Another Small Piece

             In the spirit of addressing my identity crisis, I think a brief primer is necessary. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, (which was written with great care not to tip 500 words), it may help explain my confused start! For those that know the story (there are a lot of you) I have to admit, it is my go to ice breaker in social situations. Yes, in fact, I am painfully shy in real life. “Real life?” you may ask. Yes, you know…the one where you leave your keyboard and have to talk to real people…not just the characters and voices in your mind. Or maybe I am just socially inept, or indecisive, or maybe it’s a birth order malady…you decide.

The Novena

            Do I believe in miracles? I’m a practicing Catholic; practicing though rarely getting it right! Still, in a recent prayerful moment, I realized, of course I believe! I am a miracle, as are all children; some come with a story. This one is partially mine, but mostly Mom’s.

            Instead of a carefree adolescence, Mom suffered medical nightmares. By age sixteen, her reproductive system had broken down. She endured irregular periods, a ruptured fallopian tube and ovary, significant uterine scarring from cyst removals and a re-suspended uterus. It was 1942.

            Her doctor was kind; his news was not. “Louise, these troubles accumulate…you understand you’re incapable of carrying to term?”

            “No children?”

            “No, sweetheart.” She understood.

            Absolutely devastated, Mom accepted her fate, doing what any good Italian Catholic girl would do! She began a novena to the Blessed Mother. Her faith was immeasurable; she promised that if she could be a mother, specifically to a little girl, she would name her Mary.

            Mom honored her novena; a simple petition repeated over many years in prayer. She studied hard, was a dutiful daughter, and began a career as an RN. Eventually, she met a handsome, hilarious man; one who wanted a big family! Despondently, she informed him that wouldn’t be possible for her.

            “I can’t have children, Owen.”

            “I love you, Whiz. We’ll find a way.”

            You see, he also had faith, and eternal optimism. They married in 1951. Shortly after making their vows, Mom miscarried. They grieved deeply, but as their anguish lessened, devotion to her novena increased. After all, they had conceived.

            With sheer elation, on December 10, 1952, Mom delivered a sweet little boy. He was named George, after his Dad’s father. To say they were ecstatic would be a gross understatement!

            Imagine their surprise when 1954 brought a little girl. “‘O’, I don’t want to be greedy…two is miraculous…but, what if we have another little girl?”

            They giggled then agreed. They needed to cover their asses, or at the very least, Mom’s novena. Their first precious girl became Mary Ann. A year later Mary Louise emerged; in 1957, Mary Elizabeth entered on cue; and in 1960, I, Mary Margaret, arrived.

            

The First Five! George and Mary's!

             Mom’s doctor delivered all five of us, genuinely pleased that his diagnosis was wrong. The Tucker family grew right in front of his eyes! 

Mary Christmas!

            Yet, in 1962, my parents sensed something missing. So, for Christmas they put another girl, a Collie pup, under the tree. Of course, we named her Mary Christmas!

George gets another Mary, Mary Joan!

             By 1969, life was good. Despite suffering another three miscarriages, our count increased, when Mary Joan burst into our lives. Dad once hoped for a football team, but now conceded that a basketball team, with one sub, wasn’t so bad. He joked about his harem; five little girls now had him and George wrapped around their pinkies!

         
            So…do I believe in miracles? Hell yeah! Most days I even believe in the power of prayer and the sanctity of a novena well prayed. Now, as for confession…

            Special note: None of us really jump when someone calls out “Mary.” But, where report cards were concerned, Mary Tucker was fine. We just threw them on the table and let Mom and Dad figure that out!

            Otherwise, here is a handy legend:

                        George = George (Unless reciting “the litany of  the saint’s”, as                                                     Mom called it. Then he might have suffered a 

                                                   "Mary George...!"                                      

                        Mary Ann = Annie

                        Mary Louise = Louie (though it is some mutation professionally, I think)

                        Mary Elizabeth = Bethy

                        Mary Margaret = Peggy (The baby of the family)

                        Mary Christmas = Chrissy Dog

                        Mary Joan = Joni (Our little sister)

Identity Crisis

No. In fact, I did not change my name. I am still Peggy to most of you.

However, since my son believes I am writing the next "50 Shades of Grey", I promised to spare him public humiliation (outside the normal realm of what mothers are allowed!) and chose a pen name. But let's clear up that color thing, first. In fact, anyone who has read anything of mine (a tiny portion of the population, say, maybe seven people...), knows that I just barely qualify for a quarter shade of light ivory! In my writing. Enough said.
 
Still, I want to simplify my name. This is who I was born. It just never got a chance to stick. My siblings and parents immediately called me Peggy. (A good choice, considering my sisters are all named "Mary something", too!) Add a confirmation name, the nickname to begin with, and a married-hyphenated-name...on any given day, I have no clue who I am? So lets just keep it all a secret by throwing it out into the world.

Second order of business, very much related to my identity crisis, is that I have moved around a bit. You may think from the blog title, that my life is in pieces, as in falling apart! It generally is, but in this case, not so. There are just a lot of pieces, as I am sure the rest of you possess. For me the basic breakdown would have to consider: Childhood life in Philly (right near the State of Pennsylvania), with one two-year stint in Florida and another outside Washington DC. in Northern VA; young adult life in Alaska, including seasonal summers in a lovely fishing village at a salmon cannery, winters on the Bering Sea, earning my BA at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, and traveling the Alcan, spending one winter in Santa Barbara, CA, and a Semester at Sea; coming back to the Lower 48 with my MacKenzie Freight Husky (my first love); back and forth for a few years, between the above, until I decided to raise my Son (the love of my life) in Minneapolis; a quick change of plans moving back to suburban Philly for SuperNan's final years; meeting Paul (the man of my dreams); moving to Long Island; Sully's school years; and now...life after child rearing! My open book.

Any idea which of my loves this is?

So, two matters a day is about the breadth of my attention span on this beautiful spring Sunday morning. All is well in the world, and I am writing my way through my identity crisis, with fiction triggered from my real life ('cause really, as my dear friend, George W. Luxemburg always says "...and you can't make that shit up!". So prod me with a question, if you dare, to spare yourself trying to figure out the mess above. God help you if you leave it to me to simply babble! My musings are often littered with typos, bad grammar, and profanities. I will try to keep them all under control...or not. Guess it depends on what you want to know first?