I just stumbled upon this Norman Rockwell painting called, “First signs of spring.” In the background I can hear Mother Nature calling back, “ You sister’s ass it’s spring.”
I stayed home from dance again tonight because of the rainy ice pouring down, high winds, and some snow thrown in for good measure.
I ended up getting 2 heat maps for my seeds to stay warm and a grow light. Both were pretty inexpensive being under $25.
Grow lights have come a long way. They now have led lighting, automatic timers and 3 different spectrum colors.
Since some of the seeds have sprouted and the rest need light to germinate, I took out my new grow light and am pretty impressed especially for one under 25 bucks.
I’m doing my best to plant flowers that I grew not transplanted. Right now, it’s a 50/50 crap shoot. In the meantime, I’ll have my fingers and toes crossed.
I wrote about my oldest son, Noah, and his Fuzzy Bunny a few weeks ago when he asked if I still had him.
Fuzzy Bunny was Noah’s favorite stuffed animal from when he was a baby until he grew up. Fuzzy Bunny went everywhere with us. Did I still have him? Of course, I did.
He’s been sitting on a shelf ever since Noah moved out. Sometimes, when I passed him, I would get mushy and think he was like Buzz and Woody in Toy Story when Andy grew up.
When I gave him to Noah yesterday, on Easter Sunday, it made my heart melt; it was one of those things that made this mama’s heart so full and happy.
Our Easter holiday turned out differently than I planned, but I can pivot on a dime at this point in my life.
Marty helped our friends who own the Arlington Inn and our buddy Chef Martin with an Easter Brunch. The brunch was a wonderful feast of exquisite food on the buffet menu.
The team outdid themselves and worked together like they have for decades, not just a few times over the last year. The best part is they have a blast doing it. I got some of the leftovers, so I was a happy girl.
Of course, this canceled my planned Easter dinner menu but turned it into a lovely brunch for Noah, Aja, and me. We had a wonderful time together, talking a lot and enjoying brunch ourselves.
I made a crumb-bun French toast casserole, a cold asparagus salad with a sweet lemon vinaigrette, shrimp cocktail, maple bacon, and Bloody Marys for Aja and me. I also made a pizza gaina, a tradition since childhood.
It’s an Italian Easter pie from southern Italy dating back centuries. It was intended to be the ultimate reward for fasting during the Lenten season. It is filled with ricotta, mozzarella, and provolone cheese.
It’s also stuffed with Italian meats, such as capicola, salami, mortadella, and pepperoni, which I forgot about this time.
It’s eaten cold or at room temperature and is a familiar, flavorful Easter food memory from my childhood. I love making it as much as I love eating it.
Growing up in an Italian neighborhood, everyone bought or made pizza gaina every Easter. After we moved to Iselin, NJ, my parents would order a portion of pizza gaina from a small Italian market called Mistretta’s.
I would walk down two blocks to Oak Tree Road and pick ours up. I remember it was still warm and how wonderful it smelled. It tasted the same as the ones we had in Elizabeth.
It’s usually made by people on Good Friday, which is a real temptation when fasting and not eating meat in the Catholic religion on Fridays, especially the tragic Friday. I’m sure millions of rosaries have been said whenever people were making this staple dish.
Even though I don’t practice the Catholic religion anymore, I realized it’s my nostalgic Holy Week memories that make me want not to eat meat on Fridays, especially the big one.
I succeeded in not eating any of the fillings but completely forgot about it when I made scallops for dinner.
I made pan-seared scallops topped with bacon and lemon. I tasted the scallops and pasta. It was so delicious; halfway through the meal, I said, “Oh shit! I forgot about the bacon.” Oh, well, I tried.
I immediately remembered my belief that man-made religious rules no longer mattered to me. It’s all bullshit. Telling my sins to another sinner was the first thing I questioned as I grew older. I could tell God my sins without some middleman involved.
For example, why can the Pope excuse or permit people from eating meat when St. Patrick’s Day falls on a Friday during Lent? Why?
Well, because he’s the Pope, that’s why. Hang on a second. Honestly, I am not being disrespectful in any way, and everyone has a right to their beliefs, but in all reality, who is he? He is a man not without sin like the rest of us.
Every human is a sinner. He is a regular man, not God or Christ himself, who can allow people to break a rule in Catholicism.
