I Am A Responsible Daughter - Dealing with Details

My mom died almost 2 months ago.  It is hard to believe that so much time has passed since we laid her to rest.  During this time I have been dealing with the details of putting her life to rest as well, canceling credit cards, notifying organizations, paying off bills.

This also entails putting her house in order.  I needed to clean out all evidence of her illness because my disabled sister and her husband continue to live in the house and it is filled with sad reminders.  I needed to empty closets and drawers, organize papers and documents, always making decisions about what to keep, what to share, what to throw away.

Of course, for me, this task is wrought with memories.  As I move from room to room, handling items that were last handled by her, I am filled with past conversations, past activities, past requests, past...gone...not-to-be-repeated...never again.

This activity of mine is bittersweet, as is all of grief.  It is bitter because I realize she is gone and I question myself..."Did I do enough?  Why wasn't I more responsive?"  I wish I could recapture the opportunity, but I can't.

It is sweet because for a few instants I am with her again.  In my head I hear her voice, feel her energy, see her eyes sparkling with life even if that life is displaying indignation or annoyance.

One thing my mother complained about continuously was the constant calling from telemarketers.  It was a hassle for her to get to the phone, which always rang around dinner time or in the evening when she was watching the news.  Later, when she was ill, even with the phone set up at her right hand, the effort it took to pick up the receiver was "too difficult!"  Yet pick it up she must because it might be someone she loved calling to see how she was doing.  However, most times the person was someone trying to sell her a product, reduce the interest rate on her credit card or clean her carpets.  "Can't you do something about this?" she would ask me.  First of all, I put her phone number on the Do Not Call list and while that might have reduced the number of calls received, it did not eliminate them.  I got Caller ID capability added to her phone plan but she still had to reach the receiver and even then, with her declining eye sight, she often could not read the numbers.  It seemed to be a losing battle but she lived with it.

Recently, while I was at her home cleaning out closets, the phone rang.  I hurried over to answer it and was greeted by a friendly male voice telling me he would like to send me five weeks of free copies of the Los Angeles Times newspaper.  I asked whom he was trying to reach and he said..."Grace Rinaldi."  I informed him, politely, that my mother has passed away and would he please remove her name from his list.

He persisted saying,  "This a FREE offer, not to be repeated, and I can send out 5 weeks of FREE newspapers."  

I did not want to get ugly.  I have family members and friends who at various times have had to do the thankless difficult task of cold calling to provide an income for their lives and I know this young man was just trying to do his job and earn a living.  So I replied, patiently, ..."I don't think you have heard me correctly...my mother has died."

He continued...."But this is a free offer..."

I interrupted..."Grace Rinaldi does not live at this address anymore...she is DEAD."

I was stunned by my own words.  The reality of them washed over me and I just wanted to curl up on the floor and cry.  My mother is dead.  What do I do with that reality?  How do I contain that fact and move on?  

There was a long pause on the line...What had I done?  How had I affected this young man?  After a moment or two the young man's voice was back and I was hesitant to hear how he would respond to my announcement...and he said to me, in a soft, gentle, empathetic voice...."Well, could I send YOU five weeks free of the Los Angeles Times?"

I Am An Estate Agent - Tying Up Loose Ends

Life is full of little deaths - small losses that when looked at on a to-do list, don't look like a big deal - but when implemented, feel like a punch in the stomach!

Today I disconnected my mother's telephone line.  Over the years this phone number has been the one constant connection between the Rinaldi family and the rest of the world.  It was issued to us when we moved to Hawthorne, CA from Kent, OH in 1955.  Years past and as we children grew up and went our own way, we could still be found by old friends calling 310-643-9411. My mother would answer the phone and tell them how to get in touch with us.  "You will never guess who called today!" she would say.  Voices from the past would say, "I just took a chance that this number was still good and I am so glad that you are still there!"

Every night when Jay and I would sit down in the living room to relax after dinner, maybe with the News Hour on TV or a good book in his hands and my knitting in mine, I would reach for the phone and speed dial 310-643-9411 for my daily phone call with my mother.  She expected the call, she waited for it, and when the phone rang, my sister Cathy would call out to her..."There's Pat!"  We would talk about the day, what she had done, what I had done, was there anything she needed. It was one of the periods to the sentence of my day.

