Not shaken or stirred, but blended

Q’s favorite Bond

My 7 y/o is currently obsessed with James Bond.  He gave up Star Wars at about the same time that George Lucas sold the galaxy to Disney.   Coincidental?  Perhaps.  If you offer him something to drink, it is completely plausible that he will request a martini, shaken not stirred.  It’s adorable.  Well, to me it is because I’m his mom.  Someone else might find it obnoxious or cheeky, but I’ve always had a soft spot for 007.  And my children, of course.

Over the recent holidays, I did some reflecting on my own memories of the Christmas season and I thought about a family from my childhood who taught me what a blended family might look like.  There was a mom and a dad and a daughter.  And an ex-husband and the children shared by he and the mom.  And the ex-husband’s son from his second marriage.  And also the son from the Dad’s first marriage.  The kids all referred to each as brother and sister and the relationships seemed pretty relaxed and fluid, kind of like a well mixed martini.  They were Italian-American and Westchester Jewish, a combination which resulted in great food and wonderful traditions. I loved them and everything they taught me about family and love and backgammon, truly.

As a divorced parent*, I might one day find myself in a similar position.  You know, blending children and families and friends with a partner.  I’d like to think  I can do it with as much tasteful grace.  I know that none of those relationships was perfect, I mean what is?, but the central thread of children which wove them all together created an inspiring family fabric, a patchwork quilt that gave at least as much comfort as a familiar cocktail, I imagine.  How about you?  Do you have any experiences like this to share?  Grab yourself a cocktail and share, why don’t you?

*I’m not a “single mom.”  The boys very much have two parents.

Instant Karma

image:greatmodernpictures.com

On the anniversary of John Lennon’s death I can’t help but remember where I was at that time.  Freshman year, high school, almost winter. The news took me by surprise, of course. First John Bonham, now John Lennon.  Two of my favorite bands were clearly never ever getting back together, a reality that predates Taylor Swift’s assertion by more than 3 decades.

I heard the news on the radio, I have vague memories of lying in my twin-sized bed listening to WPLJ in the dark, and hearing the breaking news.  He was shot – injured – dead,  all reported in an amount of time which seemed so rapid in those pre-Internet days, yet would certainly seem impossibly slow in our current digital days.

I was just becoming aware of NYC as the city at the center of fashion, entertainment and opportunities.  After this tragedy, I wasn’t scared about what had happened in this wondrous city, just sad that a man who had chosen to make a home here with his family, had fallen victim to one of the mentally unstable attracted by the magnetism that is New York City.  There was a memorial service, and Yoko asked those wishing to show their respects, to honor John’s memory with ten minutes of silence, a request I solemnly granted.  The time passed quickly.

I have vague memories of a bean bag chair and a window looking out to a sky filled with snow of the most pure white imaginable. There was a sense of peaceful quiet, a cottony muffled feel to the afternoon which was comforting. Things were going to be different, but life would continue.  Thirty-two years later, I still subscribe to that belief.

“What we’ve got to do is keep hope alive. Because without it we’ll sink.” – John Lennon