Kiki Fikar is a native New Yorker who is passionate about taking the day to day life we all experience and sharing it in her tales from Suburbia. She will often be found at the gym, writing snippets each day for future story lines, listening to her two children create their lives, and building the perfect beachfront home and writing retreat in her mind.
I’ll count backwards although my things are in no particular order…
10. Wearing black is home to me.
9. Twinkling Christmas lights act like a Time Machine to me. I can be transported back to Christmases past with just one look.
8. Feet are very strange yet they are essential.
7. I cannot ice skate well.
6. I love corn but corn does not love me back.
5. The right amount of pillows and blankets can change my world.
4. Long Island and New York City bagels are like no other bagels in this world.
3. Genuine eye contact during a conversation uplifts me to another level of human connection.
2. My gut instincts about someone never lie.
And the last one…I never talk about politics in my blogs but I can say with confidence – I have always been proud to be an American regardless of who sits in a White House.
What’s your go-to comfort food?
I could sit here and give my stock answer of a rare burger topped with blue cheese slices and a tomato piled on a grilled Brioche bun accompanied by a Dirty Martini. While this is one of my favorite things to enjoy from time to time, it really doesn’t describe my most basic comfort food.
The soft-boiled egg. The eleven minute perfectly cooked soft-boiled egg. Served up in a very beautifully painted vintage porcelain egg cup. An ever so tiny, yet perfect pinch of sea salt on the freshly cracked opened egg. The first plunge past the white into the egg with the miniature egg spoon just soothes me while the slice of whole grain bread sends heavenly toast smells across the floor.
I’ve been fighting the notion of that I never reached my original goals from my early years. Beating myself up over not applying to Notre Dame. Not having a glass enclosed corner office while building my empire from the ground up. Constantly criticizing myself for not “making it”. Oh yeah?
Well if I had those things I’d have never be sitting here at house 87 about to take a shower to head to a job that I secretly love. It’s only the second position I’ve held since college. I wouldn’t be staring at the bathroom wall in the house we scraped to save for and made ours. I wouldn’t be thinking about everyone’s daily schedules and what to have for dinner. I wouldn’t be in love with my two kids who I waited ten years to have and hold. My dog wouldn’t be guarding the door like a bouncer outside a rockstar’s dressing room. And…I certainly wouldn’t be so positively grateful to be on the brink of turning 60.
Oh come on now – I still have dreams of what I want to do and where to go. The dreams are so specific that I can smell the fresh paint on the walls of my beach house. That specific. Am I happy my life didn’t take a different turn? The answer is yes. I landed just where I was needed to be at precisely the right times. Twists. Turns. Bad decisions that turned into incredible lessons.
What if I’d never ended up here? The truth is – I never want to find out.
I would always be mesmerized by the flight attendants at an early age. The safety demonstrations though always left me perplexed. We were instructed to place the oxygen mask on ourselves first before helping others with theirs. I told my parents on an early flight that this was very selfish. I wanted to help others first. I missed the concept that I can’t help others unless I was breathing and whole. I suppose this wrote the template for my life. I grew up as an empath who would do anything for those I loved. My needs came second – if at all.
Self care was laden with guilt. You didn’t sit down to relax unless everything was done in the house. As a result I found that I couldn’t let go unless I was given permission.
Fast forward to the days when my kids finally arrived. It was a 24/7/365 marathon on taking care of two cherubs and a household. It’s what I did and I loved it. No questions asked. I threw myself into their worlds. School functions, sports, activities, scouts. Throw in the world of the PTA mom just for fun and to suck up all of my time.
Me time? What was that? I was 102 pounds heavier than my former self in college. I didn’t recognize myself either physically or mentally.
Through a PTA function I visited a Boot Camp gym with the intent to bring a new family fitness initiative to our district. What happened that night led to now years of taking care of someone I never expected – me.
