Mobile Order For Karen

Last week I had a conversation about video games. The question was posed “are you into video games Kiki?” I thought about it for a bit and then said “Oh hell yes”. That’s when the memories came flooding back from years gone by and where I am today. The video craze started when I was maybe 7 years old. Atari had introduced “Pong” in 1972. We didn’t have the Atari gaming system in Chez Eastwood. We had the Sears knock off version. That didn’t matter to me. I played our model with fever. My competitive nature reared it’s head early and I would spend lots of time in the basement of 36 Grant Avenue with this game. I tried my hand at Miss Pac-Man when my friends when I would visit the mall but as I was reminded last week, it was game over quickly because 4 games cost a dollar.

The years passed and the video gaming world was exploding. I’m not technical by any means – in fact those who know me know that figuring out the iPhone timer feature when taking a selfie was considered a HUGE feat for me. Sometime in the early 90s we purchased a Nintendo 64 system. The game Tetris became my best friend. Ernie worked nights at the time. He would leave for work at 3:30 and I’d arrive home at 4:30. Jake and Julia had not yet busted onto the scene so I had plenty of alone time to keep myself entertained. I’d fire up Tetris while still in my work garb and play for hours. There were many nights when Ernie would come home from work and I was still sitting in my work clothes… In the dark…famished from not eating…and obsessed with beating my last level of cascading colored blocks while a Russian techno song played over and over. How I never had a seizure during this period of my life is beyond me.

I’ve yet to find a game that matches my love of Tetris competition. I tried with other games like Super Mario Brothers and such but nothing ever came close to Tetris and beating each level. After this video conversation that I had last week I started to think about the different levels in the game and my life.

Each year brings new challenges. Some things get easier as you age and some things just get downright hard. I dare say impossible because i refuse to give up. Follow me for more about this topic through my blogapalooza. When you’re young you think – Holy Mother of God – when will things get easier? When will I have more money? When will the kids finally clean their rooms without me screaming like a purple faced lunatic? When will I get some time to pursue goals I’ve been putting off? When will I level up?

Every year you blow out the candles on your birthday cake and make a wish. I always wish that I can continue to enjoy what I have and to see what is really important. Each birthday though is a true gift but also a reminder that each year is a different level of complexity. This past year has been filled with caring for my Dad and his Alzheimer’s and remnants of multiple strokes. It has been a challenging year of watching the color tiles cascade and trying to fit them together to clear the next level.

My mind was back on Tetris. Each level got harder in that the tiles fall faster and the music gets louder. This distracts the player from rotating the tiles to form bricks and clear a wall or line. My heart rate spikes as I try to keep the tiles in play and not let them stack up too high. Such is the case in our lives too, right? Try to stay on top of your finances so that you can save for a more comfortable life. Pay the bills evenly and on time so that they don’t stack up and then you’re in trouble. Try to balance your work and personal life so that the two worlds don’t crash and distract you from what is really important. Try to stay on top of your health so that your next level in life isn’t full of illnesses that could have been avoided had you flipped the tiles in your favor.

Today I woke up to Level 57 in my life. I’m filled with gratitude that I’ve made it this far in the gaming system called life. I don’t know how many quarters and plays I have left but I know this – I’ll play my heart out and keep pushing so that when it is truly “game over” I can say that I used the best strategies to make it to the next level.

“Good morning yesterday, you wake up and time has slipped away.. and suddenly it’s hard to find the memories you left behind. Remember, do you remember?”

I looked in my rearview mirror and looked at my mom singing along to a Paul Anka song as we drove to his concert last night in Friday evening traffic. Last week Mom had streamed a new Paul Anka concert for Dad to watch. They both watched the concert while clapping and singing along. By Monday morning, my sister Kathy and I had an email explaining Paul Anka was playing at Westbury Music Fair. Mom would treat but could we go? There was no hesitation in our responses. Kathy secured the tickets. We were all set for a girls night with Mr. Anka.

By todays standards Mom would be considered a Paul Superfan. She had first been introduced to him via American Bandstand when she was 16 years old. I guess Paul Anka was to Mom as Donny Osmond was to me.

We arrived at the theatre early. We sat in the Jeep singing Anka songs and watching other fans pre-game in their cars. Kathy and I rolled our eyes as we saw walkers and jazzy scooter parking areas for other concert goers. We looked at Mom and she was beaming as we bopped towards the now opened theatre doors. After ordering a few cocktails we headed out to a beautiful deck and started to chat. The conversation drifted to Dad and his current condition. He has been back home now for a little over six months and while he’s stable, the realization that he will never return to his original peppy self has finally settled in. Watching mom talk about the current situation from such a relaxed perspective brought me such peace. Kathy and I both commented about how proud we are of her and how she is handling the entire situation. We wrapped up our conversation and headed inside for another cocktail and a trip to our concert seats.

