Christmas in the ordinary

Christmas Eve & Day are the most special days of the year for me, primarily because no matter where I am, there is a different feeling in the air on these two days, unlike any other days I've experienced throughout my life. Expectation, joy, peace, all emotions I've felt on December 24 and December 25. It's a mystery to me...and it repeats year after year. I've also had years of sadness and loneliness on these days, dealing with loved ones who were ill and in crisis. My grandpa collapsed on Christmas day and died four days later when I was nine years old. Thirty six years later, it's still a prominent memory for me. My Dad was in the hospital three years ago and now his best friend is there, a man who sat with us for three months...patiently waiting like us, for Dad to come home.

To equate this time of celebration with love and grief is unavoidable because the emotions are so interconnected...We grieve those whom we have loved. God comes to us gently in His example of His birth because I think He knew and understood the world He had created, one in which joy and fear shared seats in concert, with passion, love and anger. How can one not stand in awe of the fragility and beauty of a newborn infant? In the midst of chaos, the world did not stop. The world celebrates simplicity in extravagance. He was/is a contradiction. Being born in the bleakness and beauty of humble surroundings, via a vessel of grace, we had among us the Godchild, a Light in the darkness.

We are celebrating Christmas this year, grateful for the blessings we've received and will receive in the coming year, worried about extended family members dealing with a devastating diagnosis, a good friend in the hospital recovering from a fall off a roof. Life is a circle of joy and suffering, gain and loss. In the midst of running around this Advent, it was important for me to lie low and hang out with the kids. My sisters and I decided we wouldn't exchange gifts. We thought it best just to help each other with the dinner preparations. We wanted to welcome friends we haven't seen in a year. They are Jewish friends who want to experience Christmas and they asked to share it with us. It wasn't about what we bought. I know, I know. The stores opened early and closed late with discounts and deals beyond belief. Someone reminded me that a good deed is better than 80% off anything that is usually discarded soon after it's opened on Christmas. We filled up our gas tanks with loose change. When was the last time we could do that?

Who needs you? That is what this Christmas is about. Does a friend need a lift, a kind word? Does someone need a ride, a meal, a shoulder to cry on? Better than that cashmere sweater, or Blu-Ray DVD player, how can you give your time? What about having everyone in for a movie night, a home-cooked meal, a night out with a babysitter? Who needs me? My family is about to lose me to a 12 month nursing program and I have to remind myself that I need to set aside time for them. Sometimes, just hanging out in the kitchen baking with my kids is a gift.

When Christ was born in Bethlehem, He came as an infant, in secret and in love. He revisits us in the sacraments, in other people and even sometimes challenging us by coming to us in the people we don't care for too much. God comes to us through our family members and friends. As quietly as He arrived...he stays patient for us to recognize Him in the ordinary. Cook something nice, be present to your loved ones, take the phone of the hook, go to church, even if you haven’t been there in a while, open a bottle of something to share and have a very Merry Christmas.

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net

Put me in coach...

It feels like a very long baseball game is finally winding down after extra innings. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time in school preparing for a nursing program, this old bench warmer is finally having to step up to the plate and hit something, because everyone wants to go home, darn it! I say that tongue in cheek because after being so worried about getting into school, rejected by lotteries and retaking classes I had B’s in for A's,I was too tired to be happy about it when it finally happened…in a trio of acceptances into two bachelors program and one masters program.

I narrowed it down to two. One costs as much as a loaded Lexus and lasts 12 months, the other is much slower paced, less expensive and is a 2-year program. At my age, I should be practical and take door number 2, but I am Bob & Sally’s daughter, so I always do things that are risky and so I go for what Monty Hall is holding in his left breast pocket, which is a roller coaster ride to hell and back.

Luckily, misery loves company and my old pal Trudy decided to jump on Hell Ride 2 with me. She’s just as a nervous, but we’re old broads with moxy and we’re just gonna jump on the ride, fasten our seat belts and scream. In the process, we hope we lose a few pounds.

I tried on my nursing uniform last week and my son laughed at my shoes. “Are you going outside in those?” I know this is going to be one of those experiences not unlike what my nephew went through at Basic Military Training. There is no glamour and glory in being a student nurse. There will be times when I will feel stupid and probably do something wrong. I know I will have to swallow my pride and get ready for the boot stomp, but at the end I will be a different person. I will be a nurse. In the meantime, I hope to have the stamina it takes to endure cramming what most students study in 2-3 years, into an accelerated 12 month 2^nd degree program. Knowing the family won’t see me much, I have started to build of arsenal of support. Carpool plans, study groups, buying books early (reading). I’ve had parental help with books and supplies, and I’m on a first name basis with my loan officer. Note to self: Consider hiring a housekeeper to prevent mental breakdown in the middle of the year. JD and the kids assure me they will be waiting for me at the end of the ride. So I go.

