When I was young and living in the small town of Wabash, Indiana I used to dream of different ways to become famous. During mass I often fantasized a record producer would, for some unknown reason, be in my church, hear my voice and offer me a contract. Or, I would dream a modeling agency would see me as I vacationed with my family and rush over to tell me I would be the next big thing on the cover of Seventeen Magazine. Even though I spent many years with these images in my head those events never took place. Instead, I went to college, graduated, found a job, got married and began the life I lead now.
It has only been recently that I remembered those long ago dreams and realized it is very unlikely my face will grace the cover of a fashion magazine or my singing voice be heard across the airwaves. I’m okay with this reality because I understand if I truly wanted those goals to happen I would have worked a little harder at accomplishing them. With this realization however, I wondered, have I made my mark on this world? When I’m gone will I have left a legacy? After some consideration I recognized leaving my mark does not require me to be famous. Keeping that in mind, I settled on a list of lasting qualities, I believe, I have managed to accomplish.
I have been a good daughter. While growing up I never caused my parents much concern. In turn they gifted me with their love, a comforting home, siblings to have and cherish my entire life and a college education. As an adult I welcomed my parents into my home. I enjoyed their company and we shared some great meals, laughter and many adventures when they graced my doorstep. For six years as my mother slid into dementia, I comforted and counseled her, fought her medical battles, sat through doctor appointments, made more than one run to the emergency room and, fought my own guilt feelings of inadequacy. Finally, on the day she died I held my mother’s hand and read to her the poems she recited to my siblings and me, and sang to her the songs that brightened our childhood days.
Friendship may be one of my strong suits. I love that shared intimacy. And, nothing seals a bond of camaraderie like the struggle of raising children. Many reassuring conversations took place during the frustrations and joys of raising children. I have been there through health scares, holding hands, sending cards and making phone calls to check in. I have consoled woman friends through the everyday difficulties of marriage and they have returned that favor to me. Most difficult of all I have been with my friend as she fought to keep her husband alive, then, in the end, as she graced him with her love and the permission to leave this earth.
Together my husband and I have created and raised two amazing daughters. They are kind to others, responsible for themselves, fun to be with, gifted with creativity, athletic and smart. As parents we gave our daughter many material items. When they were very young it was toys, dolls and stuffed animals. As they grew it became sports equipment, namely downhill skis. We offered opportunities to try new adventures. We bought a boat and took them tubing, cliff jumping and island camping on Lake George in the Adirondacks. All of those material presents brought the most important gift of all; a family. We formed a bond as we traveled for ski races, or huddled together in a small tent to avoid a storm on Turtle Island. We grew as a family having fun together, sharing dinners, laughing, arguing; just spending time with one another.
With this inventory I have concluded my legacy is one of kindness, love, fun, support and a future generation. Consequently, I think my daughters and our family are far more of a mark to leave on this earth than my past dreams of being famous.
Lake George
Choosing Family
It has been said you can pick your friends but not your family. And, yet I feel I picked mine, friends who, over the years, developed into a second family.
We met because our husbands worked together. There were four families in the beginning and having recently moved into the area all of us were desperate to connect with other couples. At the time the women were all stay-at-home Moms, so we formed a playgroup thinking it was for the children. But, we realized we were just as desperate as our children for companionship and so our group became a mother’s time, too. Eventually, the other two families moved out of the area leaving just the Rome’s and Renaud’s.
Our lives soon became entwined. We shared many of the same attributes, one of them being the age of our children. The Rome’s had Jason, and then we had Catlin. Janine and Matt followed with Kyle and our Kristen rounded out the crew. They grew up together like cousins, sharing meals, bathtubs and bedtime stories.
Janine and I were there for each other through many ups and downs especially because our husbands traveled frequently. At any given time we knew if the day seemed to be stretching on forever or we just couldn’t face another dinner of beans, weenies and toddler conversation we could call one another up for some adult company.
Friday nights were the best with impromptu get-togethers. The pizza would be ordered and the kids would run wild through the house as we adults kicked back with a few beers. We were oblivious to the commotion as we laughed about the week’s events and made plans for our next adventures. Many memories were made during those times and our bond as a new family grew.
It was our times at Lake George that sealed the deal. Almost every weekend during the summer, our two families could be found either camping or picnicking on the islands in the Narrows of the lake. Who wouldn’t connect over setting up tents in a thunderstorm, camping through a hurricane, tube rides, cliff jumping, raft floating, steak night, moonlight swims and roasting marshmallows over an open fire.
Through it all, we were there for one another, for the laughs and the struggles, the good times and the bad. We knew each other’s imperfections and loved each other in spite of them.
As our children grew, we celebrated graduations from high school and admissions into college. We naively assumed we would be there together for the weddings and the birth of our grandchildren. And yes, we had big plans to travel on great vacations together. But, it wouldn’t happen.
Matt Rome died this past September at the age of 55. He lived the last five to six years of his life slowly losing the ability to hike in his beloved Adirondacks. He struggled to continue using his prized possession, a boat kept at a marina on Lake George. The last time he went for a cruise it took Janine, Paul and me, using everything we had, to get him into the captain’s seat. And still Paul had to drive for him. Matt lost his ability to bring tears of laughter to our eyes with his stand-up comedian act. His brilliant mind, the one that could beat us all in any trivia challenge and the one that could solve any computer problem, slowly faded. He became lost in hour upon hour of dizziness. He went from cane to walker to wheel chair to recliner. We forgot what his voice sounded like because that left him too. Eventually, even communication by hand was difficult. Through it all, even into the end, no doctor could figure why.
