Category Archives: Friends

December

Friends

[In memory of Peter Tomasulo January 20, 1953 – December 17, 2023]

(Peter T & Me, Staples 35th Reunion, 2006)

On December 8,

I gently held your hand

and I’m sure you knew

it was me.

On the long drive

home all I could

think about

was that horrific

December 14.

Your heartbreak day

embedded in my brain.

The Christmas shopping,

her head in your lap,

the senseless devastation.

Four years later, at our 35th

High School Reunion

you were still in such pain,

and yet you drove with me

to drag my despondent

cousin Pam out of her house

when I told you that she lost

her husband and her son.

You took her out of the depths

of despair for a few hours.

You did what no one was able

to do, and I never forgot your

kindness and empathy. And until

Pam died; she never

forgot you either.

That’s who you were.

And you were never going to

recover from that

December 14, but you were

getting stronger,

until ten years to the day,

when December 14 came

for Sandy Hook Elementary,

in your home town.

It was like your December 14

happened all over again.

And now this.

I keep asking myself,

why? Why you?

On this December 14,

it was jammed in my brain

that your sweet

Kathleen was patiently

waiting. And then came

the devastating news

that on December 17,

you were gone.

I am grief-stricken,

but confident that

if there is another

side, I will see

you there one day,

my unforgettable

Peter T.


(Peter T & Me, Staples 45th Reunion, 2016)

Being Barbie

Friends


I flew to Florida last week for a girls-only Barbie Party.

And I’m so happy I did. The camaraderie was infectious, and I hadn’t felt that carefree in years.

We all wore Barbie name tags and enjoyed many “Hi Barbie” moments, just like in the movie. I thought the movie was going to be flimsy and transparent, but oh, no, it wasn’t. The summer blockbuster actually moved me to tears.

In between watching the film, we toasted to sisterhood and hugged each other a little harder than usual. I was also reminded of how huge of a part Barbie played in my younger life.

We playfully bestowed upon each other Barbie nicknames because, bottom line, girls just want to have fun.

There was Black Barbie, Hall Monitor Barbie, Lesbian Barbie, Divorcing Barbie, Hostess with the Mostess Barbie, Rock Star Barbie, Workout Barbie, and Party Hardy Barbie, to name a few.

I was Bat Mitzvah Barbie because the last time I wore my bubble gum pink suit and matching kitten heels was at my daughter’s Bat Mitzvah — in 2001!

We were all glued to the part in the film when America Ferrera’s character Gloria, a Mattel employee and mother, delivered a powerful monologue to Margot Robbie Barbie, who was going through a crisis after the Kens turned Barbie Land into Ken Land.

Every word in that monologue hit me hard and reminded me of my resilience, my inner strength, my courage, my silent triumphs, and the incredible journey that I’ve been on:

“You are so beautiful and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough. It is literally impossible to be a woman. We have to always be extraordinary, but somehow, we’re always doing it wrong.

You have to be thin but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy. But also, you have to be thin.

You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass.

You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas.

You’re supposed to love being a mother but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time.

You have to be a career woman but also always be looking out for other people.

You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining. 

You’re supposed to stay pretty for men but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood.

But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged, so find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful.

You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line.

It’s too hard. It’s too contradictory, and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you.

And it turns out, in fact, that not only are we doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us.”

As the mom of a daughter, Ruth Handler, the creator of Barbie (played by Rhea Perlman), said something to Margot Robbie’s Barbie that will stay with me for a long time: “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they’ve come.”

By the night’s end, I felt like 20 instead of my still-trying-to-come-to-terms-with-my-age-of 70.

And I couldn’t wait to call my husband to tell him I love him and that I appreciate and miss him.

And the moral of the Barbie Movie for me?

Women must embrace their empowerment while respecting men’s struggles and never disregarding their feelings. No Barbie or Ken should live in anyone’s shadow; everyone has value — extremes of masculinity and femininity damage everyone.

The real world can be challenging and complicated, so we men and women need each other while never forgetting the power of motherhood and sisterhood.

What About the Sanctity of the Born?

Friends,


As a child of a child, I get the impact and consequences of pro-choice vs. pro-life. My mother didn’t have a choice.

If abortion had been legal in the early 1950s when my mom found out she was pregnant with me, I don’t know what her choice would have been.

But I still believe in a woman’s right to choose what happens to her life—to her future.

A female friend from college recently posted bullet points on her Facebook page about the upside of the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade. The image hyped how justice had been served and how the sanctity of the unborn had finally been vindicated. Her post suggested that every unborn life was cherished and chosen.

Every unborn life? Chosen by whom?

58% of U.S. women of productive age live in states hostile to their right to choose their future. That’s over 40 million women whose right to choose what happens to their lives has been taken away because they live in the wrong state.