We went to orientation last month and a faculty adviser suggested we keep a journal of the year, only because so much will happen during the program, we’ll want to look back and see how we’ve changed. I decided to keep an on-line diary which I will blog for anyone interested in reading about student nursing or the nursing profession in general. The blog journal can be accessed at www.rntrainingwheels.blogspot.com

A friend of mine who graduates tonight from the same program I will begin on January 5, is not the same person I went to Folsom Lake College with. He’s been through a process that redefined him. I saw what it was doing to him last summer when we met him and his wife for dinner. I thought to myself, “I will never do it that way” and in true Tammy fashion, promptly signed up for it in November. He is so much happier now, like the end of the roller coaster ride that made you really sick, but elated to come out the other side, or the really long baseball game that never ends. His first job will be working in the Operating Room as an OR nurse so I guess you can say he hit a home run. Put me in coach.

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com or www.rntrainingwheels.blogspot.com

Parla come magni

“Speak the way you eat” or something to that effect, is something I pulled out of a book I am reading titled “Eat Pray Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. At moments in the book I find nothing and everything in common with the author, whose journey through Italy, India and Indonesia puts her on a journey of self discovery and one might argue her path to loving God. I had a similar journey about 10 years ago, but most of it occurred within a 20 mile radius of Sacramento. So boring, and I doubt anyone would really want to read my memoir about it. I am convinced this Thanksgiving that life is simply a journey where we are required to eat, pray and love; in the process however, it would be nice to leave something worthwhile behind. Parla come magni, at the end of the day means “Keep it simple”.

Parla come magni…I remember a similar journey in the summer of 1983. My parents decided that the family should see Europe in a manner of weeks, much in the tenor of the film “Its Tuesday, it must be Belgium”. I have some great memories from that trip. Sometimes a moment becomes a mantra and there was one event in Holland that indelibly defined my family. We had exited the tour bus in Amsterdam and my mom wanted to see the home of Anne Frank. The rest of us were hungry and disoriented after standing in front of Rembrandt’s famed ‘Nightwatch’. Mom was irritable and probably LBS (low blood sugar)…so she took off in a fit. Being a woman who is perimenopausal, I thought my mom was nuts back then (little did I know at age 20). Realizing that we should all probably follow her, we all sort of stepped into the pace, except we did it in single file, sort of spontaneously. Mom, Terry, Tricia, Dad and Me all walking single file down the street…when suddenly to break up the tension, Dad started to quack. Like a duck. “Quack..quack…quack…” with each alternating step we took, looking ridiculously American in the process, the spectacle of it became quite funny. I think at one point Mom couldn’t be mad any more. We were all laughing hysterically. It stuck. In later years, when Pop walked us all down the aisle at our weddings, he quacked. Whenever we found ourselves in line anywhere, the quacking would intuitively start. We were forever known as the duck family. We’ve added a lot of ducks since then and everyone has been initiated. Yeah, it’s a weird family thing. Families can be that way.

I am thankful for a life where eating, praying and loving is part of the recipe of my family. This thanksgiving, give thanks for the good times, the bad and all the in-betweens. My own family, that being JD, Shannon, Conor & Birdy have sort of followed me, lock, stock and barrel through some hair brained ideas, absolute demands and long term commitments. Whether it was whether or not, we were going to continue homeschooling, where we would go on vacation, go to Mass on Sundays or eat dinner, they always went along with the Mama Duck. When I took time off to take care of Pop and as I start my year long nursing program this January, the kids have always honored and stepped into pace with the disruptions in their lives. I asked Shannon to take on some major responsibilities now that she is all grown up, and she has complied with each request, without too much quacking and Birdy and Conor have done the same. I guess I am the luckiest mother duck on earth. No one complains much. I guess the duck family was born, long before Amsterdam 1983 somewhere in the genes of some Irish people with a sense of humor, or some Italians too mad to come to blows.

J.D. is willing to support his crazy wife who wants to be a nurse and has always been there to walk beside me in this journey of life, like a great spouse and best girlfriend. With a journey that involves simplicity, complexity and sometimes insanity, this Thanksgiving, I wish you joy in eating, praying and loving your family. It’s an insane and wonderful life. From my duck family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving!

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

All shall be well

Next week my Dad goes back to the hospital for surgery. It was three years ago this month that he faced a similar situation and we almost lost him. I know things are going to be better this time because I have faith that ‘all shall be well.’ It would be a waste to worry and fret. We’ve done that before and it made us crazy. I was cleaning out my old desk in my bedroom and noticed a card a friend had given JD a couple years ago with the words “All shall be well” inscribed across the card. I tossed it to JD and said that we should hang onto that. Reminders are just that…little urgings from the past telling us that everything is going to be OK. This brings me to a column I wrote a few years back during Lent and I wanted to revisit it again because I need to remind myself sometimes to stop fretting. Some things are just beyond my control.