One class turned into three and a year later I was taking seven classes a week. I dropped 63 pounds and was suddenly running obstacle course races all over the country.
The physical me needed a friend so we found a spirituality friend. We embarked on a new journey. We woke up at 5 am, meditated (today I completed a 1,514 day streak of meditation), packed my meal prepped breakfasts and lunches, headed to work, home to change, and then hit the gym.
Now 11 years later my self care sits in first class with me each day. I know what I need and I’m not afraid to ask for it. While I’m admittedly a bit addicted to the beauty regimen part of self care – the rest of the self care movement is here to stay. I’m now quite comfortable with putting my mask on first. You cannot help anyone in this world without allowing yourself to breathe and know who you are. That is the best self care of all.
Doomscrolling. I don’t know what I’m looking for. This ADHD brain is easily amused and can respond to shiny objects such as cute outfits, must have lip glosses, and the ultimate cure for cellulite in a jar.
It starts innocently enough with a daily Wordle game which I honestly installed to keep my brain cranking to ward off Alzheimer’s. Once the game is solved I will open Instagram and it is off to the races. I follow a VAST list of very interesting pages/people, groups, and interests which include local turned famous chefs, dancers/choreographers, authors, athletes (which include my NY Giants), makeup artists, and just about every inspirational page I have found or landed on just through doomscrolling.
Most of the time a lot of my discovery will lead to notes like this and thoughts that I put into an online journal for future blog ideas. I take screenshots of different items and surf through Pinterest, which, of course, is fueled by the algorithm from said doomscrolling. It’s all very interesting yet dangerous at the same time! I am probably a marketer’s dream in that whatever company pushes a product my way based on my clicks and interest will result in some form of a sale. If I don’t close the deal that day then I snag it two or three days later when I realize that I should’ve never passed up the opportunity to buy it in the first place. It’s a vicious cycle I tell you.
These prompts will eventually end up in a blog somewhere which will ultimately justify how I waste time during the day!
I cannot remember the first time we actually met. Was it before or after he started dating my Banana? All I know is that once he arrived – he never left.
For anyone following me for a while, you will know that I believe in energy. You can feel it in your bones when you talk to certain people. I know to some it sounds so hippy-ish but I think there are people placed on your path on purpose. They are meant to be with you as you walk through life. If you are lucky enough – some of these souls turn into family.
My Diana Banana and I had known each other since 8th grade at JFK Middle School. Legend has it that we would have known each other since kindergarten had we been in school at the same time. I was assigned to the morning Kindergarten and Diana was in the same classroom for the afternoon session. Life kept us apart until “Junior High”. It was not until high school though that we became very friendly. There was Kickline that drew us together of course but there was an instant bond of friendship between us. She was the shiniest and happiest person I knew in school. In our sophomore year Di started dating Mike. He was a football player and part of our circle which included Kickline, Cheerleading, and every other sports team at the high school. Except Bowling. I do not remember those team members joining us. I digress.
Mike, Di, Ernie, and I would attend football and other parties on a regular basis. We wore the guys’ jerseys and our saddle shoes with jeans on Fridays before the weekend games. This morphed into adventures once we all learned to drive. Little did we know that these days and nights out would turn into some of the best times of our lives.
One night in particular stands out vividly. Mike – a.k.a. “Poopsie” as everyone called him was driving his father’s Chevy Impala. It was monstrous. A boat. It was a comfortableride down Hempstead Turnpike as we headed for dinner at a new spot called “My Mother’s Chicken” in Levittown (affectionately known as L-Town). Anyway, the entrance into the parking lot was a little tricky. Somehow, we ended up on either a concrete median or part of the sidewalk. My laughter prevents me from remembering what happened. All I know is that we came to an abrupt stop. Mike threw the car into park and said, “We’re here.” I fell out of the car gasping for air and laughing. I do not remember the chicken. It was a blur after that.After one of our proms, Mike needed a root canal. He went the morning after the prom and then over to my parents for breakfast. After that we loaded into Diana’s parents’ van and drove to Six Flags Great Adventure in New Jersey equippedwith only cash and a box of Captain Crunch Crunchberries. I told you there were epic times.
