I had the great privilege of attending a ceremony yesterday afternoon in honor and memory of a very special officer and gentleman – my cousin, Frank Miller, Jr.
Frankie (as he is fondly remembered by our family) was only 25 years old when he was shot and killed in the line of duty as a police officer.
I sadly never had the opportunity to know Frankie.
For reasons beyond my control and better saved for another time, this family was not a part of my life for far too many years.
But we are making up for it, and I am so glad I was able to attend the ceremony to dedicate the ramp off of the McKeesport-Duquesne Bridge in Pittsburgh, PA for Officer Frank Miller, Jr. (Frankie) with my Aunt Gwen and Uncle Frank, Cousins Dawn and Jen, and other family and friends.
It was so touching to watch Uncle Frank and Aunt Gwen removed the drape from the sign that will forever memorialize Frankie.
Even Farkle, the McKeesport Police K9 Officer, donated and named in memory of Frankie was in attendance with his partner, Officer Nick Matthews. It was so heartwarming to meet them and experience their love and dedication to our Frankie.
I was so proud of how beautiful Aunt Gwen looked and how eloquently she spoke to the crowd of family, friends, police officers, and community members thanking them for this recognition of their beloved son. I can’t even imagine how difficult it is, even many years later, to carry on after losing a child – especially at such a young age and in such a tragic way.
Frankie – you were an officer and a gentleman – and I hope you know that I love you dearly even though we never had the chance to get to know each other. I promise you I will love and honor your mom and dad and sisters as much as you did, for we are family.
I made my first Christmas card one evening this week.
Don’t go all hater on me.
I love Christmas.
Our little family has had a long-standing tradition of making homemade Christmas cards.
It is one of the many wonderful things I learned from my friend, Jill, who carried on the tradition from her Mom.
Every year around the middle to end of October, we would come up with a Christmas card idea. Through the years either I drew it or, most often, one of the boys would draw it for the year. We would have them printed, in black only, and then spend countless hours together in the evenings coloring them with markers.
When the boys went off to college, the homemade Christmas card tradition ended. For a couple of years I sent boxed Christmas cards. Then I just quit sending them all together. Seems the tradition is dying.
Then last year I began my stamping hobby, and I was excited to be creative and make Christmas cards again.
I don’t send as many as we used to, and now every card is it’s own unique creation. I don’t like to make a bunch of the same card. In fact, I’ve barely ever made two of the same. The joy to me is in making each unique and individual and the process of creative creation. So if you get a Christmas card from me these days, it was made just for you and it’s the only one like it.
But as a special memory of all the sweet cards we’ve made through the years as a young family, I now have a collage hanging in my office. I bought an old window sash at Construction Junction and modge podged the cards and the photos that went with them on it. It is a sweet memory as I work from my home office during the day or craft in the evenings or on weekends there.
Here are a few of my favorites through the years.
I adore this one Nick made when he was six years old of the family in the living room – Dad in his chair, the lights on the mantle of the fireplace (if you were wondering what that is across the top 🙂 ), the coffee table on the bottom, and how he labeled everyone. I love that we all have big smiles. It took us countless hours to hand color this one as we sent at least 100 cards out every year.
Another fave is this one Jake drew when he was six years old of Santa and his reindeer flying through the starry night over the houses below. I love these plump smiling reindeer and Rudolph’s red nose. (anyone that knows me knows how much I LOVE Rudolph!)
And there is this one Nick made at 9 – we laugh now looking at this interesting Santa face. But look how Santa is waiting to give you a hug!
And this more simplistic, primitive angel he drew at 12. (they were growing tired of coloring by now…)
Another favorite is this one Jake drew at seven years old. This one makes me smile seeing the blue marker line “blooper,” and the hearts colored in on the people.
And each year I would put a photo in the card – often times corresponding with the card “theme,” like this one that went with Peace on Earth.
or when I made homemade nutcracker tin soldier outfits for them to pose in…
And then they became a bit more sophisticated, like this one Jake drew at 16 years old.
Such sweet memories and reflections.
