The Anticipation

Oh, do you remember? The anticipation was almost palpable. Peeking out the window on a school day only to see the most wonderful of sights, snow falling. In this memory you're old enough to know the drill. All get-ready-for-school activity ceases and Plan B: Possible Snow Day goes into full effect.

Which will it be radio or TV? In my house, my sister and I always chose the radio. We'd snuggle together under blankets in her bed and listen. School Closings were read at 10 minute intervals. Oh God they've already started. I hope we didn't miss it. "Walpole, Wrentham..." We're waiting for "Medway". Stay calm only ten more minutes then we'll know. Great they are playing "Saturday Night" by the Bay City Rollers. I love that song. Up on our feet Tara and I dance and jump as we shout out "S-A-T-U-R D-A-Y night! S-A-T-U-R D-A-Y night!" That song is awesome. Now boring news and the guy saying after commercials they'll read the school closings. Here they come. Better pay attention. Stop stealing all the blankets. The guy on the radio calls out "Bellingham, Blackstone-Millville...". You can't read anything into that. Bellingham and Blackstone-Millville cancel all the time. Everyone knows that Medway's superintendent is way tougher than the ones in those towns. "...Franklin, Holliston, Medfield, Millis...". No Medway? Did you hear Medway? Oh crap, Mom was listening in the kitchen. Now she's all "Come on guys you're going to be late. Get moving." "But Mom he may add Medway next time. Can we just listen to one more? Please!" She relents. Yippee!

A little "Do You Believe In Magic" by Shaun Cassidy, some more boring news. Hey, did he just say that "Star Wars" did way more than "Jaws" opening weekend at the box office? I can't believe anything beat that scary shark movie I'm still not old enough to see? Uh oh! School closings have already started. Pay attention. "...Bellingham, Blackstone-Millville..." Hey Tara, wouldn't it be great if we lived in one of those towns? We'd never go to school. "...Franklin, Foxboro, Holliston, Medfield, Milford, Millis..." What? Again no Medway. Ugh! Think positive they did add a few. There was Foxboro and Milford. So maybe our superintendent will start seeing that this is obviously a huge storm and he'd be risking our lives and his job for us to do a little reading and writing. Next time. I just know it.

Mom is getting serious now. You can tell by the voice. It's loud and it is all business. "Get dressed and come out to breakfast now. We're running out of time." Being single-minded we resort to whining. Which is always a last resort and rarely if ever successful. But if we have to dress then school is closed it takes all the fun out of staying in your pjs all day. You could put them back on but it is just not the same. So... "Pleeease. Just one more. Really. Then we'll get dressed we promise. Pleeease!" It's our lucky day, Mom is weak. We strike a compromise. We'll pick out our clothes but not put them on. Check. We'll agree to eat breakfast. OK. We'll listen to two more school closing readings. How about three? No. Fine, two. Then if still no Medway we'll throw our clothes on and run out the door to school. Sounds fair. As I scarf down the scrambled eggs on buttered toast with Bacon Bits, not the real stuff but Dad says not bad for a week day, the radio guy is pouring out millions and millions of town names. Finally just as all hope looks lost we hear the magical word "Medway". One little word and pure ecstasy floods my body. The phone rings as joy spreads across this great land of Medway. "Did you hear it?!" "Yes. I heard it too." "What time do you want to go sledding?" Plans are made and Plan B is deemed a complete and total success.

This morning at 5:22am our phone rang. It was a recording of the superintendent of our town saying all schools are closed due to inclement weather. Welcome to 2009 technology. I let the kids sleep in. They were excited when they finally woke and heard the news: No School. But they have no idea the experience they are missing out on. No idea. Oh, do you remember?

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Having Friends for Dinner

A psychic once told me that I am the type of person who gets energy from being with people. Once I was able to shake off the vision of myself as a space alien parasite sucking the life force from unsuspecting humans in my mad quest to over run the planet; I could see that she may be right. I love conversation, the exchange of ideas, laughter and the tinkling of wine glasses in a toast. In short I love a good party.

Over the years I have toyed with all sorts of ideas to try to maximize party conversation and people mixing. The biggest mystery I have tried to understand and overcome is what I call the "kitchen effect". No matter the size of the crowd everyone herds into the kitchen. This can limit the mixing of guests and makes for isolated conversations. My most successful break up of the "kitchen effect" was at a sit down dinner for 20 we had one year for Christmas. I purposefully set up the bar and appetizers in the living room and as guests arrived I walked them over to it - no where near the kitchen. It worked out fantastic. Everyone was mixing and not a soul was in the kitchen. Success!


