Category Archives: Family

Bringing a batch of birthday blondies to my brother, I got to see this little guy just maxing out and relaxing in the sunlight of a Sunday afternoon. Jaxon is one happy little baby, content to rock in his chair and let the world do its thing, while he watches and observes, occasionally cracking a smile or wincing at the foolishness of all us adults hustling and bustling about. At only seven months old, he already has a certain centered peace to him, and though I am usually good about hightailing it out when a crying fit might be about to occur (I’ve got a heightened-sense about it thanks to several years of practice with these two) even when he cries it’s not the crazy mess that babies can sometimes become. 

His chill, laid-back attitude bodes well for coping in a world where insanity is the order of the day. Luckily, everyone is making sure he’s kept peaceful and comfortable for as long as possible. There will be time enough to grow up later. For now, we enjoy a sunny day at the end of February. 

His expressions are such that I could easily fill the rest of this blog’s life up with pictures of Jaxon alone. That’s a comforting thought for when I scrape the bottom of the barrel for content, and for those who are over my own tired shenanigans. ‘The Life & Times of Jaxon Layne’ has a certain gorgeous ring to it… 

Brotherly love is a bond that should remain unbroken, and for my brother and I that has largely proven to be true. We may have our differences – vast and many and sometimes irreconcilable – but we are brothers, and nothing will ever change or alter that. Today is my brother’s birthday – and since he’s the only brother I have (to my knowledge) I hold him a little closer to my heart in spite of any differences. 

Over the years, I’ve seen him change and grow, while doing some changing and growing myself, and we find ourselves having more in common than we may have realized. We also understand our differences a little better, and rather than having them work against us, we are more amenable to accepting them and loving each other. His children and fiancée Landrie have gone a long way toward bringing us closer together as well, and that’s the way it should be. 

As he embarks upon his next trip around the sun, I wish him the best – Happy Birthday Powie!

It was two years ago when the twins and I last ventured into Saratoga. That visit was in the prime of summer, on a slightly overcast day when ‘The Goonies’ was playing at the movie theater there, and we made a day of it.

This past Sunday, to kick off their winter break, we had the twins overnight, and on Monday we had a day in the August place to be. It’s a drastically-different vibe than in summer, when we could have our ice cream on the sidewalk and not worry about the wind or cold, but the magic and charm was in full effect. 

As they race toward their 13th birthday, I feel the rush of their childhood, like the rush of all childhood – gone so quickly, yet encapsulated in moments like this that somehow seem to last, even if it’s just in a memory, or a blog post. 

They are still young enough to find new discoveries around every corner, and old enough to humor their uncle in his many requests to pause for a photo shoot. 

We lunched at The Mercantile, where we went the last time we were in town. As adventurous as they may sometimes be, Noah and Emi also find comfort in the familiar, and since they enjoyed our last meal there they wanted to try it again, followed by a sweet treat at the same ice cream place. We couldn’t duplicate the sidewalk seating just yet, but as we walked along Broadway the afternoon sun felt warm, and the slightest hint of spring was on the wind. 

We found gifts for Landrie and Paul, who would bring Jaxon over to our home for his first visit and a casual Filipino dinner. The twins will be thirteen years old before Jaxon even turns one – markers of time the way children often are, even under the sporadic observation of doting uncles. 

And so life moves gently, and adorably, onward…

These days my Dad isn’t always engaged or aware of everything around him, but every once in a while we get him to perk up, and then we get to see the glimmer of the man he used to be. My newest nephew Jaxon usually gets Dad to smile and pay attention, and he seems equally enthralled by the old man in front of him, making it a happy connection for both. 

Over ninety years of age separates these two guys, but they seem to have a bond that cuts those years away – the heartwarming connection between grandfather and grandson. 

Like many families, ours has decidedly been structured around a matriarchal tradition: my mother has been the central figure who has largely held our family together throughout my entire life. From my first moments of mental recognition, I saw that our mother was the person who really ran things in our home. Dad may have gone out to work every day and doled out discipline when we got out of hand, but I saw and understood that the real person in charge was Mom. As such, I never doubted or had any society-skewed view of gender roles in our home. I viewed my parents largely as equals, and if anything the strength and power and charge of our family resided in Mom. If I have any decent recognition of the equality among genders, it’s due to my Mom’s example. 

She taught me and my brother many things over the years, molding us into the people we would become, teaching us a certain grace and unassuming humility, mostly because we never saw her engage in ugliness or confrontations or judgment. She took the best of her Catholic faith and lived it rather than preaching or talking about it. Her work as a nurse and later a professor of nursing showed me how we could help others – not by shouting about it or heralding her own efforts, but simply by doing. 

It’s a tradition that continues to this day, as she takes care of my father in his advancing age and medical condition, as well as her three grandchildren, to whom she is affectionately known as ‘Lola’. Her two sons are also still largely dependent on her for guidance and strength, as we find our own way as adults. This is her birthday, and while she deserves this sort of recognition every day, I’m putting it into print here to honor her in the only way that I can. 

