Calling it Quits?

One of the big stories in the news this week was that the Captain and Tennille are calling it quits after 39 years of marriage.  Rumor has it that Toni Tennille, 73, filed for divorce against husband and singing-partner Daryl Dragon, 71.




The couple, who are best known for their hits "Muskrat Love" and "Love Will Keep Us Together," married in 1975, which is the same year they released their first album. The couple have continue to record together over the years, and most recently released the album "ICON" in 2013.

As stories about the couple hit the news, media outlets and Facebook were was satiated with comments from

"That's just stupid. Anything that's lasted 39 years is worth working at"  and

"Why? You're old as hell and you've been married for 4 decades. Why divorce now?" and finally, "how sad... I don't get how you give up after 40 years?"

I understand some of these statements because of my own divorce.  After 40 years with one man (36 of them married), I, too, felt those same sentiments.  How can a person give up on so much history?  A history that will never be matched...one of growing up together.

Relationships are over by choice only.  The idea that long-term marriages must mean so little that one can still walk away without counseling always baffles me.   Marriage counselors the world over promise that they can heal marriages to be better than ever. 

There have been rumors that the divorce was financially necessary because the Captain has a parkinsons-type neurological disease, and health benefits would be more beneficial if he were single.  Time will tell.

In the meantime, I wish nothing but the best for Tennille and Daryl, unless "some sweet talking girl came along, singing her song........." . 

 

See?  I still have my sense of humor.  Just hope The Captain and Tennille does, too, because a sense of humor CAN "Keep us Together." 

My Very First…

It was 1963 when the Dovells released their hit “You Can’t Sit Down.”  It topped the charts at Number 3 that year.

Months later, as I was turning 14, I made a routine visit to my aunt’s house in Livonia with my father.  And there, on her kitchen table, was this record with an orange and yellow label. 

As I nosed in closer to sneak a peek at the single, dumfounded that my aunt would even HAVE a 45 in her house, I caught site of the title of the song.   You Can’t Sit Down,    by the Dovells.

What on earth was my aunt, her adult kids living away from home by this time, doing with this “teenage” record?

Although the Dovells (of Bristol Stomp fame) were not my favorite artists (remember this was the time when the Beatles were on top…and I was definitely a Beatles fan) I coveted this black round piece of vinyl.

Along with great envy, she must have also noticed the quizzical look in my eye.  I am not sure if I asked her why she had this record first, or if she offered to GIVE it to me first.  I was flabbergasted.  Me?  My own 45?

Then she explained that as a bar owner, the jukebox was regularly brought up to date and the old songs were replaced with the newest, latest, greatest hit records.  It was then that she gave me the best present a girl my age would have wanted. 

She offered to give me ALL the records as they were replaced in the jukebox.  And to top it off?  At the time, the jukebox machine didn’t flip the records to play side B!  That means I would be getting TWO copies of every vinyl 45.   Ahh haa….one for me…one to trade!

 Over the years I collected hundreds of 45s to play on the family HiFi.  And thanks to my Aunt Mary, I never, ever, had to purchase a single record. 

 

Although my friends and I always made the weekly trek up Telegraph Road to the corner of West Chicago…the local E.J. Korvette’s department store.  We would spend HOURS on the 2^nd floor hanging around their most phenomenal record department. 

If I remember correctly, in 1963/64, I believe that 45s were going for about .49 cent a piece (by the latter years of the 60s, the price had jumped to a whopping .69 cents). 

That was a chunk of change, and at 14, I wasn’t working yet, unless you count the .50 cents an hour I spent babysitting for the neighbor kids, or the .45 cents my mom would pay me to wash and wax the floors (on my hands and knees, mind you).

  Take a listen on the left.
  To this day, when I hear
  You Can’t Sit Down, I vividly  recall the day I received my  very first record.

Here We Grow Again!

Many years ago, well before my 36-year marriage dissolved, I received a polished rock with the inscription: 

 

The Best Thing a Father can do for his Children is to Love their Mother.

I was given this little souvenir well before the days of the internet, Facebook, cell phones, and instant communication.  I had never heard this quote until I received it as a gift from my then-husband. 

