Well, Christmas is fast approaching and I am having a tough time getting in the Christmas spirit this year! Really, this used to be one of my favorite times of year. I loved the snow, the lights, the tacky handmade Christmas ornaments that my kids made each year of elementary school (and I still have and hang every one of them, much to their dismay!) This year is different.
I guess it was to be expected. Fall was a tough time. My Mother had a heart attack, followed by triple bypass surgery and my Father passed away the day before Thanksgiving. That in itself, pretty much ruined any chance this year of "Happy Holidays!" But then, the upside started to appear-my brother (yes, the Irish Twin) announced that he would return to KC for the holidays. My daughter, the Army Medic, announced that she too would return to KC for the holidays. My sister, bless her heart, was finally able to return to work and is starting to return to somewhat of a more normal life (or what passes for normal when you are the parent of 4 children, all still in school, with one a teenage driver, and one with a learners permit!) I know, starting to look pretty good, right?
You don't know my life! Truly, I live "TheWorldTurnsGuidingLightYoungandtheRestlessIworkinthedaytimeanddon'tknowthenamesofthesoapoperasanymore" kind of life. In my life, what goes up, must come down. It is! Up-my daughter is home and my son-in-law hopefully will get leave in time to fly in Christmas Day. Down-my pretend-adopted-son, Emmett, will be home tomorrow or the next day, but then leaves to go back to Ft. Bragg, and then Iraq, on New Year's Day. Up-my daughter and son-in-law are expecting a baby boy around the middle of May! Down-my son-in-law got word today that he leaves for Iraq around the same time! Are you seeing the teeter-totter here?
Now, don't get me wrong! My Dad was a proud Marine. Semper Fi! My daughter and son-in-law and my pretend-adopted-son all serve, along with many other friends and loved ones, and can't begrudge a deployment. It's a voluntary military and they are willing to do their duty! There are so many families facing the same situations, or God bless them, situations much worse. I guess I'm just tired and don't think I can take much more bad news right now. I think we all put such high expectations on this time of year. Somehow, we seem to have lost perspective on the "reason for the season". I just watched the evening news, where they showed various holiday-themed clips... NFL football players taking up the handicapped parking spaces because they could afford the fine and didn't want to walk a little farther (I can't even delve into this topic any further right now without blowing a gasket!); people fist-fighting in the parking lot over up close parking spots; the usual Christmas shoplifters; and a host of other heartfelt and touching stories. Then I watched the story of the family who lost a son in Iraq, but fought to adopt their son's battle buddy-who happened to be a bomb-sniffing german shepard, and who was also injured in the attack. After nine months, they finally got the Marine's to release this fine animal from the Corp. and into their loving care. (A first ever for the Corp!) He will live out the rest of his days with the family of the Marine that he lay down next to as he died. The animal that licked that Marine's wounds and tried to keep him alive until help could arrive, unfortunately without a happy ending. After hearing that story, I started feeling kind of guilty for whining! It may have been a rough couple of months, but hey, it could be worse!
So maybe, the solution to this dilemna is to remember what this season is all about. Perhaps we all need to count our blessings and take advantage of each and every moment with the people we love. We need to bite our tongue when unkind comments want to leap from our mouths. We need to practice patience, with those around us, and with ourselves. We need to be grateful for what we have, and pray for those who have less, are suffering, are lost. We need to remember that it isn't about the gifts and the tinsel and the parties, but about the family and the heart! And most of all, we need to thank God for all he has given us, and pray for those in harms way who put their lives on the line everyday to protect us.
May you all have a wonderful holiday season, whatever holiday you celebrate! May you be safe, loved, and may we all live long enough to see true peace on earth!
Happy Holidays!
Friday, December 21, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Ice Bites!
Today, winter hit. Now, honestly, we've had some cold temperatures and some bitter winds. We've even had several inches of snow. Having been raised in Chicago, where it seems to be a requirement that Drivers Ed. doesn't begin until there is at least 6inches of snow on the ground, a little snow or cold doesn't bother me all that much. Ok, in the interest of maintaining complete honesty and integrity, I must admit that the older I get, the less I love the cold. As a child, my brothers and I used to play outside all day building igloos in the snow, having snowball fights, and ice skating or playing hockey on the tennis courts at the park. Many an adolescent received their first kiss in the warming house during those cold winter skating session at that park! I can shovel the snow, dress warmer for the cold, duck and strain against the winds, but ice is a totally different animal, and it bites!
What bites even more is that every idiot with a drivers license and insurance, and evidently many who feel those two items are not a requirement of driving, get out on the road as soon as they start announcing "The streets are icy, so stay home if at all possible". You would think that anyone with an average intelligence would say "Hmmmmm. Lets not drive all the way to the other side of town to go to the casino tonight. Lets stay at home and watch a movie instead." You'd think wrong! Now of course, there are those who have to get out due to emergencies, work, etc. I know my job in the school district requires me to come in. They don't care how bad the roads are or how much our lives might be at risk by attempting the drive in. Even when they cancel school and there are no students or teachers or activities, we still have to come in. That tells me that we are expendable and certainly undervalued, but that is another posting altogether!
