99 bottles of beer on the wall" for about an hour on the way up there. Good times, Pep, good times.

--I remember listening to your "adult" conversations at Thanksgiving through the vents in the floors in your house, thinking we were going to hit the jackpot and glean some adults-only info from you all, when we hardly understood what was being said- and of course it was never anything we really shouldn't hear. We just felt cool spying. I remember you looking up at the vent and seeing us there, knowing we were listening, and us running away giggling and pretending we hadn't been. I remember you didn't tell.

--I remember the way you always treated Nana with love and respect. I am still awed by the fact that I never heard you two argue (at least I don't recall it) and I know that you loved her more than anything in the world. I'm so glad for it, because we all need examples of true true love in our lives.

--I remember your faded tattoos from the military. They were all green. I wondered where they came from, and what they stood for. I was always intrigued by them... And now I still love tattoos. Nana, Nicky, Auntie Lisa and I have been saying for years that we should all go get a tattoo together. Dad wasn't too keen on the idea, but Nana said she gets to override him since she's his Mom. I think maybe we should all get one that symbolizes our family...

--I remember you always watching "Wheel of Fortune". I used to think it was an old-people's show, but now I watch it. Almost every night. I'm sure Illy will think it's an "old-people's show" when she gets to be a little older, too. But she'll watch it with me anyway.

--I remember playing Yahtzee, drinking V-8 and doing puzzles together. I remember playing Memory. A lot of the games I like I learned from you.

--I remember riding bikes in your driveway, and you moving the cars so we could. I remember you cheering us on as we rode, and working in your garage so you could keep an eye on us. I remember the sparkle your smile had, and how you always had one ready for me.

I don't ever remember you being mad at me.

Thank you for being the best grandfather a person could ask for, for giving us a safe place to rest our heads and play without worrying, for teaching me games and making me food and smiling and laughing and making me laugh. I won't ever forget.

Dear Babushka: I Miss You. A Lot.

Painting Copyright Herb Rauh Watercolors-
www.herbrauh.com
---------------------------------

Yesterday would have been your 79th birthday.

I'm not quite sure what to say or how to feel about this, so I guess I will just spill my guts and hope it makes sense. Even if it doesn't, I'm sure you'll understand what I mean. I'm sure you can feel what I mean, even if you can't read it here.

It's been almost four years since you left us, and a lot has happened. I graduated college. Mitch, Eva, Elizabeth, Bobby and Miles have all graduated high school- I know you'd be proud of each one of us. I finally figured out what I'm doing with my life (at least for now) and got a good job at Dartmouth. Mitch has moved into a trade at which he excels and is living out on his own with a roommate, and Bobby and Miles have both blossomed into AMAZING musicians (of course, they were already on that road when you were here) and wonderful people. Our family is full of love and greatness, in so many incarnations. Will and I had a baby, but you know this by now. I'm sure of it, because you were the one to let me know she was a girl with your spider hints all through my pregnancy. I'm sure you knew I would think it was more than just a coincidence, them following me everywhere. I'm sure you knew I would be curious and look it up, and you also knew what I'd find- a wealth of information about how spiders represent female energy, fertility and being pregnant. I'm sure you knew I would connect this with you and your passing, and would then be on the lookout for more clues that it was really you there, watching over me and my little baby. I know this because YOU are much of the reason I have always believed in, and been fascinated by, the unseen- spirits (like Mrs. North, with the salt-and-pepper hair), the energy that connects us all, and those other mysteries we have yet to discover in a scientific way. Most people think it's ridiculous superstition, but you didn't, and neither do I. This is just one of the many ways we were bonded.

You knew I would suspect your influence through the spiders and would be convinced by what I found... And of course would then connect it with reading Charlotte's Web with you when I was three. You always loved to read. I can still picture you, laying on the old red leather couch in Epping with Wickfield at your side, glasses (with only one arm, of course) on your nose, and a smile on your face.

Once I read all that about the spiders, I resolved that if *it* was a girl, we would give her a name that related to spiders. And we found out a week later that she was. Her name, Ilyana Arana Shayla (the two middle names meaning Spider Fairy) will always remind me that no matter how long you're gone, you will always be there to keep an eye on us.

