Peek-a-boo

Buddy likes to sit in the cardboard kitty house just because it's there. Here he appreciates the window I cut out for him. Don't spend money on cat condos! They like the box the chinese food came in just as much!

Home Sweet Landscaped Home!

Juniper Valley Park

On Sunday, May 16, friends and family of Mario Colombo met at Juniper Valley Park in the heart of Middle Village, Queens to hold an informal, personal ceremony of sorts to celebrate his spirit and remember his friendship. As a person with Cooley's Anemia all his life, Mario was keenly aware of his own mortality and his wishes were to be cremated and spread under a tree in Palermo, Sicily. Since this request could not be met for his parents had him buried, his closest friends wanted to do something more to his liking to honor him and all he means to their lives. The officiant who married Jen and Dorianne a few years ago came and ran the service. We blessed a tree, wrote out cards to Mario to hang on the tree, sang songs and told stories. Jen read a beautiful euology, Dorianne read one, too and even shared excerpts from Mario's favorite books. The common theme all day was no surprise: we don't know how long we have with our loved ones; don't waste the opportunity to tell them how you feel. We all realized in death how grateful we were to have known him and how much he meant to us. We laughed and cried together. We remembered the best and worst of Mario: his intelligence, his hopeful heart, his kindness, his critical eye, his cynicism, his humor, his weaknesses. It was a day of honesty and love. On a day where Mario would be trying to 'get some color' we sat on blankets and shared our memories and our grief. It was a beautiful day for honoring a loving spirit and good friend. I only wish Mario was with us -under the trees- instead of way up high above them.

tumultuous tuesday

OK where do I start? In the middle of the day I received an email from Jimmy that said he hadn't left for work yet because he noticed that the clothes he dried in the morning were still wet- the dryer broke. He called work and told them he'd be late, and then called Sears to come to the house. Between 10 and 2 they said. 12 rolled around and in the meantime Jimmy heard from the door guy, Leo, who wanted to stop by in the evening to pick up a deposit. (We're knocking down a wall for sliding doors). The deposit would mean Jimmy would have to go the bank at some point today to withdraw over a thousand dollars, but first he'd have to get to work at some point because they keep calling. Then I called him. What's going on? Leave the clothes and we'll take them to a laundromat this week. But where's Sears? I really have to go to work. He leaves for work. PS The landscapers finally came to the house and the plants and black mulch look great. Oh, good- they've only been sitting there since Thursday of last week. He tells me the amount the door guy wants before the work even starts and I flip that it's way too much. We argue. He insists we just trust him. Fine. He leaves for work, but first calls Sears to cancel. The woman on the phone assures Jimmy he will contact the tech and tell him never mind. I return home to find beautiful plants and black mulch as promised, and a note on the door. Sears came at 12:30. Sorry we missed you. Please call our office to reschedule. Uggh. I call Jimmy. I'm cooking you dinner. By the by, Sears came. I know you cancelled. He recheduled for Saturday. Fine. By the way, he says. You're not going to believe what happened today. People plugged in crock pots in the office and blew a fuse and fried some computers; I had to reconnect new computers for the entire office. Then, I walked into an office today with a cart of computers and I interrupted someone getting a full body massage. Yes that's what I said: a full body massage. They actually told me I was interrupting them. Bizarre. Yeah. So, he puts a few hours in at work, leaves at 6 only to find that his car was hit in the parking lot. On the day the drier broke! But on the bright side: we're home, we're alive, we're safe, we have 4 beautiful cats and we both have jobs. We took a deep breath, enjoyed the dinner I made (Tilapia, salad and egg noodles). On top of all this, a goddam helicopter has been following me all day long, Karen panicked and flushed the coke down the toilet, I got Sandy on my ass that she wants me to come over, and I had to take Lois to Rockaway to pick up her lucky hat. Jesus Christ. Wondering what Wednesday will bring.

Mother's Day

Celebrating Roberta Hederian: (1941- 1998)

I remember dreading Mother's Day when my mother was alive. How do I properly thank someone who does everything for me, but receives so little in return? I felt like it was a holiday for brats- specifically placed on the calendar for daughters like me who took from their households- their mothers specifically, without really ever showing true appreciation. Life isn't built for showing appreciation. We've got things to do. We've got careers to begin and classes to take and people to hang out with. It's a holiday centered around guilt: Stop. Thank your mother.