At one point the phone rang. As I grabbed it, I darted into the kitchen for some quiet. A guest was calling for directions to our house. Upon entering the kitchen I noticed smoke and flames pouring out of the oven. It took a minute to register but it finally sank in "The F**king Kitchen is on fire!" Always being one to multi task, I continued with the directions as I headed back to the living room. Asking the lost guest to please excuse me for one minute, I called across the room, quite calmly I must say,"Hey Steve the kitchen is on fire." Obviously not processing what I said and giving me a quizzical look, he held up his finger in a wait-a-minute gesture as he tried to finish his conversation that I had, quite honestly, just rudely interrupted. Usually I'd never scream across a room and interrupt but it was a fire after all. With the lost guest still hanging on the phone I called a little more urgently, "No really the kitchen is on fire." Now I had his and everyone else's attention. "Really?" "Yes." With Steve on fire patrol I went back to the directions just as the fire alarms started to sound. The lost guest was now getting concerned. "Should I call the fire department?" "Thank you but I think we're all set. Now as I was saying you take your third left and.." "Really do you need anything? It sounds pretty serious. We could ... uh ... bring ... pizza." "Hey great idea. We'll call out if it comes to that. See you in a few." All the while the alarm is blaring.


Now everyone is in the kitchen. All my bust the "kitchen effect" efforts wasted. Flames are still pouring out of the oven but now we have five or six men standing around the fire in heated discussion. Having missed the first minute or two of this Mensa session, I have no idea what the hold up is. I grab a fire extinguisher and hand it into the group around the now very large flames. Between blasts of the fire alarm I begin to understand the problem. The testosterone laden cavemen with mine right there in the middle are trying to figure out how to save the $250- worth of beef tenderloin. Most of the male guests apparently hadn't come to the party for my lively conversation but instead for the infamous chef Steve prepared pink peppercorn and rosemary encrusted tenderloin. With a single goal "Save the meat! Save the meat!" and quite possibly a single brain they risk life and limb (not to mention my house) but do in fact save the meat and put out the fire. Dinner was delicious. To the amazement of the entire crowd, and the delight of the meat-lovers, the tenderloin had not been on fire. A recipe page of mine (oops!) had gotten stuck on the bottom of the pan mixed with grease from the meat and poof up goes my oven. For the record, between sitting for the meal and dessert everyone stood crammed around the kitchen with my now soot stained oven.

While arguably successful, busting the "kitchen effect" nearly cost me our house. So I guess its best not to mess with the natural order of things. Hmmm. Maybe we should expand the kitchen.

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What A Day

In tenth grade my US History teacher asked an extra credit question - What is the date US Presidents are inaugurated? Easy. January 20th. Well, actually until 1937 it was March 4th but the 1933 ratification of the Twentieth Amendment changed the start date of the term. But I digress. Why did I know this arcane fact in tenth grade? Because my birthday is January 20th and little facts like presidents getting sworn in on your birthday tend to stick. So "yippee" for me I got the extra credit. The only one supposedly to ever get it on that question. Ever!

We just had a huge January 20th. President Obama was sworn in and the country celebrated and hope spread over the land. It was a historic day full of pomp and circumstance and a general feeling of great things to come. On that very same day I turned forty. I have never been one to have a birthday and get all wigged out over a number and forty was going to be no different.

I awake on the 20th and shovel my driveway thanks to the broken snow blower (see post labeled The Snow Blower and the Flame for details of that little adventure). A little fresh air and exercise on my fortieth to remind me of how I am still young and vibrant. OK cosmos I hear you. Thanks I needed that. Then, since the kids have this now 4th consecutive day off from school and I have been tied up with a family funeral the other days thereby having no time for them; we host a play date. All good. Some screaming, a few fights but all in all a successful play date. The cosmos has given me this opportunity to embrace my joy of being a mother. OK I'm still with you Powers-At-Be.

Next my dad calls to say he is picking me up for an impromptu birthday get together. Impromptu because we had just spent the last several weeks with Aunt Alice, my mom's best friend of almost 50 years, as she succumbed to her battle with lung cancer. We have only just returned home from her funeral. To be honest I am emotionally spent as is my amazing family but they so want to not let me feel like I have been forgotten. So off I go with Dad driving and my kids in the back seat. First a quick stop at the veterinary clinic to get my dad's dog some medicine.

