Bloggers Annex

I almost feel like I shouldn’t write about this because there’s no way I can communicate the depth of feeling I have about this subject. I will just let the images speak for themselves.  This is something that makes me cry nearly every time I think about it.

A few years ago, in an English discussion group I was leading, we started talking about the history of Mielec (the town I live in in Poland). I learned that before the war, Mielec had been almost 50% Jewish. I was shocked! (These days I know there are some J. W.s and an LDS family, but it seems everyone else is Catholic.) I was told that there had been a Jewish cemetery where the current parking lot of the main post office is, and that if you walked by the river you could still find Jewish tombstones that had been thrown into the river by the Nazis when they destroyed the cemetery.

One of the guys in my class brought in a book of the history of Mielec and showed me some pictures of the deportation of the Jews from Mielec (you have to scroll down below the page heading to see these). They were taken in the main square, which is very recognizable to me. In many of the photos you can see soldiers herding the people like sheep (guns displayed prominently).Here you can see lots of their bundles being piled up. It seems unlikely that they ever saw their things again. And they marched to an unknown fate.

Shortly after we moved into this house 4 months ago, in the course of a walk around the neighborhood, we found this around the corner from where we live.

“An Eternal Memorial for the hundreds of Jewish men and women from the town of Mielec killed by the Nazis on March 9, 1942 and buried in this mass grave.”

Of the thousands of Jews to be deported that day, many hundreds (close to a thousand) were killed instead of being put on the train. They were mostly the elderly, children and prominent members of the Jewish community. Men like these almost surely did not leave Mielec. Here they lie.

~Lisa writes at Away From It All~

I am a child of a “broken” home. My parents separated when I was six (and my siblings were 4, 2, and 1 month old) and finalized the divorce about a year and a half later. As is the norm, neither the divorce or the circumstances surrounding it were pretty. Both of my parents were left horribly scarred and terribly hurt.

I love both my parents with all of my heart, let’s be perfectly clear on that. They are both AMAZING people who have led amazing lives and helped mold myself and my siblings the people we are today. But, my parents were (and are, as everyone), imperfect. They both made mistakes with us kids as we were growing up. Some of those mistakes left invisible scars on the hearts and lives of all of the children in my family. Some of those mistakes have affected us more than I could find words to describe.

The last 21 years haven’t been easy. We’ve been luckier than some children of divorce, in that we know and speak to our Father and that our parents were able to be in the same room without killing each other. They were even able to be cordial, but everyone who knew them realized that it was quite forced. It was very, very clear that they did NOT like each other. The graduations, weddings and other occasions requiring their presence in the same state always caused severe stress amongst my siblings and myself. There was always that worry that all the bottled up anger and rage were going to suddenly emerge, that the weapons would be drawn and a battle of epic proportions would ensue.

I know many of you know the fear and pain of having two parents, whom you love dearly, absolutely hate each other. It’s hard to describe the feelings to those who haven’t experienced it. You feel like a rubber band being pulled apartuntil it finally snaps. Like you will eventually be forced to choose sides, or have to pick a favorite and stick with that parent in the looming struggles for power. It’s easy to hear and believe one side of the story, especially when one parent has custody and the other is living far away (in our case, all the way across the world). It’s easy to begin to resent the more absent parent, and in turn, feel as though they have begun to resent you. It’s just never . . . comfortable.

I am the oldest and therefore have more memories of my parents life together than the rest of my siblings, and I can only remember one or possibly two times when they were married and getting along. Most memories of my parents together involve brief encounters, forced kindness at joyous occasions, arguing, or ignoring.  The most painful moments include being told stories of how one parent hurt the other. I think in their minds they tried to keep us from it, but their mutual disdain took over. It engulfed their lives and eventually ours.

This last weekend was another joyous occasion. My brother Sean, who is 25, was graduating from college and my other brother Patrick turned 21. The celebrations were taking place at my Father’s home in Pennsylvania, where both boys currently live. My Mom, who lives in Utah, flew out for the celebrations. This was a first for us . . . the first time my Mom was on Dad’s turf. Most of the other affairs over the years took place in Utah where we were raised, therefore Dad was always on Mom’s turf. All four of us kids prepared for the worst. I was the only one not attending, due to work conflicts, so three out of four were in preparations to keep the parental units as separated as possible to prevent any bloodshed.

Much to our surprise, there was no bloodshed.