I am NOT, nor ever was, a hopeless romantic, nor did I gush over my present.  I simply set my rock on the base of the dresser lamp in the bedroom, and thought, “Oh, that’s nice.”   I basically forgot about the rock except when I spotted it as I cleaned the dust that accumulated on the dresser (which, in my younger years, was quite often…more than I currently dust).

The rock sat there…just like a rock…and became a permanent fixture on the dresser.  As the years passed (actually a couple decades), I grew to realize the importance of the saying on my rock and began to appreciate it more and more, but remained quietly grateful.   

Finally, many years later, when my son and his wife announced that they were to be expecting their first child, I thought that it would be the perfect time to hand down the rock with the beautiful saying. 

 

Hopefully, this next generation will catch on more quickly than I, and appreciate the trueness of the message… The Best Thing a Father can do for his Children is to Love their Mother.

My son and his wife are now expecting their 3^rd child in late fall. 

That will make grandchild Number 6 for me.  I’ve been so blessed to be involved in my children’s and grandchildren’s lives.  

 

My 5 grandchildren, ranging in ages 7 to 3, are anxiously anticipating their cousin/sibling, and can’t wait for a “6 cousin sleepover at grandma’s house!”  I can't wait either!

 

Am I Spotting the Subtle Signs?

Wrinkles may not hurt, but getting older?…Ouch! 

 

I’ve detected some subtle symptoms creeping in.  I laugh at these sly little signs sneaking up on me, but I wonder how long before they overtake me and I will have to accept that I am actually inching my way to old age.

I’ve been lucky enough to inherit some good genes and I am hoping that I follow suit from my past generations.

Last summer I was at Comerica Park for a Tigers baseball game with my family.  There were 9 of us, including my posse of 5 young grandchildren. 

 

Sitting in the direct sun on that hot and humid day, we kept cool with a constant mist of cold water in a spray bottle I brought in from home and had sneaked into the stadium.

We were enjoying the game when the ball was hit into the stands. Loooong Goooone! 

 

The fans went wild and rose to their feet.  We cheered…loud!  A minute later, the crowd quieted and settled back down into their seats.

Without peeking behind me, I took my seat………the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the cement with my knees up at my chin. 

 

I was bewildered!  “What just happened?” I thought.  For a second, I thought no one had seen me. I felt as if I was in the twilight zone.

You know how close the row in front of you is in those stadiums?  

 

Must be only 24 inches or so!  

 

Well I was down there still wondering how I got there, and how was I going to get out of this 2 foot square box-like space. 

 

Then I heard a familiar voice of my daughter, “Are you OK?”

 

I must have forgotten that the seat pops up…and evidentially, STAYS up, when you get out of it.  LOL  OK, I can laugh at myself with the best of them! 

But sometimes getting older is a bit frustrating.

 

It’s not funny when you can’t read those small words printed on a medicine bottle, or when you have a hard time opening a jar in the kitchen.

But, I’m part of the Baby-Boomer Generation.  I am not going to accept this sentence sitting down.  I am going to gracefully fight every step of the way. 

 

Just remember: do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.

I Ain't Afraid of No Boats...

It’s summertime and the livin’ is easy…or so the song goes.  It’s the time of year when people are deciding how to spend their coveted couple of weeks with their families.  The lake?  A trip cross-country?  Or perhaps a trip a bit closer to home.  Or maybe a “staycation” and take in a few nearby attractions with the family.  Whatever you decide, leave your problems and take in the sights and sounds with your loved ones.   

It was many years ago, that my immediate AND extended family decided to try our first vacation together. Everything fell into place perfectly.   Looking back, it was one of the most enjoyable times we had as a family.  And that trip is still talked about today.

A houseboat trip on the Trent-Severn Waterway near Toronto, Canada, proved to be the most exciting misadventure on which our family has ever embarked.  The Trent-Severn Waterway is one of Canada’s most beautiful and varied inland water routes. 240 miles of protected cruising through 20 lakes, rivers, and canals offering incredible variety.

My family consisted of not only my then-spouse and two young children, but my parents, and 7 of my siblings and their families.  With a total of 36 anxious (mostly non-swimmers) sea-going amateurs ranging from infancy to age 74, it was with some slight trepidation that we ventured out to test our sea-legs.

