Bring the Gaudy

I went to the cemetery with my oldest son on Saturday. A Mother's Day remembrance for my well loved people. The cemetery where my parents are buried is upsetting because of the personalization of the graves. Their final resting place is like a gypsy caravan and the graves have become gaudy and offensive. Why? There are errant statues of ceramic dogs in different supplicating positions, eternal flames in different colors, tattered veteran's flags, laminated pictures of loved ones propped up against the stones, faded silk flowers, and crooked homemade garden fences around foot markers. All of these tributes that are outside of the "Official Cemetery Guidelines". In short it is gaudy and cheesy. A direct contradiction to my beliefs and sensibility on such sacred ground. A country cemetery like the one where my parents are laid to rest is light years removed from my grandparents' cemetery in Queens, New York. In St. John's Cemetery, perpetual care means thousands of rows of graves receive an identical, church approved green blanket of pines in the winter to celebrate Christmas. Any non-conforming items are immediately removed from sight and put in the dumpster. It is orderly and genteel - but it is not a living, grieving place. Just this weekend, I began to see this untidy expression of genuine grief of loved ones as a good thing, although quite disorderly. Why should cemeteries be relegated to compliant headstones? Row upon row of eternal silence. When cemeteries cease to be alive and filled with grief they are resigned to history. They retreat to being neat and orderly consignors of lives already lived. No one cares anymore. In contrast, this untidy country cemetery reflects a sentiment that is filled with fresh, raw grief. Someday when my boys are all grown men this cemetery will be silent and somber just like those I grew up with. Children moved away or estranged from their families, sibiling and cousins deceased, wives and mothers resigned to nursing homes. The immediate sting of death, loss and grief much removed. And those graves will soon be unbearably tidy and quiet. Of that I am sure.

Serendipity and Walt Dzitko

Andrew and David went to their first NFL game today with Uncle Dave and Dad. The New York Jets vs. New England Patriots at Gillette Stadium. They are not home yet and I have not heard the full details but from the text messages and pictures it seemed like an awesome day. A 55 degree day in late November, not a cloud in the sky and an Uncle with a fried turkey and season tickets - is that not heaven for an 11 and 9 year old? Willie and I had a special day too. I love hiking - but William - not so much! I decided we should journey to the Heublein Tower in Simsbury/Avon. My sister got engaged there but I have never even seen the trail. So young master Will and I set out this afternoon and had a grand time. We hiked and hiked up wide switchback trails until we reached the top where we could see the Tower/castle through the trees. The views were incredible. William was a great sport and definitely the youngest hiker on the trail. A fascinating thing happened when we were wandering around the outside of the Tower and I asked a complete stranger to take a picture of us. She gladly did so and then looked me in the eye and said, "You look awfully familiar to me?" 'Newtown High School?". I said no, I lived in Southbury for 10 years but . . . I did not recognize her at all. The she said 'UCONN?" and we realized that our connection was a dear friend, Linda Dzitko Riggs. This gal recognized me from the wake of Linda's dad, a wonderful man named Walter Dzitko. Walt was an amazing guy, the kind of guy everyone would want to be their Dad. Welcoming, funny and warm, I don't know anyone who could say one negative thing about him. His tentacles reached far. This past summer a great friend from Granby took me to her Uncle's remote spread on Lake Winnipesaukee. This Uncle happened to work for Union Carbide for many years before he retired and I said "did you happen to know Walt Dzitko?" and a big smile came over his face. Of course he knew Walt. . . When you walked into Walt and Barb's house you would meet Walt who would embrace you in a perfectly pressed shirt and a smile and together they would make you immediately feel like one of the family. Funny, personable, and charming yet sensitive. He adored his wife, Barbara and his two kids, Ed and Linda. Linda and I became close friends at UCONN and her parents were just the kind of people that you would want as your own. Mark has a "Gortons Fisherman" outfit that we got at a tag sale as newlyweds in 1994. One day in 1996, Mark went to a Rutgers Football game with Walt, Ed and Mike (Walt's soon to be son in law). The weather was gale force winds and rain. Mark wore the fisherman's outfit and was glad to have it - we have kept it all these years. Just a month ago, Mark pulled it out to wear to our son's football game in the driving rain and we both smiled and said "Remember the Rutger's game with Walt?" Walt was stricken with cancer and my last visit with him was at the Yale Cancer Center in New Haven where I popped in after a client visit. He was quite ill and I remember sitting with him, Linda and Barb. His sense of humor was fully intact and his smile never faded. He died soon thereafter. How serendipitous to climb a mountain on a perfect fall day. At the precise point where you feel like heaven is near you ask a complete stranger to take your picture. Enter Walt. I am not sure what to make of this encounter but I am certain it was no accident. A great day, a great hike and a memory of a really special guy.

Mark McGwire is Back

Just heard that Mark McGwire is returning to baseball as a batting coach of the St. Louis Cardinals. My sons love sports, ESPN and the sports section of the Hartford Courant. At these ages it is sports 24/7 and a perfectly natural phase in their development. The oldest son asked the other day why Sports Center seemed more like the legal channel than a sports channel. It is hard to tell the difference between Michael Vick, Plaxico Burress, and the rest of the sports guys constantly getting in serious trouble with drugs, dog fighting, domestic battery and the infamous leaked list of baseball players who dabbled in steroid injections and all types of borderline conduct. Last week even the reporters covering baseball got a royal soaking with the Steve Phillips/ESPN debacle. I am no baseball fan but my husband and his family are loyal, loud and proud New York Yankees fans. They are upset at the shame brought on the game by the rampant steroid abuse but always root for the Bronx Bombers. I admire their steadfastness. As wrong as it sounds, the news that McGwire was returning to baseball tonight brought a smile to my face. The steroid conversations remind me of the Summer of 1998. Before steroids were known to be infecting the baseball world there was the legendary summer hit battle between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa to be the home run king. Both were chasing Roger Maris' record. I was hugely pregnant with my first son and my father was dying. Dying in a quick, evident, and largely uncomfortable way of advanced cancer. Daily visits to his condomimium bore witness to his landslide decline. Rather than talk about the obvious - we focused on baseball. My father had not cared about a team since his beloved Dodgers left Brooklyn. The Mets were carpetbaggers in his opinion and he was a Yankee fan mostly by default. Lou was a New Yorker through and through. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa replaced the uncomfortable silences about morphine, hospice and other unmentionables. America needed to love baseball again after the last strike in 1994 and those two sluggers made for an exciting summer. It made for easy and light conversation during that difficult summer. Mark and Dad would root for McGwire and then we would leave for the night. When things got really bad Mark started sleeping on the couch just to make sure Dad would be okay. I would lumber home at 36 weeks pregnant and wonder what would happen and when for my father. His last days were certainly upon us. As Dad dozed in his recliner with a tray full of pills next to his chair they would watch more baseball. Dad has been dead over 11 years and the records of both Sosa and McGwire are now irrevocably tainted by their steroid use. But the home run battle of that summer brings a smile to my face. That was the summer baseball stepped into my life and for a moment relieved an uncomfortable and painful scene. However the players are judged by history I am a grateful fan. Good luck McGwire.