"I'll only be a minute," Dad says as we pull into the parking lot. There is a huge truck blocking most of the way. After a momentary "where-the-f**k-am-I-going-to-park" moment Dad sneaks past the truck and squeezes into a spot. Whew! As I watch my dad pop in the front door of the vet clinic I read the side of this very large truck situated to our right. "So-n-So's Pet Cemetery and Crematory". Ugh! Then the front door of the clinic swings open and a man comes out holding what is obviously a very stiff and very dead dog wrapped in a garbage bag. I kid you not. It had been frozen in a standing position or maybe lying down with legs out stretched. Anyway it was all covered except for one brown furry leg which was pointing straight to the sky as he carried the dog upside down. Cosmos, are you kidding me?!! I mean really! I have lived exactly 40 years and have never seen anything like it.

"Kids don't look out the window", says I, the totally freaked out forty year old mother. Molly and Liam do exactly what I would do, what anyone would do. They look right out the window and ask "Why?" So it starts. "Gross. Is that dog dead?" "Yes." Now tears from 8 year old Molly. "Oh that is so sad." "Yes it is." "Why is it so stiff?" from 6 year old Liam. "Good question. I don't know maybe frozen, maybe rigamortis" Did I just say that? Where is the mom censoring thing? I am totally off my game now. So it continues. "What is rigamortis?" "What is a crematory?" "Did Aunt Alice get burned or put in dirt?" Someone help me!!!! Great, here comes dad we can get going. In he hops with a "Don't let the kids look out the window" quip. Nice try Dad but too late for that. Then the front door opens again and two more men walk out with several bags each. Luckily you can't see anything protruding from these but they are very obviously dead animals. A guessing game now ensues - a cat? a rabbit? Liam thinks one might be an anaconda. Please make this end!!!! With the truck now loaded, off it goes and we are now able to leave the lot. As quiet settles over the car and we all contemplate what we just saw and in some cases learned, Molly says, "He should be pissed." "Who, Sweetie?" "The doctor." "Why?" "He doesn't look like a good doctor with all those dead animals coming out the front door." "Great point." I envision a marketing career in her future.

Flash forward to the party. My sister and her family come exhausted and spent after the funeral and, of course, my mom and dad are feeling the same. Steve, my hubby, meets us there. I don't know how she does it having not been home in weeks but Mom has a great sandwich and salad buffet all set and ready to go. And of course keeps my wine glass full. The mood is somber though with Alice's passing still so vivid. Conversation is surfacy and after a quick bite we move onto the obligatory presents and cake.

My sister and her family had no time to shop with the funeral so she gives me a lovely one-size-fits-all crisp $100 bill. No complaints there. Next I open Steve's gift. A gorgeous new ski outfit and reservations for four to Bretton Woods and the Mount Washington Resort, ooolala! Keep in mind I haven't skied in 15 years and sucked at it when I did. The kids mind you have never skied and I think Steve went once 20 years ago. I know he means well. I have been saying, quite often actually, that we should take the kids skiing while they are young enough to not understand gravity. I think I would have been a much better skier had I learned in that happy state of juvenile innocence. So yes, he heard me and for that I love my gift and him. That is my heart talking though; my head on the other hand in its state of emotional exhaustion is thinking: "we should" connotates something you have to do. For me it is a check mark for being a good parent to expose your kids to skiing if you can. I haven't been saying "I wish I could get back out there on the slopes. Oh how I miss it!!" And Liam has strength issues with his legs. This could be a nightmare. I have always wanted to go to the Mount Washington Inn but as a romantic get-away not as a family trip. Did I mention the ski pants are like 2 sizes too small and the jacket a size too big? Or he got himself a great ski outfit too? Or that I am a complaining, ungrateful bitch?? I know. I know. But this is what goes through my head. Then my sister says that I could use the money they gave me for a massage because, ha ha, "You'll be so sore from falling." And my brother-in-law says, "At least you'll have money for your emergency room co-pay." Everyone laughs because that was truly very funny. But I'm thinking "you don't know how right you are."

Now my mom gives me a gift. I open a spectacular sweater from Anthropologie. I have always wanted to buy a sweater from there but have refused to pay $125 for a sweater in a size I don't plan to remain in. This by the way will be the year I get back to my pre-baby weight. Immediately I love the sweater. Soon though, Mom says "I have the receipt if you want to return it. The lady swore it would fit you but I tried it on and I don't think it will. You could keep it as a goal sweater." Are you freakin' kidding me? Is my mom calling me too fat for an XL sweater on my birthday???? Stay calm she is not thinking right. She just buried her best friend and is pushing past grief and exhaustion to make your day special. Focus on that and stop being a bitch. When she keeps repeating the "I have the receipt" and "the lady said it would fit but..." and "goal sweater" for like 10 minutes I finally have to say "I get it, Mom, I'm fat and the sweater won't fit even though I haven't tried it on. I get it. We all get it!" What little festivity there was has now evaporated and I'm running on fumes as out comes the peanut butter cup birthday cake. Peanut butter by the way has been plastered on the news nationwide for weeks as being recalled due to people dying from salmonella. A fact I intellectually know she missed being at her friend's deathbed but nonetheless it adds fuel to my self-pity, nothing-is-right fire. Taking my life in my hands I quietly eat my cake. Now I am really hating myself for the overwhelming pettiness and ingratitude I have oozing through my mind. It is truly ugly and I know I am hurting the people I love the most in this world but I can't turn it around. Time to go home.