I am busy these days tying up the loose ends of my mother's life.  I have had her phone number forwarded to my phone so I could see if anyone was still using the number; but after 2 weeks of callers asking if we wanted the carpets cleaned or offering to lower the interest rate on any credit cards, my brother and I decided to save the money and disconnect the line.

Now when you dial 310-643-9411 you will hear a recording telling you... "The number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service."  The phone line is gone.  My mother is gone.

I Am A Daughter - Burying My Mother

There is nothing like the reality of death to prompt you to contemplate the meaning of life.  On March 1, 2012 my mother, Grace Marie Montalto Rinaldi, died.  Her life was long and full.  She lived 95 years and experienced the heights of joy and the depths of pain...she was fully alive and I am not ready to let go of her.  I had the privilege of caring for her over the last 4 months when an emergency surgery for a perforated bowel triggered her decline and I had the honor of being with her (with my husband) when she died.  I had promised her she would not be alone and I was able to keep that promise.

Now the funeral and the burial are still a bit of a blur.  Yet it was in those days of grief that I experienced the richness of life...of MY life and was reminded of how all of life is a tapestry with the threads of various people and experiences weaving a rich fabric that I was able to wrap around my grieving heart.

First of all, my legacy, my three sons were pillars for me.  They took charge and protected me.  My youngest son, Marc, assumed the helm; he wrote the obituaries as well as organized and executed all the services.  He involved all his cousins so that every member of the family had a critical moment to pay tribute to their grandmother and great-grandmother.  With his brothers, Joseph and Michael, they deflected any problems that arose and made safe the path I had to walk to bury my mother.  Joe, as the oldest grandson, gave the most touching eulogy the first evening. Michael spoke on behalf of his brothers the next day, even though he was in excruciating pain from a root-canal gone bad.  They never left my side. I was so proud of them and so filled with love and appreciation.

Michael eulogizing his grandmother, with Marc and Joe at his sides.

My mother always bemoaned the fact that I did not have a daughter...because a daughter stays with you.  Yet, when I had to walk down the church aisle following the casket, it was my daughter-in-love, Milli, who had her arm around me and who stayed near me throughout the two days reminding me that I AM blessed with a daughter and that I am a good mother.

Milli and I

My two grandsons, Nik and Gabriel, each participated by being honorary pallbearers and by each doing a reading at the Mass.  Though born at different times of my life...Nik is now 25 and Gabriel is just 10...they remind me of MY legacy and the continuation of my mother, through me, to my sons, to their sons.

Throughout the days, every time I lifted my head I saw someone from my past that was there to walk with me.  First of all, three cousins from the mid-west arrived and were with me the entire time...cousins I had grown up with in Kent, Ohio and knew me as a child.  They held me physically and emotionally and helped me savor memories and remember to laugh. 

John, Mary Jo and Bob at my doorstep!

At the funeral, my two best friends from my high school days, Kathleen and Lois, were there.  One traveled 2 hours to be there.  We don't see each other that often anymore but their presence reminded me of our closeness in those years and reflected back to me who I was back in the day and who my mother was to them.

At the cemetery a woman began to run toward me calling my name.  It was my former sister-in-law, Helen.  We had been friends in the 60's before I ever married her husband's brother.  Life decisions changed my family unit when the father of my sons and I divorced and I no longer had contact with Helen.  But she had come the 2 hour drive from San Diego with her son, my god-son Peter, to be with me on this day.  Her hug was such a comfort and reminded me of who I was as a young mother.

Helen, Peter and me

In the 70's I was involved in the Cursillo Movement and met a woman who would become one of those friends who are a "true north" point for me...someone who shared my background and my dreams and who would always keep me grounded in truth.  Again our lives went in different directions but at crucial moments we are still there for each other.  Judith, with her husband, Brian were there Saturday morning and stayed at my side till the bitter end.  Judith reminds me of who I am at my core.

Judith at the gravesite

In the late 1980's I taught 5th grade at Transfiguration School in Los Angeles.  I was so heartened to see Henry and Ivaleen, Mac and Theresa...parents of children I had taught and who had become close friends in those years.  Our children are now adults with children of their own and we don't see each other very often, but their presence reminded me of who I was then.