So you may be seeing some Christmas cards I make this year here. Each will be made with love and with fond memories of Christmases past and the anticipation of the joy in Christmases to come.
It was an absolutely gorgeous Fall weekend, and a great one for the Annual Brugnoli Krautfest Party! What a joy to be a part of the amazing festivities.
You may be thinking to yourself – “What the heck is a Krautfest?”
Our family has a long-running tradition of making homemade saurkraut, and our amazing Joyce and Rob know how to turn a “chore” into a party!
So about 40-50 family members and friends ranging in ages from 2 to 82 got together on Saturday with 600 pounds of cabbage and made a party out of making kraut!
Join me through a pictorial journey of the wonderful day.
It started with cutting…
then chopping and slicing and dicing…
Marty used his grandfather’s 100-year old cabbage cutter and embraced the heritage of using something today his grandfather used in exactly the same way all those years ago.
and new generations learned the tradition.
there were measurers and salters…
Then lots and lots of pounding and stomping and smooshing and smashing.
There was food galore!
One of my favorite treats of the day were these Reuben Pierogies! We sauteed potato and cheese pierogies in butter until browned, then layered with a slice of pastrami, swiss cheese, picked purple cabbage, and a small dollop of Thousand Island Dressing.
Warm soft pretzels were served with homemade mustard and cheese sauces.
We also had Parmesan Ranch Crusted Pierogies and Buffalo Hot Sauce Pierogies.
There was pumpkin painting,
There were games…
Zip-lining and Swinging
Friendship, Hugs, and Laughs
Delicious cocktails – my favorite was the Bourbon Apple Cider with Rosemary Sprig!
We ate halushki, halupkis, pork and saurkraut, kielbassi, german potato salad, cheese polenta with homemade sauce. Oh the delicousness!!
We sang!
The saurkraut is divided up evenly between all the crocks and buckets to send home with each family…
to wait – and taste test – and wait some more – remembering the special memories we created and looking forward to enjoying the fruits of our labor throughout the year.
It was a BOOtiful day! Thanks Joyce and Rob for your amazing hospitality. We love you dearly!
We are past the halfway mark in #Writing101, and I have to say I am enjoying it more and more as we progress. This assignment really conjured up some memories – some good – some bad. But that’s okay. It’s my life… and this is my story.
Today’s assignment: #Writing 101, Day Eleven – Size Matters Today, tell us about the home you lived in when you were twelve. For your twist, pay attention to — and vary — your sentence lengths.
The thing I remember most about being 12 is wanting to be 13. Funny how that was so important at the time. But boy was it!
You see – I started school at an earlier age than most. Having a birthday on December 31st did that back in my day. So when all my friends became teenagers, I thought it was the worst thing in the world being 12. Too bad that wasn’t the only thing I had to worry about at 12.
Home. Where would I call “home” when I was 12 years old? That’s a little trickier for me than some.
Mom had recently remarried, so Mom and new Dad and new baby sister and same brother and I moved into a brand-spanking new two-story house in the country built just for us.
But I didn’t live there long.
It was Grandma’s house that became my home when I was 12. And as I think back, I daresay it might have been my favorite home growing up. Grandma had a way of doing that.
I moved six times and lived in eight different places (counting Grandma’s) during my childhood. I went to five different school districts. Throughout all the moves, I experienced many different sizes and shapes and types of homes and neighborhoods. From older communities on one side of town to an apartment after the divorce and staying at Grandma’s during the week, to the other side of town, to the country, and back to newer suburbs in yet another area. It was never far, but it was a move. It was a change. A big change for my brother and me trying to figure out this thing called life and the idea of family.
So as the rest of my family (Mom, new Dad, new sister and same brother) lived in the big, new house in the woods, I was asked to stay with Grandma.
Grandpap had recently passed away, and it was hard on Grandma. Not only because she loved him, but she needed and relied on him too. Grandma didn’t drive, so she lost her driver. Grandma had never written a check in her life. She had never paid a bill. Although Grandma had more common sense than anyone I have ever known, she lacked in formal education, so Grandpap made up for this. He paid the bills, and he balanced the checkbook. Without him, though, Grandma was lost.