After piling onto the Egan Marine Houseboats dock, cramming a week's worth of bedding, clothing, and food into our 6 rented floating homes, and a 15 minute lesson on house-boating and water safety from the young tanned instructor, we slowly drifted away from dry land and into open water. 

The first night most of us were rocked to sleep by waves generated from a passing storm, while the other hardy, coffee-drinking sailor-types kept watch 'till dawn.

In the span of 7 days and nights, my entire family had become "professional" boat people.  As in Follow-The-Leader, linked only by our CB radios (there were no cell phones then), our 6 houseboats cruised the waterway on route to our destination - Peterborough, Canada. 

We drifted past historic homes, and maneuvered through scenic parks where eagles were spotted perched high atop the trees.  But the ultimate experience was our approach and entry into the gates of the locks which raised or lowered our boat to the next level so that our trip could continue on the waterway.  It was in the bowels of one particularly deep lock where an enormous water-balloon war erupted.  But we abruptly surrendered when the lockmaster outwitted us and joined in the fracas as he dumped down buckets of water on our heads from his post high above our crafts.

Leisure days were spent tying the vessels together in the middle of the lake and anchoring for swimming, wind surfing, and sunning.  Other days we docked on dry land for a game of volleyball, a camp fire, or to take a break from the on-board barbecues to enjoy the quaint restaurants and shops dotting the landscape.

It was an adventure I highly recommend for family togetherness, and one that will not be forgotten by members of my family - old and young alike.

Plan your family time together.  You won't regret it.

My Dad - 1911 - 2011

My dad passed away the other night.  He was 100 and 1/2 years old.  He witnessed changes during his lifetime that were most unbelievable.  He plowed fields with a hand-plow and horse.  The family had a cow!  Yet in 2010, he joined Facebook and his favorite new word was "Google."  I think he just liked saying it.  He came a long way, baby.  With this being said, below is the eulogy written and spoken at his funeral by my sister Jane Pitrone Rossi.  Thanks, Jane.  It was a wonderful tribute.  You caught his essence in every way....Joyce

Anthony Pitrone was born in 1911, the same year as Ronald Reagan. Other than both men having a full head of hair, their lives bore little resemblance. What Dad DID share in common with President Reagan was the world he was born into and the changes he witnessed.

Anthony Pitrone 1911 - 2011

For example, in 1911, the Titanic had not yet sailed on its doomed maiden voyage. Life expectancy for men born in 1911 was 50 years. . . Dad doubled that! Women could not vote. World War One would not even end until Anthony was age 7.

Dad recently recounted the story of himself and his brother, Dominic, walking on their way to claim the new family cow, Aramalinda, when church bells rang out and all the mines began blowing their whistles—signifying the end of WW 1.

Two World Wars, the Great Depression, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, the latter to which his namesake and my brother, Tony, would be sent in 1967, a sexual revolution and 9/11—all left an indelible impression on dad. Great technological feats eclipsing the horse & buggy—electric vehicles, digital radios and flat screen TV’s, mainframe computers and laptops; push button phones and wireless cells—Dad witnessed it all. In fact, in 2010, (at the age of 99) Anthony Pitrone became a member of facebook, and many of you here are his facebook friends.

Although Dad was an eye-witness to major historical events and technological feats, there were many things that my father did not do in HIS century of life. He never flew in an airplane, he never went to bars (or as he called “biergartens”); he didn’t golf; he didn’t gamble or play cards; he rarely swore, except when referring to a horse’s backside; and he never bowled (although he often joked about his once-a-week Bowling Night).

Although Anthony DID NOT do many things fathers often do, my father’s life serves as an enduring legacy to his 9 children, 17 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren. In many respects and especially to his 9 children, my father’s passing is the end of an unprecedented era as a member of what Tom Brokaw called America’s “Greatest Generation.”

To borrow a phrase from another President from the Greatest Generation, when I think of Dad’s life, I think of “a kinder, gentler” time. Dad and the way he lived his life epitomized this kinder, gentler era.

My father’s passing represents a great loss to us, a fondness for a different era, when time seemed slower, less complicated.

In today’s society of financial irresponsibility, lewd behavior and vulgar language, fatherless households, cheating spouses, corrupt politicians and self-consumed youth, where nearly everyone craves his/her 15 minutes of fame, Dad provided us endless teachable moments.