Years of these type of nights went on. We all attended C.W. Post together. I would watch Mike’s football games there too where Di’s Dad Vinny was the Director of Athletics. College football and friends. Page by page – the calendar turned to 1988. Mike and Di were married in August. We were married in September. We were all so young. Ages 23 and 24. The following year while we were lying in bed, and we heard Mike’s parents leaving in the middle of the night. Ok let me explain as I’m sure this sounds weird! We were renting the first-floor apartment in Mike’s parents’ home. They were driving to the hospital as Diana was in labor. There were no cell phones then. Diana called the next day and announced that Kenny was here. Baby #1 had arrived. I was an aunt!
Mike and Di were new parents. It was so much fun spending time with them at their first house and watching them grow with Kenny. A year later, Tommy arrived. My new Godson was every bit as amazing as Kenny. We now had two nephews. I watched Mike fall in love with his boys. We would have hours of convos about parenting. Zach arrived a few years later to complete their trio of excellence! Listening to Mike talk as a Dad himself always gave me so much hope to be a parent myself. He was so encouraging and was so wonderful with my emotions about not being able to conceive. If I did not have Mike and Di to talk to during that time I really would have turned into a shell of a person.
More years ticked on. We would drive to the city for dinner parties with mutual friends. One evening Mike blasted his CD player and announced, “This is my new favorite song”. Trumpets blared and Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” boomed right before we entered the Midtown Tunnel. I have downloaded every Johnny Cash recording I could find since that night. The joy on this man’s face as he sang was unforgettable.
Recently I recalled a few emails Mike sent when Jakey was first diagnosed with Autism. I thanked him for always being the best role model with the boys. It gave me strength I told him. I would always remember him telling me that the most important job we had as parents was to teach our kids how to be good humans before they stepped out on their own. He told me that is all he wanted was to know that the boys and my kids were ready for what life through at them. I told him that with this attitude and love, it would happen. Look at the boys and my kids now. Out there living and loving their best lives.
The 80s, 90s, and up until 2024 were filled with family parties, reunions, weddings, vacations, Christmas Tree Chopping (mini adventures at Jones Family Tree Farm in Shelton, Connecticut), and days on the boat filled our memory banks. The amount of belly laughs that were born out of each time we had with Mike and Di were gifts even if it was just two hours away at dinner.
Two years ago, Di sat us down with some devastating news that Mike had developed early onset Dementia. It seemed impossible. You just do not know. You think you have time. We were so young and still 18 driving to My Mother’s Chicken in our minds. I begged time to slow down. Sadly, it did not. Time flew. During this time I watched my dad suffer from Dementia. It was a prequel to what was happening with Mike. There was no turning back time.
Mike left us a week ago today. My heart broke when the call arrived. We knew the call would come but I am not good with saying goodbye. My Banana is so strong. Her boys are all with her and holding her up. As I woke up the following day I realized that Mike got his wish – all of his boys are good men with lots of love and strong minds – just like their dad.
Until we all meet again Poopsie. We shall miss you forever…
As what I think was the flu rattled through my body on Monday night, I picked up the remote and pressed the button for Netflix. It was the only thing I could muster up energy for. Finding a series to binge would clearly keep me entertained for the next few days as I stayed wrapped up in a pile of 14 very comfy and fluffy blankets and pillows. What to watch?
I scrolled for about 20 minutes unable to commit to any one series. The flu had even seeped into my decision-making process. I finally found a Ricky Gervais series called “After Life”. It had 3 seasons and a super high rating. The flu was slowing me down so I didn’t know if my brain was ready to keep up with the super quick wit and cadence of Gervais’ speech. He is so damn fast and funny. I hate to miss a line of his. And so, it began.