Anyway, back to the ice. Not only do the cowboys get out on the road, but instead of driving slowly and staying back from any other car around them, ice drivers pretend the are in the Indy 500. They draft, rub, pass,and spin out- pretty much everything you see on a Nascar track. The only thing is, when they have to brake or go into a slide, they take it to a new level seldom seen in a Nascar race. Similar to a race though, they more often than not take out a lot of innocent drivers in the mix! Kansas, being a No Fault state, allows these morons to cause accidents, and then YOUR insurance company has to pay for it. Nobody is interested in hearing "The girl was talking on her cell phone in the middle of an ice storm, while applying her contact lenses, tailgating, and driving way too fast for conditions." What they hear is "It was icy and there was no way to avoid this accident. No Fault." Two months later, your insurance premiums increase by 40% because you've had an accident. Something is wrong with this picture!
In closing, here is a message to all of you who have to drive when icy weather hits (and especially those of you who just can't resist, even though you don't need to be out there!) Please remember that:
1. Your life and the lives of others are at stake as soon as you turn the key in the ignition.
2. You may think you have things under control, but you don't. Nobody does where ice is concerned. You just do the best you can and pray!
3. Even if you are VERY SPECIAL and do manage some control of your car, there is no way you can control what the other cars around you are doing.
4. Be afraid! Be very afraid! So afraid, in fact, that you don't go near another car; you begin your stop long before you get to the intersection; and you don't TOUCH your cell phone until the ignition is off.
5. If they say the streets are bad, stay home-DO IT. That makes it all that much safer for those of us who need to get out.
Note: For all of you employers who require your employees to come into work for no reason what so ever, value them enough to say "Stay home, be safe, see ya tomorrow."
Ice bites!
What bites even more is that every idiot with a drivers license and insurance, and evidently many who feel those two items are not a requirement of driving, get out on the road as soon as they start announcing "The streets are icy, so stay home if at all possible". You would think that anyone with an average intelligence would say "Hmmmmm. Lets not drive all the way to the other side of town to go to the casino tonight. Lets stay at home and watch a movie instead." You'd think wrong! Now of course, there are those who have to get out due to emergencies, work, etc. I know my job in the school district requires me to come in. They don't care how bad the roads are or how much our lives might be at risk by attempting the drive in. Even when they cancel school and there are no students or teachers or activities, we still have to come in. That tells me that we are expendable and certainly undervalued, but that is another posting altogether!
Anyway, back to the ice. Not only do the cowboys get out on the road, but instead of driving slowly and staying back from any other car around them, ice drivers pretend the are in the Indy 500. They draft, rub, pass,and spin out- pretty much everything you see on a Nascar track. The only thing is, when they have to brake or go into a slide, they take it to a new level seldom seen in a Nascar race. Similar to a race though, they more often than not take out a lot of innocent drivers in the mix! Kansas, being a No Fault state, allows these morons to cause accidents, and then YOUR insurance company has to pay for it. Nobody is interested in hearing "The girl was talking on her cell phone in the middle of an ice storm, while applying her contact lenses, tailgating, and driving way too fast for conditions." What they hear is "It was icy and there was no way to avoid this accident. No Fault." Two months later, your insurance premiums increase by 40% because you've had an accident. Something is wrong with this picture!
In closing, here is a message to all of you who have to drive when icy weather hits (and especially those of you who just can't resist, even though you don't need to be out there!) Please remember that:
1. Your life and the lives of others are at stake as soon as you turn the key in the ignition.
2. You may think you have things under control, but you don't. Nobody does where ice is concerned. You just do the best you can and pray!
3. Even if you are VERY SPECIAL and do manage some control of your car, there is no way you can control what the other cars around you are doing.
4. Be afraid! Be very afraid! So afraid, in fact, that you don't go near another car; you begin your stop long before you get to the intersection; and you don't TOUCH your cell phone until the ignition is off.
5. If they say the streets are bad, stay home-DO IT. That makes it all that much safer for those of us who need to get out.
Note: For all of you employers who require your employees to come into work for no reason what so ever, value them enough to say "Stay home, be safe, see ya tomorrow."
Ice bites!
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Where Do All of the Stupid People Come From?
Do you ever wonder where all the stupid people come from?
