Posts filed under ‘Mothers’
May 3rd- Words are all I have- Chris Ritchey
Words- text- communication through a written language. Reading was always difficult for you as a little boy you were at the beginning of a local failing school system. A system that had to show progress, so although you had the extra classes , they passed you through as completing their grant driven reading programs. It wasn’t until the 5th grade we found out , when I had you privately tested, just how bad the problem was. Three years of catch-up and a change to private education.
Those years were hard for you , you thought you must be “stupid”. However, you also developed a skill of communicating “visually” . Eventually reading caught up with your ability to use your art to communicate. You found a niche for your talent at Lorain County Community College https://www.lorainccc.edu/
and on the advice of the college you transferred to Cleveland Institute of Art
artwork Chris Ritchey
It was at the students art show at Cleveland Institute of Art , I was looking at some of your designs etc. I noticed a couple of mistakes in the text. I spoke to the your instructor that evening about the mistakes in the text. He looked at me and said :
“that is not a problem , we can teach and correct spelling etc. what I can’t teach is what your son has, his ability , creativity and talent. I will give a an assignment to the group – “come up with three different advertising concepts on a given product/ client within a week” – Chris, will come back within two days with 10 entirely different takes. I can’t teach that……
Eventually you gained a position as Art Director for Wyse Advertising .
Apparently , according to your boss at the time, you were poised to do great things in advertising … we will never know…. but Wyse were wonderful to you during that terrible time of your illness.
I do remember that first year you worked for Wyse you were asked to do the ad for them in the annual “Torchlight” Membership Directory
The monthly AAF-Cleveland Portfolio features the latest in industry development and trends, association insights and updates, and achievements of local members. “Torchlight,” our annual membership directory, is an invaluable “Who’s Who” reference manual of members, agencies, and services in Cleveland advertising.
The directory was in your portfolio and the ad………. text, words …….. “scan of the full-page ad that appeared in the Torchlight”
Artwork Christopher Ritchey
But there aren’t any words that were so important as the last words you wrote to me – even with the spelling mistake…….I carry them with me every day
Mother’s Day is coming, once again tinged with tears and bitter-sweet ———– I love you…………I need to finish writing the book if I can find the words
April 3rd – Trilogy Trigger- Chris Ritchey
Chris Ritchey- CIA
This past month has been particularly difficult, losing my dear friend Paula to the obscenity that is cancer, the “hell is other people” neighbors with their form of obscenity invading what little space we have. It is what is called “life” for want of a description. As another departed friend used to say “everyone has a story” and yet another ” there is no laughter in hell”, but then again you would have to believe in a heaven if you believe in hell.
Easter was this past weekend , another holiday I hypocritically celebrate for the sake of loved ones and friends . I have pointed out my views and Easter/Eastre has been noted – another pagan holiday utilized, blended, absorbed and morphed for convenience sake of whatever was the popular faith at the time https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2012/04/06/ahhhhhh-easter-eastre-resurrecting-memories-eggs-and-crabs/
To me all religion is another man’s myth dressed up for the masses of whatever century of which you happen to be a part.
Irony, not to be outdone this year, the weekend found Gavin’s 9th birthday and your Dad’s and Easter all falling together.
You Dad born on another Easter Sunday on the top of the kitchen table ( so the story goes) let alone being April Fool’s Day.
Triple play in memories flooded in- other Easters with Papa Teddy and Auntie Gladys coming down from Canada especially at Easter and Thanksgiving , they really were the closest thing to grandparents. Such love , such beautiful people. Your first Easter , you decided to crawl and Papa Teddy spent the whole time steering you away from the fireplace hearth, fascinated even then by flames.
Memories of you being taken to that “terrible to me now” church St. Mary’s Lorain https://www.parishesonline.com/find/st-mary-catholic-church-44052 by your godparents on Easter Sunday . Well…..up until the time you “shot the priest” with a pretend gun and something religious spilled as someone in the procession jumped and there was such a kafuffle apparently. I know you were never again taken to Easter Sunday services there.