Instead the prayers of four hurt, scared kids were answered after 21 years when our family was granted a miracle. That is the only way to describe it. Something changed in both of my parents and this weekend, for the first time in 21 years, they truly got along.

I wasn’t there to witness any of it, but I’ve heard numerous accounts of our family miracle. My Father invited my Mother to his home for dinner. They sat in the same room and reminisced about when they were married. They laughed, they poked fun at each other. They acted like they liked each other. My Mother offered gifts, chatted easily with my Step-Mother and seemed to have a truly wonderful time. This happened three days in a row. Dad invited Mom to go to the shooting range with him. THEY WERE IN THE SAME PLACE WITH LOADED WEAPONS. My Dad taught my Mom how to shoot a gun.

Holy crap.

On the last night my Mom was in town, Dad apparently volunteered to drive her to the place where she was staying. They got out of the car and then they embraced. With tears streaming down her face, Mom apologized for any wrongs she had committed against Dad over the years, and my Dad smiled and told her to be happy in her life.

They finally . . . just . . . let . . . go.

I cannot express to you how heavy a weight has been lifted from the shoulders of myself and my siblings. I cannot express the joy in my heart. I don’t think I knew how heavily all of this had weighed on us until it was finally over. No more awkward get togethers, no more talks of protecting one parent from another, no more begging them to just drop it and get over it already. It’s truly over, and we can finally breathe.

I beg those of you who are divorced and have children to try to get along with “The Ex.” I know how hard it must be, but I cannot express to you what a difference it would have made in the lives of my family members if my parents had attempted this reconciliation years ago. I beg those of you with families still intact to hold on for dear life and be grateful for your families. Never, ever take advantage of the gift you have been given.  There are so many who will never have what you have without a miracle.

~Kateastrophe blogs at Walking Kateastrophe~

Dear BloggersAnnex-ers!

Welcome to the 50th published post here at BloggersAnnex!  Instead of our regular weekly poll, we decided that this weekend we would check in with all of you and let you know what’s going on here!

We are so pleased with the way the site has grown.  We currently have 67 members!  That’s awesome, especially considering we’ve only been around for two months.  We appreciate all the shout-outs you’ve given us on your own personal blogs.  And those of you who have sent specific bloggers/posts our way are especially cool!  Thanks for thinking of us when you read your friends’ brilliant posts!  We’ve really grown into a community of coolness thanks to all of you.

With so many members, we’ve noticed some interesting trends.  For instance, of 67 members, only about 25 of you have actually submitted anything for us to consider publishing.  Wow!  That’s staggering, don’t you think?  Now, we’ve made it very clear that as a member of BloggersAnnex you are absolutely NOT required to submit anything to us.  Still, it’s strange that so many of you haven’t!  We’re DYING for your submissions!  Please don’t feel intimidated or embarrassed or anything else.  We’re all friends here.  Sometimes we receive things that just aren’t quite what we’re looking for, but no one is rejected or denounced or publickly flogged (though that would make a great blog-post, don’t you think?)! 

So, with that in mind, I challenge every one of you to go through your archives (or write something new— either way, it’s all good with us!) and send us something this week.  Ready, set, GO!

Also, along those same lines, we’re stunned by how many people don’t comment on each other’s posts.  There are 67 of us, people!  It would mean the world to us if you’d leave comments more often.  We’re truly publishing the best posts in Bloglandia, posts that deserve attention and recognition.  Your comments mean so much to the writers.

Okay.  We’re done rebuking you.  Promise. 

We’re excited about some new things that we’re about to launch here at BloggersAnnex.  We’ve connected with some of the Bloggy world’s masterminds and it should be very exciting, so stay tuned!

And one final note:  Some of you may have tried to contact us for one reason or another over this past week or so.  If you haven’t heard from us in response, please check your junk/spam folders.  If you STILL haven’t heard from us, please resubmit your question/comment/whatever.  As I mentioned earlier in the week, we’ve had a few technical difficulties, but we believe they’re all resolved now.  Still, we want to make sure that we haven’t overlooked anything or anyone!

(For the record, the best way to contact us is to scroll down to the bottom of the FAQ page and fill out the form there.)

You guys are fantastic!  Thanks for making our first two months so awesome!

Xoxox,

AnneX

Tears pulled from her eyes
By the gravity of life
Sung in minor keys.