That said, I won’t go straight to hell for eating bacon or that hotdog, I was told as a kid. Furthermore, I don’t have to say 10 Hail Marys and 5 Our Fathers for “sinning.”
I am sure all the other religions people who eat meat on Fridays don’t burn in hell, especially if they don’t know about any such rule.
In Catholicism, rules were meant to make people choose what pleasures they would give up as a sacrifice to show God their love. Love. That’s what it’s all about. We are all one with God with or without confessions to a priest and punishments in the form of memorized prayers.
This Easter, I was able to let some good childhood memories flood back in. This was my first year without a heart full of pain, anger, sadness, disappointment, and being a victim of abuse for decades.
It felt so wonderful that I can’t even explain it to anyone. By finally forgiving my mother a few weeks ago has made my heart softer, if that makes sense.
It feels like a teeny tiny piece of enlightenment I experienced when I was 9 years old. Oddly enough, I was thinking about God’s love when it happened in school that day.
Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of energy work on myself and working with the other side, helping many lost souls cross over and go home just like Fuzzy Bunny did.
After Noah and Aja left, I sat down and drew Fuzzy Bunny; how I will remember him.
These last few weeks have been the calmest, safest, and most peaceful I have ever felt. Last week was truly a Holy Week for me and my close spiritual relationship with our creator.
For those of you who have been reading my blog for quite a while you know about my adopted mother and my relationship.
I wrote about her a lot. I was trying to heal all the hurt, pain, disappointment, anger, and sadness she left me with after she died.
I appreciate each of you for your love and support while I was going through such a terrible time.
After I took down that mirror in our living room which was facing our dining room mirror creating a vortex inside our home.
The vortex was blocking anything good or positive from coming through the door. It also didn’t let stuff out either.
If you don’t know me that well please understand I’m different and I am not alone. I am blessed with “The Irish Gift.”
After removing the vortex I felt it immediately; blockages being removed right away, I shit you not.
On my birthday, I received an absolute sign from my mother. Instead of getting angry, I felt my heart melt. I felt like the Winter Wizard on Santa Claus is coming to town.
I started remembering the good memories I had with my mother. I laughed when I thought of ridiculously fun things we did.
At that moment, I was able to finally forgive my mother for everything. I can’t even begin to tell you how freeing it was.
I sat in meditation and spoke to her. I told her I forgave her and I loved her.
I went on to tell her, “Since you passed away had a life review you know how you treated me.” I thanked her for the sign on my birthday.
I waited almost a month before writing about this; making sure it was real. It’s real.
My heart isn’t angry anymore. I have been in a happy, positive, and great mood.
If you asked me if I would ever be able to forgive my mother I would say, “ I don’t think I ever can.”
Here I am a changed and happier person. My heart and soul feels like a million ton weight was lifted.
I remembered this from the Bible when I was a child.
Then Peter came and said to Him, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.
Matthew 18:21-22
I can’t believe I was actually able to do the impossible. Now I know what it means when they say not forgiving someone hurts only you.
I was hurting myself. That blockage that was there for years kept me in a constant state of worry, pain, disappointment, sadness, and extreme anger.
How do I feel? I feel like my body, heart, and soul is lighter and brighter. I have a smile from ear to ear.
I feel fantastic not carrying around all that shit any more.
The sky after finishing this post. It didn’t take long since I wrote from my heart.
To tell you the truth, I’ve been carrying some of that stuff since I was a little girl and now I can’t fathom how I felt like that for so long.
Even though I am no longer a practicing Catholic, I am very spiritual, thinking about Easter week.
My father died on Easter Sunday and my Nana died on Holy Thursday. It feels right to focus and pray this week without all that yucky shit in my heart.
Have a great week! Thanks again for your support and being on this journey with me. ❤️
I was going through old photos and actually took the time to separate them into four categories. All the duplicates I finally got rid of.
I’m still missing photos but I’m not about to tear the house apart looking for them as if my life depended upon it.
I did stumble across a photo of Noah and his fuzzy bunny. He slept with fuzzy bunny and played with him too.
I remember how he would snuggle with fuzzy bunny on the couch when he was watching TV.
I texted the photo to Noah. The texting went back and forth like this: Do you know where he is? Let me look I think he’s upstairs. I’d love to see him again and have him.
I knew exactly where fuzzy bunny was; up on a shelf in his old room now our office. I took him down and gave him a hug.