To think that church would play such havoc in our lives bringing such anger and unkindness – due to you walking down that same aisle and the taking of any closure, denying our beliefs by your controlling “in law family”( Lombardi/ Vika and offspring) and the “bride” Angela Lombardi ( Ritchey) now Murphy
not to mention “their priest” Divis –
Sharing a laugh – but on whom?
There should have been overload in the confessional, one would think, although forgiveness is far from my heart. Ah! what meaning in this life today of a ‘mother’s curse” in days of myth and legend a powerful instrument met now with the word Karma??? Karma borrowed once more from an even older religion…. I wait ………
Gavin’s “birthday” or day of his birth – hoping against hope as you lay in that terrible Cleveland Clinic- the lab rat- being made to clinically die to “save you”. I had to leave you that night to be with your sister as a new life came into the world……….. torn once more………
Your Dad’s birthday – the years of playing pranks not just because it was April fools day but because your loved your jokes. The time you took out an ad in the paper selling the house . Yes! all memories , uninvited guests along with the ham, steaks, tulips and a missing space at the table.
And yet laughter and smiles, little boys and a girl looking for surprises, barely able to sit still as the grown-ups took forever to eat. Tales of other memories , other traditions , pastel eggs mixed in with camouflage eggs, a grandfather and his grandsons sharing a moment to remember. 
Yes all intertwined showing the colors and also the greyness of what we have become – I love you – we all do……..
Gonna Party like you’re 99 – !!!!!
I have been thinking about this post all week- how do I write about my mum and her life experiences and loves. I decided to let her words tell the tale of the time before – before she was my mum and a young child and woman in her mid twenties. I think she said it best in her book ( published for family only and written to my daughter when she was a wee one) in the foreword :
Cover Design Chris Ritchey
It is sometimes safer to write about other people than about oneself and easier to shape their lives into a consistent pattern. When you come to examine your subject, in this case my life, more closely the process is somewhat more complex and daunting than I originally thought. Every human life is at once so complex, yet simple, so perplexing yet clear, superficial and yet plunges to the depths that attempts to present it as a unified whole may take more talent than your Nana has but I will try.
The times before when she was a young girl scrumping apples with her brother Mark , that didn’t bode well as you will see:
“Parrot snout ( his nickname for her) , tell me whatever you do- if you see anyone whilst I climb to the top of that tree”
“Ok, Mark, I will stand underneath whilst you throw the fruit down”.
What a wonderful bag I collected. The sunshine was brilliant and I got caught up watching the butterflies, I seemed to be lulled with the peace and tranquility of it all. “ What was that I could see? Could it be the policeman’s helmet appearing over the fence and two eyes taking in the scene!”? My voice froze, I could not warn my brother, not a sound came from my throat. I tried and tried to make the sound come “ Oh! Vi don’t muff this one” but I took to my heels, the bag of lovely fruit spilling and scattering in the orchard joining the feast for the wasps. I made for the hole in the fence and bolted without ever looking back, leaving the policeman underneath the tree waiting for an unsuspecting boy to descend.I was terrified, would I once again be shunned and ostracized by all and sundry? My brother angry gave me clip round the ear and said “ I will never take girls along again!”
The opportunity for higher learning denied , although passing her exams and obtaining a scholarship, the family could not afford the extras .
digging for victory
Her first job at the Express Dairy when she was 15 as a window dresser and in charge of the shop – she too became one of the ME TOO – this generation didn’t invent sexual harassment…… https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Me_Too_movement
The visits of Mr. B { a travelling Superintendent for the company } grew more frequent, I grew more apprehensive. I longed to confide my fears to someone, my sister Renee was too young, my mother would have advised and helped me but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her…what could I tell her as nothing had yet occurred. Events came to a head one afternoon, Mr. B called in; he had a very nice shiny new car and invited me to go for a ride with him that evening. I said I was unable to do so.
