Lana Maryé Morelli

I was in 1 st grade when I remember losing my first grandparent. My “Grandma Leik,” my mother’s mom. A tiny lady, no taller than 5 foot (with shoes on) who had a thick Brooklyn Accent, ate yogurt, read the newspaper, loved lady bugs and always took my side. “She doesn’t have to finish her dinner, she has a tiny stomach like me, leave her be..but there is enough room for dessert.”   She was the only person who my mother retreated from. She was small, soft, but incredibly strong. She passed away from end-stage renal failure and I do remember she also has stroke. A "TIA" they called it. She said not to worry, it was just for a moment. “My tongue got twisted around my eye and I couldn’t see what I was saying.” She had the ability to make everything seem light and approachable. Even the scary parts of life. Her husband, my grandfather, passed away when I was an infant. I don’t remember him. So when it was just her in the house, she moved from New York to Pennsylva

“Pictures don’t change only the people in them do.” No truer words have ever been spoken. I look back at pictures of my life, elementary school, high school and college. In all of the pictures as the camera clicked I am smiling, arm around my friend du jour, thinking, “It will be like this forever”. Some of the pictures are with friends who are still my “true blue” today, but some are with people who are no longer in my life. Some I’ve had a “falling out” and some it’s just because “life gets in the way.” My Mother is from Long Island, NY, born and raised. She relocated to Philly years ago, but when she gets on the phone to talk to her “Long Island Girls” she is always emotional when she hangs up. I remember being very young and seeing tears in her eyes as she hung up the phone. I asked her what was wrong and she replied “Oh nothing is wrong, I just miss my girls.”  I remember being perplexed by this comment. It seemed easy enough to me, so, I added my adolescent solution

Irony is a funny thing– I say this in contemplation of one specific reference: Sometimes it’s the people that we’ve held onto the longest, that, when were ready; are the easiest to let go. Whether its relationships or friendships. Maybe it’s because while we held tight to that person, what we were really holding, was our idea of them. I say “idea” because of the pesky irony… The irony, that even though we may see good and beautiful qualities in another person, they may never see it in themselves. Just because you love someone, doesn’t mean that they love themselves. This problem successfully masks itself while growing up. By the time your 20something, some people are mature, some immature. Some people have grow-up, some are on their way, and some are destined to be life-long Toys R’ Us kids. We are all on our own path, struggling to find our own way. What is difficult to understand, is that just because we start off at the same place, doesn’t mean we end up any where near the same pla

An old friend commented on my first Blog Entry and his comment jarred my memory. He made me think of a piece I wrote while I was frustrated in law school. I referenced writing as an avenue I exercised to vent my frustration last year, so it’s only fair I show an example of what I was talking about. The piece I’ve posting below is about the haunting age-old question of “What do you want to be when we grow up?” I think that most people have struggled with the pressure of this question at some point in their lives- even if it is just in retrospect. My struggle with this question proved to be the catalyst for my self-exploration. My first Blog was written in a “Straight Up” style. This blog entry is an example of what I call “With a Twist”- enjoy! :) What do you want to be when you grow up? “What do you want to be when you grow up”… it seems easy enough. Prima facie, it appears to be a very nonchalant question that falls in line with; “What’s your favorite color” or “Wh