As we step through the doors and I am thinking about everything I have to do to get the kids ready for bed and school Steve decides it would be a great time to try on the ski outfits. He is excited because he did this really great thing and doesn't know his wife is a seething ball of pettiness, grief and self-pity. He doesn't recognize the "save yourself" stare as I say maybe now isn't the best time. He persists with a boyish excited grin. I say, "I don't think they are my size." He counters encouragingly with, "You never know they might fit - you have been working out." I have been. But I know. He's all suited up now - looking so GQ or should I say so Sport Illustrated. "Please..." "Fine." (Note: when someone says "fine' it is a sign of passive aggressiveness and you should not consider any point conceded as a win.) Guess what? ... They don't fit. I now have visual proof of how fat and ugly and petty I feel. Thanks Cosmos so far forty is great.

Morning breaks and the sun is shining. Now all that lingers is the guilt of feeling so ungrateful for what with the right attitude is sure to be an amazing family adventure. We always have a blast on our trips together. They are my most treasured memories and I am sure this one will be too. Morning is quiet and I am still emotionally raw with grief for Alice and now guilt for hurting people I love. Steve leaves for work probably walking on egg shells not sure what he did wrong. When the kids get on the bus I get ready for work. With no one around to see I try on the sweater.

It fits.

Later in the day I call my mom and sincerely thank her for the party and tell her I love the sweater and I won't be needing to return it. "Oh that's great honey. I'll toss the receipt. I'm so glad you like it."

Forty is not so bad once you get used to it.

For the update on the ski trip see What A Weekend (a.k.a. What A Day Part II) . Did we go? Did anyone use the co-pay? Check it out.

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The Snow Blower and the Flame

Here is a Duncan story to start your day. On Sunday Steve ran over the very thick Sunday paper with the snow blower. Since the paper guy was trying to be nice he dropped the paper up near the garage which promptly got covered in snow. So on the second swipe of the snow blower Steve got a small shower of confetti, a thud and then a complete stoppage. 45 minutes and several tools (chisels. saws, hammers, knives, pliers, etc.) later still no snow blower. So we decide to shovel. A shovel is an old fashioned implement with a flat metal or plastic blade at one end that makes lifting snow easier. Easier than bare hands I guess. Anyway before fully committing to hard labor Steve has this flash of brilliance. As I go in to the house to get gloves he says, "Get a lighter." "A lighter?" says the ever curious I. "Yeah we can burn the paper out," says my very own in-house rocket scientist. Now as much as it would be a kick to see the Duncan name in print I don't think a Darwin Award is the way to go. So a quick reminder that snow blowers have gasoline in them which rumor has it is somewhat combustible and we nix the blow-up-your-house-to-unstick-the-snow blower-idea and grab a couple of shovels.

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My Favorite Aunt

Alice Gallagher, my mom's best friend since her twenty's, is my favorite aunt and, now that I am an adult, a friend I am proud to say. Alice is a friend people are lucky to have. She laughs easily and is generous to a fault. Time, money, wisdom, love - she gives all freely. Beautiful and graceful, Alice stands shockingly close to six feet tall but holds to five feet and a healthy eleven inches if asked. Impeccable taste in clothing, jewelry and home decor add to the Alice allure. Shopping on Christmas Eve with Kristen, my best friend and through me a friend of Alice's, we giggled our heads off as Kristen splurged on a gorgeous faux topaz cocktail ring. It was beautiful and excessive and as we both said, "Exactly what Alice would wear" - the ultimate in compliments. So out came the credit card. Things are prettier and bigger when seen with Alice. She has a quality, some might call it an aire, about her that seeks to add to the beauty of life. Whether it be proper etiquette or the perfect color pillow or her signature unique cocktail napkins for every occasion - Alice does it right. It was Alice who took my sister and I to our first rock concert - opening night of Bruce Springsteen's "Born In The USA Tour" in his home state of New Jersey. Hello? All concerts have paled in comparison since. Alice listens intently when you speak - a rare gift in this world. Her advice is given the only way she knows how to share her wisdom - directly from the heart with only your best interests in mind. The almost fifty year friendship she has shared with my mom is the kind people make movies about. Enduring and real for every minute. Filled with hopes, dreams, laughter, anger, pain, reconciliation and love. Their friendship is why the word "friend" was invented. If it sounds like something to be jealous of, it is. My own friendship with Alice evolved as she watched me grow from a baby of her best buddy to the woman I am today. A fixture at O'Leary family events and dramas Alice has filled her role as friend, aunt and second mother to a tee. Over the years I have sought her advice, enjoyed her company and thanked God for her existence countless times. I love Alice.

