Category Archives: In the Company of Women

A safe place to share joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, triumph and disappointment.

Ironing and Folding

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On those rare occasions when I actually sit with my colleagues for lunch I’m always amazed at where the conversation goes.  I guess I shouldn’t be because when you sit together 5 or 6 hungry, intelligent and funny women then the most mundane subjects can take on a comical life of their own.

Take ironing.  I don’t iron, like ever.  My summer sister Kyle is an accomplished seamstress, costume designer/maker and with that comes ironing.  She’s a master.  She once remarked that I, am, one of the best people she has ever seen iron a wrinkle IN…not out.  You see where this is going.  (She also thinks I’m the only one who can incorrectly roll up my sleeves…it’s why I have her.)

My niece Kate visited a while back and asked where my iron was…..nope didn’t have one.  Ok I went and got one, a travel iron, which I can assure you, will never find its way into any of my luggage going anywhere.  So with that little travel iron I bought a folding ironing board, which I’m told by someone who attempted to use it, isn’t worth diddly. Shocking.  My idea of an ironing board is a towel thrown over the top of the washer and dryer.  And apparently some of the women at lunch agreed.  Just sayin.

Why would I iron when I have a dry cleaner?  For a tiny little bit of money they will launder your cotton shirts (light starch) and press them to within an inch of their lives. Steam the hell out of anything else that you can think of including dresses and pants with the most beautiful knife sharp creases.  For every other thing I own, I am perfect fine being poised at the dryer when the buzzer sounds to whisk everything out and into folded bliss.

Now folding I am great at.  I recently spent time at my friend Sandra’s while she was laid up with her two broken legs.  She was in organization mode (from her wheelchair mind you) and the linen closet, which was upstairs in her then very big house, was annoying her.  Ok, let’s take a look.  Big mistake.  Flat sheets here, fitted sheets there, pillow cases somewhere else.  Really?  That sent me a folding.  Flat sheet first, before you fold it over the last time…..place the folded matching pillow cases and the folded fitted sheet inside to make a wonderful bed in a packet. By the way, lessons on how to fold a fitted sheet to within an inch of its life; free for the asking.   Why the hell would sheets and pillowcases be in different places…these are the things that make me crazy.  PS my colleagues will now be folding their sheets MY WAY. I do what I can to save the women I know from the lunacy that is disorganization.

Finally, to those few people left who actually still iron their sheets…God bless you.  For the life of me I will never understand that.  Buy yourself some fabulous, wrinkle resistant, high thread count linens and be done with it. 

Or you might just hang them on the line (line? what line?) for that wind whipped crisp feeling from the old days.  I know like I know that feeling and that smell is like heaven and long gone never to be replaced by any fabric softener sheet, ever. Too bad.

Our Lady of the Stink Eye

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So in her most endearing running ten steps forward and two steps back way, my friend Marianne finally came across the post on my blessed funny women.  You remember the one where I begged her to let me publish the now famous Our Lady of the Stink Eye Story that saves my life every once in a while, the one that makes me laugh more than anything else.  Following permission granted in her own words:

Just found this in my email. Thanks a mil – you are a doll and right back atcha baby. Publish away. I have a league of souls released from Purgatory on my side.  All Souls Day in grammar school – three Our Fathers, three Hail Marys, and Three Glory Bes, another soldier working tirelessly to save my soul.

I knew from a very early age I would need all the help I could get.

Much love,

M

The story of Our Lady is legend.

It was around 5th grade, I think, after school, about 5 of us were playing around the Our Lady of Fatima/Lourdes Grotto. (The one with the 3 kids) Anyway, Our Blessed Mother was raised on a Grotto about 8 feet high with a fountain in front and the kneeling kids. Behind her statue was a wall we used to run up and down and jump off. We were playing tag one day and I was chasing someone up the wall when I lost my balance and reached out to Mary to steady myself (and really now, isn’t that what we’ve always been taught to do?) Well Mary must have been tipping a few that day, wasn’t all that steady herself and toppled head first into the fountain breaking her head right off her neck.