So Mom and new Dad decided to move her closer to them. “It will be easier to help her this way,” they decided.
Grandma was very reluctant. She had lived in the same house for almost her entire married life. Grandpap and her built that house. They had planted every blade of grass, shrub, fruit tree, and berry bush. All her friends were there. But it was a 45-minute drive to get to Grandma’s from our new big house, and Mom thought this would be best.
Grandma moved. She reluctantly packed up all of her belongings and all of her memories and moved into a double-wide trailer in a mobile home park within walking distance through the woods from our new big house in the country.
But Grandma was sad. Not just the regular kind of sad, but that clinically depressed kind of sad. So Mom told me it would help Grandma if I could go stay with her for a while as she adjusted to her new home and new surroundings. “Having you there will make her feel better,” she said. So I did. I was 12.
Grandma loved having me there, and I loved being there. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Months turned into years. I eventually moved all of my 12-year old belongings into Grandma’s house. Important stuff like records and clothes. I caught the school bus with the neighborhood kids in the mobile home park. They became my friends and neighbors. I started babysitting, and Grandma was nearby just in case I needed her. My best friend, Janet, was only a short walk through the woods away, and we had sleepovers, and we hung out and played cards and games with Grandma. Life was good.
I learned my most important life lessons living with Grandma. I learned it’s not the size or the fancy new things or the white-glove, immaculate, spotless, dustless possessions that make a house a home. It’s not the bricks and shutters and perfectly manicured lawn. It’s the love. It’s the warmth. It’s the feeling of belonging, the participation in doing the things that make it a home. That’s what Grandma did. She taught me to cook by letting me help. It was okay if we made a mess. We just had to clean it up afterwards. Grandma let me do science experiments and life experiments in her kitchen. Even when it included boiling worms and wearing (real dirt and water) mud masks. Grandma taught me about friendship. She would visit neighbors, take them homemade soup or baked goods from her kitchen, play cards with them on their porches or at their kitchen tables.
Then Mom and new Dad decided this just wasn’t right. I should be living with them. They didn’t know how to tell Grandma this though; and besides – I liked living at Grandma’s. I wanted to stay there. It was my home now.
So to fix things, Mom and new Dad decided we would all move… to another house about 30 minutes away. This way I could move back in with them, and we would be a proper family unit.
#Writing101 Assignment #2: A Room with a View (or just a view): We’re all drawn to certain places. If you had the power to get somewhere — anywhere — where would you go right now? For your twist, focus on building a setting description.
I made it through Assignment #1 in #Writing101. So stressful – yet so rewarding. Thank you to so many of you for the wonderful comments and encouragement.
Today’s assignment is to write about a place – any place. Where you would go right now if you had the power to go ANYwhere?
It’s a Monday evening. The end to a beautiful, perfect end-of-Summer, beginning -of-Fall day. A hectic, but rewarding work day. A relaxing, enjoyable evening spent with some of my favorite people. Monday nights mean my buddy Janet joins us for dinner.
I had meetings up until right before “dinner” time, so Marty was so awesome to help pull it all together while I packed for a business trip and looked forward to enjoying some spaghetti and meatballs with Janet and Marty and Nick, and “unwind” from my day.
Janet and I talked about my first #Writing101 assignment, watched the Season Premiere of “Dancing with the Stars,” and contemplated what I would write about for my next post: Where would we go if we could go anywhere right now?
I asked Janet where it would be for her.
She thought for a bit. Then she mentioned Greece, Alaska, various places she’s been and loved.
She asked me what I was thinking about.
I told her the first thing that came to mind was Heaven.
Wouldn’t it be cool to go there and visit, talk to some of our loved ones (Grandma, Grandpap)? It would be great to see there is hope and beauty that lies ahead. Great to know a paradise awaits.
Then I said it would be intriguing to go back in time to Paris or Germany (or anywhere) circa 1944 – during World War II – and experience what people were going through. This is totally because I am reading “All the Light we Cannot See,” by Anthony Doerr, and completely enthralled by it.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an 18-year old boy drafted to Vietnam. Babies killing babies. As a mother of boys, this has always tugged at and broke my heart.