I was not prepared for what began as a fabulous love story. I am not giving away any plots or plot twists by saying this was perhaps one of the greatest love stories I’ve seen in my movie and tv watching career. Those in the know will say I’m an extreme romantic. This series…well it pretty much told me I’m a hopeless romantic. By Wednesday, all three seasons were complete. The flu had ever so slowly left my body, and I was left with the jagged remnants of a sinus infection and a box of crumpled up tissues. What also remained was a hole in my heart caused by Gervais and his tale woven by an extremely talented and gifted cast. This hole I realized was gaping and held open by the realization from which I may not recover.
The main character was so in love. He loved and missed his wife to the point that he could not live life without her. Life was unbearable without her. It hurt to breathe. That is when it hit me. I have loved like this. In fact, it is who I am. I love hard. I go to the ends of the earth for people I love.
I stopped.
It does not work in reverse.
I have never felt this intensity. All the years of giving and giving and giving thinking “ok – maybe now I’ll feel it”. No. It never arrived. Yes, I’m loved in different ways by others but never with this intensity. Never.
Realizing that life is not fiction, and that reality is often FAR from fiction, I chalked up my uncertainty and this new somber moment to this just being a show. No one is really this happy anyway, right? Right? Well yes. I think people really are. They can be. I was happy giving love. I always have been. It makes me feel brighter. It makes me want to share my energy with others and maybe help anyone I can to see that love is possible – even in the day-to-day tasks.
Heavy sigh. The screen is now off and dark. The dialogue has ceased. So now has a piece of my heart. There is a part of me that is silent and no longer open and trusting that true love lives for me. I will not give up the piece that allows love to live within me. I have however given up the part of my script in which love for me truly exists.
The lyrics go something like this… “It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity, and you can’t pull me down.”
If they sound familiar, these are a few of the lyrics from “Defying Gravity” from the Broadway musical “Wicked“. The musical is a prequel to the infamous “The Wizard of Oz“. In fact, it is often spoken of as the what really happened before Dorothy dropped in on Oz.
I had first seen Wicked for my 40th birthday weekend with Maureen in 2005. It was then the hottest show ticket in town. I fell in love with the show. The production was outrageously colorful and so entertaining! The soundtrack played weekly in the car and at home. Maureen had given me a copy of “The Grimmerie“ – a documented piece of how the show was created. Julia discovered the big green book one day. She studied the shows production from start to finish. By the time she was 10, she had the entire timeline of the show’s history memorized and could tell me every actor involved with the show along with their career trajectory.
So, in the summer of 2010 we boarded a train to New York City with two tickets to Wicked in hand. I purchased a package with a pre-show option to go behind stage and experience the costumes and history of the show. One of the cast members led us through the tour and graciously took pictures with Jules. Watching Julia light up during each scene made my heart melt. A spark reached Julia and changed her for good. When Julia returned to school that fall, her music teacher announced that the fifth grade would produce “The Wizard of Oz“. Well… You know where this was going! A few months later, Jules was belting out her songs and lines as the Coroner of Munchkinland on the Central Boulevard Elementary Schoo stage. Our Broadway Baby had arrived.
Wicked became a staple in our house. The soundtrack was always on now. Jules and I would forever cast our picks for Glinda and Elphaba while we discussed the themes of the show. Each year the discussion turned deeper as we realized that the story wasn’t just about the land of Oz. It involved good versus evil, powerful female friendships, corruption, and above all – staying true to yourself and rising above it all. Last week, the movie version of WICKED was FINALLY released in theaters. Julia and her pal Maura scored opening night tickets(thank you Maura!). Julia was glowing when she floated in after her night out. She was all choked up when she said “mom, I have no words. Just wait.“ Today, at 4 p.m. the past 14 years came down to two girls munching on popcorn and Powerade in Row K – seats one and two. For 2 hours and 40 minutes we were silent only to gasp at a few choice scenes.
