Postcards from Nonna

At the heart of my book are the decades of letters my Nonna sent us from Italy. But she also sent postcards, and here’s one she sent me when I was a student at the University of Georgia.

A Little Melodrama the Day Before the First Day of School

WHEN does school start? Tomorrow.

WHEN did we go shopping for some back-to-school clothes? Today.

We (and by "we" I mean Timothy) put this off until the last possible moment, but this morning I insisted we go to the mall for some clothes because last year (the Pandemic school year) we did not bother, and so it's been two years and it's Timothy's senior year and by golly he needs a little wardrobe update.

What is it about boys? In high school I would have been OVER THE MOON if my mom had taken me to the mall and said, "Go for it. Pick out some outfits. Whatever you want."

But with Timothy, his eyes just glaze over. 

Torture with a capital "T". 

I finally gave him an ultimatum: he had ten minutes to find five things to try on. 

Sometimes our little darlings just need a little push shove to get going because once he started to try on clothes he suddenly developed an OPINION, which basically meant he liked what he liked and didn't like whatever I showed him. 

Whatever. 

He also became very focused. A yellow long sleeve t-shirt on a mannequin caught his eye, and since it was the ONLY one left the associate disassembled the mannequin (i.e. removed its arms) in order to remove the shirt.

An hour later we left the mall with a shopping bag of new clothes and lunch from the Food Court. Things were looking up: he liked his new clothes and he received an email with the number of his personal parking space in the senior lot at school. 

After dinner, though, reality came crashing down. Timothy packed his school backpack while Joe, who is off tomorrow, packed his golf bag.

"This is the last night before I descend into Hell," said Timothy despondently.

He's very melodramatic, is our Timothy.

And just to go back in time, here was Timothy on his first day of first grade. Some things never change. Whether a first grader or high school senior, the first day of school is always a thing of DOOM, but by day two things aren't so bad.  

The Bad Word (You Know the One)

Texts from Folly Beach where Timothy (and all the groomsmen) were invited to participate in Nicholas' bachelor weekend:  

Timothy: "Having a great time with everyone. Had like a four hour talk with XXX about life. He is so funny."

Me: Knowing the young man in question, I texted back an eye roll emoji ;-)

Texts from Folly Beach that mention a bad word:

Me: Are you relaxing? No Publix, no mom or dad, and I won't even mention the bad word. You know the one. Starts with the letter 'S' and rhymes with pool. 

Timothy: No comment. 

Conversation about Folly Beach Bachelor Weekend after they returned:

Timothy, between yawns: "I wish every day was a Bachelor Weekend day. It was so fun. No rules about bedtime or meals. I had goldfish and lemonade for lunch."

Me: "Hmmm."

Conversation about Beowulf (summer reading):

"So, what did you think about Beowulf?" I asked, expecting a litany of complaints.

"I actually liked it," Timothy said. "It's interesting and kind of gives off Harry Potter vibes."

And there you have it. A summer of Publix shifts, beach trips, a bachelor weekend, and Beowulf. I think he's ready for you-know-what. Your know, the first letter is 'S' and rhymes with pool. 

Speak to Me Sunday: What if ...

In life, we are always presented with what if scenarios. What if I do this, instead of that? What if I go here, instead of there? What if I study this, instead of that?

Sometimes we have time to ponder and consider the what if; other times we must decide on the spot.

Last week I was in Publix (the one in Evans, not the one where Timothy works) when a middle-aged woman approached and asked to speak with me. She was wearing a mask, and because she was speaking very, very softly I had to lean in to hear her. I didn’t catch every word, but I got the gist: she was out of work, she was embarrassed to ask for help, but could I help her out with a few dollars.

This scenario has happened before, except last time it was in the parking lot of Hobby Lobby where family approached me for lunch money. I wrote a guest column about the incident for the Columbia County News Times, and it generated some angry responses. People wrote me and said I was gullible and that I had perpetuated a societal problem of people asking for handouts instead of getting a job. At the time, I was a little surprised at the vehemence of these letters.

If I am being honest, my first reaction that day in Publix was one of annoyance. Seriously? Again? For some reason strangers come up to me all the time, and while the requests are usually simple—asking for directions, help in reaching an item on the top shelf, needing help to get out of a seated scooter—others, like this instance, are a little more complicated.

It was a classic what if scenario.

What if this woman used the money to buy a loaf of bread for her children? OR, what if she bought a bottle of cheap wine instead?

What if she really needed the money? OR, what if I was being conned.

What if she thanks me? OR, what if she laughs behind my back?

All these things were running through my mind as the woman quietly spoke. Then I looked at her shopping cart (which contained two items) and mine (which was filled). And just like that my what ifs changed.

What if God saw her need and guided her in my direction?

What if God was giving me an opportunity to do His will?

What if I was being called to be the face of Christ to this unknown woman in, of all places, a grocery store?

I did not know this woman’s history; I did not know her story. I was simply faced with the fact that, for some reason, we crossed paths and maybe this meant something. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said that faith was taking the first step when you don’t see the whole staircase, and so I reached in my wallet and quietly handed her some money.