The reminder is for those who might be going through a rough patch right now. Whether you are grieving the loss of a loved one or suffering some insurmountable loss of health or bad news about a loved one. You know who you are. You are the ones that suffer mostly in silence. You try your hardest at work and at home to put on a happy face. When people ask how you are doing, the only words you can find are, “Everything’s just fine…thanks.” But when you get into the shower or collapse into bed at night, you let the tears fall. In secret you are suffering because you have a lot of things on your mind and you know you need to keep going. Maybe life has dealt you some hard blows and bad cards. Perhaps you are suffering the loss of a job or financial woes. I see those of you who are not sleeping at night, maybe because you are losing your home or your job and you are wondering how bad it’s going to be, now that the Holidays are approaching. Maybe your business isn’t doing as well as you expected, or that home renovation project is driving you crazy. Some of you are struggling with managing it all…school, work and home. Perhaps you are failing to meet expectations you and others have placed on you. It’s very difficult. Hard times happen and we don’t always understand the reasons why. A friend of mine who is a priest reminded me today that there is the hardship of carrying a cross (a mystery), but our hope is in the glory of bearing it well.

Some of you have loved ones who are far away from home. The worry is getting to you. Your teenager might be having emotional or scholastic problems. Maybe your marriage has fallen into a rut. Perhaps you are lonely or have suffered a betrayal in a close friendship. Without becoming absolutely too maudlin in outlining common problems many people suffer in days like these, I offer you a few thoughts, only because you’ve been on my mind.

You are not alone, even when it seems as if you are. This too, shall pass….and no problem is bigger than your own strength to bear it. Don’t give in to despair. Try and persevere. Sometimes, the highest thing we can do to beat problems like these, is to be absolutely dedicated to helping others with a kind word or deed. Maybe you can’t do much right now. Perhaps picking up the phone and calling someone you haven’t spoken to in a long time, mending a fence, delivering a meal to a neighbor, or writing a letter to a loved one would give you a brighter outlook. Finding a kind word, hugging someone who needs one, lending an ear and listening well, make our own problems seem less significant. Negativity breeds contempt and bitterness. Make time for family. Try to relax and slow down.

If you are ill, the very idea of usefulness escapes you. But your work is valuable and has meaning. Perhaps your primary job is that of using your own suffering as a means to sanctify those around you. Perhaps you are teaching patience to others by your own example of suffering. Your virtue is your patience.

So much is changing besides the season. Be patient and unafraid. Sorrow is seasonal, like a rough and cold winter. If you are in the throes of a difficult time, this, too shall pass and Spring is only a few months away.

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and a bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her by email at familyfare@sbcglobal.net

Same Old Story

At the end of the story, everything is not OK; no flowery declarations or speeches, no parades, weddings or celebrations. There are no toasts, dancing, or gift exchanges. There is no food, wine or drunken stupor “I love yous”. There is nothing. All is the same as it was before the end of the story, nothing has changed at all. The same characters are there, the same problems, joys, triumphs, disappointments and setbacks. What’s with the same old story?

Which begs the question, why go through the process at all? Why tell the story if it doesn’t have a happy ending. If change is not brought about and problems aren’t solved, why go to all the trouble? Why waste the time and the money of putting the story together, piecing together the transcript, submitting it to editorial scrutiny, marketing, advertising, critique and then release? It has served no real purpose. It’s slick and attractive on the cover. It’s polished, charming and seductive. It tells tales of courage, hope and cunning. It promises surprises, lots of surprises. It even serves up a scandal or two. It’s dicey, racy and sometimes foolish. Sometimes, the story stumbles over itself, and many times the story is just repetitive and boorish. When the story is lagging, we just skip and skim it…seeking out the page where the story starts up and tells us what we want to hear, just how we like to hear it. The pace of the story is like a marriage that at first seems like a ball that was hit out of the park, only to land in the foul zone, time and again in the same old mundane Saturday afternoon routine of blah.

The story is played out on television, on radio talk shows, books of the week and internet blogs. It’s the rants and raves, the scores and the misses, the “who bought what where” and the “who said what when.” The story loves to paint pictures where illustrations are needed. The story makes a lot of promises it will never be able to keep. The story associates with utopian principles without understanding the meaning of what is true and beautiful. Most importantly the story gives rise to bitterness and ill will, when good humor and patience would suffice. The story slings about accusations and ridicule and insinuates itself between friends and family. The story points a finger and wages indifference. The story loves to hear itself every day, debated and discussed. It will participate in activities that reduce the story to a mockery and a joke. In the past the story has performed for the amusement of others only to score points but the story is not as funny as it desires to be. By this time the story is getting tired and old hat. The story has been repeated so many times, the story hardly knows itself because in the end it changes nothing because it only seeks power. "This is the most important story!" Even that is getting a little redundant. Because no matter how the story ends, there will be four judges somewhere that will burn the story or toss it away. There will be a lawyer somewhere that will disagree with the story and how it ends and want to change or rewrite it.

I thought this story was important when I first picked it up, but as Gordon Sumner once wrote, "You could say I lost my belief in politicians, they all seem like game show hosts to me"

Next Tuesday the story will be told once again. Wake me up when it’s over.