But to happier places.
Where would I go if I had the power to go anywhere?
You know what? For me, it is not necessarily a “place,” but it is a feeling. It is who I am with. It is how I feel when I am in “that place.”
And after considering all the places in the world and all the periods of time, I came to the most boring of all conclusions…………….
There is no place I’d rather be than home………..
Home is where so many happy memories have been forged.
The home we are in now is one we built. It is the one that Marty and I planned so easily when we perused through house plans and presented each other with mirror images of the same house.
But more than that – it is many “houses” that are home.
My BFF Jill knows me so well when she presented me with a beautiful hand-painted plaque for Christmas that simply states, “What I love best about my home is who I share it with.”
Funny thing she hadn’t realized was that I loved that saying SO much that I had already bought a plaque with just that saying on it, and had it hanging on my photo gallery wall.
Home is where we can be ourselves.
It is where my couch cushion is indented on the left from the way I curl up and lean in it.
It is where our oak kitchen table has nicks and worn spots that represent hundreds of meals, games, holidays, discussions with family and friends.
It is where I cook Thanksgiving turkey dinners and bake Christmas cookies.
It is where I host “Girlfriend Camp” and where my boys have brought friends for football games, hot tub parties, sleep overs, dates.
It is where I know my hubby is when I snuggle up next to him at night – feeling content, safe, protected, comfortable, loved.
It is where my Dad came back to me, where other family members rekindled their love for me.
It is where I watched the 9-11 events unfold and embraced my family when they came home after school and work.
Home is where the people I love the most waited for me while Jill took me out to greet me upon our return with a “SURPRISE” 50th birthday party last year.
It is where we hosted our son and daughter-in-law’s wedding rehearsal dinner and friends gathered in my kitchen to help host and serve.
My happiest memories are those spent at “home” – whether it was Marty’s and my first humble 12X60 mobile home when I was 19 and he was 23 to our little ranch in Fox Run surrounded by lifelong friends raising our little ones to the two houses we built, the memories we created, the lessons we learned, the people that helped and the people we shared with.
Marty has always said a home is not the bricks and mortar, and I have come to realize that is so true. For a man who lived his entire life until our marriage in the same brick home, he is amazingly profound in his statement.
The best thing about our home is who we share it with…
and there is no place like home.
I wonder what those of you that happen upon my blog must think…..
Do you say – what the heck is this blog about?
One day this Jodi chick is baking and sharing recipes…
S’more Cookies Please!
Homemade Haluski – Peasant Food Fit for a King
Another day stamping and gluing and cutting and sewing and card-marking…
Birthdays are for the Birds!
Ain’t it good to know you’ve got a Friend!
I also love to take photos and consider myself an amateur student of photography…
Hummin’ the Hummingbird Tune!
Sunday at the Pittsburgh Zoo
and writing and telling stories gives me such joy.
Remembering Grandma – Stella Star
I thrive on encouraging people – it’s in my DNA (or at least my DISC profile – LOL!)….
Remembering Moments
Hugs
and if I just could find the time to make 1/1,000,000th of the DIY ideas I’ve pinned on my Pinterest boards for decorating or gift-giving…
Wedding Survival Kit
I adore spending time with my family and friends…
The Day We Almost Caught a Fish
Girlfriend Camp
I tinker with gardening…
The Great Tomato Caper
and I truly seek to discover and learn new things always – it keeps me (ahem) young and alive…
A Visit to Four Points Alpacas
I enjoy doing so many things (and am so fortunate to work a full-time job I love too!) that I just wish there were more hours in the day…
or at least wish that I was one of those people that only needed 3-4 hours of sleep a day (tried it for a while – didn’t work out – dangit!)
I sure am a jack of many hobbies and master of none.
But it is fun to be that way – eh?!?
And I love sharing the journey with you – my supportive friends that have encouraged and continue to encourage me to write my blog – and those that have become new friends along this journey.