The crowd was mixed but it was filled with similar groups of mothers and their daughters together. There were lots of couples and a den of cougars dressed to the nines who were ready to pounce on Mr. Anka should he enter their space in his infamous walks up and down the theater isles. If you are a fan of People Watching 101 – this was your night.

At 8:18, the lights dimmed, the band started up, and suddenly we heard “Diana” coming from an aisle across the stage. It was being sung by none other than Paul Anka who was looking quite swanky and sharp in his white tuxedo jacket and black T-shirt. He was shorter than I remember but hey, that was my mother’s crush – not mine. The night continued with hit after hit that included co-written hits from and for Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., and Buddy Holly. Paul was belting them all out and really hitting every note. Mom was dancing. She was giggling. At one point she thanked us for bringing her.

Midway through the concert Kathy looked at me and said “Are we on the Belt Parkway right now?“ I knew exactly what Kathy meant and where we were based on that very question. My grandparents lived in Bay Ridge Brooklyn and when we moved out to Long Island when I was three, we took turns with my grandparents spending the weekends in Brooklyn and then Long Island. The drive home on the Belt Parkway on Sunday nights were always the same. The street lights on top of the very tall poles on the side of the road were shining bright and had a certain way of flooding the car with the lights as we passed and then would make their exit through the backseat. I always found it to be very rhythmic and soothing as my dad drove. The radio was tuned to WCBS FM which invariably had doo-wop music playing. One of my parents favorite songs would come on… sometimes it actually was Paul Anka… My dad would take my mom‘s left hand and squeeze it gently while singing to her. Watching her face instantly calm as he sang is something that will stay with me. Even at age 10 I knew that I wanted that type of love in my life. The love they have for each other could be felt in those little moments. I came back to present in the concert and Paul started to sing one of the most iconic songs he had written for Frank Sinatra. “My Way“ has always been one of my dad‘s favorite songs. Instinctively, Kathy, Mom, and myself all hugged each other and sang along with the song as we swayed. We were all quite choked up. Time really stood still and for some crazy reason I think my dad was with us at that moment even though he was tucked into bed at home.

This morning we received a text from Mommy thanking us for the perfect evening. The truth was, I was looking forward to the concert but I never imagined I’d enjoy every single second like I did. Watching Mom so elated and animated is something I’ll never forget. Kathy and I dancing like nuts in our seats and giggling (me snorting) will make me smile for years. So yes, this was a chance to remember the laughter and the tears thanks to Mr. Anka. These are the times of our life.

Ask anyone about their Middle School experience and the responses are varied. You’ll hear words like fun, weird, crazy, painful, brutal, or in my case, forgettable. In my day and district, Middle School was referred to as Junior High. It was nestled between grades K-6 and the big show of grades 9-12. For the most part, the pubescent years were for lack of a better term – a shit show. You were not really a kid anymore and you were looked down upon by district upper class men. It was the most awkward time of my life.

As a girl, I felt like an Amazonian giant looming in the halls of Junior High in grades 7 and 8. Having a huge growth spurt in grade 6, I was inches taller than my peers (even the males) but it might as well have been 25 feet taller. I felt like Godzilla walking into a classroom. I sprouted acne that resembled craters on the moon’s surface, and suddenly I had boobs that seemed to occupy their own zip code.

While I had friends and interests, I had no interest in interacting with adults. I was seemingly embarrassed to speak. As a result I had flushed those two years out of my memory. I wanted no recollection of feeling like a sideshow act rather than the good girl human that I was. I would disappear by turning to music in my bedroom learning lyrics from album liner notes and practiced my dance lessons from dancing school in my basement.

I often tell my Jake and Jules that I may not have survived those years if social media was alive. Those years were raw and painful. Seeing others posts about what I perceived as perfect may have impacted me far worse than it did. Our young kids today are subject to missiles of perfection being launched into their souls by countless videos, texts, and the infamous Tik Toks and Reels. Don’t get me started on the targeted texts hurled into their laps like cherry bombs sent to destroy their self esteem. I can’t take watching this happen now so I’m thinking I would have really taken a dive in the 1970s.

