A Little Note from Chaplain Antonia

Antoniasews Leave a comment

With all the craziness going on in today’s day and age, I just wanted to reach out and remind everyone to not forget something kinda important.

We are all human beings.

We all possess feelings and opinions.

And as we all ride our meat-suit covered skeletons, sometimes we forget to take care of our lovely minds and spirits which are housed inside our bodies.

So, a small challenge for each of you: Reach out to your friends and loved ones this week, even if you disagree with them. Underneath all the political visceral reactions, there is a person inside that probably wants to know you are ok, that there is a possibility that open and honest conversation can be had, and that we are all working towards the goal of being better.

I do not agree with everyone I interact with on a daily basis, and I’m quite certain you do not either. But the least we can do is to follow the golden rule, which states:

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Love to all during this time of uncertainty,

What have I been putting off doing? Why?

Antoniasews Leave a comment

I have been putting off blogging.

Because there are days that I don’t think anything I say is worth the effort.

Because I get tired of being interrupted and

Tired of not being able to finish a sentence properly in certain people’s presence.

And sometimes I doooooo too much for others and not myself. I’ve been told I’m too nice.

But I eventually get over it and my urge to blab endlessly returns. Seriously, sometimes my sparkly ass gets down in the dumps. Especially when I’m asked to do a lot of things that help me avoid my number one priority, which is loving myself.

Long ago before I met my darling husband of wonderfulness, I once dated a fellow who cautioned me against what he called “compassion fatigue”. Now, this man told me many lies, but this was not one of them. Compassion fatigue is real, and sometimes I slip into saying yes too often, thereby ignoring myself.

And that’s why I don’t blog sometimes.

Describe a family member.

Antoniasews Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Describe a family member.
View all responses

My grandmother on my mother’s side, known fondly as “Nana”, was born Eleanor Barbara Zeilonka. She was the fifth of ten children, two of which were her elder brothers. Oddly enough, both were named Michael. With the boys gone, Nana Eleanor’s mom had eight girls in a row, my grandma being the third daughter born.

It was a houseful, in a small town called Dagget, Michigan. The only reason I know this is because my Nana had a framed certificate on her kitchen wall stating her “Ella of Dagget”. It was a prize for a writing contest she entered when I was a child, and it was addressed to her in renaissance style, her pen name presumably being “Ella” and being of Daggett, Mi. I’m fairly certain she was born at home, I’d imagine her older sister Emily probably helped when things got messy and tough, as they do.

Nana’s father, Michael Zielonka, was a cabinet maker, and he was always short of money with so many mouths to feed. Apparently he liked to drink. Her mother, Marie Jukl, was a beautiful lady of infinite patience and talents.

My Great Aunt’s names were, in order, Emily, Bernice (forever known as Bunny), (Nana Eleanor), Stephanie, Frances, Virginia and Jeanette.

I had to text my mom to get the name list correct.

They all had the same broad smile, gorgeous brunette hair, and killer figures. Great Grandma had made eight pretty ladies, but my Nana was the prettiest by far. She was a beauty contestant in the J Sterling Morton High School physical education follies of 1938.

Nana loved to cook, and her specialty was soup. There could be nothing in the house to eat, and she’d come up with the most amazing soup to chase the winter chill away.

I spent a lot of time at her and Papa’s house as a child. I remember working in their victory garden. We’d pull weeds, make little rows, “put the baby beans to bed so they can make big beans!”, more weeding, and the great harvest at the end of the season. When my cousin Andre came to visit up from St. Louis, once he and I got to know each other again (As long distance cousins often do), we’d run around the yard, playing, sometimes stopping to eat berries off the bush, refresh with the mint overgrowing in the big planter, or grab a handful of chives and dare each other to eat a big bunch at once.

Nana was an excellent seamstress. I owe my success in sewing to her. She taught me the basics, helped me alter her clothes to fit my little self if I needed a special costume, and told me I could dive in her sewing box for fabric whenever I got bored. Nana kept a big beehive pincushion in her room, next to the lotion bottle which was stocked with rose scented lotion. On the beehive pincushion, she kept large needles threaded not too long, just waiting for me to use. In her own way, she encouraged my creativity.

Nana was a glamour queen as well, when she died in 2013, she left behind five full closets of clothes spanning decades of fashion.

She was under my care part time when her health started to fail. After she had a stroke, she resided at a nursing home for a bit, then quickly declined.

But in between those points, we had a lot of fun together! At the grocery store, she’d always be shocked at the prices, and once we got home from shopping, she was equally shocked when I served her a WHOLE GLASS full of orange juice. “Such decadence! Are you sure this is all for me, honey?”

She called my eldest daughter Sugar, for she could not remember her proper name. But Sugar always fit, and thankfully Olivia responded with joy to the sweet moniker.

