“Y” is for Yearnings

December 28, 2013 was without a doubt one of the worst days of my life. The doctor had told me just the day before that Russ was doing so much better after his heart attack, that his vital signs had improved to the point that he would get well; the doctor even said that it would take a long time, but he would eventually be normal. That same evening his breathing became labored, and I wanted to stay with him, but the nurses ushered me out because I didn’t have permission to stay over the night. I wish now that I had asked for permission earlier—I had meant to, but it somehow slipped my mind and then it was too late. I had spent the last two nights with him and I was so tired…

The next day, I was there a little later, and when I saw him he was so different; honestly, he was already on his way out. The ventilator wasn’t helping, and his eyes were opaque. She left at 4:00, but I didn’t want  him to be alone. I put on his music and held his hand until he flat-lined… The doctors tried to bring him back—they tried for 20 minutes and then, they asked me if they should continue. I asked if he would come back and they said no; I told them to let him go. At that moment, I wanted to go with him, I yearned to be with him, or better yet, to go back in time, so I could make him call an ambulance when he said he didn’t feel well. I just didn’t know it was that bad; hindsight let’s us see what we should have seen before.

And now, four months later, I yearn for the days before his heart attack; I miss him so much and though that limbo land feeling is still around, days like today still come around, where my heart is so heavily empty. I do what I need to do, but the tears are never far away. I miss his cooking (unless someone else cooks it, I’ll never eat another steak, because his was perfect and I can’t cook it like he did.), I miss his stimulating conversation, I yearn for the music he would regale me with: from opera to rock, from Tommy Makem to Bach and more…I yearn for his hugs and his jokes that were so terrible that they made you laugh. I just yearn for his caring and his encouragement and support. Insomma, I yearn for his love, for him.

His last words in this life were, “You know, you’re really becoming more New York everyday; you’re becoming more impatient, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” I didn’t know that I was impatient, but now, I don’t know… Maybe I am, because I yearn for the time when it’s my time to go meet him again. When it comes, in a year or forty, I’ll be ready, but only then, not before.

© Mary Purpari April 29, 2014 “Y” is for Yearnings

“U” is for Undercover(s)

The Collins Reverso dictionary defines the word “undercover” as: done or acting in secret; it lists the following as synonyms: clandestine, concealed, confidential, covert, hidden, hush-hush, intelligence, private, secret, spy, surreptitious, underground.  Usually, when I think of undercover, I think of spies, or the police or the FBI; you know, the stuff thrillers and cop shows are made of. It would also be (to my romantic mind) a great adventure of secret trysts (they met undercover of the cloudy night, hidden from indiscreet watchers as they explored the depths of each other’s eyes. As they were thus engaged they didn’t notice the thin man who had also been working undercover at the same time, disguised as a tree…) 

But lately, I, too, have been undercover a lot of the time. Well, okay, let’s make that under covers. I admit it (she says, hanging her head, looking all the world like a forlorn basset hound) I have been carrying on a hot and heavy love affair… with Morpheus*. I am so in love with Morpheus, that every morning, when I KNOW I should slide from his warm, under covers embrace, I find I am completely powerless to do so. Usually, only Little Kitty can get me out from under covers with her penetrating stare. Even this morning when I had somewhere I had to go, leaving at a certain time, I slid out from under covers a hour later, and only because I didn’t want to miss the subway and because Kitty was staring at me. It’s a phase, I’m sure of it. Now, though, all I can do is hope that warmer weather comes soon to Brooklyn, so it will be too hot to stay under covers with Morpheus.

*Morpheus is the god of dreams and slumber.

 

©Mary Purpari, April 24, 2014, “U” is for Undercover(s).

“T” is for “These are a Few of My Favorite Things.

There are a myriad of things that I consider my favorites, but I would like to talk about a few that start with the letter ‘T’.

First, time. Time is always of the essence and sometimes I think I never have enough, and yet, it also seems to crawl. When I’m trying to work, it seems that time seems to fly; and yet, something that happened just four months ago seems to have happened a hundred years ago. I guess that time is not only of the essence, but is also relative.

Another favorite ‘t’ is trees. I love trees. as a child, when I wasn’t busy running around like a wild horse, I was climbing trees. Trees can bring me out of the deepest funk. Trees are homes to lots of wonderful creatures that are also among my favorite things, but most don’t start with ‘t’ so I’ll consider them another time. I love the many shades of green found in trees, and the coolness they provide in summer. I love watching their branches dance in the wind and the sound of the ocean they make. When I lived in Mistretta, my favorite place to be was in the woods, in the coolness of the pine trees. I always felt so close to God near those trees, with their branches uplifted in prayer.

Taste buds. I know, it sounds weird, but how could I know the wonderful taste of chocolate or pistachio nuts, peanut butter or strawberries without taste buds? I am so glad I have taste buds to enrich my life.