~Jami writes at Not THAT Different~

“You’re not going to remember any of it anyway,” was what she said. I felt like she had just socked me in the stomach. I hadn’t really thought about that before, but forgetting makes perfect sense. I do it all the time.

But this? I’m not going to remember this? I guess she would know, she’s been through it.

The sleepless nights, the loads of diapers and laundry, the tantrums, the baths, the food flung across the floor. Those are the things she was referring to, saying I’d forget those things.  She was trying to encourage me. And yes, I don’t really mind that I’ll forget all of that. I will enjoy my hindsight rose-colored glasses when they arrive years from now.

But I would gladly remember all of the stress and strain, fatigue and frustration vividly if it meant I would remember all the rest just the same.

She said that even though she had pictures and videos, it wasn’t the same. She still couldn’t remember on her own. The pictures were reminders, but not experiences. The videos seemed to be of a child she no longer knows, because she can’t remember.

I suppose it’s like my own childhood memories, vague and a bit fuzzy around the edges. Some more vivid, but always fleeting. Like a dream you wake up from and try to get back to by quickly closing your eyes and willing yourself to remember, but slipping away. I suppose it’s like that.

I wish I was going to be able to remember it all. Miles and I running through puddles in a down pour at the Farmer’s Market, splashing and laughing. Miles a little unsure at first, then looking at me, reading my face and relaxing, letting himself have fun in the rain. His drenched hair and wide eyes. The slap slap slap of his shoes as he ran. The smell of rain, herbs and flowers in the air as I listened to the thunder and my son’s laughter. Oh, how I want to remember.

“You’re not going to remember it anyway.”

I thought about this idea of forgetting so much that I thought my heart would just break.

Even if I’m not going to remember it all, I want to live it all. There’s not a thing I want to miss. Maybe I’ll be blessed with a good memory in this regard, maybe I won’t. But that will not stop me from living fully aware of the details and fine lines, the tones and the under-tones, the expressions and vivid moments full of life and laughter. The scrunched up nose and crocodile tears. The look in their eyes while they make new discoveries. The feel of their skin. The sound of their voices. Right now. Today.

I am living what I might forget. But I am still going to live it. As long as they are mine to hold in this life, I will live it with them. That makes all the sad thoughts of forgetting turn to happy thoughts of living, eyes turned toward today rather than yesterday. And a heart filled with joy in the expectancy of tomorrow.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t hope that I’ll remember.

~Heather of the EO blogs at The Extraordinary Ordinary~

Dear Gang Banger Wanna-Be’s,

Upon entering WalMart I noticed the lack of video games, beg for candy machines and rides. My children were stunned into silence. I was elated! I asked some sales associates about it and they told me of your late night hijinks and tomfoolery.  It seems that for lack of anything better to do in our town, you made your presence known at WalMart.  I have never thanked gang members before or even wanna be’s but I am extremely grateful for your adolescent delinquency. You have made my trips to WalMart with The Littles a kinder, gentler experience.  Thank you.  There is a row of beg for candy machines at Family Fresh Market that I wouldn’t mind you hanging around either. Or is it ganging around?

Word.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Stream

~Fourby40 writes at Four By 40~

Dearest Annex-ers,

Please forgive us for our weekend of nothingness here.  We could chalk it up to technical difficulties, or perhaps even miscommunications.  But no matter what our lame excuses are, please know that we’re not dead, the site’s not dead, and all is right in the blog-world.  We should manage to be back up and running by this time tomorrow. 

In the meantime, keep those submissions coming!  And go back and read through the archives— there’s not a dud in the bunch!  Comment on each other’s posts and make new friends! 

Also, a note to those of you who may have tried to sign up for BloggersAnnex over the last few days, we have your request and we’ll be processing those sometime between now and tomorrow night.  Thanks for your patience!

xoxox,

AnneX

There was a moment when I didn’t think I was going to make it. And yet my mom was the one who was dying. Literally. Of cancer. Every few hours she had to leave her post at my side, where she was the self-designated brow-mopper, ice giver, and comfort-whisperer, to step into the hallway and give herself another morphine shot. I was so exhausted I felt like one more push did not exist. But somehow, from somewhere, came another — and another. It had been 23 hours of hard labor. The doctor — a good coach — kept saying, “Yes, Yes, YES! I can see his head!” and then, “You can have this baby with the next contraction.” One more bearing down with all the strength I could muster, and out came the shoulders — and then the whole baby, turning, slipping, sliding easily into Dr. Growdon’s capable hands.