Our two families rallied together, as did so many of the Rome’s friends, to support Janine, Matt and the boys. In the end it was all we had to offer. Our chosen family is missing an important figure but we are still intact. Our children living adult lives still remain friends. Janine will always be one of my most trusted confidants. As families do, we will regain ourselves and once again we will find times to laugh and have fun together. But, always there will be a toast to our friend, father, husband and chosen family member, Matt Rome.
Independence Days Remembered
In Wabash, Indiana, where I grew up, the fourth of July was always the middle mark of summer. As a student I knew that there was still as much summer to enjoy as I had relished over the past few weeks. So it was that the fourth was a much anticipated event.
A few days prior to the celebration my mother took us to the store so that we could help pick out our legal fireworks. We bought sparklers and cherry bombs, (I think those were legal) and snakes. Snakes were my favorite, they were just a small cylinder of black which when you lit the top it would grow and curl to resemble a writhing snake. One year when I was still fairly young, my mom handed each of us kids our own pack of matches so we could light our displays. Following my cool older friend I put the match between the cover and the strike pad to light it. In doing this I turned the match just as it lit and the whole pack went up in my hand. The rest of that holiday was spent sitting with the grownups holding ice to the massive blister that had formed on the entire palm of my hand.
Often our family would gather with some neighbors for the day. We would grill some hamburgers and Mom would make her amazing potato salad. Then it was time to turn the crank as we made our own ice cream. My mouth would drool in anticipation of the vanilla flavored delight that was so cold every bite caused an ice cream headache.
The town of Wabash put on a fireworks display in the park. We were lucky enough to be able to see the show from our back yard. Later, as trees matured my Dad let us climb to the roof to watch. We thought that was a grand adventure.
When Paul and I bought our house in Clifton Park, New York, our neighborhood was directly across from the town fields where the fireworks were set off. The neighborhood was “party central” for the town and like my parents we invited our friends for the day. Our girls spent their early childhood watching the fourth of July parade and the fireworks right in their own front yard.
Some of my best memories were fourths spent on the islands of Lake George. Months in advance we would rent our sites. On that day many of our friends, with kids in tow, would arrive early to spend the day boating, swimming and cooking over a campfire. It was our custom to have steaks cooked over an open flame and baked potatoes roasted in the coals. As evening approached we would all pile into our boats and head to the shoreline near the town of Bolton Landing. The fireworks here were set off from a barge anchored not far from land. On a clear night the red and blue lights of the hundreds of boats gathered was almost a show in itself. As the fireworks blossomed into their fiery displays over Lake George, they were mirrored in the cool clear water below. The exhibit was so spectacular that the many “oohs” and “ahhs” it warranted could be heard gliding over the surface of the lake as the booming concussions echoed against the Adirondack Mountains.
Last summer I spent the holiday at my sister’s new home on Lake Chatuge, located on the border of Georgia and North Carolina. Here, too, we were surrounded by mountains. This time The Blue Ridge Mountains. Since this was our first holiday on Lake Chatuge we did not know the routine. Rumor around the cove was that some of the neighbors put on quite a show. At dusk, after our fill of barbecue, we all gathered on the dock beverage in hand. We were not disappointed. We clapped our appreciation both during and after the show and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Lake Chatuge is once again calling. The attendance at this year’s festivities has grown considerably. This just means there are more great memories to be made.
The Sound of Laughter
I have often found it interesting that an event, which at the time seems small, remains a big part of your life for years to come. I remember being home from college one vacation. I was playing cards with my sisters and friends. We were creating quite a ruckus with our laughter. At one point, I walked into the kitchen where my mother was cleaning up our mess from dinner. She looked at me and said,
“I love hearing you girls laugh. It brings me such joy.”
I smiled and nodded, maybe even gave her a hug; that would have been nice. But, it wasn’t until years later, with children of my own, that I fully understood my mother’s comment.
I too, love the sound of laughter. The melody of it can lift the lowest heart. One of the first times I recalled my mother’s words was on a camping trip. Our family often camps on the Island’s of Lake George in upstate New York. Most of the sites are very private, some sites you get a small island all to yourself. Yet, on a quiet night, as you sit around the campfire, laughter can be heard. It floats across the water, coming into your campsite like the notes of a beautiful song. I never mind the intrusion because the laughter is an indication of the joy surrounding us.
One of my favorite endeavors is when friends and family gather around the dinner table. It fills my heart with gladness to sit back and spend a few minutes listening to the conversation and joy taking place. I search out the smiles on the faces of those sitting with me. I always feel a wave of accomplishment wash over me and I congratulate myself for pulling all of these people together. I have created a night where worries and troubles are forgotten for just a few hours; an evening where fun is the only solution to the weary tribe around me.
Most recently I was reminded of my mother’s words over the past weekend. Word had gone out, on every news and weather channel, that a major snow storm was headed for the east coast. Consequently, the skiers among us felt compelled to make a mad dash for the house we had rented for the season near Gore Mountain. After our large multi-generational crowd had dinner the parents settled into the couches and the younger set crowded around the table to play games. As I sat there with my friends the laughter began to rise from the table. Suddenly, I was my mother. The sound of their giggles brought a thrill to my heart. I now fully understood the comment she had made all those years ago as she heard the laughter of her children. I, in turn, felt that same joy as I heard the laughter coming from my daughter and her friends.
My mother’s feelings coming full circle.
Rosemary Christle-Renaud 