For those who have lost their mothers (or at least for me) it feels like the day has been cancelled. We've received an eternal exemption. It's just another Sunday. Families everywhere are gathering around the matriarchs of their households to thank them for everything they do to keep the family functioning on a daily basis. They eat, perhaps give her gifts; it is short-lived, superficial and scheduled. I remember it well.

Everyone will go back to using, resenting and under-appreciating them tomorrow. I guess I'm still pretty bitter.

I'm in no-way about to imply that I was the perfect daughter. Quite the contrary, I do recall I was a royal pain in the ass. However, in the first few years after my mother passed away, I was keenly aware of other people's daily disregard of their mothers. I was super-sensitive when someone was fighting with their mom or was aggravated by her. My answer to these people was always, 'I'd love to be able to argue with my mother again.' Which isn't fair, really. It's just really mean to say and at the time, it would make me feel better.

What I should say to these people is to cherish the time you do have with your mom and know everything she does for you (unless she is in fact a psychopath) is probably what she thinks is best for you. The great paradox of motherhood is that as intrusive, controlling and annoying they may sometimes seem- they LOVE you- you're their child for Christ's sake. They want to protect you and hold you up on a pedestal even if it's the last place you want to be.

Some who are in my group, like Madonna, visit graves with flowers or cards, and say prayers where their mothers are buried. Apparently some even film themselves in music videos laying on the ground and kissing headstones. Not me. I don't enjoy going to the cemetery. I took great comfort in believing that my mother would be with me everywhere I went now that she's a spirit and not a living person. I still believe that, and therefore I don't feel the need to travel to a certain place in order to honor her or communicate with her.

This Mother's Day was no different from others I've seen come and go in the past 11 years. I graded papers, talked to my dad on the phone., drank coffee, ate dinner. It pretty much came and went. However, I would like to learn to celebrate the special woman who was my mother in some way, but I just have to figure out how.

Let's see.

My mom could whip up dinner in a half hour flat after coming home for work, feeding the dog, emptying packages and changing out of her work clothes. Chicken cutlets, three bean salad, rice and kidney beans, green salad with Good Season's dressing. Perhaps a few biscuits stuffed with spinach and feta. Or maybe it was her night to honor my dad's Armenian heritage by cooking something she learned by watching his mother. I'll never forget the elbow macaroni with meat sauce and cinammon. I wonder what the hell that's called. It was such a bizarre, new flavor that instantly became one of our favorites. Or maybe we enter the house to find she'd made stuffed peppers? Or maybe good ol' spaghetti and meatballs? She'd always bake the meatballs in the toaster oven and let me eat one before it went into the sauce. Yum.

If my mom wasn't cooking and cleaning, she was either cursing and screaming or laughing and carrying on. She was kind of crazy, like me. She didn't leave the house on Saturday or Sunday until it was picture perfect, and even then it was only to run to the store for one of us. She was selfless, dedicated and reliable. Let's not forget crazy.

Beyond showing her love through food, like most Italian moms, she showed it through actions. If we ever fought, and this mother and daughter duo certainly did, she'd always visit me in my room with a peace offering. She spent my teenage years waiting on the couch for me to come home. She spent her summer days and nights trying to entertain my brother and me at the beach or the public pool. She spent her life trying to keep me happy and safe. Our home was one all of my friends felt comfortable coming to, and that was largely because of her. She always let me know my friends were welcome anytime. She tolerated having a dog because I wanted one. She sent me to Italy even though she was afraid to. She accepted me even though I never made it easy.

She died while I still lived under her roof. I have lived three different places since she died. I have never gotten a phone call from my mother, not have I had the chance to pick up the phone in my home and call her. I wish my mother lived long enough to see me enter my thirties. Before then I was so difficult to get close to because I wasn't settled. I was running- finding myself, my career, my partner, my place. Now that many of those answers are found, I would love to cultivate a friendship with my mother- not as a mother and her prolonged adolescent daughter, but as two women, two wives, two cooks, two people.