”OK then some other time maybe!” Meanwhile he made some coffee, opened a tin of pineapple chunks (4 1/2 d) and a carton of cream (2d) he offered me some. I don’t really know what happened then, but I was suddenly held in a vise like grip, the small table upon which the pineapple and cream were sitting went over, juice spilling all over me! The fingers with the hairs were groping and fumbling, I was shaking with fright, and my overall was off ….my brass buttons “pinged” as they hit the floor.
Sometimes the unbelievable happens, it did a customer came in the shop door. And the bell really saved me! The lady bless her never knew what she did for me that day. I didn’t stop to lock the shop up but tore off on my bicycle, not daring to look around. I turned in my resignation and applied for a position in the G.P.O. (General Post Office)
Mum managed to get a placement
The training school was in Holborn, with dummy switchboards. It seemed there were nothing but aged old dried up spinsters ladies were teaching us,( how unkind and thoughtless we are when we are young.) The wonder of it all when we finally finished our training and passed as “thirty six hour girls” ( you were only allowed to work for 36 hours to start with hence the expression). We were then directed to our “local” telephone exchanges. During this training time which took three months we weren’t paid. How my mother coped not only not having my wages coming in to help but to give me enough for fares and lunches must have been so very difficult for her but somehow she managed.
The meeting of the young man who would eventually be her husband and my father.
. After one of the dances, as was the custom then, we were standing clapping waiting for the band to start up again; a chap around 5ft 9, quite well-built with terrifically strong-looking shoulders and periwinkle blue eyes and with blonde hair, one curl of which had fallen across his forehead. He came over and whisked and danced me to the other end of the room.
Then War!! Mum volunteered for special duty and ended up at the Ministry of Information
Three of us would be required to man the emergency switchboard, which was housed in the basement of the building; this was called the war room. A big square room, around the walls were telephone boxes which were connected with a direct line to all the important ministries for example, the Admiralty, War Office, Air Ministry, Foreign Office, Ministry of Supply etc. etc.
In each telephone box sat a high-ranking official who would be in communication with his respective Ministry. The censors and press officials were they’re sorting and sifting through thousands of reports coming in from all areas of Britain and the world.
These people were tremendous and treated the operators extremely well Lord Reith had taken on the job of Minister of Information; he had been head of the BBC. Winston Churchill, who was then 1st Lord of the Admiralty, used to come through on his direct line “ Good Morning, give me the Minister please” short polite and always to the point. The town clerks and mayors of today in local council could well take a lesson from those gentlemen of yesteryear.
Sir Walter Monkton was there; he was a good friend of the Duke of Windsor who was in France at the time. The Duke would call quite frequently to have a chat with his friend. I enjoyed my work immensely it was extremely busy especially if any kind of action, naval air or army was taking place.
However all was not fun and games my 19-year-old mum working at the Ministry of Information you got the war news before most and one day:
HMS Southampton
her boyfriend’s ship
Damaged during air raid on warships in Forth Estuary.One bomb penetrated three decks. Casualties.
came through the ticker tape
NOTE: ” The Man who Designed the Spitfire” again little life coincidences. The Spitfire first saw action on that October 16th 1939 protecting the Royal Navy and my Dad.
On 16 October 1939, Junkers Ju-88s of 1/KG 30 led by Hauptmann Helmuth Pohle attacked British warships in the Firth of Forth. Nine of the Ju-88s were intercepted over Rosyth by three Spitfires of 603 Squadron, each of which attacked Pohle’s aircraft which was hit repeatedly and crashed into the sea
https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2010/09/25/long-time-passing-gone-to-fighting-part-6/
However she too was in peril and felt the Nazi Blitz…
It must have been only 9: pm. There seemed to be a great deal of activity outside. We used to be able to tell by the sound of the aircraft engine whether it was one of ours or one of the Germans.