More than a campaign slogan, Dad embraced family values: strong faith, self-sacrifice, anti-materialism, honesty, hard work, thriftiness and, above all, dedication to family.



Here's dad on his 99th B-Day with a visit from "Faux Flo"

Growing up in our family home in Dearborn Heights, we were blessed to have a childhood filled with friends, fun and lots of summer picnics where Dad often Bar-B-Q’d on the charcoal grill, and we all ate together at the over-sized picnic table lovingly handmade by Dad in our expansive backyard.

Dad and son John in the backyard

Not only did our yard have room for a complete baseball team (which we were), but it was filled with fruit trees—apple, pear, plum and a cherry tree as well as lovely grape vines. This yard also included a large garden with tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, lettuce, corn and even a large raspberry patch.

Of course as kids, we weren’t exactly enamored with the chores. Imagine holding a basket with one hand, and holding our noses with the other, arms outstretched as far as we could, we’d have to collect the rotten fruit that had fallen.

I also have vivid memories of five of us kids at a time out in the raspberry patch, no, not a patch—it was more like a field to the Pitrone kids who had to pick those raspberries. And Dad would direct us: “Get DOWN AND UNDER where the ripest berries are hiding.”

Didn't know dad was a backyard dog groomer..he tried!

Summer days found the Pitrone kids, basket in hand, moving slovenly, trying to fill the baskets while our friends waited to play on the other side of the fence. We would negotiate, combining our baskets to fill them faster so we could be free. The only times we showed real enthusiasm was when 4 or 5 of us simultaneously ran wildly in different directions after some unlucky Pitrone kid let out a blood-curdling scream when the bees found the kid before the kid could find the berries.

Dad’s knack for saving money and conserving resources was legendary. Our version of air-conditioning was shutting shades, and keeping lights turned off, while maneuvering fans spaced strategically throughout the house. Dad elevated squeezing that extra drop of ketchup or dab of toothpaste to an art form. Dad had “gone green” decades before it became a corporate buzzword.

Oftentimes, Dad did the grocery shopping as Mom might be busy with, well. . . other things. Dad was more than willing to take four or five kids at a time to the daily trip to the A&P for groceries. I have vivid memories of Dad whirling the basket through the aisles while baby Cheryl sat in the seat, and Janet, Julie and I perched on the foot bars around the basket keeping an eye out for the “Sucker Man” in the white coat. We thought the “Candyman” always wore a white coat. Little did we know he was the local pharmacist!

Though Dad was sometimes known not to buy the “favorite” cookies, as they were consumed in hours or even minutes, he would instead buy a mediocre cookie brand because it seemed to last longer in the Pitrone household.

But Dad DID practice what he preached as he had more than a willing palate when it came to finishing the last of the left-overs or the over-ripe bananas left on the kitchen counter two days too long for the rest of us.

Dad with his 6 daughters and 3 sons - Summer of 2011 at his 100th

Dad was also our private chauffeur, tirelessly shuttling us along multiple stops to: sporting events, school parties, sledding, ice-skating, field trips, bowling, movies and EVEN those dreaded estrogen-filled Pitrone household shopping sprees. And when Dad wasn’t chauffeuring us, he had a favorite question the moment we walked in the door: “Did you get to the aisles of beauty?” (Dad’s code for Hudson’s make-up counter and a humorous reminder of more important values than material ones.)

Upon spotting the bulging shoe box bags, Dad would race to the closet and with an armful of neglected shoes, look us in the eye and ask: “Why can’t you wear these…nothin’ wrong with THESE shoes?” Our disdainful comeback was well-rehearsed, complete with rolling eyes: “Tsk. Oh, Dad!”

As Child Number 8, aka “Miss Hand-Me-Down,” there were advantages to having big feet. I would squeeze my foot in one of Janet’s or Julie’s shoes, and indignantly display in exaggerated O.J. Simpson form, how pinched and contorted my overflowing foot looked in the dainty rejected shoes…”DAD, THEY DON’T FIT!” Cinderella I was not!