As the credits rolled, I burst into tears. I thought to myself , this journey started when my girl was 10. Now, at 24 she has the whole world open to her. She can go after anything she wants – live where she wants – follow her dreams – form fierce, friendships, and hopefully fall madly in love. Most of all – I hope she finds herself wrapped up doing something she loves. Julia, it’s time to spread your wings and fly. It’s time to try defying gravity.
When you hear the word closure, do you think “the end“ like I do? Admittedly I’m that person who needs a reason. I need to make sense of things in my mind. An overthinker, in every sense of the word, the search for closure can be painful at times, but sometimes it brings me to places I never expected to be.
One of the longest searches for peace started in June of 1985. I had finished up two years at the College of Saint Rose. I had a fabulous time on campus and met people I knew were chosen to be part of my journey. Here comes the “but“. I had THE best time and enjoyed myself. Sure, I learned and did manage to pull some good grades, BUT I did not apply myself anymore than I had to. I would breeze into classes and keep myself closed off most days. I can remember showing up to my computer class and someone saying “Are you ready for this?“. I said “ready for what?“. It was the class final and I didn’t even know. I chose not to know. My brain actually said on the way to this class “What am I going to use a computer for anyway?”. Please continue reading when you stop laughing. This is when I realized it was over. Well, then, and when I pulled into the parking lot of C.W. Post to start my Junior year that September. Thankfully my attitude changed, my grades improved, I picked up a part-time gig at GEICO, and started my new life.
Each month though the “what ifs” grew more intense. What if I had stayed at Saint Rose? What if I had applied myself more? Would I be better off? Did people think I was a loser for leaving? Years of what ifs. YEARS. This is how I function . I’m not proud of it but it’s me!
Months rolled on. School wrapped. I did well actually. I signed on full-time at GEICO and started to move up quickly. Management suited me well and I was happy with building teams who flourished together. We started a family after years of heartbreak from trying to conceive. Life was chugging along. Autism knocked on my door and pushed in with such force that it knocked me off my feet for a while. What ifs grew to proportions I never imagined. My brain swelled and swirled. A voice kept saying “what if you stayed?” more than than ever. Would I have been on a better path and more successful? It kept me up at night. I slipped into a depression and stayed there in the dark for a few years.
The dream started. Carrying a printed school schedule, I would wander through a school hallway. I’d glance in the classrooms and see my original college crowd and old high school buddies. Everyone was locked in and learning. No one saw me. I just kept walking around the hallways aimlessly and when I finally woke up, I felt like I was clutching a sweaty and crumbled schedule in my clenched fist.
My Jules chose Saint Rose for her Undergrad path. I was thrilled! She flourished and finished strong. I was determined to keep her going so that she didn’t walk away early like I did. We have a policy in my house where you don’t ever accept average. The tears flowed freely at her graduation. It was one of the proudest moments of my life!
A few months ago, we heard that Saint Rose was closing its doors. Finito. The end. What? There were so many questions and emotions running through my head. Yesterday Jules and I traveled back to campus for the official campus closing and blessing. I was anxious for days. My best friend asked why I was so anxious? At first, I couldn’t answer, but then the thoughts flowed. I never felt like I made it. I felt like that loser I made myself out to be all of those years before. She shook it off and said “I think we did well for ourselves my friend”. She was right – she always is!
So yesterday, I walked back onto campus with my head held high. I hugged the stuffing out of my first Saint Rose, friends – Robin and Mary Pat. All day I sat on the lawn and walked around with friends I had made as if zero time had passed. Magic was happening. Saint Rose had been a magnet which drew me in, just the way it was supposed to. I was meant to have each and every experience and meet every single person. Seeing these faces and meeting new ones was scripted to happen.