When my sons were teenagers, their friends were in and out of the house, sat at our dinner table, cluttered the family room, added their voices to the din...they were my adopted sons and adopted grandsons of my mother.  It touched me to see John and Michael and Spritzz paying homage to my mother and reminding me of those years when I tried to be a second mother to them.

In 2000 I retired from my second career at TRW...a career I loved and that gave me the opportunity to work with a staff of bright and alive people.  Six of them (Theresa, Daryl, Karen, Kristina, Michael and Jayne) were at the services, expressing their condolences and reminding me who I was as a leader and a friend in the 90's.

Before marrying Jay most of my free time was spent in the company of my dearest women friends.  During the 80's and 90's we laughed, cried, traveled, ate, sipped wine and supported each other.  Cory, Marilyn and Norma were all standing on the sidelines reminding me who I was as a newly-single woman who still had a rich life ahead of her.

Marilyn, Cory, Norma and I in Yellowstone 1998

As life has evolved for me after retirement, Jay and I ventured into a new chapter and sought out the companionship of like-minded peers in Learning-in-Retirement. These ties are often intellectual, but we also connect at a more elemental level and have made dear friends.  We share this same period in our lives of "golden years" and some were present, Blanche & Chuck, Cindy & Dennis, John & Lynn, Al & Marilyn, Nancy, Barbara & Angelo, to remind me of the richness of my life today.

And by my side from the beginning of this difficult journey, in hospital Emergency Rooms, in Rehabilitation Centers, loading wheelchairs and oxygen tanks into cars, eating lukewarm take-out food after a long day, helping to unload medical equipment to set up a hospital room at my mother's home, staying with me at the bedside of a dying mother was my husband, Jay, who by his steadfastness tells me I am a woman of value, a good daughter, and that I am loved.

Jay at the graveside

So in the midst of the sorrow came a message of tremendous value.  My life is rich and full.  It has been filled with friends and relatives that are a part of the fabric of who I am.  I have much for which to be grateful.

So, dear mother...we lay you to rest.  I thank you for all that you have bequeathed to me. I admire you tremendously and I am proud to be your daughter.  I am so grateful to have had the moments to tell you this and to hear your responses to me.  I love you deeply and will miss you terribly.  I cannot believe that you are gone.

"Amazing Grace" 1916 - 2012

"Death leaves a heartache that no one can heal, love leaves a memory that no one can steal!"

I Am A Human Being - Awakening My Compassion

My mother has been a resident of her Rehabilitation Health Care Center for over 5 weeks now.  I am usually there once a day for a couple of hours to help her pass the time and to help resolve any issues that may be cropping up...and they do!  It can be as simple as fixing the phone cord, so she can reach it if it rings, to asking if her night caregiver can be changed so she isn't put to bed at 5 pm!  Each day she asks to be taken out of her room to see something other than her four familiar walls. Except for the 3 hours when she is in the Physical Therapy room, she sits in her room, captive to the wheel chair she is still unable to navigate on her own.  I ask others to bring her to the activity room for various events and sometimes they remember and do so, and sometimes they don't. So, when I am there, we walk the building.

After 5 weeks faces start to become familiar.  Residents sit in the hallways, facing out to whomever walks by,  their eyes watching to see...Will someone notice me?  Will someone speak to me?  A simple "Hello" or "Good Morning" lights up a face and after a while, they will smile first as we walk by and speak to us.

While outside on the patio I try to start up conversations with the other residents so Mom will learn to put some names with the faces and get involved in some social interaction.  We have met Frank and Dorothy, a married couple who are short-term residents. One is recovering from surgery and the other from a stroke he sustained while his wife was in the hospital for the surgery.  They do not share a room since men and women are in separate rooms but they sit together on the patio.  We have met Julianne, a feisty Latina woman, who is a recovering from back surgery. We have met Jack, a long-term resident who reads daily...the Economist or the Foreign Affairs magazine.

