All posts by Teri

The Itsy-Bitsy Spider Fiasco

Family & Relationships

The Itsy-Bitsy Spider was my daughter’s favorite nursery rhyme.

She sang it non-stop.

Wherever we went, she would belt that song out like a professional, and she had a cute little voice.

But I was mortified.

Why?

Because instead of Itsy-Bitsy Spider, she would melodiously chant Itchy-Bitchy Spider.

Repeatedly. And over-the-top loud.

As you can imagine, her nursery rhyme cussing did not reflect well on either one of us.

And did I mention that I was non-stop humiliated and hugely embarrassed?

Who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t a good look. At all.

But she didn’t care.

No matter how often I tried to correct her or how many times I tried to shush her or explain to her that she was using a “dirty word,” my beautiful but spunky little girl continued to call that spider an itchy bitch.

As I wandered through grocery store aisles, stood in line at the bank, or dropped her off at nursery school, she would croon about that bitch of a spider who never seemed to make it to the water spout.

♪♪ ♪ ITCHY ♪♪♪ BITCHY ♪♪♪ SPIDER ♪♪♪

Some people laughed, others stared blankly, but most just gave me dirty looks.

What could I do? Gag her?

A gazillion years later, she’s still precocious, with an itsy-bitsy potty mouth.

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 31: Bridgeport Hospital

Teri's Novelog — My Stolen Diaries, , ,

CHAPTER 31

 BRIDGEPORT HOSPITAL

September 16, 1966

I’ve been begging Mem to let me stay with her in Bridgeport ever since Mom asked for my permission to marry Rob, which I will never give her.

Mem promised to talk to Mom, but it caused a huge fight when she did. I was standing in the upstairs hallway, eavesdropping. Mere Germaine hadn’t been feeling well for a few days, so she was lying in bed. But I’m sure she heard the whole ugly thing.

First, Mem asked if I would attend Catholic School in Westport, and Mom said, “No, the Junior High School near Rob’s house is one of the best in the country.” I was gunning for Mem when she said, “But Tony wants to go to Notre Dame with her friends.”

“Well, that’s not happening,” Mom said in a raised voice. I thought Mem would blast her for speaking in such a disrespectful tone.

Instead, Mem asked if she could pick me up some weekends and bring me back to Success Park, and Mom said a flat-out “No.” That’s when things turned nasty.

Mem got loud and had a lot to say. “Westport is not for her, and you know it. It’s not bad enough that you’re taking her from me, but now you’re saying she’s not allowed back in Bridgeport? Let her go to Notre Dame with her friends. Let her stay with me during the week.”

Mom tried to interrupt, but Mem got even louder.

“I’ll drive her to you on the weekends. Let’s try to ease her into this thing. Maybe she’ll grow to like it. She can always change schools. She’s thirteen years old. I’m not sure she can handle Westport.”

Mom screamed back at her in response.

“This is not about Tony; this is about you. You want her all for yourself. It doesn’t matter to you that she’ll destroy her chances for a better life because she wants to hang out with her loser friends. She needs to get out of Bridgeport. I’m her mother, and she’s coming with me.”

Mem tried to say more, but Mom stormed out of the apartment. Mom’s decision was final, and I was furious and determined to make her pay.

But I never got the chance for revenge because the next day, Mere Germaine took a turn for the worse and was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.

Every day, the three of us sat at her bedside at Bridgeport Hospital. Mere Germaine was weak, but she was a fighter, and we were all praying she would come home soon.

Then, one night, Mem woke me up, clutching her heart, and told me to get Mom because she couldn’t breathe. Mom called an ambulance, and they took her away — also to Bridgeport Hospital.

Mom was relieved that Mem and Mere Germaine were on different floors, even though they both had heart conditions. We didn’t want to worry Mere Germaine, so we told her that Mem couldn’t visit her because she was busy working.

I know Mere Germaine didn’t believe Mom, and I could see that her anxiety about what might have happened to Mem was taking a terrible toll on her health, which was getting worse by the minute.

On our way to the hospital on September 23,  three days before Mem’s Birthday, I finally convinced Mom to tell Mere Germaine that Mem was in the same hospital. And she promised she would.

When we got to the hospital, we first went to see Mem, and we told her that we had no choice but to let Mere Germaine finally know the truth. She was unhappy about it but too weak to argue.

Then we took the elevator one floor up to see Mere Germaine. I was confused when we got to her room because her bed was empty.

Mom fell to the floor screaming. Then I screamed out for someone to help Mom because I didn’t know what was going on, and I was scared to death.

Mom was rolling around on the floor, writhing in pain, so I jumped on top of her. She grabbed me and held on so tight I thought she would crush me.

“She’s dead, oh my God, she’s dead, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she kept wailing over and over and over again.

And then it was like a knife got shoved into my heart. That’s when I realized why Mere Germaine’s bed was empty. My beautiful, loving, remarkable great-grandmother was dead.

It took a while for the nurse to get us both off the floor. Mom continued to crush me against her, and I have never in all my years seen her so beaten down.

Through tears, Mom asked to see Mere Germaine, but the nurse explained that they had already taken her away.

“Where did they take Mere Germaine?” I repeatedly asked Mom, but she was in no shape to answer me.

When she finally let go of me, she drew in a deep breath, and it was the first time in all my years that I ever saw Mom take charge.