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/

Trudy, my sister from another mother

I have a friend that I go to school with that is much like a sister. I can say this with all reliability because I have two sisters. I say it confidently because of the sheer amount of time we spend together. Law students and medical students know where I am going on this. Nursing ‘wannabes’ have certain tenaciousness in their drive to do well, because failure is simply not an option when you are competing against the brilliant minds of straight ‘A’ students in subjects such as, microbiology, anatomy & physiology, pharmacology, and pathophysiology (these are meat and potato subjects, hardly fluff & bluff.) It’s within this context, that I sort of fell into Trudy’s world. She didn’t push me out, so I stayed; much like a stray dog.

I met Trudy in Anatomy and Physiology, and I doubt there’s been a week over the last two years, that I haven’t had a cram session, taken a test, had a conversation, or meal without her. Yeah, we spend a lot of time together. She’s simply part of the ‘day-to-day’ in Tammy world.

Studying with this kind of intensity breeds bonding that isn’t present in other types of work. The bonding is cultivated in a trust shared by common goals. You realize that the scope and sequence of success in a profession like nursing, requires that one sacrifice a little or much to support those who are taking the walk with you, and that support ends up being the paramount training ground as to the kind of nurse one will be when the finish line is crossed. I know the military cultivates bonds like these; I think I know why some people cry when they finish long roads like medical school, law school, seminary, or a marathon for that matter. It’s hard to contemplate the journey you’ve taken, the stumbles, the triumphs, a mini crises. At the end of the nursing journey, there is something called a capping and pinning ceremony, in addition to graduation. But like lawyers, there’s not much time to celebrate, because we’ll be taking licensing boards. In the stress of going through the process of completing pre-requisites, there’s been the agony of waiting…waiting for notification, an end to signal another beginning; usually just a form letter that says “Thanks for applying, you didn’t make the cut this time, but try again next time-Good luck!” We shared a few of those wait periods. They are stressful. But we always seem to pull each other out of the trenches. Frozen yogurt helps with that, so do cosmopolitans (depending on the class we just finished.)

My experience having a relationship with Trudy over these last two years, has taught me a lot about myself, about what I can accomplish if I set my mind to it and also what limitations I have, because like a spouse, a study buddy gets to see the worst and best parts of you.

We’ve applied to programs, taken the same classes and been a resource to each other when needed. I have to say this friendship has been the wisest investment I’ve made in going back to school, and despite any philosophical, or religious differences we may have, I consider our shared experience stronger than anything that separates us. I’ve made a good friend for life and the reason I know this to be true is because she has given more than I could ever reciprocate in being a study partner who cares about the success of others. These seemingly endless hours of study partnering also involve sharing food, news, joys, cares and concerns.

So, in the spirit of Trudy, I want to wish her a happy birthday. I am planning on cooking dinner for her family, because I think we’ve eaten at every restaurant worth going to and a home cooked meal is something we both miss. In short order, it’s the least I can do to thank her for her friendship. Some friends are always like family, so on your birthday Trude, I wish you joy, happiness, success in all things. Mr. Johnson, our hypothetical patient would also like to wish you a very happy day, hence his contribution to this tribute. Most especially, I pray I get into the same program you’re accepted to, because I don’t know anyone else who can put up with me, your sister from another mother.

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat.

The audacity of hard work

People are complaining a lot these days. So much to harp about too. Gas prices, the economy, the election. We’ve been busy working so darn hard; it’s been hard to get a pulse on all this. JD is working three jobs. I am tenaciously trying to pull off the best grades of my life in order to study to become a nurse. I can’t believe what this has pulled out of me emotionally and I am not even in a program yet. Forget about “hope”; hope has nothing to do with it anymore. I lost hope a long time ago and it had nothing to do with George Bush (can you believe it?). Hope is a virtue that no one can give or promise, not even Sen. Obama. The government wasn’t set up to provide hope. Somewhere in history, I thought we already learned lessons from politicians promising “hope”. Hope isn’t going to fill my gas tank, fix my car, pay my mortgage, do my laundry, and send my kids to college. The only thing that is going to do that is hard work.

It makes me think about the job my Dad had for over 30 years with the same employer. He never jumped ship because he had a “bad” boss. He never left his employment because he didn’t get the raise he was looking for. He didn’t quit because times were tough or he lost his ‘job satisfaction.’ He just did what he signed on to do with the same insurance company for over 30 years. He worked hard.

It also makes me think about my Mom. She could have done a lot of things. Gone back to school, looked for a side job to supplement Dad’s income, she could have hired babysitters, housekeepers, daycare providers, nannies and Au Pairs. She decided to work at home, when working at home meant changing the diapers, cleaning the toilets, washing the windows, doing the laundry and (gasp) ironing. She cooked almost every night. Housework was her “workout”. She even broke a sweat. While working hard, she paid the bills, stretched and saved the dollars and didn’t buy anything on credit.