Nana loved the movie “It’s a wonderful life”, and we watched it every day after I picked her up from adult daycare at the church. She loved it so much, that my daughter and I started setting up the Christmas tree each week for her. Oh how she loved Christmas.

Nana was also a product of her time, and frequently remained in the past once her dementia took hold. By this time Papa was long dead, and Nana asked where he was at least once a day. I’d say, “I’m not sure, but let’s have a snack before he comes home!” and she’d smile and agree.

We kept it to happy moments.

I miss my Nana a lot, she was always so kind and sweet to me and my kid. She thought modern music was hilarious “Honey, they sound so angry!” and enjoyed getting her hair done “The world needs more glamour!” and taught me that even in the midst of confusion and uncertainty, it’s okay to be sweet.

Presenting…

Antoniasews Leave a comment

If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?

In my lifetime, I have changed my name five times.

My birth name on my birth certificate was given to me by my parents, which I never used, since my father changed our last name to align with his stage and pen name. Also, they referred to me by my nickname, which was bestowed upon me by my father on my birthday.

Mom was on the giggle gas for the pain, and dad was still drunk from the party they were in the middle of when I suddenly decided to arrive. Fifteen minutes after getting to the hospital, I made my grand entrance.

“Carol,” said my father, “she looks as pink as a ballerinas tutu.”

“Oh Buddy, that’s funny! Hi Tutu!” came mom’s slightly inebriated response.

And there it was. Forget the beautiful Italian name that is on my birth certificate, they stuck me with the moniker “Tutu”.

Then I grew some, and had to learn how to spell my “real” name-Antonia. Mom made up a song to spell it out for me-each letter got a note. By the end of the two block walk to school, I had it memorized.

Then I grow a little older, and decided to get my first job. At this point, I didn’t really know much about my original last name, since my parents had changed it just outside of the realm of legality. So, now in school, I received a new ID, I was the only kid at Glenbard West that had an “a.k.a.” on my ID card. It felt kind of weird, but it got the job of proving I was who I said I was done.

Then, I decided to get married straight out of high school. Yet again, my name changed, as I took his last name.

24 years later, and I had to consider changing my name again after the divorce. I decided to keep it the same, so I would match with my child. Perhaps, I thought, it would make them feel less “othered”.

Then in 2019, I delightfully changed it for the final time, evolving to my present form. And this is the name that I want and I do not want to change it ever again. So, to answer the daily writing prompt – I wouldn’t change my name for the world. 

My favorite book from childhood

Antoniasews Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?
View all responses

It’s funny-how the memory changes with time, experience, and medication.

When I was in third grade, I had the best reading book. It was so amazing and comforting to me, that I often read ahead of the assigned pages in the hardcover, colorful book. Reading was an enjoyable activity for me, as marathon reading sessions were held in my family home almost every night. Stacks of books surrounded us, and the unfortunate required television was surrounded by volumes of texts. Great books, biographies, autobiographies, non-fiction, fiction by bestsellers, up-and-coming novelists, stage plays, and one of my favorites-the MGM faces book. I’d spend a long lingering hour just browsing the featured actors-I thought Ned Sparks was hysterical, and when I asked my playwright father who Sydney Greenstreet was, he’d respond with his best impression of Mr. Greenstreet’s signature laugh.

Among my other favorites were the world atlas, the space atlas (according to my mother, one of the first books from which I recited on demand at the age of two-and-a half when she wanted proof that my sister, eight years my senior, taught me to read.) and Peter Freuchens tome about the seven seas. One night I absorbed myself in his personal accounts of the Atlantic while taking breaks to chase the lightning bugs outside. Mom and Dad were not big on me constantly running in and out, but they’d make an exception with their noses deep in a book. (They didn’t notice.)

But my favorite was that little blue hardcover reading textbook full of playful and innocent stories tuned to my wee active mind. It was called “Together We Go” published for schools by Harcourt, Brace Jovanovich. I loved it so much I kept it in my toybox which my grandfather, Papa had made for me. I read it during my vacation break, until I was told I had to return it to school. (This wasn’t the first time I got into trouble over a book.) And the memory was so clear in my head of this slim volume, so desperately seeking my attention to re-read it again, that I found it on that marvel of marvels, Ebay, and I squealed with glee as my fifty-two year old fingers typed in my credit card numbers to acquire it.

Seven days later, it arrived.

And although the stories in it have become something less familiar to my middle-aged mind, it’s still glorious.

Simple things that bring joy to my life.

Antoniasews Leave a comment

It’s funny, how the little things in my life make everything more palatable.

I remember when my child and I finally escaped the situation we were living in. We were free, we could set up our own apartment the way we wanted to, we could make the rules, we could set boundaries all by our little selves. And we did! I remember one of the things that we did that brought great joy was making paper cranes late into the night and stringing them up in the kitchen. We did not have a lot of money that year to decorate, in fact, everything in our house was hand-me-downs from my mother or purchased from the local resale store.