Sometimes we get a glimpse of their former lives.  We have Eric, a former classical singer, who at the drop of a hat with begin to sing his favorite songs...especially "Old Man River" from the musical "Showboat"...in his deep, rich, strong bass voice.  We talk to Mr. Duffy, a former WWII veteran who served in Germany and who says he doesn't know why they won't let him have more than a small plastic cup of his red wine in the evening.  One thing they all have in common is that they would rather be home.

I look at these people and wonder where my life's path will take me.  I am sure none of them imagined they would one day be residents here.  The care they receive is very good and the staff is compassionate and friendly.  But our human needs for connection are so core to our well-being and when we are vulnerable the need for acknowledgement seems to scream out.  The gift to me in this is that I am learning to pay attention more...to get out of my own head and see those around me.  I am drawn to the residents and in the process I feel more in touch with others.  I feel a rush of compassion spring from my own heart and that feeling of actually "being more human" is a gift to ME!

After a couple of hours, I walk briskly back to my parked car, aware that my body continues to be reliable and is still doing it's job, and I whisper a "Thank you" to it. When I leave, I take my concerns for my mother home with me...but I also take the faces of the others.  And in my head the refrain of Eric's song is echoing in my mind:

"But I am weary, and sick of tryin', 

I'm tired of livin', but scared of dyin', 

that Ol Man River, he just keeps rollin' along..."

I Am A Student of Life - Awaiting an Oasis

I am a problem solver.  When faced with a sticky situation, I grab paper and pencil and begin my lists. What are my options?  What are the pros and cons of the various choices?  What are the steps needed to reach a desire outcome?  I fool myself into thinking that I actually have some control over the situation...because I have my lists and... I have a plan.  I also will spout, at the drop of a hat, various adages that guide my life:  "You cannot control what happens to you, but you can control your attitude about what happens to you."  "Just take the next directed step."  "How do you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time."  

So I have to say that I am currently in uncharted territory.  I am realizing that there are somethings we do not have control over...and sometimes there is just not the strength to change your attitude.  Sometimes, things can feel so overwhelming that you just want to sit there.

My mother continues to work at her rehabilitation at the skilled nursing center.  She has surprised me with her attitude of acceptance.  She is not a problem patient.  She is not ranting.  She says, "What good would it do, it doesn't change anything." So, she accepts and waits for her Care Attendant to answer her bell.  She waits for me to come to visit her each day.  She waits to be helped into bed.  And each day she wills her muscles to try just a little harder.

December 24, 2011

The future is very murky.  We don't know how my mother will progress.  We do not know what her future needs might be.  We do not know what resources we will need or have available to us.  I am reminded of my youngest son, Marc.  As a child, he had a "blankie" that he loved. If things got too uncomfortable for him, if he was in trouble or upset...he would come into the room where the rest of the family was sitting, so he could be close to his support group...and he would pull his "blankie" over his head and sit there...not having to respond to anyone, not having to say or do anything.  How I wish, at times, that I had a blankie.

I have not been posting because at the moment it feels like the well is dry.  When I am my usual self, I feel fully alive and my juices are flowing.  Right now I feel arid.  But I am not anxious about it.  I am just quiet inside and doing what is necessary to get through each day.  I have a greater appreciation of the energy it takes to just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I have a greater empathy for those who feel vulnerable when they find themselves in unfamiliar territory.  Life continues to present lessons.  My mother continues to teach me.  Through her example she shows me what it is like to be at the mercy of life's events and how to retain your dignity through it.  The one adage I can count on is that "Tomorrow is another day and...this too shall pass."  I am waiting for the oasis.

I Am a Philosopher - Changing My Perspective

Jay and often walk in our neighborhood and we can become creatures of habit, following our usual path. But sometimes we decide to go a different route.  We pass the same places but maybe from a different direction and invariably we see things we never noticed before or see familiar things in a new way.  I have read that even though we cannot change what happens in life, we can change the way we look at it...change our perspective. When I was working and helping to conduct workshops we called this reframing.  Looking at something in a different way.

I had a real life lesson of this recently and my "teacher" was my oldest son, Joe "Primo"!