So as Mother's Day 2010 comes and goes, think of people like me and Madonna. Don't fight, remember to call, come home early, and eat a meatball. And don't wait for Mother's Day to do it.

Eternal Rest, Mario Colombo (1975- 2010)

July 5, 1975- May 1, 2010
We got our tattoos together at the same place in Nova Scotia. His was the simplest tattoo I'd ever seen, and I teased him about how much grandiose meaning he could derive from two circles- one large, one small. He said: Parent and child, self and inner-child, public and private selves, reality and dreams, Id and Ego, past and present, the earth and the universe, life and death, the individual and society...he went on and on.

Suddenly my butterfly and I felt foolish.

He was the quintessential Italian in some ways, and simultaneously, (for some obvious reasons), he despised the stereotypes. He resented The Sopranos, but he loved his coffee and his cake and his cigarettes. He loved cheese and bread. He was a slow eater because he enjoyed each meal. He had an appetite for food that was on par with my own, so it was always satisfying to dine with him. Plus, it helped that he wasn't a vegetarian. You can put salami on my salad any day. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! How are we managing to enjoy fried calamari in the middle of the desert? He would crack up right now that my memories about him revolve around food.

Mario had strong opinions and always had his eye on the future. He was a dreamer and a cynic at the same time. If he felt something was bullshit, he'd tell you and he'd explain why. He believed in changing the world, and was so very excited and relieved when Barack Obama was elected. He was always talking about the next thing he wanted to get involved in. His body could not keep up with his spirit.

Apparently, I was with him the first time he drove a car and it wasn't considered "learning to drive." To quote Jen, "This is Mario's first time actually driving." Lucky for me, he gained this valuable practice behind the wheel while we were in the mountains of Colorado! Or was Sedona his turn to drive? I'll never forget him asking me to light his cigarette for him and to change the radio station because he couldn't multi-task behind the wheel yet. I'd light his cigarette and hand it to him, and then ash for him out my window. Then I'd unscrew a water bottle and place it in his right hand for him to take a sip. What the hell am I doing sitting in the death seat of this rented car while Mario learns to drive on roads that allow 70 mph speeds?!!

We climbed up the tower at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon together- after the tower had closed at 7:30. I watched him climb the rocks at Red Rocks Amphitheater- while I simply used the stairs. During that whole trip he cracked me up saying, "I'm from NY and I have braids, bitch!" because he had corn rows put in his hair back home. During this road trip I tried shamelessly to convert him, but failed miserably.

We went to Saguaro National Park and frolicked among the cacti after Operation Special Cookie. We laughed as we described cactus as long and hard. We called of few of them pricks. Catching a few glaring looks, and truly looking like fish out of water, we took cigarette breaks in the blistering sun as we walked the Grand Canyon. Being with Mario in Arizona felt like we were starring in a sequel to City Slickers! When we reached the painted desert, we took gorgeous pictures of the sunset.

In New Mexico, whenever we saw an abandoned car on the side of the road, we shouted "ABDUCTED!" The hotel room we stayed in had a mysterious round stain on the ceiling which we enjoyed imagining was the way aliens would steal us from our beds while we were sleeping!

Christmas is going to be hard because I always loved seeing you and enjoyed your "bad gifts' at the bad gift parties. I feel selfish wanting you back because I know you are at peace, but I miss what you added to my life. I loved sharing these experiences with you and I only wish there were more to come! That's the hardest part! I'm glad I saw you this winter. It makes me feel good that the last time I saw you was in my home. It's like a piece of you never left.

These are the ways I will remember you, Mario. Exploring the world, expressing yourself, enjoying your friends, and savoring life. One of the last things we did together was make a late night whirlpool in my backyard. From now on, every July I will make a whirlpool around my pool just for you, and I'll ponder the many meanings of two circles side by side.

Thanks for the good times, the laughter, the support, and the friendship. I wish you everlasting peace. I still can't believe you're gone. Love you.

Note: Mario had Cooley's Anemia which led to iron build up and liver failure. To donate to the Cooley's Anemia Foundation online, go to www.cooleysanemia.org

or mail your donation to:

Cooley's Anemia Foundation,

330 Seventh Avenue, #900

New York, NY 10001.