Traveling is another of my favorite things. I used to love flying before terrorists had to ruin it for everyone. Now, my favorite choice would be ‘t’rains or the bus. I have crossed the United States several times with the bus – stopping whenever I want to and seeing whatever I want. I’ve traveled to Europe, to Mexico and Canada. I’ve met new people, tested my languages and seen cultures so different from my own.

I cannot forget true friends. True friends are what have made me life livable during the last few months; without them, I don’t know what I would have done or if I would have even tried. My true friends have listened as I’ve talked on and on; they’ve loaned me their shoulders when I cry; they’ve helped me know it wasn’t my fault; they’ve made me laugh (a great deed, indeed); they’ve bucked me up when I was down, even when their hearts were breaking, too. They’ve encouraged me when I was ready to give up. I love you guys.

And now, since time is of the essence, and space is short, I’ll mention one more favorite (at least in theory) thing; it’s a combination of the first and last favorites mentioned: time travel. It’s probably the only part of quantum physics that I partially understand, but it is something I would find fascinating. My blog would be full of my experiences as I traveled through time to carry on a conversation with Marcus Tullius Cicero. Or to take art classes from Michelangelo Buonarotti. And how about the idea of Knights in Shining Armor jousting and fighting for my honor. I could go and watch as the pyramids were being built. Or, I could go back just a few months and… never mind.

I have so many favorite things that start with ‘t’, and these are just a few, but perhaps the best one right now is being plumb tuckered out, so tuckered out I sleep the night through.

Do you have some favorite things that begin with ‘T’? Would you like to share?

© Copyright Mary Purpari April 22, 2014 “T” is for These are a Few of My Favorite Things

 

“S” is for Spiraling Stars and Galaxies

I would like to share two of Russ’ poems with you in this blog entry. The first, Spiraling Stars and galaxies, shows Russ’ great love for astronomy. He told me that his mother was one of the first women in the United States to build her own telescope, and though he only learned about this as an adult, he inherited this love from her.

                                                                                                                                                                                                 The Spiraling Stars and Galaxies

                            The spiraling stars and galaxies

care not one whit if you or I

survive, prosper

or were never born.

 

The python. Tiger and bacterium

In equal share

Have similar intent

 

And so it falls to us

formed by God and nature impelled

to care, or merely exist.

 

3/02 

The second poem, although it doesn’t begin with ‘S’ is still a very beautiful poem; in fact I think it may be the most beautiful of all. He wrote it shortly after 9/11, where he lost two of his best friends. He has shared this poem several times, but I believe he would be happy to share it here with you.

HANDS

 

I am the Old one

The one of many colors

I speak with many tongues

I speak with one voice:

I am the giant once sleeping

my steel-slit eyes now focused

beware!

For on this day now done I rise

I rise with many ready hands

full  firm

lament!

 

And, to my fallen children I say

God has many more hands than I

and with His hands He will lift you

 

As my hands, my many colored hands

squeeze and shatter

Those who took His children…

 

 

9-16-01 (29)

 

©Copyright by Mary Purpari and Russ Kelly April 22, 2014 “S” is for Spiraling Stars and Galaxies

“R” is for Russ

I wasn’t sure if this would be the right subject for this entry, but I seem to have centralized mostly on this theme, and someone told that yes, I should, so here we are, talking again about Russ. Before I continue, however, I would like to say that “R” is also for realizations, and yesterday, while reading through my entry on questionnaires, I had a really big realization. Last October, I had an interview with Macy’s for a temporary job during the Christmas season; they had said they would call me in a couple of days to discuss when I would start working. Well, they never called, and though I was disappointed, it wasn’t so bad… Well, yesterday, I realized that had they actually called me, I would most likely have been working when Russ had his heart attack/ stroke and he would have been dead when I got home. I’m so glad I didn’t get that job, and could say good-bye while he was still alive.

So, about Russ. Russ was probably one of the most intelligent people I ever met, and I have met some intelligent people through the years. Although we had basically the same IQ, he was so much more intelligent than I, because he had what is often called a photographic memory, which I do NOT have. He thought in pictures. When someone asked a question, he closed his eyes for a moment and visualized the subject, and this is why he was generally able to give such good answers. He knew so many things, that I was shocked when he DIDN’T know the answer, as were most of his close friends and family members. I got him a few times, but those were more the exceptions that made the rule.

Russ was also one of the most caring people that I know. He would stay up through the wee hours of the night lending a shoulder and an ear to those who needed it. It didn’t matter to him if he knew you well or not—he got to know you as you spoke to him. And he would do what he could to comfort those who cried—it never mattered what time of the day—he would listen; and for the record, he never betrayed a word of what anyone said in secret; he sealed it in his heart and there it stayed, known only to him and to the person who told him.

Russ was respectful of me and my beliefs and feelings. He grew up in Brooklyn and could cuss up a storm, but as a general rule he didn’t use really bad language in front of me. Or at least he tried not to. He only got angry with me once, and I deserved it, to tell the truth. We went grocery shopping and were already with the cashier when I realized that I had left the grocery money at home. Oops! I was still on crutches at the time, so he went home alone, got the money, and came back to the store. He cussed me out all the way home and back, but by the time he handed the money to the cashier he was no longer angry, and was nice enough to admit it could happen to anyone.