He cleaned up the baby and clamped the umbilical cord, and handed Jeff the scissors to make the official cut. Then he laid him in his mother’s arms. My arms. “First kiss” he said. [Oh, is THAT what I’m supposed to do now? Good thing he told me, because I was already halfway to another planet.] But then it became real to me. I looked at him, how perfect he was (too perfect to be MINE), and held him swaddled next to me. I marveled at his eyes. But when my lips touched his forehead something magic happened. I felt this exhilarating connection that brought me back to life, and I knew he was mine. Forever.

This baby — hers, mine, ours, all of ours — was the firstborn. My mom felt a unique bond with him because throughout the pregnancy they shared something few people ever experience — a closeness to the veil. She was approaching it in departure; he was on the other side approaching his arrival. Their bond seemed somehow intimate, holy. She wrote in her journal that day “What an incredible experience to get this little boy from safe inside his mother’s womb to being a part of the human beings struggling with the pains and joys of this world.” I like to think she saw herself mirroring that sometime soon…leaving the pains and the joys of this world to find herself safe and at peace in the firmament.

A few months later I got the call. She was in the hospital, two states away, and her days were numbered. Baby Josh and I boarded the next flight out, and rode straight from the airport to the hospital. Mom was still alive, but she couldn’t eat or talk, and practically couldn’t see. Most of the time she just lay there, unresponsive. I carried Joshua over to her bedside and told her who was there to see her. Then I held him up to give her a kiss. I think it took all the energy she had just to pull her lips into a pucker, but then his lips touched hers, and she smiled! That first kiss from her first grandson had suddenly brought her visible joy!

That first kiss was also the last. She passed away the next day. (Another amazing story, which I’ll save for another post.) But we continued to tell little Joshy the story about how his kisses were magic, and how he brought his grandmother so much happiness before she died.

Three years later we had a baby girl, Jordan. She came from heaven like a ray of hope and graced our home with her presence. (Still does.) One day she seemed to be crying inconsolably and I had my hands full in the kitchen. Josh said, “I can help her Mommy. My kisses are magic!” And earnestly, he went over and kissed his baby sister. Magically, she stopped crying and smiled up at him. His kisses really were magic! It didn’t always work, but more often than not he had this spell on her. “Joshy,” we’d say, “Baby Jordan’s getting fussy. Can you give her some magic kisses?” And off he’d go, with healing and happiness trailing in his wake.

Josh is now 16. He’s just on the threshold of adulthood, entering the dangerous world of dating and driving and derring-do. I know that someday soon some lucky girl will be the recipient of his official “first kiss”. (Maybe it’s already happened.) This young man already has a kissing history that’s unparalleled. Yet so innocent in its inception. Whoever the lucky girl is, I hope that first kiss is a symbol of genuine affection. And I hope she can sense the absolute magic in it. Because it’s for real.

~Charrette writes at Divergent Pathways~

1. Day 1 : Log on and see how many bloggers you can quickly visit just long enough to leave your profile photo on the Recently Visited section of each member. Do Not leave any comments.

Go back and visit all the Buzzers who noticed your visit on Day 1 and called you out on not leaving a comment. Do Not leave any remarks; just your new profile photo.

Day 3, 4 and 5. Repeat Day 2 until no one gives you a shout out!

Take a random day and make it Opposite Day. Do not tell anyone. When leaving comments, say the opposite of what you mean. When Rating photos & posts, 1 now is the best and 8 is the worst for today. Pick all the top rankers & rate them with a 1 (for best) and your least favorite should be rated with an 8! Vote early and vote often.
Random Day - Similar to opposite day, make random, nonsensical comments as you blog hop.
Do not tell anyone what day it is; make them guess! Create your own vernacular and acronyms and don’t tell anyone what they mean.
Meme from Hell
When you have some extra time on your hands, create a special 100 question Meme. The more random and bizarre the better. Send it to any one who ever sent you a meme. This could be the start of a new career as a Random Question generator for Blogger.

Drunk Blogging
Similar to Drunk Dialing, have several drinks before you blog. This is a great time to reminisce about your dysfunctional family, unresolved issues or highly personal matters. Do not use spell check or proof-read before publishing. This is also a great time to leave comments for all your blog-friends!