That Christmas was even more tight than previous years, and in searching for the perfect tree to grace our tiny one-bedroom space, I quickly realized that we were shit outta luck in finding something that fit the budget.

Not to be deterred, off to the dollar store we went, a fistful of small denomination bills in our hands.

We ended up finding a small garland, a tiny package of chrome red beads on a string, and a foam tree trunk. (Really it was just a little round of floral foam that would take brown marker nicely.) We poked a chopstick through the foam, wound the green spruce garland round it in the shape of a tree, and then strung the red beads through the branches.

“It needs something, Ma.”

Scratching my head, fiddling with my earrings, what do I say, I have a teenager who’s just been ejected from an abusive situation and the kid wants to decorate for Christmas and this crappy little tree is the best I could afford and I suck as a mother and-WAIT!

I promptly removed my earrings from my ears, and placed them on the tree.

“Ornaments!” I said, “It needs ornaments!”

Child roared with laughter, then went straight to the box where we kept the remaining stash of costume jewelry, as the real gold and silver had been sold to afford the security deposit on the apartment.

We stayed up cutting snowflakes out of old invoices and bills from our previous life, and had hot chocolate till the sun came up.

And that was one of the greatest joys of my life. I have many more, stick around to hear about them.

For She Who Stays Silent

Antoniasews Leave a comment

He is gone, and won’t hurt you again.

But fear runs through your mind in

refrain.

Most certainly dear,

I promise you clear,

That you’re done, that you’re done, that

you’re done.

No matter my promise, I know you still

fear.

That you jolt from your sleep from his rage.

Give it time, my sweet heart-it will sort

itself out.

Your heart will cleanse him from your

veins.

——————————————————————

That was a poem I wrote a very long time ago, in response to being diagnosed with PTSD. I’ve come to terms about a lot of things, and suddenly I’m foolishly brave again-like I was at age 14, when he found me and started what I now fondly call “the training”.

So, I’ve decided it’s time to stop staying silent, and be loud.

Buckle up.

Something Relevant

Antoniasews Leave a comment

Something relevant

Looking for something relevant to say

The search is the importance 

The mere fact that I want to speak and it matters 

Is the thing.

Wanting to be important in todays world

The desire is the fear

The fear that as a person I have become antiquated

Dullness compels me.

Youth speaks so fast now, fires at rapid speed 

The quickness runs me over

Oh these enlightened beings who feel they must rush to inform the elders of their newfound wisdom

Age slows me. 

Was I like this?

Was the gray lady in the mirror once like the fast talking crapshoot of a person I so often meet now? 

Still I excitedly discover newness in the world. 

But it’s rather funny to the younger ones! 

Exposure therapy and trying the Duck

Antoniasews 1 Comment

There has been great discussion around our house today about what’s commonly called “exposure therapy”.

The basic concept is as follows: find something that is semi-scary to you, (i.e. trying a new food). Assuming that the food in question is not something you are allergic to, slowly begin to introduce it into your personal sphere.

Think about it.

Smell it.

Look at it.

Taste a little bit of it.

Eventually have a reasonably sized portion of it and consider if you like it or not.

The topic of duck, as a food item, came into play this morning. “I think I’m going to make myself like duck.” says our littlest person. All eyebrows in the room that are not hers raise in suspicion.

“I mean, I did that with sushi, and now I can’t get enough of it!” Thus happy with her new culinary mission, she begins to discuss it further with Chef. “You enjoyed the Duck ramen I made-maybe try some roasted duck breast next time?” he says, and she replies with “Well yeah-its ramen after all and its great. I think I’ll give the actual meat a chance.”

Which makes both Chef and I happy because we definitely like to serve everyone at the table the same thing as much as we are able. Long gone are the days when we had to make a complete smorgasbord of dishes to satisfy our three food critics: the tiny one who only liked ranch dressing and ketchup and fries; make sure a potato alternative was readily available for the adopted child who as a baby was left at an orphanage overseas where the main fare was potatoes; and figuring out gluten free vegetarian recipes for our food-sensitive eldest.

Mostly these days it’s Him and I eating a wonderful rotation of predictable and lovely dinners by ourselves, with the littlest eating with us fifty percent of the time due to our parenting schedule. (Our guy eats out mostly, being the popular friend at school, and is perpetually ‘going out’.) The eldest has moved on to their own kitchen and can make whatever they and the partner desire.

So the concept of having roast duck was intriguing.

This kind of ‘hey let’s try something new’ has also flowed into scary stuff for me-not food related necessarily, but as it relates to tunnels.

For years, I have suffered crippling anxiety when going through a parking garage, underground caves, or very large unsupported basement areas. The reason for this, I really have no idea. Be that as it may, I just don’t like going through tunnels of any kind. The noises overhead make my brain go on high alert, and I feel as if the world is closing in.

