Introduction

I think of myself as an “Average Joe” or in my case, an “Average Josephina,” but I have long felt that I have something to say to the world. I am just now beginning to figure out what it is. I hesitate to tell people what to do because I’ve always believed that if one is going to go around telling others how to live their lives, one had better make darn sure one’s ducks are all in a row. I now realize that I will never have all of my ducks in a row, but as long as I warn people of that, it is okay. WARNING: My ducks are not all in a row. My life is a bit of a mess!

However, the older I get, the more I learn. There are things that I used to think everyone knew, but I am now realizing they don’t. So, perhaps it is time to write some things down. I come from a long line of women who have known how to deal with life. My paternal grandmother immigrated from Italy at the age of eleven, lost her mother shortly after, and when her father wanted to go back to Italy a few years later, she refused to go. A marriage was arranged when she was fifteen; she raised five children during the Depression, faced many illnesses, and lived to be ninety-two. Her daughter went away to college when that was not the norm and did not move back home when she graduated with a teaching degree. One summer she took a vacation to Denver with a friend who went to pieces when they realized that each was counting on borrowing money from the other for the return trip. My aunt simply announced that they would get jobs. They worked at a military hospital where she met her husband. They were married for over fifty years, the last seven and one half of which she cared for him after a stroke. Even though she was legally blind, she was able to take care of herself up until about two years before she died at the age of ninety.

Her daughter has been to China twice, seen Machu Pichu, and climbed to the top of Kilamanjaro. The women from my father’s side of the family are not faint of heart.

I never knew my maternal grandmother, but she survived twelve pregnancies and raised twelve children—six boys and six girls. Her husband died in a mining accident when the youngest was twelve. The oldest two girls died of cancer before I was born, but I knew the other four well.

Aunt #1 raised four girls after a divorce when divorce was an ugly word. Her girls all married and raised children. She never complained during the process of dying from cancer.  In fact, she had a friend come over to visit who was dying too. They joked about it.

Aunt #2 lost her only son in Viet Nam, and a couple of years later her husband died in a plane crash. She remarried and spent many years caring for her second husband after he got Parkinson’s Disease. After losing both her brother and her father at a young age, Aunt #2’s daughter went on to marry, survive breast cancer, and raise three children.

Aunt #3 was a farm wife who lost her first husband to cancer after many years of marriage. She married and buried another husband after that.

Aunt #3’s daughter got pregnant in high school and married the father; the baby died in a car accident. They stayed married, raised another girl, and finally divorced.  Since then my cousin has survived cancer, remarried, and faced countless medical conditions. She is so bad off physically that she collects disability, but she still keeps on living the best that she can.

And finally comes my mother, the youngest of the twelve. After losing her father, she finished high school and moved to a different state to find work. She married into an Italian family, raised four children, and has always shown an amazing inner strength and peace. She cared for my father after he had a stroke until they moved in with my sister and brother-in-law who took over his care. My father passed away, but my mother still gets up every morning and does what she can despite several health issues.

How did/do they do it? Through faith and humor. These women have instilled in me the belief that with faith and humor I can survive things too. It isn’t that the men of my family are wimps; it is just that I identify with the women, perhaps because I am one.

I guess my inner peace and strength show because the older I get, the more often I hear questions that begin something like, “How did you . . . ?” or “Why are you . . .?” or “What do you think about . . .?” That is why I am starting this blog.