We all stood frozen for about 5 seconds – just long enough for me to threaten a slow and painful death to a squealer and then we beat feet home like our butts were on fire.

The whole next week there was a full-blown investigation, threats of excommunication, damnation, you name it. A few times, when I would see one of my posse start to sweat or weaken, I’d deliver the “stink eye” and they would keep their mouths shut for another day.  To this day, no one ever found out who decapitated Mary.

BTW, I made my Communion, Confirmation and was married at that church.  I’ve always checked to see if the head is still glued on or if they sprung for a new statue. The head is still glued on.

Also, one of my first lessons in the strength of a powerful female.

Yours in Christ (and His Mother),

M

 

I did what with my sister?

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See now right away you’re thinking it was something, what?  Weird?  Inappropriate?  Ok I know you all know us pretty well so it wasn’t that.  But what was it?  Does anyone recognize the sign?  No not from the 80’s, no not from the deep South (I think it’s stil there), come on…

Ok ok, there’s a replica of this sign hanging in the Helen Hayes Theater.  The home of….yep, Rock of Ages.  And Terri and I were there yesterday having a damn good time.  No Jack but an audience full of teens and late forty somethings (and ok maybe a few 50s over 55s) rockin out to the tunes of the 80s with a way fun cast.

This is what we do now.  We experience all the celebrations.  We don’t need stuff, we don’t need gifts, we need each other.  As it turns out, it was also National Sister’s Day (first Sunday in August, thank you Hallmark) which we only found out today.

Come on this was a way cool (I know they don’t say that anymore) way to spend a Sunday afternoon in the blazing hot summer, right?  Terri swears they shut the air conditioning down at intermission, whew.  Then we were off to PF Chang’s for our usual at what turns out to be our table in the bar.  Top it off with a wicked thunder storm and it was just about perfect.

We highly suggest you see the show.  We also highly suggest you start giving the ones you love experiences rather than stuff, we’ll be talkin about this until we’re hangin on the porch in our rocking chairs. Get it?   I wanta ROCK…

Velda

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Almost every obituary starts with something like:

Velda L. (nee James) Seege, age 86, of North Tonawanda NY, passed away on Thursday, July 19th, 2012 following a brief illness.  Mrs. Seege was born on March 26th, 1926 in Plainview Arkansas, daughter of the late Seth and Katie James.  Worked at….Survived by….Arrangements….the facts.

Then there is a flurry of activity, there are children and grandchildren and great grandchildren to be consoled, there are cars to be driven from places hours away, flights to be booked, who’s picking up whom and where will they all stay.   Then there is a gathering of relations and ceremony and farewells.

For me there is much to be told after all of this, I’m not done.  I’ve known Velda Seege, usually and proudly referred to as Gramma Velda, for thirty five years.   She’s not my grandmother, but the mother of my dear friend and summer sister Kyle.  She is that person that I see almost every time I find myself in Buffalo, that person that has always welcomed me with a knowing smile, a very distinct and powerful laugh a willing ear and God knows she’s heard some of the best and worst of my life.  And a glass of white zinfandel, I moved on from the white zinfandel, she did not….a signature drink is a signature drink no matter.   These are the things I knew about her, these are my precious moments with her.

In the past few days I’ve learned about her independent nature (wait I knew that) her courage, her talents, and the wonderful role model she was to her three daughters.  Not an apron and pearls kind of role model but a real life, here’s what you need to know, kind of role model.  I learned this mostly through the eulogies written and delivered by her daughters.

They say that parents are completely different people after each child is born and that each child’s experience is different in the family.  Nowhere could that have been more apparent than in the presentations done by these three women.  Kim, the oldest, spoke of Velda’s growing up in 1930’s Arkansas, her antics, the framework of her steadfastness, the talents she developed.  Kristen, the youngest, spoke mostly of her life after her husband passed away.  How she came to share her home, how she insisted on putting in the pool (ulterior motive keeping the kids and grandkids close) her work ethic and the friends she made over and over again.

