Storm of Thoughts

We Take Family (and Bocce) Very Seriously

Labor Day always held special meaning for my family. In 1990, tired of only seeing relatives at weddings or funerals, my parents decided to start a party that would bring everyone together, once a year, under only the best of circumstances. A place where work could be forgotten, illnesses could be overlooked, and everyone would think of one thing and one thing only: bocce.

Thus began a tradition that grew into such a spectacular event that it became busier, crazier, funnier, more overwhelming, and more fulfilling with every passing year. At first, the party was held on my parent’s property in Pennsylvania (where we didn’t live full-time) – 44 acres of rolling hills and woods. With a pond to fish and a field to shoot skeet, it was any outdoorsman’s dream location. Later, the party was moved to my parent’s house in New Jersey, which meant less property, but a pool, hot tub, and two jukeboxes. No matter where the party was, though, there was always a surplus of food and beer, nights full of poker playing, my dad’s trusty Sabrett hotdog wagon, one intense bocce tournament, and the kind of good conversation and constant laughs that my parents put the party together to create.

The event was such a success, in fact, that we couldn’t get people to go home. What started as a one-day party quickly turned into an overnighter and, eventually, an entire weekend event. Of course, there were only so many couches and beds in the PA house, and the hotel in town (if you could call it that) had only four rooms, leading people to drive almost an hour to find more hotel rooms and continue the celebration the following day. My parents didn’t cater dinner, which also meant a LOT of cooking and a lot of pitching in, something our family has always been good at providing. And despite what was going on before everyone arrived at the party, spirits were always high (which was especially important the year everyone stayed three days, leading the house to run out of water and necessitating trips to the pond to collect buckets full just to use the toilets).

Each year brought not just new guests, but a new motto and a new party favor – the 1st Annual Family Bocce Tournament had guests in hats, while the next year found them in T-shirts. Bocce 3 became “The Revenge” after the first year’s champs (my dad and brother Jackson) handed the trophy over to new winners in year two. (Did I not mention the trophy? Truly a piece of wonder, engraved with the champions’ names, and theirs’ to keep until the new year brought another tournament.) In honor of Gene Feher, our unlucky in bocce cousin, Bocce 4’s catchphrase became “Let’s Play Feher.” Hats, water bottles, and can cozies followed, all emblazoned with the event’s title.

And, of course, besides parting gifts, photos, and videos, there were the memories. The pranks played on Gene (and, once in awhile, by Gene). The time the Italian bakery spelled bocce wrong on the cake. For me, of course, there were different memories, as I grew up at the bocce party. A kindergartner when it started, I learned to play poker (although Gene’s wife Irene still claims she found me teaching Gene), I learned to dive, and I encountered my first bee attack (12 stings on the legs). I also learned what it meant to be close to family, even when usually you were so far away.

Of course, everyone’s favorite memory took place at Bocce 5. Where my grandfather, ailing though he was, fought his way to the championship with Gene as his partner. The excitement actually breathed life into him as the games progressed; by the final game, he had literally thrown aside the cane he had been relying on before and discovered a new strength. Seeing him like that is what mattered most to everyone there; him winning the trophy was just icing on the cake.

By the time my grandfather passed away and my parents had held eight consecutive bocce tournaments, the party became too much to handle. After a short break, a new family took it over, and this past year was their eighth time holding it as well. There are some new guests now, a new trophy, a slightly earlier date, and a different location, but the family, the stories, and the meaning of it all remain the same. My parents started not just a party, but a tradition. A tradition of celebrating family – and life – each and every year. A reminder of the family we’ve lost, the love and memories we share, and the importance of putting everything else aside – at least once a year – to come together, talk, laugh, and play some very serious bocce.

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Vacation Memories

Vacation memories are often some of the fondest. These are the ones that involve
interesting places, time spent with family, and a good amount of relaxation.
(Although this is not a given, depending on your family.) Our trips usually involve
being near the water. Vacation to my family means “never far from a boat.”
So with the upcoming holiday weekend, not to mention yesterday’s beach photo,
I was inspired to share with you some photos of our last trip to the water
in Nantucket.