I texted Noah these photos of Nelly meeting fuzzy bunny. She was so gentle and gave him a sniff.
She was very interested in him and couldn’t understand why she couldn’t play with him.
I looked through the photos of the boys when they were small. I told Marty we really did a lot of stuff with them. We did he said agreeing with me.
Those years when they were little are like a blur to me now. I realized that I was so focused on them I didn’t look around and pay attention to the little things.
I am grateful to both sets of our parents who took a shit load of photos for us.
Now, as I look at them I can see the details and how much fun we were having.
Damn, we were tan!
Photos tell stories when people can’t remember things well. Those memories can be shared with future generations.
I, for one, was happy when I was able to take photos and store them on my phone. How easy!
Ugh, remember how much work it was to take photos? It was a royal pain in the ass!
First, you had to buy film and put it into the camera correctly.
Then, you took photos if you remembered to bring your camera.
Next, the film had to be taken out of the camera and stored in one of those little black containers.
You couldn’t drop your film in any convenient places way back then, you had to go to one of those drive-up photo mat places.
Finally, you would have to drive back to the photo mat and pray your pictures came out. Sometimes yes and sometimes no.
The biggest bummer would be if the film was over exposed. Ugh! All those memories right down the shitter.
Right now, fuzzy bunny is waiting for Noah to pick him up and be with his boy again.
I know they both will be really happy to see each other again. ☺️
Where I grew up in Elizabeth, NJ, in the late 60s to mid-70s, most of the families were Italian and Irish. I grew up in a strict Catholic Irish family.
My Nana was the family’s matriarch and a very old-school Irish Catholic. My dad called her the sergeant.
Nana’s parents came to America straight from Ireland. She was very religious and had a deep faith. Even though I attended a Catholic school, I spent most of the Holy Days with her.
I’ve written about my Nana often and spent a lot of time with her. She went blind when I was four years old, so I was her helping eyes at her apartment, a light green building in downtown Elizabeth.
The sergeant.
I stayed over almost every other Saturday night and spent the other Saturday nights at my other grandmother, Mema’s house. I love both of my grandmothers, who were polar opposites, making me a well-rounded kid.
Our family ate no meat on Fridays, not just during Lent, but every Friday. I didn’t have school on Good Fridays but spent them with Nana. This was when she really was the sergeant.
We would kneel on her hard floor, which only had a thin rug over it, from noon until three, which was the time Christ hung on the cross. We would say the Rosary with all the Mysteries. It took at least three hours.
There was no sitting back on your feet; oh no, we knelt like soldiers. When I would complain that my knees hurt, she would tell me to think of how much pain Jesus was in while he hung on the cross. Like my dad said, she was tough.
The sergeant with my grandpop, my mother is the short one, and my Aunt Claire. Why didn’t people ever smile for photos, then?
So what did we eat on Fridays, especially during Lent? We ate pizza, pepper and egg subs, and fish. My mother never cooked fish, so we either went out to eat, ate fish sticks, or Gordon’s Fishermen fish filets at home.
I didn’t mind and liked what we ate on Fridays, especially Gordon’s fish with lots of tartar sauce. Mmmmm! I also liked the Filet o Fish at McDonalds. It was a perfect fish sandwich. Now I make my own.
I stopped practicing Catholicism when my boys were young due to a lot of reasons. I’m not going to bash the Catholic religion, but being an extremely spiritual person, I have a very close relationship with God and didn’t need man-made rules for myself or my boys.
I self-churched my boys and taught them that instead of making sacrifices they could easily fail at and hate, I made them do extra good deeds during Lent.
We still didn’t eat meat on Fridays during Lent, probably out of habit, but I never made it a big deal, or they again would hate whatever we were having.
I would make mac and cheese, fish sticks, pizza, grilled cheese, and a few other non-meat kid-friendly dishes. My son Noah was a very picky eater, making it sound like the meal was a punishment, which would have only added to the problem.
After the kids grew up and moved out, I would still make shrimp or something like pasta with clam sauce or garlic and oil during Lent. I wasn’t doing it on purpose since we ate meat for lunch but for nostalgic memories.
Marty would always ask if we weren’t eating meat during Lent. I guess my answer should be yes and no. I’m not doing it because someone told me I had to abstain from eating meat; I’m doing it because I want to.