The whistle of the descending bombs and the following explosions was terrifying. We sighed a breath of relief when hearing that explosion didn’t have our name on it. This night I did not hear the whistle nothing suddenly a complete and utter silence. The bricks seemed to be crumbling and falling all around. I tried to hold onto something. I only grabbed at empty space. The air was filled with dust. I realized the house must have received a direct hit and the three people who had been near me had disappeared. I tried calling the silence was eerie and shocking. I had bricks and wood and plaster all around me “was I going to be buried alive?”
There was one sound, a hissing sound coming from somewhere beneath me. “A fractured gas pipe perhaps”. I remembered hearing accounts of people being gassed to death before they had been dug out from all the rubble. I groped all around in that black darkness and found a pipe, maneuvered myself and sat over the leakage. Bricks were still falling but I had heard human voices Maudie and her mother and sister (Barbara) everyone was at least alive. Then came the sound of faint movements. These became clearer and what seemed to be hours later a chalky white face appeared, Mr. Cushing’s. He had been on ARP duty outside and seen his own house go up!
Many hands helped me out; I was the first and escaped with hardly a scratch but was holding a very sore backside and apparently hysterically asked the first aid warden “ can you get gassed in the posterior” he obviously thought I was a little balmy. Mrs. Cushing fared the worse and Maudie and Barbara were very badly bruised and shaken, seeing the remains of what was left of the house. Just one heap of broken bricks, shattered glass and matchsticks only remains of doors and beams. The marvel is that we escaped at all.
These things happened before I even knew this wonderful woman who was to be my mum.
After the war years came family years – chock a block full with uncles , aunts, cousins a lots of laughter. As always there were some bad and terrible times but always through it all was my mum constant , loving and keeping the wolf from the door and being there for me.
MY mum may not have amassed a fortune but I don’t know any other person who has, through the years gathered so many friends and such love, due to her just being her . Never a day goes by when there isn’t at least one card or letter coming through the mail from some far-flung corner of the globe. She is Aunty Vi or Aunty Janet, mother in law and sometimes the “Dame”
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Best of all she is my mum, and her grandchilden’s
and her Great grand children’s NANA!!!
Happy Birthday Mum this one is for you !
Jan 3rd- Relativity to Time – Chris Ritchey
Chris Ritchey CIA
Time and relativity – I admit the highest mark I ever received from Norman Niles- my Physics teacher was D minus! I hated Math and I detested Physics- loved Chemistry and History.
However ” Events that occur at the same time for one observer could occur at different times for another.” https://www.space.com/17661-theory-general-relativity.html
Black Holes I never understood – more a case of not wanting to be bothered- BUT and there is always a but I feel I am ( as well as probably many others of my kind) lost in time .
A mother who has lost her child – there are no words or labels for us – not a widow, an orphan, etc unless you consider “tethligons” (Sanskrit word which means ‘against the natural order’)which, for me ,conjures up some sort of terrible monster- but then losing your son or daughter makes you feel like you are in the world of monsters – caught , crunched between the teeth of the monster and then spat out – only to be caught again
Most of humanity live in a 3 dimensional world – and then again….
We can portray our reality as either a three-dimensional place where stuff happens over time,” said Massachusetts Institute of Technology physicist Max Tegmark, “or as a four-dimensional place where nothing happens [‘block universe’] — and if it really is the second picture, then change really is an illusion, because there’s nothing that’s changing; it’s all just there — past, present, future.
The diagnostic box- self- portrait Chris Ritchey
My universe, Christopher, since you have been taken away has left me in a world where I float, for the most part, between the time before, then and now- New Year’s Eves have come and gone but every day and night I am elsewhere lost in time, as it no longer registers or is linear, the time that has come in between observed only by others in the 3rd dimension . I wake never knowing the year…………………. my 4 dimensional world apart from the normal .
Struggling toward some knowledge of the “physics of it all” and once again a barely passing grade. There are glimpses of understanding but the are illusive , on the edge of conscience , just out of reach –
but they are there – if only my tired brain could grab them – the tools of science notwithstanding in their cold calculations .
I continue to love and exist in this dimension – nothing changes our love or missing of you……….except they grow in strength no matter the time ….