If you’ve been following my tales here, you’ll remember that Jake works in our district’s middle school as a monitor. He absolutely loves his job and what he does there every single day. He is part of an amazing community of teachers, staff, and of course the students. This is the same school that he attended in grades 6, 7, and 8 and the same school I attended. This afternoon Jake sent me a link to a video that the staff and faculty created for the year‘s final presentation. It was titled “This Is Me“. It was a choreographed and lip-sync number synced to the song of the same title from the movie “The Greatest Showman. It depicts Circus sideshow participants who were labeled “freaks” by society. It is a very emotional piece talking about staying true to your values and remembering who you really are. If you ever have a chance to listen to the lyrics of this song, I highly recommend it. This faculty production brought me to tears. It touched my heart in that it reminds kids and quite frankly everyone who watches it, to stay true to who you really are. Do not let anyone try to change you into something you are not or some thing you don’t believe in. Be brave, be fearless, and stay a warrior who fights for who you would like to be. Social media will try to change that and get you to follow a path of perfection. Please remember that perfection is fleeting. What you consider perfect and someone else considers perfect is diabolically different. Who you truly are though is something unique to you and only you. A huge thank you to the JFK Faculty for loving their student body and each other enough to create this production. I am proud to know many of you and your talents. My son, with his own differences, is lucky to work with such talented and compassionate teams.

To our younger set of kids bringing up the rear and following in our footsteps – I urge you to look within yourselves before comparing yourselves to others. Stand tall and always rise above what others think of you – or worse, what you think they think of you. Say to yourself…I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I’m meant to be…this is me.

This past weekend my girls and I met up at Vanessa’s house for a yard sale. Vanessa’s block was participating in an entire block of driveway sales. Jumping at the chance to spend time with Vanessa and belly laugh, I loaded up the Jeep with bins of “stuff” and headed over.

The day was filled with endless rounds of people rifling through my stuff which I thought I had priced low yet reasonable. At the New York yard sale though…the attendees are looking for a bargain that really says “free”. There is a huge amount of vicious negotiation (which mind you can escalate quickly) which sometimes can result in a “free” transaction purely because the buyer has worn me down to the point that if the exchange didn’t stop, I would be wearing an orange jumpsuit and doing pull-ups on my cell block doorframe.

The day moved on and I thought about the hilarious and even meaningful encounters I had during the day. Many of you know my deep seated view about the Universe and how it can tap you on the shoulder and teach you a thing or two. It can place people in your path that you may never see again. Sometimes, it can do both. You need to pay attention to said tap and how it arrives. As we all finished up our sales we sat around crisp from a day in the sun. We exchanged yard sale war stories because on Long Island, New York, we all have at least a few to share.

Many moons before, when we were only in our house a few years, we had a yard sale. Maureen and I sat on my front lawn for hours watching endless amounts of cars pull up looking for very specific items from collectibles to vintage door handles. We giggled and snickered throughout the day. As I was dismantling the operation at the end of the day, I saw and “heard” someone approaching. A very well dressed gentleman in a fedora was walking towards us. What I heard was tapping coming from his feet. Tap. Tap. Tappity. Tap. Tap. “Good day ladies” he said smoothly with a tip of his fedora. I thought oh my…The sharp dressed gent asked if I had any sheet music for sale. This was years before my Broadway Baby Jules arrived on the scene so my answer was a hard no. I politely answered and thanked him for stopping by. As he walked away I jokingly yelled “I do however have a lovely cake plate with your name on it” . Flash forward to 2021 at Vanessa’s where we smiled and laughed at the great day we had together.

Yesterday I arrived at a nursing rehab where my Dad is currently a patient (I have not shared this story with many people yet so forgive me. I’m still processing what is happening). Dad and I were waiting for the elevator. I was taking Dad in his wheelchair down to the patio where we could enjoy some time together on a very late Summer day. The elevator door opened. Everyone jockeyed for position in the elevator.

A gentleman tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to say hello. He tipped his fedora and said to me “Good day Miss. If you are interested, I will be playing some tunes for our patients in the lounge area if you would like to bring this fine gentleman”. I smiled and thanked him. The door opened and the dapper man in the fedora exited..his shoes were tapping on the tile as he walked. Under his arm was a pile of sheet music. My goodness. It was the same man from years earlier.

An hour later, Mommy and I wheeled Dad into the lounge and watched Dad light up and clap his hands as Mr. Fedora crooned a B side Elvis tune. There was a glow around Dad’s head that we haven’t seen in s month or so. I looked at Mommy and said “I love you. Everything is going to be ok. The Universe just tapped me on the shoulder and told me so.”

I checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror before leaving the Jeep. In a few minutes I’d meet up with 1983 Eagles grads at a local pub. It was our second meeting in two months to celebrate our 38th year since we were handed our diplomas on a hot June summer day.

As I ordered a drink I looked around at the smiling faces that had joined us this time. There were kisses and hugs but I noticed the big smiles the most. Everyone is just so beautiful and still looks the same as when we met in elementary school, middle school, or eventually in high school.

This time we ordered food and while eating chicken wings, turkey clubs, sliders, or just another beer… I started to listen to the different stories flying around the table. My reaction to some of the sad tales about people I knew then was “oh my God I didn’t realize… I didn’t know.” Then just like turning on a faucet, the memories started to flow. Suddenly I remember being in Anthony‘s basement at a “slow dance “ party with soda and the really good pretzels that my mom never bought at the supermarket. All of a sudden I could remember what I was wearing at Wendy’s Sweet 16 party or being completely ignored at Tina’s Sweet 16 party by a boy I thought really liked me. The memories were really specific and I could almost feel myself back in the designer jeans we were talking about.

Talks throughout the night went deeper than I expected them to. We talked about our first loves, experiences, anxieties, feelings about others, feelings about ourselves. The word wow left my lips a few times as I thought again… I never knew. No, I didn’t know. We were young. Things were simpler. Most of the time they were downright fun and brought belly laughs that I haven’t had since those days.

At one point I turned to one of my long lost friends and said “know what Te? We are damn lucky… We didn’t choose each other. Life worked out and we were chosen for each other.“

Later on I thought to myself… Or maybe I did say it out loud… Maybe that relationship didn’t work out for a reason. The life we have now was shaped by a series of events that were not coincidences. We were placed together. In Bethpage. In our town. In our little pockets of the community that we called home. If we had been in any other town…we wouldn’t have met. Yeah..this was all planned. I smiled because not having this group with me would have changed everything.

We went rollerskating and ice-skating on Friday nights. We hung out in the state park. We lived at the beach… Most of us on the South Shore while others lifeguarded and hung out on the North Shore. We walked a marathon each weekend from one end of town to the other just to have ice cream and walk home again. We rode our bikes to town for a slice of pizza and stayed there talking until the last sip of soda was gone. We took the bus to the mall to buy lipgloss. On Saturdays we all went to football games and parties where I happened to meet the most incredible guy who would turn out to bring two amazing humans into this world with me. After all this… After all we did in 12 years we said goodbye. We soared into the world and landed in new communities and circles.

Now, all of these years later we meet again. I’m so grateful to have these people in my world. We may not have been super close but all of you were meant to be part of my life. I consider these gifts I never asked for. You all helped to shape me and were gifts I never knew.

Looking forward to seeing where our paths take us next. Just remember how we were raised… Once an Eagle always an Eagle. Bethpage forever.

On Mother’s Day I received a gift that I could never physically open in a box or an envelope. I started that morning like I always do – hitting the button on the Keurig and finding my Airpods. I selected a motivational piece from my Aura app and sunk into myself hoping that the Universe will keep me on a good path and point me in the right direction. Shortly after I finish my second coffee in my Schitt’s Creek mug I slapped on my gym clothes and headed to the gym.

The beginning of class is always the same. Hugs and laughs with my team and the underlying dread of what was ahead of us for the next 75 minutes. It is always sheer hell, but we love it and after 6 years keep coming back for more. That morning though I was feeling particularly strong despite my knee wanting to bust out of the skin and run for the hills. After the warm up of 8,456 Military style jumping jacks we were all moving about and grabbing our weights we would need for the WOD. My trainer approached me and whispered to me “I want to acknowledge on this Mother’s Day how special you are. God chose you to deal with the most difficult of challenges with your son. I salute what you do and who you are.” He then gave me a hug with a tear in his eye. Ok so… if you know Satan (as I have secretly nicknamed him), there is rarely emotion. He is a true class act but the biggest badass of a human I have ever met.

As we moved through the morning, I felt myself getting stronger and standing taller. The weights Satan prescribed for me were much heavier than usual, but they seemed to glide through the air. Nothing bothered me. Ok, maybe the step ups but that is nothing new. Again, the knee was packing up and heading for the coast. The strength I felt was so visible. My mind immediately went to Jake and Julia. They are my “Why”. Satan was right. God did choose me to be their mom and gave me strength to meander the brush of Jake’s Autism. Climbs, descents, grappling over walls, and diving into muddy water were daily events on this course. I realized that life’s obstacles are just like those I train for.