Unfortunately, as of last night she is no longer with us on this earth.

Alice you made my life better, you made the world better and I will miss you and think of you often.

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My Name

My name is Moira. O'Leary served as my last name for 27 years and I liked it. When I do something really stupid like pour orange juice on my cereal or wear two different shoes to work I still refer to myself as "O'Leary" in my little chats to myself. "O'Leary what the f**k!"

Now I am legally Moira Duncan. Duncan being my husband's last name. I like the Duncan but 12 years later I still wear it like a borrowed hat. This whole changing last name thing gets some people in an uproar. Why should the woman have to change her name? I hear you on that argument but just can't get all that passionate in the fight. Change it. Don't change it. Whatever works for you. I found the whole process quite liberating. During my engagement I was weirded out by the idea of having a "new" name but thought I wanted to have the same last name as my future children and husband so we'd be the "so and so family". Hence the Moira Duncan moniker. Twelve years later I can easily say it worked well for me but I could have kept O'Leary and been just as happy. What the heck it is just a name not an identity. So right now my name is Moira Aine Duncan but that is not who I am.

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A Laugh Is A Beautiful Thing

I love to make people laugh. My favorite sound is unbridled laughter. Not just any one's laughter but my friends' and family's. A great laugh involves not just sound but also amazing facial features. And every one's is unique. Steven, my husband, giggles like a little kid and his eyes squint slightly. He tosses his head back and gasps for air as he adds to the joke with some clever, side-splittingly funny comment. Liam, my youngest, has a high squeal and his whole face lights up with wide eager eyes and with hands on his belly he'll bend over in a fit of laughter. Molly, my beautiful daughter, breaks a huge smile first then giggles like only little girls can. Her eyes are always locked on yours and are an open window to her soul. When I laugh with Kristen, my BFF since grade school, we giggle and giggle and giggle. Pure joy. My sister, Tara, doesn't laugh uncontrollably often but, oh, when she does. It is such a wonderfully silly and contagious event. I just have to join her. It is these brief beautiful moments of unguarded happiness that I enjoy most in this world. Even more than chocolate or wine and that is saying a lot trust me. Go watch someone laugh today. You'll love it. I promise.

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Who Am I? Whose Asking?

This "who-am-I" answer is a little hard to pin down. I, as most women my age (10 days shy of forty), carry an assortment of labels.

• woman
• mom
• wife and lover (placed on same line here due to both being to my husband but other women may use two lines for these titles)
• daughter - sister - cousin - granddaughter - aunt - neice
• friend
• employee - co-worker
• neighbor
• sometimes runner
• avid reader
• amateur chef (OK mostly a microwave and crock pot guru who throws parties a few times a year just to cook a real meal)

I worked in corporate lending for 13+ years, owned a children's education business for three years and am currently a part time bookkeeper for a small company working with the most interesting women I have been blessed to know in a long time. Am I an ex-career woman, a former business owner or just a bookkeeper? Who knows?

Spending time with my two awesome children is my definition of joy on most days; on others I wish they'd just go away and leave me alone. "Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom........." Ugh!!! I love my husband passionately and laugh with him like no one else on earth; but there are days when I don't really like him and he me, I'm sure. Am I a wife and mother? Of course.

But I am also passionate about learning new things -anything. Question. Question. Question. I love it. When asked what would you do if you had all the money you ever needed I always say go back to school indefinitely. Am I a closet scholar?

If asked I say I am Catholic but I don't attend church regularly. My kids go to CCD and I believe in a higher power but I don't believe in everything the Church believes, does or says. Am I Catholic? Probably not. Am I religious? I would say yes.

I love to make people laugh and can get quite silly at times. Sad movies or even commercials can make me cry. Then again, really happy stories can also make me cry. I get fighting mad at injustice. I usually route for the underdog. I am told I trust too easily and am not the best judge of character. Apparently I don't see the "users" of the world. I choose to believe there is more good in people than bad. I don't take criticism very well but am trying to work on that. I stress the "trying" part. If given the choice between a really beautiful piece of expensive jewelry or an amazing trip with friends, I'd take the trip every time.

So there you have it. Who am I? I am me and my name is Moira. Glad to meet you.

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