As a result of hard work, they paid off the one and only house they ever bought…on time. They didn’t have a second, third, fourth or variable loan with an astronomical balloon payment. They never signed papers they couldn’t honor. They were never “late”, “bankrupt” or “default” on an obligation. They never sat around and “hoped” for anything.

My parents were the rare breed of people who had the audacity to work hard, pay their taxes and live within their means. No one “bailed” them out ever. My parents never expected nor demanded a rescue.

The audacity of hard work. If everyone had that kind of fearless daring approach to not only self sufficiency, but charity and restraint; we wouldn’t need people like Barack Obama, or John McCain to sell us virtues we already possess.

Himself...the 'Cos'

It had to be over 25 years ago that I first brought home a VHS copy of Bill Cosby’s Himself to watch with my Dad. Dad was a huge Cosby fan, so I thought he would enjoy it. Mom was asleep and Pop decided to stay up late and watch it with me. It was the first time I saw my Dad laugh and cry at the same time. In short, it was hilarious. Real life can be that way. I have to hand it to the Cos, he knows how to make the everyday seem insane and the insane seem like every day.

Because of this old 1983 performance, JD and I always board an airplane looking for that irritating little “Jeffrey” and the visits to the dentist have never been the same since the Cos talked about it on Himself. His takes on the middle years of marriage with gusto and the feeding of his children with chocolate cake, as ‘coping’ with fatherhood. I know the Cos is a true father mentor because my Dad did this once with the grandkids while he was babysitting them.

There is a lot about my Dad that has evolved into the Cos over the years. Cos loves to wear sweats and sweaters and if my Dad had a uniform, this would be it. I don’t know if it’s the dry demeanor, the facial expressions or viewpoints on the “mother”, but he has a gentle way of poking fun without being insulting. The man simply has to look at you when he speaks and I dare you not to giggle. It’s something about the face…I can’t put my finger on it, but the mannerisms are definitely there. My dad is a guy from Jersey and Bill is a guy from Philly, so that must explain it. It’s an East coast thing.

When the Ponderosa Bruins played in Fernley, Nevada for their first pre-season football game, we decided to stay in Reno for a couple days and catch a show at the Silver Legacy. When we discovered that Bill Cosby was performing, we knew we had to take the kids to the show. They have all seen Himself and old reruns of The Cosby Show, so we knew they would appreciate it. When we entered the ballroom at the Silver Legacy, the chairs were all pulled close to the stage. On the stage was his signature Queen Ann style chair with a tee-shirt draped over the back that said “Hello Friend.” The words, "Hello Friend" belonged to his son, Ennis, who was brutally gunned down on the streets of L.A. in January of 1997. A charity of the same name "Hello Friend" was founded in his memory. I often wondered how he has managed to carry on, and in true 'Cos' fashion, he is helping others. I always thought Bill Cosby was a man of faith; when he disclosed that he, a Methodist, married a Catholic in a Catholic church, I finally knew why I admired his wife Camille. You can’t appreciate the ‘Cos’ until you know Camille. She must be a living saint to put up with that after all these years!

The chair was saddled with a little table to hold a bottle of water and below it stood a small waste paper basket. That’s it. A chair, a side table and garbage can. Before I knew it was running late for the show to start, a gentleman came on stage wearing sweat pants and a tee-shirt and slippers. I thought he was stage hand, until he sat in Bill’s chair and the lights came up! There sat the famous Bill Cosby, himself. Printed on the tee was a picture of his family, with the words “Homeland Security” scribbled across the chest. There was no mistaking the face. Four rows from the stage, it felt like we were all having coffee.

Just 'himself' sitting there looking at us, we all started laughing. He certainly knew how to handle the drunks and the hecklers. He threw the zingers right back at them and he was funny. There is something about a seasoned professional who is comfortable in his own skin, telling his own stories from his own perspective of being over 70 years old. My only regret was that my Dad wasn’t there to see his African American twin brother. You can’t help but love the Cos and his whole family because he opens the doors, just a little, to allow a glimpse into his real life. It’s something everyone in the audience can relate to, because it’s not much different from your own. All the material in this show was brand new, except for the last bit, recited word for word, the insanity of going to the dentist.

As my whole family recited the routine along with him, we all wiped tears of laughter from our eyes, marveling at the timelessness of a man who simply feels like an old friend.

Fabulous Fairplay

We wanted to mark our 20^th wedding anniversary with a big trip this year, but with the kids starting school early, Bruins football and work deadlines, we stayed close to home to make sure everyone made it to school, practices and meetings. JD insisted we get out of town even if it was a short drive so we decided to head to Fairplay, simply because we had never heard of the place, and we wanted to see what we’d find in our own ‘backyard’. Fairplay encompasses the back roads of El Dorado County, near Mt. Aukum, Somerset and Omo Ranch. Honestly, I had never heard of it before.