Each time I looked around yesterday or entered a building, I was reminded of every fun and even poignant moment I had while there. Whether it be waiting outside the men’s room at the Partridge Pub and drinking every guy‘s beer that put it down on the table next to us with Robin…Trying to make it back to your dorm by the time the sisters/nuns went to mass in the morning… or sprinting to the Camelot Room for 10 cent drafts. Every single memory I had came flooding back to me yesterday!
The last part of the day was a blessing of the sacred grounds of Saint Rose that was home for so many of us. We hugged and cried hot tears. I hugged Robin, Mary Pat, and Thom and said thank you for being a part of me forever.
Last night, it finally happened. The peace floated in on a cloud. What if I never met these people? What if Saint Rose was never in in the recipe for my life? Closure was not the end. It was an opening for light to come in and brighten my mind. I’m exactly where I am supposed to be. There are things I need to work on (don’t we all?) Saint Rose has now closed, but this closure has created new beginnings that will last the rest of my lifetime.
I am a fan of basketball but never really played basketball. For years I watched two of my neighbors and friends play CYO basketball. One played only in school and the other went on to make basketball his career and is now a college coach. It’s no secret that I am in awe of an athlete. I am drawn to most sports and genuinely appreciate and soak in the amount of training it takes to perform or compete. Some people have the raw gift it takes to perform well – exceptionally well. For some it takes more training than others. Not everyone has a God given talent. Not everyone is inclined to play sports. Some people are born with a tiny flaw which prevents them from excelling into the big leagues. Perhaps some of these same people though will play and enjoy every little nanosecond of the game even if they do not score a basket, a goal, a touchdown, or a hole in one. It does not matter. What DOES matter is their ability to get out there and try.
Each year Jake’s Challenger basketball team will play a huge home game at our Bethpage High School. The crowds are tremendous. Teachers, administrators, staff, students, cheerleaders, kickline, parents, grandparents, and Goldie, the school mascot are in the stands cheering our Eagles on the court and the sidelines. Each player is introduced in grand fashion by the game announcers (who by the way rival an ESPN panel). The team members line up and wave to the crowd. They place their hands on their hearts and sing the National Anthem with such intensity that you feel prouder to be in front of our flag than ever before.
The tears start when I look over at my Jake on the sidelines. Once a Challenger team member himself, he is now holding a clipboard and calling off the first team members who will start on the court. He is proud of his position and spends countless hours at home making sure that he and the team are ready for each game. This game though is nothing short of spectacular. The game begins and now I am openly sobbing.
The players were moving the ball back and forth – basket to basket. Some people score easily while others struggle and will need a little TLC to score. The players help each other even if they are not on the same team. In a world where it seems so cut-throat these days, it is heartwarming to see player helping player. What gets me every time though is watching players move the ball down the court and take three-point shots and score. They know how to play the crowd and in true dramatic fashion will shoot the ball and SCORE at the buzzer.
The faces of the players when they score give off enough energy to light up a whole city. The pride they feel literally lifts them off the ground and carries them to the next spot on the court. You can feel their joy in your seat. Yesterday I caught the reaction of one player’s mom, and I was transported back to the day when Jake first scored a basket. The kid who I was told would most likely never speak. Never interact with others. Never function beyond elementary school level. Watching that ball slip into the net was not only two points on the scoreboard but a score in life. He did it. He did something that someone without a disability could do naturally. To me that basket and being on the court was proof that you can do anything you want to if you try. The crowd’s roar dragged me back into the game. I looked at the scoreboard and there were 17 seconds left in the game. A high school freshman was dribbling the ball and set himself up for the three-point shot. One of the coaches gave him a sign to pass to his teammate. That player brought the ball in and launched the ball. Nothing but net at the buzzer. We won but it wasn’t about the one-point win at the buzzer. Every player on that court won and every fan in the stands won for being there to cheer on each player. My tears dried and I was smiling and laughing. I looked up at the hoop. Take your shot no matter what you are going through. You will always score. You just have to try.
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