"Primo"

Joe called me from San Diego to see how my mother, his grandmother, was doing while she was hospitalized for her recent surgery.  I was anxious and concerned because my mother was having hallucinations.  Doctors reassured me this was not unusual for elderly patients in the hospital on a barrage of medications...but it was disconcerting for me to visit her and have her recount to me things that she insisted had happened to her but that I knew were figments of her mind.  I told Joe my concerns and gave him an example:

"Today she asked me if I had seen the movie!  She said the hospital had put together a wonderful movie of her entire life.  It included pictures and clips of every one of her friends and family.  She claimed the nurse wheeled her into a special room, started the film and then left her there alone for 3 or 4 hours while she watched the entire thing.  Her eyes were alive when she told me and she said it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen and she was so disappointed that I did not get to see it.  See, Joe, what I mean?"

Joe's response to me was not what I expected!  ..."Mom, that is fantastic!  What a wonderful thing to have happened!  Imagine that Grandma got to have that great experience and she thought she had it for 3 - 4 hours while she was there.  What a gift!  And Mom .... you didn't have to do a thing to make it happen.  Imagine how much time and effort it would have taken you to pull something like that together for her!"  I was taken aback by his perspective and we both started to laugh.  Well, that was one way to look at it!

I am seeker of truth...I study, I research, I read, I think and when I come to a conclusion, it is my reality and I think it is correct.  And maybe it is...but...there may also be another way of viewing the information or situation that is also "correct."  Postive reframing is not about being right or wrong but it is about looking for a more positive way to view something, looking for the good that is embedded in the whole, and maybe even, like Joe, finding the humor in the situation.  It doesn't change things but we might be better able to deal with the things that happen.  Thanks Primo for bringing me this lesson!

Patricia with Joe in August 2011

So tell me...what do you see in this picture?  Is it an old crone or a lovely young woman?

I Am A Student - Life's Teachable Moments

When my sons were little, I was always looking for "teachable moments."  Life would present a circumstance and I could springboard from that happening to explain a larger truth or appropriate action.  Well, I think that in the past two weeks I have experienced many teachable moments.

On November 14, I returned from my short vacation to Mexico to find my mother quite unwell.  Being a stubborn, independent woman, she refused to allow my brother to take her a doctor or the ER.  One look at her and we bundled her into the car and headed for UCLA Santa Monica ER...no discussion!  She was admitted and had emergency surgery for a perforated bowel.  One week was spent in CCU where she was intubated and things were precarious.  Then one week was spent on the regular ward where she continued to heal medically until she became fully stable.  Today she was transferred to a rehabilitation center to begin the task of rebuilding her strength so she can resume her life.  For me it has been 19 days of being with her from 4 to 7 hours a day every day and I am a more knowledgeable person because of the experience.

Mom 16 days after emergency surgery working a Sudoku Jay made for her.

What have I learned???

The importance of being able to communicate your needs.  My mother had a breathing tube in her throat for three days.  She was conscious and aware but she could not speak.  She worked desperately to communicate with me while her eyes were filled with terror.  We tried to use an alphabet board where she attempted to point to letters to spell out words, but it was too hard for her eyes to focus.  What ended up working best was her lifting her index finger of her right hand and writing the words in the air using her Palmer Method Cursive Writing while I tried to say the letters I thought I was seeing.  This took TIME.  Most nursing staff do not have the time nor the patience to wait out a delayed or laborious response.


When someone is hard of hearing you need to speak slowly or else the sounds become garbled.  My mother has hearing aids in both ears.  We decided with the medical staff that we would leave them in her ears 24/7 so she could hear requests and follow commands.  I continually had to remind everyone to slow down their speech when talking to her.  Speaking loudly doesn't help especially if you are speaking rapidly and then turn away before the listener has time to process and understand what you just said.

When you are sick your most important needs are your bodily comfort and dealing with confusion.  When we managed to get a phrase we could understand from my mother it was something like, "I need to move my legs."  "My mouth is so dry!"  "How long have I been here?" This was the focus of her awareness.  Time passes differently when you are in and out of alertness.  She felt like she had been there a year when only a few days had passed.


Every patient needs an advocate.  No matter how they try, it is impossible for the constantly changing nursing staff to keep all the details straight.  I became the repository of knowledge and I was the one who worked for continuity of care.  At each change of shift or set of doctors making rounds, I was the one who had the consistent story. Details were lost, changes made and not fully communicated. Many times it was my information that made an important difference.