This little rural wine town does not disappoint those looking for good wines and relaxing surroundings. With the top down on the Z, we drove around Somerset and Fairplay noting the many wineries on Perry Creek and Fairplay Roads. We found ourselves at Lucinda’s Country Inn for the evening. What an amazing little place this Inn has become over the last several years. Daryl & Cindy Sullivan’s retirement project is quite the luxury bed and breakfast. All the suites are unique, spacious, newly furnished and carefully appointed with all the little accoutrements one needs when you have an overnight bag and a short amount of time. One can easily note that the Sullivan’s hearts are in their business, because of their wonderful hospitality. The fully cooked breakfasts were amazing and we enjoyed a lovely cocktail hour with them in the great room before heading out to dinner at Bocconato Trattoria, another Fairplay hotspot.

What is amazing about Fairplay is the local warmth and sense of belonging one enjoys whether you are visiting a winery, a local restaurant or having lunch at a roadside café. The people who live in this area and run their businesses treat customers like family. At every winery we visited, we were able to taste at no charge, and the owners were available to discuss their wines and the surrounding area.

Perhaps the most pleasurable dining experience we had while in fabulous Fairplay, was our evening at Bocconato’s. The owners, Giovanni & Sheri Gaudio, are a husband and wife team who love and live Northern Italian cuisine. They present their food and wine pairings as culinary gifts, each course of the meal a testament to the authentic Italian heritage they embrace. Giovanni and JD talked about the areas in Italy they share in common, JD’s family residing in the Lombardy and Valtelena; Gaudio’s cuisine centering on the foods and wines of the Piemonte and Toscano regions of Italia. Gaudio knows his stuff, he travels to Italy regularly and he looks like one of the locals you’d run into while touring around Como. Our maitre d’, Nicola, was fun and engaging, the staff welcoming us like long lost cugini. Chef Giovanni Gaudio has this down to a science. If you like authenticity in your Italian cuisine, you will love Bocconato. They love their local wines, but they also feature regional Italian wines. We had been tasting the local vino all day, so we settled on a wine from Montepulciano, a red Toscano that went well with everything we ate.

The only decision we made that night was whether to sit indoors our outside on the patio, but since the weather was lovely, we enjoyed the evening on the patio, sharing stories with ‘Nicolino’ and wondering what chef would send out next for us to sample. If you leave it up chef, he will not fail to disappoint the palette.

For a special occasion or a quick getaway, the secret little area of Fairplay was the retreat we were looking for, and with gasoline prices keeping us closer to home, it was the perfect midweek getaway to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Simply fun, fabulous…not far away, Fairplay- we’ll be back soon!

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What does it mean to write well? I've come across several things lately that have inspired me to believe in the importance of writing. It's our signature, a legacy of memories, a picture of thoughts, impressions and a self portrait. Through the process, it becomes an adventure lived by others; when we allow others to read what we have written. Much like painting or singing, we give someone perspective when we allow them to read our words.

I am finishing Julia Child's last book, "My Life in France", a book co-authored in 2006, two years after her death, by her grandnephew, Alex Prud'homme. He finished something she had already started, a memoir of her beloved years with her husband Paul Child, living in France after World War II, and learning to cook. Her style, like her cooking, is relaxed and warm. She is as refined and bohemian as I always imagined her. Lord, this woman loved to live, and lived to love well. The book honors her relationship with her husband, as much as it honors the country they lived in together. She simply writes a visual and olfactory memoir that makes your mouth water. One lesson gleaned from her reflections is that ideally, we all need to slow down a bit and take in the people and culture that surround us. Our daughter, Shannon, recently spent several weeks in Italy, and this was one of the impressions she came home with; savoring surroundings, people and time.

In that same vein, I've admired the attempts of my friends and family as they chronicle their own lives in the blogosphere. One friend close by is chronicling the emptiness of her house as the last child in her house begins his senior year and her two oldest move out to attend college. Likewise, my sister in law is exploring her own empty nest ambitions of writing for her local newspaper. A friend of ours who recently lost his wife, used to keep us informed as to how she was faring in her final days, and my fondest wish is that he continues to write, for himself and for his grandchildren. I find that those of us who are getting older need to put our thoughts down in words, and it's a beautiful thing to read what others write, and the common bonds we have at this time in our lives. Writing is truly our signature.

At the suggestion of a fellow blogger, I logged onto a moving photo essay a few days back, and was literally spell-bound by the beautiful photographic tribute of artist, Phillip Toledano, to his aging father. If you are looking for inspiration today, it falls into the "don't miss this" category. You will be touched beyond words-at the depth this man has for the remaining days left with his Dad. A sheer tribute of love and grace. Toledano's father is photographed, but the pictures tell the story of the relationship. See the website at: www.dayswithmyfather.com

Randy Pausch's Last Lecture stirred quite a discussion in our house, after news of his death last month. We not only watched the Carnegie Mellon lecture online, but we are passing around the book in our family. When someone is facing their final exit, especially someone as young as Professor Pausch, the words he imparts are more about living than about dying. That's the message he left. His signature indelible, his legacy secure.