Time to Downsize
Once you have a healthy “Friends” List built up, it’s time to cull the herd. Have your own personal Friend Down-sizing. Too many friends can be unproductive. Time to get rid of the non-performers. Offer no apologies or explanations.

Create Your Own Blog Award
Make your own blog award. The goofier the better. Give it to half of your blog friends and make the other half envious. Award it to random blogs that you have never seen before.Create Your Own Blog Day - Pick a day of the week and create your own special day like “I Hate Mondays - Personal Issue Day”. (Everyone needs a special day to air their dirty laundry and family dysfunction.) or how about “Tuesday - Bluesday ” ( for things that make you sad)

Dance Dance Revolution

When pimping out your site with music, include your children’s favorites like the theme song from Barney, the BooBah soundtrack, recordings of your children practicing their piano or family Karaoke night. Make sure you have the volume as high as it can go.

Other Suggestions? Feel free to leave your BlogZany ideas.

~Bad Momma blogs at Bad Momma~

My dearest Grandpa-

It was late Friday evening in Milan, Italy when we got the call. [Don's brother] in Maryland had managed to track us down via Skype and with [his] Mom on speaker phone from Utah we had a Transcontinental-International phone call. I thought it would tickle you to know that this call was actually made through the computer. For a man who spent years laying cables and checking miles and miles of phone line, I figured the idea of this wireless phone call would make you smile.

But it wouldn’t be possible to share that with you. The news from the across the pond was that you were slipping from us.

We scrambled to dial out to the U.S. to reach you in the home, hoping that we might get the chance, with a telephone held to your ear, to say a last I love you and tell you goodbye.

But you were already gone.

Quietly, silently, peacefully.

Gone.

Immediately the tears poured and I let them come, unhindered, undirected, uninhibited. I cried alone. I cried with my husband. I cried with siblings across the sea. In truth, I haven’t stopped crying since the news came in. And it’s fair to say that the emotions accompanying the waterfall have been as diverse and innumerable as the tears themselves. I cry in grief, in joy, in peace, in celebration and in sorrow. Most of all, I cry for the missing of you Grandpa.

I cry remembering you.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not an actual flesh and blood granddaughter, because I have never felt anything but unconditionally loved and adored from the moment I stepped into your Mesa home more than 20 years ago. As I have reflected often over the years since first meeting you, and Grandma, I know I am deeply blessed to have had your influence and your love in my life. My relationship with you has been everything a granddaughter ever dreams a friendship with Grandparents could be. Ours was a reality which because of circumstance and illness, I wasn’t so fortunate to have with my own grandparents. But I had you.

I had you to talk with for hours on end after Grandma’s sudden passing 10 years ago. Our weekly dates for lunch, or a quiet walk, or holding hands on the living room couch are priceless treasures to me.

I had you to teach me that jalapenos are meant to be snacked on like candy, eaten straight from the jar. And that any meal could be improved by adding a side of pepperoncini. I am certain that my pregnancy craving of a hot dog smothered in jalapenos has a direct link to your training of my taste buds.

I had you to challenge me to wonder about where I came from. Your standard question when meeting new friends was “Who are your people?” and it sent me on journeys through journals and family records to understand who I was by understanding who had preceded me.

I had you to share a little “spanish food” such as refried beans, mexican rice, enchiladas or salsa and chips from your favorite El Charro a few blocks from your house. And we could share an order of tamales hand-made and delivered by one of the women in the neighborhood.

I had you to teach me about the nuances of The Lawrence Welk Show broadcast every Saturday evening from the local PBS station.

I had you to “halvers” the last piece of toast, or the last scoop of scrambled eggs, or the last slice of pizza with me.

I had you to smile with as each of my three babies arrived and I placed them into your large and loving hands for the first of myriad kisses and squeezes which would follow. Soon they would know a great-grandpa who loved them intensely and unconditionally.

I had all of this and so much more. As fast as my thoughts spin now through the memories, I know there will be many yet to surface that I can hold in my heart. And with each blessed recollection, I know there will be tears.
Tears of honor, of happiness, and of longing.

I cannot stop them falling Grandpa, and I cannot imagine when it will feel okay to wake up in a world without you. But I want you to know that I love you deeply. I love you fiercely. I love you without end.

Your darling,
Jenny

~Jenn in Holland writes at Something to Say: About Life in the Netherlands~