Tree of Love- Gabriel Miller- moonbeam and light 2017
A few weeks after my son passed, a good friend also felt that same terrible pain of losing her child. There isn’t much you can do or say after those initial weeks to those that have not felt what it is like to be absolutely “gutted” and whose world is no longer together. You are expected to get over it – move on- people can get impatient with your grief, you are a dreadful reminder that a loss of a child can happen to them . You have no outlet for your love that continues to grow. In the following May after Gabe’s passing from this world, Gabe’s father and mother planted a tiny tree ( supposedly a dwarf variety) in the area known as Settlers’ Watch.
Through the seasons the tree was tended with care and love ; the little tree grew . Every year Gabe’s mum and dad light the now the not so little tree- 2015 found it a bit of a stretch for his dad.
This year more than a stretch was needed
and night fell on a snowy Christmas
The little tree, no longer small – grown tall- fed with love and watered with tears shone through the darkness and cold reminding us of a little boy
a sweet child – the light of his mother and father’s very being – the love that is his alone -lights for just a little while the cold dark nights.
Gabriel Miller August 17th-2009- December 31st 2009
Photos Lisa Miller – Lorain 365
Dec 3rd- The waiting – Chris Ritchey
The dark days are here – night-time draws ever closer- I am as a child frightened of the coming bleak hours/ days – cuddled down in the bed that is life -looking for warmth- a place to escape the dreading – a window has a glimmer of a lighter shade of night illuminating the place where I lay.
Still my eyes are drawn to the corners , where darkness has gathered and I know that as the dying days draw ever nearer I will have to face that darkness that has accumulated and grown over the days , months and years . As hard as I try to keep back the darkness of those days of death , they are ever-present waiting to be released by the memories of your dying and those terrible days.
The hope – massacred by cancer causing the onslaught of a pain so deep , a scream that never ends just becomes silent – to all but a few. Every year I dread these days , the holidays that hold so much more to me now than pumpkin pies, turkey, lighted trees , singing – they are tinged with a blight that dulls happiness to that of a shadow of holidays past.
You are with us , I know.. more so than any other … and for that I am grateful.. but I long to see your face.. hear your voice…… and laugh at your irreverence instead I have to pull over my face the covers of protection- muffle my sobs into the bosom of my family and wait…………….
I love and miss you more with each passing day
March 3rd -It’s OK- Chris Ritchey
Reaching out- art work- Christopher Ritchey
It’s OK – (okay) the origin of OK has many theories https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/explore/what-is-the-origin-of-the-word-ok
but basically translated – Ok (okay) means it is alright, it is fine or will be OK – will be alright – will be fine.
When something traumatic happens either in real life or in tv / movie land – invariably , along with the hug and the patting on the back http://www.saywhydoi.com/the-back-pat-why-do-we-pat-on-the-back/ comes the words – “it’s OK”
No it isn’t OK really …. but like shaking hands when you meet someone it is something those who try to comfort do.
I found myself yelling at the television as yet another traumatized mother – having disaster over take her family – and the well-meaning friend , the “it’s Ok” tripping from their mouth for want of something to say – throw away words ….
but I am here to tell you when you lose a son or daughter nothing is ever alright, fine or okay in your world ever again.
OK! well I maybe be making a mountain out of a molehill… and bitching about the human condition when we are at a loss for words and trying to be kind and give comfort but it cuts me to the quick when I see and hear those words spoken
The flawed Hand of the Healer by Chris Ritchey
AND it is not okay that my wonderful, talented, loving son with his whole life ahead of him- is nothing more than a memory- and in some cases not even that – whilst the dregs of mankind and other sons cause terror and destruction to the world’s children.
AND it is not OK that once again I am losing from my life a sweet, caring , selfless , sparkling wine of a woman to the obscenity of cancer- another family waiting and watching as she leaves us slowly. It is not OK that she is leaving whilst the cruel bitches of this world thrive………
It is NOT OK Chris that I am here and you are not…….. I love you
March 3, 2018 at 12:20 pm 1 comment