How are we to signature our lives? I'd like to think we do it with our children, our charity, and by our example. As I finish Julia's last incomplete book, I am satisfied that she was 'signed' off at the end. So impressed was I by her casualness, joviality and love for living, that I promise myself when I have a little extra time this Fall, I'm going to dust off my old copies of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and try my hand at a few of the recipes she perfected while living at the Roo de Loo, as she affectionately called her old Parisian apartment.

I'd like to continue my own promise to journal as I've done with Family fare, as I believe it is the one place where I can express what is most important to me; much in the manner that Toledano's father's signature is manifest and sculpted in the heart of his son. Our signature may be all that's left us, like a book that has been shared, well worn and ear marked with favorite spots where the coffee spilled and the crumbs piled high; as evidence that one was there and simply loved the ride.

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. She can be reached on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Bass Lake Grade Blues

Brandon just bought his new motorcycle. A beautiful day, it was his inaugural ride. He comes from a family of motorcycle enthusiasts. Unfortunately, a Honda Civic driver not paying attention to the road, spoiled the day for the new motorcycle owner last Friday. I was driving down the Bass Lake Grade with the kids in the car when I noticed a truck parked off to the side of Highway 50. One of the solar call poles was down and a motorcycle was spilled on its side with its young driver lying curled up next to it. Pulling off to the side of the road, I told the kids to stay in the car and went to check on the injured motorcyclist. He was a mess, but thankfully, he was alive.

The two nice gentlemen who stopped after the biker went down, moved him out of the roadway and in the confusion of trying to reach 911 with two cell phones, we kept getting busy signals. Exasperated, I tried to reach someone at my house to call 911. The young man gave me his mom’s number and in trying to keeping him alert, I used the number he gave me and instructed his mom to call 911 from her land line, explaining that Brandon was conscious and I thought he was going to be OK but he needed medical attention. She summoned the paramedics and we waited. I prayed and counted the seconds.

I found out that night that the Honda Civic driver either wasn’t aware of what happened after merging into a lane with a motorcyclist, or left the scene of the accident. In any event that person ran Brandon off the road. He flipped off his bike sustaining multiple injuries and fractures. His motorcycle took out the solar call pole. With a guardian angel working overtime, Brandon was lucky his injuries weren’t any worse. Holding onto him, I tried to assess his injuries, wishing I had been more prepared with blankets in the car. He obviously was going into shock. Luckily the awesome El Dorado Hills Fire and medic team from Station 86 arrived and initiated care on the scene, transporting Brandon to UCD Medical Center, where top notch trauma care could be rendered. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen someone off the road coming down the grade. People are just driving too fast and not paying attention.

The team at Station 86 was prompt, professional and caring. The El Dorado Hills Sheriff department was also on scene and I am reminded of how amazing these people are who serve our community. You are the real heroes in our midst.

Brandon is on the mend, thank God; and for those two guys in the truck, the good Samaritans, it’s nice to see people who stop and care. Station 86 I’m proud to be your neighbor and feel so much better knowing you all are close by. Drivers, pay attention, slow down …after staring into that young man’s face, I thought about what could have happened, what could have been lost, and it caused me to shudder. Take it easy out there…

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her at www.familyfare.blogspot.com or on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

The Three Faces of Me

In my summer psychology class, my portion of our group presentation involved examining psychological disorders, specifically multiple personality disorders. The themes of multiple personalities has been explored in many films and television shows. Pop culture books examine the nuances of people like “Sybil” and “Eve”. As I delved into the mysteries of dissociative identity disorders, I became suspicious of three particular people: Me, Myself and I. Yikes. I think I have this disorder.

First, there is Tammy Jo, the ideal woman that JD married: that would be the woman who goes to church, cleans her house meticulously, cooks 5+ course meals for her guests, and operates a small hostel for the family and friends who often show up for visits and extended stays. This woman is usually congenial, fun-loving and likes to entertain. Socially she is comfortable and enjoys being around friends and family. When she is engaging, she can be the life of the party. This woman has not been seen since 2005. There is an ongoing manhunt to find her. If you see her, please phone J.D.

Second, there is Tam, the nursing student wannabe: this person is a hyperactive student who stays up all night, preparing papers, lab reports, and group projects. She is often attached to the internet, leaves much of the housework undone for months at a time, and laments that while she has perfection in her academic life, she loathes the idea of cooking and laundry. She is prone to impatience, fits of worry and anxiety about the last set of applications she has mailed out to various nursing schools. She waxes and wanes between feeling superior and utterly despondent about her station in life. Tam has good grades but feels she is discriminated against because of her age. While self confident, she thinks there is no end in sight, and can be seen mumbling in the corner “I just want to be a nurse”. She escapes from her non-reality of being an actual nurse, by voracious reading of books having nothing at all to do with nursing. She consumes massive amounts of caffeine, hangs out with other women who do this and is generally a cynic when it comes to most things. She thinks that Tammy Jo will be found when she finally becomes a nurse. Ha! What a farce. Despite her evil tendencies to be fiercely competitive, she will make an exceptional nurse someday.