Because what if ...

What if I was being asked to act on faith?

Watching Them Go

Jonathan arrived home right at lunchtime, and as we were sitting around the kitchen table eating street tacos I realized how much I love watching our sons chatting and smiling and talking a language that Joe and I do not comprehend—a language of video game battles and board game strategies and YouTube personalities. 

After lunch they were driving to Folly Beach where they will join six other groomsmen in celebrating Nicholas' bachelor weekend. As we watched them drive away I felt things shift, just a little bit. We are parents of two grown sons, and one almost grown son, and every day the three of them walk (or drive, or fly) taller and stronger and faster into this thing we call LIFE.

As parents, our role is changing. Joe and I used to be in front leading the way. Like a lighthouse on a rocky shore we offered foundation, faith, and guidance. We illuminated the darkness so they could see possibilities and pathways. Then came the day we gave each of our sons a flashlight and stepped back, allowing them to explore on their own. We no longer walked in front, but alongside them, even as they explored further and further.

And now they have pulled ahead, and we stay behind, which is a little sad but also all kinds of wonderful. From our vantage point we see them forge pathways and explore hidden lands and see and do things we have never done. Now it is their turn to shine. And so we watch. 

It is hard, scary, sad.

It is beautiful, inspiring, exciting.

It is as it should be.

But we will always be that lighthouse, illuminated on the rocky shore, beckoning them home again. 

News from CasaNova

~1~

Last weekend, Nicholas (from Little Rock) and Jonathan (from Atlanta) flew to Williamsburg, Virginia to attend their older cousin's bachelor weekend in which the highlight was a day at Busch Gardens. A good time was had by all. 

This weekend, it's Nicholas' turn. His bachelor weekend will be at an undisclosed Charleston beach and eight groomsmen, including the cousin above, will be in attendance.

the Novajosky cousins

Nicholas, with three of his groomsmen 

(and fellow Clemson grads).

~2~

On the way to Nicholas' bachelor weekend, Jonathan (the best man) is picking up Timothy (a groomsman) who, despite being the youngest, has been included in the festivities. They are already under orders to take care of their baby brother :-)

Timothy, the youngest Novajosky cousin. 

Forever the baby brother.

~3~

The above means that Joe and I will have a long weekend to ourselves. I've always wanted to fly to Paris, France for a weekend. Do-able? I have my Brigitte Bardot/ Jackie O/ Elton John sunglasses ready to go. 

My Brigitte Bardot/ Jackie O/ Elton John sunglasses

A weekend in Paris. How about it Joey?

~4~

Jonathan has been on the go with back-to-back-to-back trips. He joined us in Hilton Head, he flew to Williamsburg, and this weekend he will drive to Charleston. Planes, cars, golf carts, roller coasters, and Ubers ... he's got it covered. 

the traveling man

~5~

Finally, my future daughter-in-law is taking the Bar Exam today. Sending prayers your way, Lauren!

Lost in the (Math) Translation

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a traumatic math class which ruined math for me. Forever.

Oh, I can add, subtract, multiply, and divide; I am very, very good with geometry proofs, and I can balance an algebraic equation like nobody's business. But when numbers start creeping into trigonometry or, heaven forbid, WORD PROBLEMS with train schedules and miles per hour ... well, my mind shuts down. Literally. 

Everyone knows this about me -- my family, my friends, the entire blogosphere. I am not good in math,  which is why the fact that Joe is SUPER in math made the Top Five list of reasons why I married him. He is my Knight in Shining Math Armor and repeatedly saves the day when the Math Dragon breathes its deadly fire. 

(And if something happens to my Knight in Shining Armor, Son #2 is an accountant and will take over duties.)

Most of the time I live in a happy cloud of math ignorance, but sometimes reality rears its ugly head.

This evening Timothy came home from a 7-hour shift at Publix and told us how someone tried to pull a fast one on him with a $100 bill. It was a complicated con, and while Joe immediately got it, I had no clue.

"The problem is you are too nice," said Timothy helpfully. "You would give the person the benefit of the doubt."

So they explained it again and looked at me expectantly. I still did not get; in fact, I was thoroughly confused, but I nonetheless nodded my head like I understood.

This is called Self Preservation. It's a survival tool. 

But my guys were on to me, so after dinner Timothy pulled out the Monopoly money and reconstructed events. He was the cashier, I was the bad guy with the $100 bill. The first time through I still did not understand, and Timothy and I were laughing so hard I had to leave our pretend Publix and run to the bathroom. Joe was exasperated. 

Okay. Time to get serious. We reconstructed events for the fifth time (or maybe the sixth, but who is counting?) (remember, math issues).

This time, Timothy and I switched roles. He was now the bad guy and I was the cashier. 

And ALLELUIA ... I saw the light.

While I was astounded that a person could think of such a complicated con, mostly I was proud that my guy caught him in the act. 

Of course,  when I sat down to write this post I had every intention of describing each and every step of this diabolical con, but the minute I started putting it into words it got lost in the translation. 

Math. It's just not my thing.