Tough Mudder
It is so exciting to see new friends subscribe, and comment, and “like” daily.
So on this Labor Day Holiday – I just thought I would share some of these faves from the 100+ posts I’ve shared so far from this labor of love blog I call LifeInBetween.me.
It was really hard to pick favorites, as I have LOVED writing and sharing every single one of them.
What is your favorite thing I write about?
I’d love to hear from you.
Happy Labor Day! Make every thing you labor over a labor of love!
A Short and Random List of Just Some of the Things that make me HAPPY:
Lots of people in my home
The phone ringing at 7:03 am – and my Dad on the other end saying “Good Morning”
Marty’s laugh
Seeing my boys in love
Seven Deadly Zins Red Zinfandel
When my boss sends a reply email to a project I’ve done with a one word reply: “Perfect”
Mikey’s tail wagging and the greeting I get EVERY time I come home – even if I was only gone 10 minutes
Girlfriends – deep conversations and belly laughs
Sunshine and blue skies
Bombay & Tonic with lime and lots of ice on a hot evening
Sending a card to a friend “just because”
My first cup of coffee in the morning with sweet Italian cream
Text messages from Rob and Ella
Brady Bunch songs
The beach
Tight hugs
Smiles from strangers
Christmas music
The smell of Apricot Nut Bread – Grandma’s recipe
Baking cookies for friends and family
Thursday date night to John’s Bar
Finding and giving just the perfect gift
Allowing myself to get lost in a good book
Marty snoring – because that means he is there beside me
People saying “Love ya”
You can NEVER have too much happy – right?!
So I had fun making this card for Mojo Monday Challenge #357 and using this Stampinup Yippee-Skippee Stamp sentiment: “You Can Never have Too Much Happy,” which I heat embossed with white on Blackberry Bliss cardstock.
This is the sketch we were to follow:
I used some Park Lane DSP, some more of the new In Colors: Hello Honey and Tangelo Twist with some classic Old Olive, and stamped and cut out the flower and leaf from SU Flower Patch. I embellished with a few of my homemade faux enamel dots, and the finishing touch was a spritz of Tattered Angels Glimmer Mist (which I picked up on our brief shopping trip to Hobby Lobby this weekend). Fun!
I love how the light catches the Shimmer mist, but it was hard to capture in a photograph. I can’t wait to share this with someone and hopefully make them happy.
Today is a very special Anniversary… A day that brings back floods of memories… floods of emotions…. reflections on time missed… but celebration of time and love shared… from here on…
You see – Today is a Father-Daughter Anniversary. Today is the 4 year anniversary of my reunion with my Dad (my “birth father”).
And I thought it deserved a special anniversary card to send to Dad to help us cherish the day.
So you might think that sounds a bit odd…. Father and Daughter Anniversary???
Well – I’m going to share a kinda big chunk and pretty personal part of my heart today. So – if you’re not into that or not interested, you may just want to skip this blog.
So here goes…
On July 17, 2010, I was reunited with my Dad (my “birth father” Dad so as not to be confused with another great man in my life that I also call Dad – I know – a bit confusing – and on top of that both of their names are John!).
It was a day neither of us will ever forget.
The reason(s) for our separation for 39 years is really not the point or purpose of this story, nor do I feel appropriate to share, but the joy in our reunion is the focus here…. And oh what JOY we have shared.
For our second Christmas together again in 2012, I presented Dad with a book I wrote for him.
I called it, “The Journey Back to Daddy’s Girl.” The book is a celebration of our initial exchange of emails leading up to our reunion that covers the course of only a few short weeks, but close to 70 pages of exchanges. It chronicles how we discovered each other again – an adult daughter close to 50 years old – and an even more adult father – close to 70 years old who last saw each other when the little girl was 9 years old and the Daddy was just barely past 30.
We (well mostly I) asked each other questions (sometimes difficult ones) and our exchanges evolved from closings with “John (BF)” to “Love you, Dad”s.
Let me share the “Introduction” with you here.
———-
“Once upon a time, there was a little girl. Jodi had a Mom and a Dad and a little brother.