Happy birthday, Mom – we love you!

My godson is turning into quite the charmer, with those eyelashes and that giddy smile. He also has an intuitive timer to keep such charms to himself and away from the prying eye of the camera phone: as soon as I lift my phone to capture one of his poses, he pauses his smile, only to instantly resume once I put the silly phone down. Oh what lessons this boy is going to teach us! 

I was quick and persistent enough to catch this one quick smile, and then I pocketed the phone to enjoy the rest in person. He seems to be a happy baby, and he’s just starting to bounce around and become more active. I’ll be documenting his progress in spite of his camera-dodging efforts. 

When all else fails, a new baby can make believers out of the most jaded of us. 

Plan B is the code name for our next trip to Boston – named as much for the city as for my second attempt at a getaway-weekend with the twins. The first time we were scheduled to do this, plans were derailed due to a storm. That weekend had to move forward without Emi and Noah, but not without my promise to make it happen again at a later date. 

In anticipation of that, we had them over for a New Year’s Day sleepover, and in the morning-after we posed and vamped for a few photos before and after a run to Starbucks. Everyone says they are growing up so quickly, and I see it now and then when I’ve been away from them for a while. 

It’s only a matter of time before I lose them to their phones, if it hasn’t already happened. But they seem to have a good balance so far of turning them off and entering real life – and there are moments when I will be all too happy to have them distracted by something other than my incessant attempts at being entertaining. (This majesty doesn’t just happen without great effort.)

There are worse ways to spend a winter weekend, and until we can burst onto the patio and into the pool, we will have to find coziness and fun in the attic, which is happily outfitted with a treasure trove of hats and wraps and costumes to rival anything of Miss Havisham. Uncle Al’s wardrobe runs wide and deep, like the brocade carpet bag of Mary Poppins, and is just as magical.

The first guests of a New Year set the tone for the months to come. Well, not really, actually not at all, but our attic was graced by my niece and nephew on the first night of the year, so it sounds good. They are growing much taller and much too quickly – soon they will tower over us, though no shift in authority will take place. On this night, I promised them a dinner of appetizers, so we made a quick market run, then returned to set up lumpia, cocktail wieners, clementines, Vermonth cheddar cheese, Honeycrisp apples, various crackers and chips, a Rice Krispies treat, a pomegranate, pears, pineapple, Fresca, and a bag of five shrimp. It was, as Emi declared, the most random collection of food that they’d ever had for dinner. Welcome back to Uncle Al and Uncle Andy’s kitchen!

After ‘dinner’ we worked on some playlists for a possible trip to Boston (to make up for this one that the twins had to miss). Noah came up with the funkified portion of the list, while Emi suggested some Tay Tay Etcetera. We went to the basement to watch a movie and paint our nails, and then it was bedtime. After tucking them in, I read a few poems from Rumi, popped Bab’s Christmas Casserole in the oven, then hunkered down myself. All in all, it was a lovely start to the year.

While Mom had to run a few holiday errands, I spent a recent morning with Dad. We are grateful that he is still trudging along, even if the decline has been steady and sometimes difficult to watch. There are still glimmers of the man who raised me, and every once in a while he surfaces behind his cloudy eyes and deteriorating body. I see him most often when we share a laugh, usually over something like when he grabs at the glass of apple juice I’m holding for him, thinking it’s about to fall. It’s impossible to tell what he sees or thinks at any given moment, but when we catch each other in a laugh, it feels like it once did, even as it tugs differently at the heart. 

On that morning, I fed him the rest of his breakfast, bringing each forkful to his mouth, where for the most part he would, out of habit or desire, open his mouth to taste each bite. Every few minutes I’d pause and place the straw in the cup of apple juice at his lips, which he gulped down helpfully. I’ve noticed he enjoys the juice more when it’s been cooled with an ice cube, so it’s the least I can do to indulge him in this simple addition. 

Later in the day, after he’s had his fun going through arranging and re-arranging the contents of his wallet – something that harkens to his OTB days – I will bring out lunch that Mom left for us, carefully lifting each forkful to his mouth again, until he remembers and gets the hang of it. Sometimes he just needs a little jumpstart like that. Whenever he pauses and loses track, I’ll give it another try, filling a fork and telling him it’s good.

As I sat there near the sunny window of a late November morning, a memory of Dad peeling grapes for me as a kid came to mind. In that very same space, of that very same room, he had once taken the time and made the intricate effort to peel the skin off grapes and feed them to me. It was an indulgence that would not be repeated very often, but it has remained a special moment in my memory. I couldn’t have been more than seven years old, so I’m not sure why I remember it – maybe because the grapes tasted so much sweeter without their skins, or maybe they tasted better because they were prepared with such love – whatever the case, it was a happy childhood moment. As I fed Dad his chicken and rice, I knew he didn’t remember those days already four decades gone by, but I hoped he felt my love.