In a family of 11, thrift was a necessity. But Dad’s early adulthood in Depression-era Michigan, and his disappointment in Americans who wasted their money contributed to his frugal mindset. Yet this mindset never dissuaded my parents’ generosity to their church and countless charities.

I also have cherished memories of four little girls dressing up in my sister Janet’s discarded dance costumes every Saturday evening and performing for our most attentive and eager audience of Dad and Mom to the best of Lawrence Welk’s music.   Our cue to perform — a one-a, and a two-a, and a tree-a.

Other memories include sitting on the front porch on Dad’s lap on quiet summer nights with him always humming a tune or singing “A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody…”;

Dad always finding the time for our evening ritual of playing catch, as I was the avid baseball fan and player in my youth; the weekly drives back to school as a freshman in college, where Dad wouldn’t say a lot, but always slipped me a couple of $20 dollar bills, with a “don’t tell anybody”; and, of course, thinking I was his favorite daughter. It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s, however, that I learned my sisters also had the same vivid memory of themselves and Dad, singing the same song, on the same front porch. (Dad, where did you find the time?)

Anthony and Jean married 67 years

My father’s devotion to his children, moreover, was no less than his devotion to his wife, our Mom. My mother’s suffering from the debilitating effects of rheumatoid arthritis began in 1980 and lasted until her death in 2008.

In those 28 years, Dad assumed many household duties besides the daily grocery shopping. He supported Mom in her intellectual pursuits AND physical limitations. In fact, in Mom’s later years, she had no better nurse than Dad, as he tended to her every need, oftentimes dressing her when she could not dress herself, and near the end of her life, doing every daily chore so she could remain in her home. Dad WAS THE ULTIMATE ROLE MODEL TO HIS CHILDREN IN HIS DEDICATION AND LOVE FOR HIS WIFE.

After Mom’s passing, Dad was fortunate to have his family within reach. Children, in-laws, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. All enjoyed their own unique relationship with Dad. And while Dad knew and was grateful that we were always here for him, one man deserves special recognition—Jon Williamson.

Dad and son-in-law Jon

More than a devoted son-in-law, Jon willingly played multiple roles for Dad: driver, maintenance man and tour guide. Barber, buddy and best friend. Their bond was beautiful. Thank you, Jon, for being there for Dad, and reciprocating his friendship.

Finally, many people might think of Dad as “old-fashioned.” But Dad’s life and the way he chose to live it represent a kinder, gentler time. A simpler time. A bygone time.

And so I think of Dad as kind of a modern man. A man who, through example, taught us basic lessons of life in a not-so-kind and not-so-gentle world. A man who taught us the value of money and the preciousness of resources. A man who always had a kind word for everyone. A man who worked hard and sacrificed all his life, a man who never wanted the spotlight on himself, a man who stayed behind the scenes, who chose not to golf, not to bowl, not to fly in airplanes, not to gamble or play cards. There were many things Dad did NOT do so that WE could.

And so the adjectives “dedicated and devoted” before husband and father have never been more appropriate. To paraphrase Ralph Waldo Emerson, “To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. THIS is to have succeeded!” Dad, you not only succeeded, but you surpassed in every way.

They don’t erect statues for men like Anthony Pitrone, but in our hearts and minds, Dad, you stand tall.

I’d like to close with a poem by the influential leader of Chicano poets, Luis Omar Salinas, entitled:

“My Father Is a Simple Man”

I walk to town with my father to buy a newspaper.
He walks slower than I do so I must slow up.

The street is filled with children.
We argue about the price of pomegranates,
I convince him it is the fruit of scholars.

He has taken me on this journey and it’s been lifelong.
He’s sure I’ll be healthy so long as I eat more oranges,
And tells me the orange has seeds and so is perpetual;
And we too will come back like the orange trees.
I ask him what he thinks about death and he says
he will gladly face it when it comes but won’t jump
out in front of a car.

I’d gladly give my life for this man with a sixth grade education,
whose kindness and patience are true . . .
The truth of it is, he’s the scholar,
and when the bitter-hard reality
comes at me like a punishing evil stranger,
I can always remember that here was a man
who was a worker and provider,
who learned the simple facts
in life and lived by them . . .
who held no pretense.

And when he leaves without
benefit of fanfare or applause
I shall have learned what little
there is about greatness.