Life was good, until one day when Daddy left. Then Jodi just got to visit with Daddy on the weekends, until a day came when Mom introduced Jodi and her brother to a new Dad, and told her she would not be seeing her other Daddy any more.
Jodi lived a good life. Her new Dad and Mom took good care of her and her brother and her new baby sister, but Jodi always felt something was missing.
She thought of her first Dad throughout her life.
She dreamed of bumping into him on the street… their eyes would lock, and they would immediately recognize each other. Dad would tell her he loved her and missed her and was so proud of the woman she had become…..
Sometimes dreams do come true…”
———-
Marty (for those new here – the hubster), was instrumental in helping me find my Dad.
It is so much more incredibly easier than imaginable with the internet and people search software these days.
Marty has known for years – probably before I even realized – that there was a part of me missing – that there were unanswered questions – that there was a dad out there that I needed – and who needed me. He has asked me over the years about it – ever since we started dating when I was a mere 16 year old high school girl and he was a “mature” 20-year old “man.” (That story is a whole blog post for another day). When Marty realized my yearning had grown so strong, and my need was so great, he was the one that took the step to reach out for me, and the resulting reply is etched in my mind and on my heart forever:
“Hi Jodi – Yes. I am your “Birth Father.” It was an answer to prayer hearing from you. I hope that you and John are both fine. To this day, I regret the worst decision I have ever made. I was talked into doing something, but I had my own mind. At the time, I thought I was doing the best thing for your two. Can you ever forgive me?”
And so began my Journey back to Daddy’s Girl.
And now we celebrate four wonderful years of being a reunited father and daughter, which began on July 17, 2010 when my Dad showed up to my house with a huge bouquet of flowers, a face that looked exactly like mine (and resembles Tom Jones I think only to me 🙂 ), immediately telling me he loved me, and he missed me, that I was beautiful (only to him I’m sure 🙂 ),and he was so proud of me. You see – he wanted to fulfill my dream… He wanted our reunion to be the wonderful event I had dreamed about over the years…
We both cried – happy and sad tears. And we have talked almost every day since then. We’ve spent birthdays and holidays and Father’s days together. He was with me at our son Jake’s wedding. He loves my family as his own. His family has embraced me as their own. They have always known about me, and they welcomed me with open arms.
I will never forget the first time I met my Dad’s wife, Carole (aka Mom 2). The first thing she said to me was, “Your Dad always promised me a daughter, and now I have one. We’ve been praying for you for a long time.”
The epilogue of my book closes with:
———-
And so it began …….
With a simple email …
A journey back to Daddy’s girl.
And now, two and a half years later …
… we write each other almost every day
… and talk every weekday morning at 7:05
We’ve spent Father’s days together and holidays and birthdays and are part of each other’s lives again.
Our families love each other and we love each other.
‘What a Difference You’ve Made in My Life’
Dreams do come true!
this is notTHE END.”
———-
Father & Daughter Reunion Day – July 17, 2010
I hope this message will encourage those adult children who were separated from birth parents – at whatever age (birth, childhood, teenager, young adult) – for whatever reason – to reach out and try if it is something that has yanked on and ached in your heart for years.
Maybe your ending will not turn out as good as mine did (and of course there is much more to our story than I’ve shared here so far) , but can anything hurt more than the emptiness and not-knowing that you feel every day? Could the potential rejection be any worse than what you have imagined or decided or dealt with for years in your heart?
Love is worth the risk. It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Closure or resolution or answers to decades of unanswered questions can let you sleep at night… can bring you peace… can make you right with yourself! I’m certainly not an educated or trained professional in this area, but I can only speak of my own personal experience.
I wish you joy. I wish you peace. I wish you resolution. I wish you wholeness of heart – no matter the ending. YOU are worth it. YOU are here for a reason. YOU are loved.
Happy 4 year “Anniversary” Dad! I love you, and I cherish you! (And I’ve been listening to “our song” again this week. I’m betting you will too.) ❤ “What a Difference You’ve Made in My Life!”
the creative life in between 