The house that we stayed in.

The walk to the water.

Pete and I in the rented Jeep Wrangler, quite possibly the highlight of the trip.

I LOVE lighthouses. There were three.

A lot of fishing took place.

Possibly my coolest moment, marred only slightly by Pete’s hand.

We found this guy swimming about 10 feet from shore. Apparently there are seals everywhere in Nantucket.

An important message:

A frightening number of seagulls.

Apparently pirates are alive and well.

Good luck with these directions:

What’s your favorite vacation memory?

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Wordless Wednesday: A Summer Reflection

sunglasses, originally uploaded by stoddard_christine.

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A Small Misunderstanding

Before launching my blog, I spent a lot of time trying to come up with a name. Something slightly meaningful, I imagined, and at least sort of catchy. Easier said than done, of course. (That photo, by the way, is of me brainstorming by the pool. You can tell I’m thinking hard.) To help, I went to the three people who always have an answer for everything (although I’ll stop short of calling them know-it-alls) – my parents and my boyfriend. (Possibly more on their know-it-all status at a later time).

I finally had a list of possibilities, which I was more than excited about. So I went, paper in hand, to Yahoo, where my site is hosted. (I will say, to be fair, that I love Yahoo – their features and especially their service are excellent. But anyway…)

I entered the first option: FlashFiction.com. (A name that came from scouring dictionaries of literary terms, looking for something that might fit. While not fiction, a blog does sort of fit the “extremely short story” category). Of course, it was taken, but the domain finder helpfully suggested another option: FlashCreativeAds.com.

I moved on to another choice, MyThoughtsExactly.com. This, too, was taken. Suggestion: SendMyThoughts.com. Both off-point and nonsensical.

Next: LetMeExplain.com. No again. This time the suggestion was closer, though still completely wrong: LetMesExplain.com. Yeah, that would go over well.

This went on for awhile. Yahoo turned FlashTalk into FlashDialogue, FiguresOfSpeech into TalkingFigures, and WhatAWasteofTime into PremiereWaste.

Eventually, I got tired of the process (and of having my great ideas shot down and then mocked). I typed, “InsertCatchyNameHere.com” out of frustration, only to find that those before me had similarly run out of ideas. The alternative? CatchyNameStore.com. I would not own that store, let me tell you.

At this point I was beginning to feel like Yahoo did not understand me at all.

I even tried “ICantTakeThisAnymore.com,” which, not surprisingly, was also unavailable. (Suggestion: YourThisAnymore. Huh?)

But the last one was my favorite. Before giving up, I typed in “ThanksAnyway.com.” You’re probably not shocked to hear that someone owned that one too. But this one prompted the suggestion: “PayAnywayUsa.com”

Well, now, that about sums it up, doesn’t it?

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Leaving the Curtains Open

I like looking in windows. (Which is why every time I go anywhere I end up with a lot of pictures like the one above.) And not in a creepy way…although I can see how you might think so if you don’t possess a similar urge to check out nearby houses and the people in them. I like seeing how houses are decorated and landscaped, noticing lights burning upstairs and a TV glowing in the big bay window and imagining the people inside. I remember years ago when I would walk home from friends’ houses in the evening and notice the families cooking in their kitchen, sitting down to dinner, or coming out to play in their yard. Even still, when I pass by, I notice the colors of houses and the rooms inside, the flowers planted near the pathway, the things left forgotten in the grass, and I wonder what that says about the people who live there. In fact, I conjure up images of people in their home even when I meet them outside of it. And, when visiting someone for the first time, nothing brings me greater joy than the obligatory tour. I love looking at the paintings and photos they hang on the wall, the dishes displayed in the dining room, and even the rips, stains, or lack thereof on the living room couch. All of these things truly paint a picture. Stories of people in their homes. Is there a truer impression of a person?

Which is why I love reading blogs. Blogs, too, are stories of people in their homes. It is here that I can see the photos they might hang on their wall, the things they enjoy doing, and the people they sit down to dinner with every night. Bloggers are the people who leave their curtains open. This blog, then, will be my window too.

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Getting Started

…is harder than it looks.

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