You need to write things down it keep it all straight.  I quickly realized that I could not rely on my memory alone. I have a small purple spiral notebook that everyone came to recognize. As a word was spoken, a question answered, a procedure implemented, I documented it.  Each day, under the date, I wrote NAMES: the RN for the shift, the Care Partner, the Charge Nurse, the Attending Doctor.  Who said what.  In fact, sometimes I was told... "Wait, let me rephrase that before you write it down." Not only did this help me keep things clear for myself, but it established my credibility with the staff and they listened when I spoke with them

Your physical strength can change very quickly. It does not take much to knock the pins out from under you. If a body lies helpless in a bed for even 3 - 4 days, you begin to lose muscle strength and something as simple as lifting a spoon to your mouth seems impossible.  My mother went from a fully ambulatory woman to someone who was totally helpless.


It is important to keep everyone aware of the reality of the patient's personhood.  People become a statistic... "She is the perforated bowel in Room 623 Bed 2...and she is 95 years old."  I continually told her story...describing who she was before her surgery. "She may have been born in 1916 but she was a fully independent woman living on her own, cooking, shopping, paying bills, caring for a disabled daughter, reading at Saturday Mass...in fact coming in for surgery caused her to miss her scheduled driver's test at the DMV. This is the life she wants to return to."  I told it so many times that it was entered into her records.

When put to the test, you will find an inner strength you did not know existed.  I grew up in an environment that respected authority and I always did what I was told. I get squeamish easily and do not like the sight of blood. Yet, when something seemed wrong or needed to be done, I was able to act.  I found myself engaging doctors in discussion until I was sure I understood, even if they were inching their way out the door.  I was assertive, yet polite, asking that people be paged if I needed a question answered. I responded to my mother's physical needs if no one seemed to be answering the call button.  I could do this. And though I went home exhausted each night, I awoke refreshed and energetic enough to do it again the next day.

Appreciation has a power and in reality most people want to do a good job.  As with any organization there are those who are shining stars and those who are willing to do the minimum.  I really tried to polish the shining stars! I was impressed overall with the level of skill and care my mother received at UCLA Santa Monica.  Very special thanks to the entire CCU staff and: Resident Surgeon, Dr. Lee Blanton; Attending Physician, Dr. Pooya Bokhoor; Charge Nurses, Bina and Alizia; RN, Hazel who all interacted with me and my mother in a most compassionate and skillful manner.  I made sure to express my appreciation to everyone and to show I understood the handicaps they may be working under.  I provided feedback instantly when possible and as written documentation after the fact, naming the individuals who helped so much.  I obtained the names of key people: the hospital administrator, the Unit Directors of Medical and Nursing so that copies were sent to them.  Within a few days people knew me by name, stopped me in the hall to talk, and seemed appreciative themselves of my efforts to help them help my mother.

It is important to have someone in your corner.  We may think we are independent, but bottom line, everyone needs "someone who has her back!"  This works both ways. I was the "someone" for my mother.  She awaited my arrival everyday, she searched for me the moment she opened her eyes, she told me ... "You have saved my life...what would I have done without you."  But also I needed someone who had my back.  My family was all very supportive, calling to check on me and see how they could help, but the one I relied on most was my wonderful husband, Jay.  And he was there for me.  He was also impacted by this...his life was turned upside down.  Yet, each night I came home to a hug, a glass of wine that was handed to me and an ear that was willing to listen to me process my day by telling every little incident no matter how long it took me.  I could not have faced each day without knowing he was there for me.

Jay with my Welcome Home Hug

I apologize for the length of this post.  As was my original intention, the main purpose of my blog is to capture those events that add meaning to my life.  This has been a most significant event and I am a better person for it.

I Am A Daughter - Caring For My Mother

This is a quick message to say why I have not been posting.  My mother, Grace Rinaldi...95 years young...has been hospitalized with a serious medical condition.  I was in Cabo San Lucas for an annual week-long vacation to our timeshare.  My mother began to experience stomach pain after I left but would not let my brother take her to the hospital...she was waiting for my return.  The day I returned I went to her home and immediately took her to the UCLA Emergency Room in Santa Monica.  She was experiencing stomach pain that she dismissed as not important.  She had a perforated bowel and needed immediate surgery.