Kyle told the story through her father’s eyes.  Of course she would, she is a fellow father’s daughter.  When he died so suddenly back in 1988 there was no formal eulogy done by the grieving, then much younger, women. As I recall that was left to others.   Kyle spoke so eloquently of him and Velda dancing together so beautifully that everyone on the dance floor would stop to watch.  She spoke of her getting to know her mother so much better after her father had gone, the things they shared and the rock that Velda became to her. Only a father’s daughter could portray the joy that would be their first dance after 25 years albeit in heaven.

Kyle comforted me with her words and I her with the many hugs that we exchanged over the past few days.  Father’s daughters sometimes struggle after they are gone with the relationships they are left to build with their mothers.  There is never any doubt of their love and respect but how exactly do they evolve the mother/daughter relationship going forward.  Kyle is a role model to me in so many ways, I always say she is the smartest woman I know and her words of love for both her father and mother gave me direction once again.

And so we said goodbye to Velda, we spoke of our many interactions with her and the things we loved most about her.  We moved on to the repast to share even more about her and celebrate her life with a toast.  Yes there was white zinfandel and I almost had a glass…but no. She will be remembered fondly by many for a very long time and I’m begging someone to please send me the recipe for her pepper jelly.

So clever is my friend Kyle that she managed to have a respite table at the repast.  All the women seated at this table were of the book club, vacation taking, worked with, former something or other, wine drinking variety.  We all knew each other but many of us had never met.  There was the; oh you’re Alana, oh you’re the women who went to Italy, yes I’m that Sandi.  We were delighted to sit with Reed’s mother and sister and enjoyed their company.  Our table would be the one to turn sorrow to celebration….have a seat Kyle we’ve been waiting for you to make your way over.   All the love you need is right here where you left it.

50

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My kid sister turns 50 today.  Muriel tells me not to say that because it makes me sound old (not Terri mind you but me. Love that girl.)  I’m not going to call her my kid sister any more, not because it makes me sound old, because somehow her arriving at 50 makes us even.

It’s a strange thing about age.  At some ages it matters a tremendous amount and then at some ages it doesn’t matter at all.  When you’ve been through as much as we have, and seen as much as we’ve seen, the years just fall away.  When you’ve learned as much as we have it narrows the gap, especially for me.  I’ve learned more about my shortcomings by watching her strength, more about kindness by her grace, more about patience by watching her move around in the world.

I’m relinquishing my self-imposed role of fixer.  I’ve stuck my nose in things my entire life with the best of intentions and sometimes a very good outcome.  But she (and himself) have taught me that falling down isn’t always the worst thing that can happen to a person.  When asked (that being the key here) I will be at her side in a heartbeat.  When necessary (and without being asked) I will walk her through the big things that overwhelm even the strongest of souls.  Other than that she is perfectly capable of handling her own life on the way to leaving an extraordinary legacy.

That said we are sisters with all that signifies.  I was reminded just recently about the significance of close sisters.  When Marcy and I were catching up recently the memories of her favorite Aunt came up.  She was a fixture in our childhood, everyone called her Auntie.   She died just recently and we were both surprised by the impact her death had on us.  I wrote Marcy’s mother a note letting her know what fond memories I had of her sister and that I would never forget her.   Marcy let me know that her mother had to get to her sister’s side the night she died, no matter the distance, the discomfort of travel, the amount of time it might take.  She had to be there.  Marcy seemed to understand but I know like I know that come hell or high water she would not let her sister be alone.

I hear stories of estranged sisters, I hear of arguments that last years and years.  I can’t in my wildest imagination picture not having my sister fully ensconced in my life.  I just don’t get it. Don’t think for a moment that we haven’t had some very lively conversation, bordering on the knock down drag out variety, but we take a breath and remember our history, our worth, and the fact that we just can’t get through a day without talking. Or laughing.  Or using the secret sister codes.

So Happy Birthday Terri, stop worrying if I’ll use the key to your house to surprise you without your permission, we’re even.