I knew I was walking into quicksand when I responded to my friend’s post by asking, “What about rape and incest? How exactly is that cherished and chosen? What about the sanctity of the born?”

I also revealed something on my friend’s page that I had never before written in the hopes that she would feel my pain.

Well, that didn’t happen.

And then the claws of one of her friends, who I’ll call Bleep, came out like daggers.

Bleep’s words directed at me and my Facebook page were vile, crass, and, frankly, the lowest of low class.

Bleep ended her rant by questioning my intelligence. The quicksand covered me from head to toe, but I wasn’t going to let Bleep drown me in it.

I rarely use the phrase low class, because I spent a good part of my younger life poor and in a lower social class.

As a kid growing up in a tenement, I didn’t know anything about class and status, but I knew we were poor. My grandma, who raised me, taught me to be kind, when possible, but when not possible, to defend myself quickly and fiercely in whatever way or form I deemed appropriate.

I checked out Bleep’s Facebook page, and to say I wasn’t impressed, would be kind.

My grandmother was illiterate but wiser than most. I might have been raised poor, but my grandma raised me right and taught me that money can’t buy class. You either have it within you or not, and Bleep was the perfect example of the have-nots, regardless of her social standing.

My “friend” did not defend me, nor did she take Bleep’s hateful post down. So, after fuming and a few tears, I let Bleep have it—but good. My grandma would have been proud.

Then I deleted all my posts on my “friend’s” page and sent her an IM, letting her know I was unfriending her and why.

Good riddance, old “friend,” and stay tuned for November.

Oh, and one more thing before I sign off:

To the men who want to control the women in their lives, I say, “If you’re against abortion, stop renewing your Viagra prescription, use a condom, or get a vasectomy.”

Roses for Ann

Friends


Ann Mindicino 11/6/1954 – 3/28/2020

For those who know me, you know signs are big for me, and I look for them everywhere.

My friendship with Ann began back in 1988 when I was thirty-five, and she was thirty-four. I was going through a tough time, and Ann and her husband stood up for me when I needed it the most. I never forgot their courage, especially her husband’s. He was a Vietnam vet, and he didn’t take any sh*t from anyone.

Our boys met in kindergarten, and our baby daughters were close in age. We spent a lot of time together over our 30+ year friendship. We shared tons of good times but plenty of dark times too. But as futile as life sometimes felt, we always talked each other out of stuff and helped each other bounce back.

And we had not missed celebrating our birthdays together for over twenty years.

That was until March 2020, when Ann died.

We spoke on the phone for over an hour on Thursday, March 25, and on Sunday, March 28, Ann was gone. Just like that. My casual goodbye to her on Thursday was our last goodbye.

Her family buried Ann in early April — on my birthday, which broke my heart. And because of Covid, there was no service for Ann.

So, for me, there was no closure. There was nobody I could talk to from the family to express my deepest condolences.  There was no commiserating with her friends about Ann, or sharing funny stories, because Ann was a character, and we would have had a laugh, along with a cry.

She was sixty-five years old when she died and had recently retired. She was funny, intelligent, chatty, a gifted artist, and a blast to be around.

And, okay, maybe she was a little too chatty, LOL.

Ann had so many plans. She was looking forward to being a grandmother. She wanted to travel. She was going to start painting again.

And Ann was obsessed with roses. She drew them beautifully, filled her yard with rose bushes, and posted stunning photos of them on social media. Any time I see a rose, I think of Ann.

Last Thursday, three days before what would have been Ann’s 67th birthday, I noticed one lone, long stem with a budding rose shooting up high above the bush in all its splendor.

I took it as a sign from Ann that she was thinking of me thinking of her.

When I checked the bud on Friday morning, it had started to open up even more, which made my heart glad. Because I knew that by Sunday, the rose would be in full bloom for Ann’s birthday.

Unfortunately, my gardening service came that afternoon and cut everything back for the winter, including the rose bush!

I was crushed. The rose was gone. So much for the sign from Ann.

On Sunday morning, I went outside and noticed the rose lying on top of my firepit.

Whoever had buzzed the rose bush had saved the rose!

Ann hadn’t given up that easily!

It was a cold day, and the rose was intact but fragile — which also reminded me of Ann.

I gently picked it up, and as I passed the stub of the bush, several rosebuds were hiding in the thorny brush.

Because the rose stems were short, I needed a small container. I went to my china cabinet, and the first thing I laid my eyes on was a crystal glass that Ann had given me! There is no way that was by chance!

I placed the glass of roses facing the sun so the buds could bloom and live to see another day or two.

Rest in peace, my dear friend. I sure hope they have roses on the other side.