Lastly, there is the Mrs. Maher, the Mom, the woman who has three teenagers of varying

temperaments and complexities. She can be seen driving up and down the freeways all during the day and night, taxiing her children to their social engagements and educational pursuits. She hasn’t had her hair done in three months and periodically checks her toenails to see if the polish from June still looks good. She has no use for pantyhose or closed toed shoes, and thinks a good meal can be found at the loft at Nugget Market in Town Centre. The Mom laughed louder than anyone else at the movie “Mamma Mia” and sobbed her guts out during the scene when Meryl Streep painted her daughter’s toe nails. Mom needs hormonal assistance in Thyroid world, and thinks that losing weight will solve all the world’s problems. She can be seen occasionally enjoying a glass of wine and frequently will kiss her husband on the cheek and pat him on the back. He puts up with that. She thinks he’s a saint. He is still looking for Tammy Jo…if you see her, don’t forget to call him.

Tammy Maher is a bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at www.familyfare.blogspot.com

Hot Hot Hot!

I rarely ask JD about the weather and being married to a weatherman doesn’t necessarily mean I have any lowdown on what the weather is going to be. I am one of those people who go outside and see whether it’s warm, hot or raining and plan accordingly. Others need the information a week ahead of time because their livelihood depends on it. That’s where the meteorologist can really make sense. Coming out of the nirvana that was Independence Day, seeing the blue sky and feeling the Delta breeze, I thought we had this hot, smoky air business under control. The Big Sur, Santa Barbara and Butte fires changed all that. We’re in for the long haul I think. I don’t remember it ever being so bad and I’ve lived in California my whole life. Venturing to the other side of the track here, let me make a totally unqualified prediction…it’s hot hot hot!

What to do? We went into defense mode. Windows and shutters battened down, the dog shaved down to his nubs; plenty of fluids in the fridge and car, we brace the day when temps soar into the 80’s at 7 AM. The winter installation of the roof top solar panels proved to be worth their weight in cold hard cash, as they now soak up the electricity bills for the house air conditioning expense, what a relief because the price of gas is killing us! I have no doubt we’ll get through these triple digit days. However, reminded that others are not faring as well, we all need to be aware of the people around us who might need a helping hand. I am speaking of the elderly and shut ins who may or may not have the constitution to withstand this hot dry heat; and the little ones who need our constant attention as they enjoy cooling off in the water. We also need to be aware of parked vehicles on hot days where animals and small children can fall prey to the exponentially high temperature increases. What is 103 degrees outside may mean 130 degrees plus on the inside, all death traps. Beware.

Whether it’s stopping to check on those stranded on the roadside, to be sure they have the means to summon help, or throwing some water bottles their way while they wait, the little things help during the scorching days. Perhaps you live near someone who is living by themselves and could use a hand with outside chores. I think I’m going to send Conor to check on a few of the retirees in our neighborhood who might not be able to run their lawn mowers this week. He’s been outside practicing with the football team and comes home saying that even the limited amount of time that the guys are outdoors can be hard; imagine what it can do to the elderly, the young and the homeless. Heat exhaustion and heat stroke are big summer risks in these 100+ degree days.

Flip flops and sunscreen aside, people also need to know that the more time you stay in the pool to keep cool, there are several things that you need to watch out for besides the sunburns. A fellow nursing student friend of mine sent me some information last month about a phenomenon called “Dry Drowning”, a condition one can develop from a sudden laryngospasm of the airway, causing it to snap shut (caused by a sudden rush of water into the airway). Another condition is sudden heart failure in sensitive groups who jump into extremely cold water. Whatever the cause, the person stops breathing and essentially asphyxiates without taking any water into the lungs. Another phenomenon, known as Secondary or Delayed Drowning can be caused when people swallow water in the pool, with subsequent small amounts settling into their lungs. These victims for a short time appear to function normally, long after they left the pool. Their slow onset of symptoms of fatigue and loss of bodily functions (like defecating on themselves) can prove to be fatal. The signals of secondary drowning are multifaceted and come later on as a result of the lack of oxygen being transported throughout the body. The CDC doesn’t differentiate between wet and dry drowning, but statistical data suggests that about 10-15% of drowning deaths are dry downing events. Last month, media reports quickly spread about a 10-year old South Carolina boy who went home and died in his sleep, after an unremarkable day in the pool. He apparently had the secondary drowning symptoms but his mother was unaware of such a possibility.

One thing is known for sure. Drowning is normally a very silent killer. While it’s mostly myth that people flail about and signal others they are in trouble, most victims slip under the water’s surface without a word, especially young children. This is why it’s vitally important to train one’s eyes unceasingly on those enjoying the water, because it only takes a second to lose track of swimmers enjoying the summer fun.

Stay the course, summer is underway, have fun, be smart, plan ahead, drink plenty of fluids and watch out for your neighbor, because while JD says we’re in a period of record breaking temperatures, I say it’s hot hot hot!

Tammy Maher is a biweekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her on the web at http://www.familyfare.blogspot.com/