The reason why I train so hard is to stay alive on the Spartan courses. There is a saying that the more you train, the less you bleed in battle. While I have not run any races since my last Beast in December 2019 (thanks to this pandemic), I find myself on a course at home every damn day. My training helps to keep my mind and body strong so that I don’t DNF (Do Not Finish). Do I want to train every night and weekends? Sometimes the answer is no because I hurt. The knee slaps me around and we still can’t figure out why my heart is cranky. Yet I keep going. I keep going because my kids need to see that you just do not give up when things get hard or when you are dealt a bad hand of cards.

There are things happening right now in my son’s world that need my daily attention. He seems to be in some type of internal struggle that requires strength. He has it – I just have to figure out a way to remind him of where it is and how to use it. He is even getting into walking more and more so that the three miles he checks in with each day helps him sleep better so that he can handle whatever is thrown his way. I can’t imagine not being strong on our course. As it is I have days where I just want to get in my Jeep and drive until I end up in Anywherebuthere, USA. Day after day though I administer four strong, cleansing breaths and I am back at it looking to load my first born onto my back and continue the climb.

Mother’s Day will always be a chance to remember how lucky I am to have received two miracles. Thanks to Satan it will now be a way to remind myself that without strength I could never have continued to put one foot in front of the other or hurl very heavy objects towards the sky each day.

There are many things I’ll admit to out loud. Many things will remain secret inside my bones. This I will say though…I am a jelly bean snob. Let me capitalize that. Jelly Bean Snob. I love the orbs of sugar and I will even eat the licorice flavors (it is all about balance). Some beans are better than others, but it is the Russell Stover jelly bean that will forever hold the most special place in my heart and palette. I was raised by Anne Eastwood who has taught me that the RS is revered, and we know some years impossible to find. I never knew how my obsession with this treat would be passed down to J&J. That was until the other day. Jake Fikar is now a third generation Jelly Bean Snob.

While planning the Easter festivities I asked my Mom if there was anything I could pick up for her or help her with. She replied in an almost panicked voice “I can’t find the jelly beans anywhere. If you could find some that would be great”. I knew this meant that I should release the hounds and begin the search immediately. As I pushed the Amazon app on my phone, I heard her say “Just don’t go through Amazon – I’m not paying those prices”. I was stopping at Walgreens on the way home, so I thought let me look at their website and see if they have stock. Sure, enough the brand popped right up on the website and jumped into my shopping cart. Seven bags. Four for Mom and three for us. The look on Mom’s face when I dropped them off was priceless but the relief I felt oozing from her veins was even better. I brought home my three bags and tucked them at the bottom of the community Easter basket.

The day before Easter Jake came home from King Kullen supermarket with his usual treats for the week. He offered me a few Russell Stover jelly beans. I thanked him profusely. I thought maybe he had tapped into the stash in the basket. No, he told me that he bought his own bag because while he really loved jelly beans from Uncle Giuseppe’s and Stew Leonard’s that Russell Stover jelly beans were amazing and the best he’s ever had. He also said that Easter would never be the same without a bag of his favorites. As I was lying in bed last night recapping my 56^th Easter in my head I thought about Jake telling me about his favorite things while his eyes danced. I realized once again how lucky I am that Autism has touched me in ways I never ever thought were possible. All the years I spent falling asleep and screaming on the inside “Why me?” seemed ridiculous now. Instead I now think…Why not me?

The diagnosis and initial recommendations from therapists were shouting at me again. The reminders that this son of ours would likely never make choices of his own or be able to express himself adequately. Brace yourself I was told for this son you had high hopes for would really be very impaired. One therapist went as far to say as to say, “Be prepared for the impaired”. As I’ve talked about many times before, I wore these phrases and advice like weighted blankets and let myself be dragged into a dark pool of depression for a few years. I ate to keep myself cemented down and dull the pain. I smiled at everyone but wanted to die every single night as I laid in bed questioning how life would ever be happy again.

Autism can be limiting. It can be exhausting. It can put you in a position to think just one way and never look up or ahead. As you know from my former blogs and stories, I finally broke free from this thinking. Jake showed me the way. He showed me that life can be rough with Autism but that you can work through it. We all worked together to get through any challenge that was place before us. Any challenge.

The years have flown by. Jake has now celebrated 22 Easters. Each one has been brighter than the last. I look at Jake and how far he has come and realized that life is so much sweeter when I am grateful for everything that has happened in my life. I hope I am passing this outlook on to Jake. I think I am. He is clearly making his own decisions in life. This year the realization came in the form of candy. I am proud to have raised my own Jelly Bean Snob.

Happy Easter and Happy World Autism Day.