We left the hospital, and she called the Germaine family to let everyone know the horrible news. She called the funeral home and St. Ambrose and made all the arrangements for Mere Germaine’s funeral.

And then she silently took me back to the hospital to visit Mem but never told her that Mere Germaine was dead. She was afraid it would kill her too, which, at the time, it probably would have.

Three days after Mere Germaine died, we buried her — on Mem’s birthday. After the funeral and burial, Mem’s doctor set up a time for him to be in the hospital room with us so Mom could tell her about Mere Germaine.

As soon as we walked into Mem’s room, she wept uncontrollably. Mem said she knew that Mere Germaine was gone from the look on Mom’s face.

The doctor gave her a pill to put under her tongue so her heart wouldn’t stop. I was on one side of Mem’s bed, and Mom was on the other. We laid our heads on her and sobbed uncontrollably while Mem placed a hand on each of us and softly and bravely prayed.

“Dear Lord, with heavy hearts, we place our beloved Jewel St. Germaine in your care. Although her body is gone from us, her soul will live on in eternity. May a choir of angels keep her safe until we meet again. Now and forever, Amen.”

In that moment of tears and prayers, I realized that Mere Germaine had been the glue that held us together.

And just like that, we went from a family of four strong, invincible females to three shattered and broken survivors.

Stay tuned for Chapter 32: From Rags to Riches

Hide and Seek

Family & Relationships

On Father’s Day, one of my granddaughters asked me to play hide and seek with her and eight other cousins and grandkids.

I found some great hiding places. And so did they!

While hiding in what was later voted the best hiding spot ever, I had time to think.

Too much time.

That’s how triggers work.

They pop up out of nowhere.

My hiding spot made me think about where I would hide my little loved ones if Hamas terrorists were seeking to find and butcher us.

As I sat quietly, my anxiety shot through the roof.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” the kids screamed out mischievously.

The game took on a whole other meaning, and I was terrified.

For them. Not me.

Scent Memories

Observe & Ponder,

My scent memories immediately bring to mind the French word “sillage,” pronounced “see-yahzh,” which translates to the word “wake,” like the trail left by a boat as it moves through the water.

In the fragrance world, sillage refers to the trail a scent leaves long after the wearer is gone, like someone leaving a car or exiting an elevator.

Sillage creates a poignant image: The lingering scent a person leaves behind is a memory, yet the smell is very much alive.

The fragrance wheel, created in 1949 and modernized in the 1980s, divides fragrances into four distinct families: Fresh, Floral, Amber, and Woody.

Each fragrance family shares similar aromas and characteristics that complement each other.

It is indeed a family affair—from the scent choices our loved ones make to the memories and emotions those scents evoke.

Additionally, every family has an outlier. Fragrance outliers are unique in that they can fall into any or all of the scent families.

THE SCENT FAMILIES AND THEIR ATTRIBUTES:

FRESH (Classic, subtle, laid back, zesty, cooling, vibrant, inoffensive, light, bright and aromatic).

FLORAL (Feminine, timeless, light, powdery, delicate, gentle, flowery, pretty, citrusy, velvety, romantic, and old school.)

AMBER (Sensual, dramatic, lush, dusty, warm, bold, exotic, musky, and rooted in nature.)

WOODY (Rich, elegant, opulent, intense, earthy, sensual, spicy, crisp, dry, clean, smoky, unisex, and potent.)

My French grandmother wore L’air du Temps (a Floral developed in 1948), and her mother—my great-grandmother wore English Lavender (also a floral that debuted in 1799). They both chose Florals as their go-to scent.

My mother wore Shalimar (an Amber created in 1925) and Chantilly (a Floral launched in 1941). Her scent preference varied between flowery and musky.

I have ancient, near-empty bottles of all four perfumes in a small display box, and I smell them when I’m feeling untethered, nostalgic, or simply want to be taken back in time.

I used to wear Chamade (an Amber launched in 1969) and Love’s Baby Soft (a Floral from 1974).

Some of my other go-to scents included Heaven Sent (an Amber launched in 1941), White Shoulders (a Floral from 1943), and Youth Dew (an Amber launched in 1953, the year I was born).

And then there was Wind Song (a Floral, also from 1953), Emeraude (an Amber, circa 1921), Cachet (a Floral from 1970), and Anais Anais (a Floral from 1978).

And finally, Je Reviens (an Amber launched in 1932), White Linen (a Floral from 1978), Ysatis (a Floral from 1984, the year my first child was born), Coco (an Amber, also launched in 1984), and White Musk Perfume Oil, which I just wore yesterday (an Amber created in 1981).

An old boyfriend once bought me a bottle of Joy (a Floral from 1930), and for years after we broke up, every time I smelled it on someone, I got depressed.

Until writing this blog post, I had no idea the only scent families I have ever worn are Amber and Floral. Is it possible that genes determine our scent preferences?

The sense of smell is most closely related to memory. The scent memory that impacts me the most is my son’s cologne, Davidoff Cool Water (an Amber from 1988, the year my second child was born).

I don’t know if he still wears it, but I keep his old bottle in my medicine cabinet and smell it often—a fragrant instant replay.

The American poet, prose writer, and aspiring musician Christopher Poindexter said it best: “Nothing brings to life a forgotten memory like a fragrance.”