She tolerated the surgery well and is now in the Critical Care Unit.  She still is intubated with a respiratory tube as they wait for her kidneys to begin to function.  I am with her from about 9 am to 6 pm.  I am her voice...her advocate...her hand holder...her head caressor...her reassurer...I am the parent and she is my child.   I cannot begin to tell you the emotions that flow through my body as I care for her.  She is so helpless and dependent upon me. 

She is still feisty....when I tell her the details of the situation, she rolls her eyes...she expresses her frustration and her anger and annoyance are all sign of life to me.  I applaud them.  It is our hope that tomorrow they will be able to remove the tube and she will be able talk...that may be a blessing and it may be a curse!  She can not talk but we have found ways to communicate.  She is ever the school teacher and she writes with her finger into the air above her and I call out the letters as she writes.  I realize how trapped she is in her body and I want to be her voice.  When she is able to talk again, she will let us all know how she feels. But I so admire her spirit. 

This experience is teaching me how important it is to have someone who is willing to be patiently with you...to be willing to wait while you try to communicate...to help you not be imprisoned in your body.  We live in a fast-paced world.  Doctors come in  and shout at her because they know she is hard of hearing but they can't wait for a sign from her that she has heard them.  She might as well be the headboard of the bed.  My role is to be her voice.  To advocate for her and I willing assume the role.

Grace Montalto Rinaldi

Please keep us in your thoughts.

I Am an Heir - My Family Inheritance

Families have been known to come to blows over the family inheritance and who inherits what.  "I get the ruby pendant," "I get grandmother's silver," "I get Dad's gold ring."  Well my family's last name is Rinaldi, not Rockefeller and the items bequeathed to us are of a much simpler nature.  We don't necessarily have to wait for a reading of the will because some items are gradually being passed on to the recipients as my mother feels inclined to do so.  On various past Christmas eves she has given her children her wedding crystal and her china tea cups.  At a family gathering a few summers ago, she gave her 2 granddaughters each a ring that my father had given to her.  Each item was always been received with gladness and appreciated for the sentimental value more than the monetary value.  Today I became an heir.  I received something I have always wanted as my own...something that I have been telling her for years that I want handed down to me.  "Please, please, please," I have begged.  And it happened...today I received...the cannoli sticks.

Cannoli are a traditional Sicilian dessert, prepared and served at all holidays and special occasions.

Every good Sicilian woman knows how to make them from scratch and every good Sicilian woman has her own set of cannoli sticks. When my mother was a young bride her father, Sebastiano, made her a set of cannoli sticks.  He took a broomstick, cut it into 6 inch lengths, sanded them, oiled them and baked them in the oven to season them.  Every year, for over 60 years, my mother has used them to make her own cannoli shells and over the years their constant use in hot oil has refined them so that they are now worth their weight in gold.  Modern women purchase aluminum sticks from a specialty cookware shop or even Amazon.com  and I suppose they work very well but for me, my treasures are the wooden sticks.

For the past few years I have gone to my mother's kitchen before Christmas and together we have made the cannoli shells.  It takes an afternoon, she making the dough, rolling it out, wrapping it around the sticks, using egg white to attach the two ends.

I am at the stove, dropping the shells in the hot oil and frying them until they are golden.

As we work, we talk, we remember, we laugh.  She tells me what to remember about the recipe...to keep the dough thin so the shells will be light and crisp.  To not get the oil too hot or they will not be cooked on the inside.  To gently tap the one stick with another to loosen the fried shell.  This year, her 94th Christmas, she has decided that while she will still bake her two types of biscotti, maybe the Reeses Peanut Butter Balls, and her meatballs and sauce, she will not make the cannoli shells.  When I offered to make them at my home, she got the sticks down from the cupboard and she said..."You might as well keep them at your house.  They are going to you anyway!" 

So, now I have the cannoli sticks, my legacy from my mother.  My heart is full and I treasure the gift...but it is a bittersweet gift because it represents a passing on of a tradition, from her kitchen to mine. 

2006 - The cannoli shells

Thank you, Mom!