Hush painted a picture for Ilyana from a passage of Charlotte's Web that I chose- it hangs in her room now. It's all about growing up and going out into the world as an individual, leaving the "web", so to speak. This is the passage:

"Good-bye!" they called. "Good-bye, good-bye!"
At last one little spider took time enough to stop and talk to Wilbur before making its balloon.
"We're leaving here on a warm updraft. This is our moment for setting forth. We are aeronauts and we are going out into the world to make webs for ourselves."
"But where?" asked Wilbur.
"Wherever the wind takes us. High, low. Near, far. East, west. North, south. We take to the breeze, we go as we please." (p. 179-180), Charlotte's Web, E.B. White

I chose this one partially because I think it will be very fitting for her to take with her when she grows up- it reminds me that we all have to move on someday, we all have to grow up. And as Moms, we all have to let go someday and let our little ones be their own people. But it also reminded me of you. You were so strong-willed and independent. You were never afraid to take flight, to jump in, to stand up for what you believed in, even if it was hard to do, even if it was on your own. You were a forward-thinker, a political activist, and a kid at heart. You had more evergy than us grandkids most days, and you were always ready for a game of Monopoly or a late night jaunt to the lake. You were always ready to take us sledding- even at midnight on New Years'.

"Babushka" means "old woman" in Russian- you taught me that. In fact you had a book about the name- I'm not sure where it disappeared to. Sometimes I wonder if you chose that name as a joke, because you were really anything but that. It was great to have you as a grandmother, because I think we connected with you in ways that most people never can with theirs. You always supported and helped us with our crazy notions, as long as they weren't dangerous... Or if they were, you would at least make them less so. Like swimming all the way across the lake (but you made them bring floaties, so nobody would drown)- or playing on the cliffs in the sand pits (we just couldn't go alone, in case anything happened). Sometimes you were so much like a kid, it caused (minor) problems. Nothing too bad, but you did like to gossip! I think I got that from you, too... It's not that we like the drama, we just want to be in the know about everything, and we have our opinions, which are hard (*ahem*) to keep to ourselves. In the end, though, even your gossip was a gesture of love- you were always trying to help us make the best choices for ourselves.

You were there for me through a couple of tough times. Things that most people would be far too embarrassed about; they would have keeled over had their grandparents found out. But you weren't any old grandma. You listened and didn't judge me when I was having a tough time, you just gave me your best real-life advice and hoped that it would help. You didn't pretend you had all the answers, either. I liked that as a teenager. I felt like you would be honest with me, even if it hurt.

I don't know exactly what made our connection special- whether it be because we lived together when I was young (you making me breakfast, driving me to school, taking me and Mitchie to the penny candy store or Mickey-D's, you chasing me around the table acting out the "Three Little Pigs", you singing the "Macaroni" song or inviting all my little friends over to act out a "play" together); or because you were always willing to run here, there and everywhere to pick us up, to come to our shows and concerts, to take us to the beach or the lake or the Nubble; or because you were always just so cool and immature (in a good way) getting excited about the holidays, decorating, family events, letting me bring my friends to sleepovers at your house, making everything into a game, always having the energy to say "yes", teaching us endless annoying car songs- but instead of being driven crazy when we would not stop singing them, you'd strike up another round... Whatever it was, it has stuck with me.

I've had precious few dreams of you since you passed. I don't know if this is because I can't really deal with your death, but I assume it is. I have sort of just brushed my feelings about it away, put it into the category of those things that "can't-be-changed" and forced myself to move on from something that I don't know how to face. How do I pass you on? How do I teach Ilyana those lessons that are so vital to who I am that I learned from you? How do I tell her that even though we do all have to grow up (like the little spiders in Charlotte's Web), that doesn't mean we always have to BE grown-ups? How do I pass on to her those superstitions that some find silly, but help me to know that there are things in the world that are yet to be unraveled, mysteries we may not understand but are true nonetheless?

The one dream that I do remember that you were in has burned an imprint on my brain. It had nothing to do with you- in fact in the dream I was with someone else, searching for something. But I looked up and there you were, standing at the edge of the field we were in in your long red flannel nightgown, next to a fence, waving at me. As if to say, "I'm still here." As if to say "I'll be waiting." As if to say "I am watching, and I still love you."

Once again, maybe I'm silly and too superstitious. Could be. But I believed it was you, checking in with me. Still do, even.

This is my way of waving back. I love you, Bushka. Christmas isn't the same without you and your boisterous voice and crazy antics. This is just my way of saying:

Dear Babushka, I miss you. A lot.

We all do.