The funny (ok, not funny) part of not eating meat on Fridays during Lent is that my mother would take me out to a hotdog place for lunch. On the way home, she would cry, “Oh shit, we ate a hotdog!” I would laugh but also HAD to tell the priest during confession I sinned by eating meat.
That’s me, the sinner, on Easter Sundays. When I was growing up, I loved wearing Mary Jane shoes with fancy lace leotards. I still have Mary Janes.
Yes, I sinned. Must I say more about the church? I had to say 10 Hail Marys and 5 Our Fathers because my mother forgot and bought me a fucking hotdog? Sorry God, please forgive me, but I think not.
I remembered I had some frozen flounder and decided to make an old-school fish fry for dinner on Friday night. I fried the flounder and made french fries, homemade tartar sauce, and coleslaw. It was delicious. I have to remember to make it more often.
I added old bay to all three breading components along with garlic, onion powder, and a pinch of kosher salt. I skipped the parsley and oregano.
I put the breaded fish on a rack over a sheet pan and popped it into the fridge for an hour. I heated up 1/8 inch of canola in a pan and fried the flounder until golden brown and crunchy on both sides.
Refrigerating the fish before frying keeps it cold long enough so it doesn’t dry out when it’s golden brown and crunchy. I drained the fish on paper towels; I was really how happy and easy it was to make.
I served the fish with lemon wedges to cut through the taste of frying by making it bright. Restaurants and seafood shacks give lemons with your meal for this purpose; they aren’t there just as a garnish.
Will I make seafood again next Friday? I may not, or then again, maybe I will. If not, we will likely make pizza like we do most Fridays, but sometimes with pepperoni.
One of my favorite photos from our wedding was this one with Mema and Nana. This was the last day I saw my Nana alive. When she was buried, she wore the same outfit at our wedding, and she loved it, along with her mink stole. The once robust sergeant diminished to a frail, sweet woman who still had a lot of faith in God.
Yes, I am crying and miss them both so much. ♥️ ♥️
When we made our back room a 4 season room 12 years ago, we’ve called it many things from a lounge with a bar, sun room, mud room/pantry.
It’s a mélange of sorts for sure. Today, we added one for thing into the mix, the laundry room.
Last night, I went down to the basement to get my last load out of the dryer. The clothes were still wet. Dammit.
It was flashing a code which I looked up. It said to unplug the dryer for a few minutes then plug it back in and press start.
It still flashed the same code. From what I read I knew the motherboard shit the bed. Our washer and dryer are 20 years old.
Before replacing the dryer we know how things work in the Irion household, the washer would go next.
It’s always something but instead of being upset, I looked at the situation as an upgrade like I did with the whole septic issue last year.
I had a chance to think about what I wanted since Marty was out on a rescue squad call.
He’s usually quick to say no to my ideas so I had to convince him of my plan.
I wanted to get a washer-dryer combo machine. They have large capacity units even though it’s just the two of us.
I didn’t want a new unit in our dungeon of a basement anymore. I hate going up and down three flights of stairs to do laundry.
When I am having a hard time breathing on certain days I can’t carry the laundry up and down the stairs. I have to rely on Marty.
Since my lung disease, I’ve had to adjust the way I do a lot of things in my life. Doing laundry is a big one.
At first, he said it wasn’t possible when he got home. I insisted he open his German mechanical brain.
I am an animated person so he asked me to show him not tell him where I wanted to fit a washer-dryer combo machine.
He could see my idea when I physically showed him. He said, “Oh, okay.” 😀
We never pay full price for anything. Marty is a master at finding things we need at a price we can afford.
The combo machine was $1000 off since it was on sale and “out of the box.” He immediately ordered it.
While he was in Saratoga picking up the machine this morning, I took away the baker’s rack which was basically a filler for a blank space between the loveseat and the pantry shelving.
It was loaded with shit to fill it up. Nothing really needed to be there. The washer dryer combo fits perfectly in that spot.
It’s low and sleek so it doesn’t look obtrusive in the room.
People in Europe have had these kinds of machines for years stuck in all kinds of places in their homes and apartments.
After production tomorrow, Marty will run the water and electricity to the new machine. The European design is ventless which is brilliant.
I’ll let you know how it works. I’m never thrilled to do laundry in the first place, this will make it a little better.
So that little back room that serves so many purposes now, calling it a multipurpose room would be wrong.