I discovered this particular phobia of mine when we were on the way to my husband’s aunt and uncle’s fiftieth anniversary party. What started as a “let’s crash the party!” turned into a family extravaganza the likes of which will not be seen for a good long while. The actual event was amazing-lots of great family stories were told, many fun sightseeing adventures in downtown Philly, amazing art, wonderful food, and a loooooong drive back and forth from home in Chicago to Philadelphia and back.

Through a tunnel.

Which went through a mountain. (I’m told it was a super big hill, but to my prairie state ass, it was a mountain.)

As I saw it approaching in the not too far off distance, my husband began to say “WOO-HOO! THE TUNNEL! We loved this as kids.” while pumping one first in the air. Our wee traveling companions (at the time, ages 5 and 9) in the backseat began to howl with excitement.

As we got closer and closer, my stomach began curling up. It was a big tunnel. It was a long tunnel. I had no Xanax with me. Hell, I didn’t even have a flask on my hip. But there we went.

As I listened to his story of how every time his family made the pilgrimage to Philly to see family, my fingers curled around Chef’s big hand, cutting off his blood flow until he looked over at me for a second and realized my eyes were closed and I was absolutely stuck in a crouched sitting position.

“Honey, are you ok? What is it??” he asked. “Don’t like it don’t like it don’t like it” came my mumbling response.

Of course he started to try and calm me down and we made it through that giant rock unscathed.

Afterwards, we talked about it at great length, and I felt much better on the ride home, now that I knew what to expect and Chef had an idea that I needed some warning and reassurance about such things.

All this to say, we had occasion to go through lower Wacker drive recently. If you’ve never been on lower Wacker, it is a twisty and turny underground street of epic legend. Look it up sometime, and you’ll find that it has earned the reputation it currently has. It’s dark, it’s underground, and it goes on endlessly, offering only slight glimpses of sunlight now and then.

This time going through the darkness underground, I just looked at Chef, held his hand, and closed my eyes as he turned up the radio a bit for me to have a good focal point. I like how we go through the scary things now. Hand in hand, encouraging each other along the way.

And for the record, the Duck was excellent too.

Etiquette lesson

Antoniasews Leave a comment

“Life is beautiful when you have the right family, the right people, and friends around you. I know you don’t know me, but I hope you know that every good friend you have today was once a stranger. Sometimes we meet someone new and feel like we’ve known them all our lives. I must admit I love every post you have on your blog and you seem like a good woman who would make a good friend. Can we be friends I tried several times to send you a request but it didn’t go through so I decided to leave a comment here. Click on my profile and send me a friend request. Thank you and my best wishes.”

It was this sub comment that appeared attached to a comment that I made on a rather serious posting on social media. To say that I was surprised that somebody took over the thread of the original poster is an understatement, a concept that continues to surprise and somewhat delight me. It surprises me in the fact that I still am naïve enough to think that everybody on social media is straight shooter, and it also delights me that there is an innocence alive in me still.

That being said, I also thought it a bit rude. How dare the unknown person, also a man, comment on how he wants to be my friend. Doesn’t that sort of activity belong in the realm of “sliding into my DM‘s“? Can’t this individual see that I am listing my status is married? Don’t they know that I am not by nature, an ostentatiously flirtatious person? Surely if they had read my posts, they should know this right?

Of course, then I had to examine myself thoroughly on the inside. I thought yet again, how naïve of me. (Also, secretly, how stick in the mud and old-fashioned of me!) Not everybody has good intention on the Internet, or even a moral filter. Social media has become the land of the “keyboard warrior“ and what my grandma would call“the armchair general”. She used this moniker to describe my grandfather when he would mansplain, not knowing the term at the time.

So yet again, I had a good surprise and delight at myself.

Not long after this incident, I received a text from a person that I did not know that was asking me via text, to be their personal friend. By this time, I had thoroughly researched the use of AI entities in the marketing stratosphere and I had learned that they use the soft predatory tactics to suck people into their product, their service, or just to fork over dollars. Also, I saw a picture of a young person of Asian descent, poised, tapping phones, dozens, and dozens of phones, mounted on a wall. Marketing and broadcasting the same phrase over and over and over and over again.

So, instead of getting upset at this point, I simply texted back to the individual “ if you are being held against your will working in a trapped environment, being forced to text all day long, please comment on this picture, and I will do my best to help you escape.” in my correspondence, I included that picture that I found online of the young individual texting repeatedly.

Sadly, nobody texted me back. I would’ve gladly helped any individual that really actually needed help to escape such a thing. In the end, the benefit came to me that I did not have to go to great lengths to block this number, or to have an endless conversation to get me off of a phone list, or any other blocking activities. They simply did not answer and they went away.

I hope at some point that they can have an actual lunch break and get some sleep.