He loved his family and would talk endlessly about his sisters, his mother, his father and his step-mother, whom he loved as though she were his real mother. He was so happy the day I found his sisters on Facebook, and regretted that we couldn’t find his older sister (She found me while he was in the hospital). He liked to tell me about the times he would babysit his younger sisters and their friends. One other familial regret was that he lost track of his son, Kevin, and his grandson, Joey. I tried to find them for him, but there were too many of them in the area he lived in.

There are so many other things I’d like to say, but I would need to write a book to get everything out. He’s the one who convinced me to write a blog, so it’s only fitting that I dedicate “R” is for… to Russ Kelly, my friend, my chief cheerleader and fan, my beloved companion.

Photograph at left, Russ with one of his “fans”

©Copyright Mary Purpari April 21, 2014 “R” is for Russ

“Q” is for Questionnaires

In 2007 I joined a social forum called QnA. The format was based on questions and answers. It was created by Microsoft, with the intention of gathering up information to form a search engine. The surprise for Microsoft was that through those questions data was also gathered by the forum members regarding other members and great friendships were formed. When Microsoft closed down the site, there was a great deal of sadness, but most of those friendships endured; in fact, many of my Facebook friendships evolved from questions asked an answered on the old QnA.

From time to time I have seen questionnaires posted on Facebook that entice people to participate. Even I have been interested in trying a few of them. I have discovered that my color is white, my mythological creature is the phoenix (although, according to Chinese astrology, I am a dragon), I am a swan and if I ever find myself arrested, my partner in crime would be an actress I’d never heard of before: Jennifer Lawrence. These questionnaires are fun, but I wonder for what reason the company that produces them does so?

There is another type of questionnaire that I find absolutely annoying. Anyone who in recent years has attempted find a job, applying online, has had to fill out one of these questionnaires on the application. These are definitely dedicated to collecting psychological data. These are multiple choice questions aimed at driving the applicant crazy, especially since there is, according to the instructions, no correct or incorrect answer. The problem with these ambiguous questions with no right or wrong answers is that if you give the wrong answer you won’t get the job. And not only are there trick questions, but the trick questions are asked over and over, with different wording or the same wording in different orders.

The last group of questionnaires are the ones I understand the least. I mean, I understand that the information we give in the questionnaires given by doctors is very important for the way in which our health is controlled. But, wouldn’t once be enough? Oh well, this is the age of questionnaires.

 

©Copyright by Mary Purpari “Q” is for Questionnaires April 19, 2014

“P” is for Purpari

As I was trying to come up with a subject for this particular letter, I was having a little difficulty. I had settled on Polymath minds, but since it sounded a little too high falutin’, I really was a bit reluctant to use it. And then it hit me. Duh! How about Purpari? Purpari is a very nice Italian name, not very common outside of Italy, although there was one branch that moved to the United States in the very early 1900s; the name has since died out due to a lack of male heirs to carry on the name.

The Purparis are, on the whole, wonderful people, and I am glad to count them as family and family, despite a certain falling out. There is one Purpari that I hold particularly close to my heart—my daughter Sonia.

Anyway, the name Purpari has its roots, as far as I could find, in a small mountain town in the province of Palermo called San Mauro Castelverde. The youngest son moved to Mistretta in 1710,  and this branch has been there ever since. During the passage of time, the name has undergone several variations, but as far as can be discovered it derives from one or both of two roots: The first would be the Sicilian word for octopus PURPO. Someone who fishes for octopus is a PURPARE. This would be highly plausible, since San Mauro, although being a mountain village, it is also not that far from the Tyrrhenian Sea, where there are lots of PURPI.

The other possibility would also be plausible, since it comes from the word PORPORA which stands for the scarlet worn by Cardinals in the Catholic church. There were a number of family members who took the cloth. Whichever of the two it may be, it doesn’t change that I heard my daughter being called PURPA several times by her Sicilian classmates…

When I came to New York, I ran into a little bit of difficulties with peoples’ pronunciation of the name. They ran the gamut, and in the end they just asked if they could call me Sister P. . I was a bit disheartened until my friend, Mrs. James, a teacher, told me her students asked if they could call her Mrs. J. What? 

The best (or worst) one, though, was my very own sister. I still shake my head on this one. My three-year old daughter and I were visiting my family in California. My sister taught the three-year olds in Church and so, while I was in Relief Society, my sister was busy teaching Sonia and the other kids. I think that even if I ever get senile, one thing I will never forget is what happened next. My dear, sweet, beautiful little girl ran up to me and yelled “Ciao Mamma Poopaloopa!” Her aunt, that conniving sister of mine, taught her to say that. Of course, she’s the one who named her oldest son Bowen Erro. sigh…

Why couldn’t I have married someone with an easy name like Rossi or… James?

 

©Copyright Mary Purpari April 18, 2014, “P” is for Purpari