Sometimes, after a long day at work, I need to come home and empty my brain out. So....I turn on the TV. There are certain shows that I just don't like to miss. I always watch the Ghost Whisperer, and then I watch Moonlight for the hot vampire guy! I love Grey's Anatomy, but I miss a lot of them and always end up buying the entire season on DVD. (Great to watch while waiting out a snowstorm or tornado, unless the darn power goes out!) Most of all, I love all of the CSI shows. They provide a community service by trying to teach all of the idiots out there how to commit the perfect crime without getting caught. Unfortunately for them, they must not be taking notes, or they are under the learning curve. Have you seen Cops?????
Why is it that when every one of these guys hears the squeal of a siren and sees the flashing lightbar, their first instinct is to jam on the accelerator, then race up a one way street the wrong way, where they hit a light pole, jump out of the no longer running (but now smoking) vehicle, hop over a fence where they remove all of their clothing, and then lay naked under a children's plastic swimming pool thinking nobody can guess where they are! This is not flashlight tag buddy. These are cops and they are legally carrying loaded weapons that they actually know how to use! Hello!!!!!!!
Of course, when this is too much for me, I can always switch to that reality TV show where people quit perfectly good jobs to go live on an island in the middle of nowhere. Once they arrive, they become pest-control agents, whereby they are legally bound to eat every bug, slug, snail, and unidentified object, while plotting and planning to get the other people kicked off the island. I'm here to tell you that in less time than it takes to type slug, I would be smashing out my flame on my own torch and heading to Bordino's in Fayetteville, AR for a good meal and a chocolate martini (even if they don't make them with the shaved chocolate anymore!) Anybody left on the island is welcomed wholeheartedly to my share of the tasty items on their deserted island menu with my blessing! REALLY! Now, at least, I know who to call if I have an infestation problem!
Then there is always the talk show. If am forced into brain drain down this path-suicide by talk show, I prefer to turn the sound off and make up my own words. It always much more interesting.
All of this brings me to the question that started all of this, which was, "Where do all of the stupid people come from?" It's a question that is philisophical by nature, like "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Was televsion invented to give stupid people a platform upon which to show their skills, or is it a plot by the government (or alien worlds) to eat away our brains and take over our cities?
Just to be safe, I think I'll start coming home, turning on some Irish music, and sipping on a "beverage". Surely that's safer than watching Jerry Springer!
Sometimes, after a long day at work, I need to come home and empty my brain out. So....I turn on the TV. There are certain shows that I just don't like to miss. I always watch the Ghost Whisperer, and then I watch Moonlight for the hot vampire guy! I love Grey's Anatomy, but I miss a lot of them and always end up buying the entire season on DVD. (Great to watch while waiting out a snowstorm or tornado, unless the darn power goes out!) Most of all, I love all of the CSI shows. They provide a community service by trying to teach all of the idiots out there how to commit the perfect crime without getting caught. Unfortunately for them, they must not be taking notes, or they are under the learning curve. Have you seen Cops?????
Why is it that when every one of these guys hears the squeal of a siren and sees the flashing lightbar, their first instinct is to jam on the accelerator, then race up a one way street the wrong way, where they hit a light pole, jump out of the no longer running (but now smoking) vehicle, hop over a fence where they remove all of their clothing, and then lay naked under a children's plastic swimming pool thinking nobody can guess where they are! This is not flashlight tag buddy. These are cops and they are legally carrying loaded weapons that they actually know how to use! Hello!!!!!!!
Of course, when this is too much for me, I can always switch to that reality TV show where people quit perfectly good jobs to go live on an island in the middle of nowhere. Once they arrive, they become pest-control agents, whereby they are legally bound to eat every bug, slug, snail, and unidentified object, while plotting and planning to get the other people kicked off the island. I'm here to tell you that in less time than it takes to type slug, I would be smashing out my flame on my own torch and heading to Bordino's in Fayetteville, AR for a good meal and a chocolate martini (even if they don't make them with the shaved chocolate anymore!) Anybody left on the island is welcomed wholeheartedly to my share of the tasty items on their deserted island menu with my blessing! REALLY! Now, at least, I know who to call if I have an infestation problem!
Then there is always the talk show. If am forced into brain drain down this path-suicide by talk show, I prefer to turn the sound off and make up my own words. It always much more interesting.
All of this brings me to the question that started all of this, which was, "Where do all of the stupid people come from?" It's a question that is philisophical by nature, like "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Was televsion invented to give stupid people a platform upon which to show their skills, or is it a plot by the government (or alien worlds) to eat away our brains and take over our cities?
Just to be safe, I think I'll start coming home, turning on some Irish music, and sipping on a "beverage". Surely that's safer than watching Jerry Springer!
I'm Just Too Young to Be a Granny
This past week, my daughter was home on leave. It was a sad occasion that brought her home, (see "Heroes"), but it was good to see her. She is in the US Army and until recently, was serving overseas in Germany. Now she is posted in Texas, although it might as well be Germany, as much as I get to talk to her! This will be her last post, at least for awhile. Soon after the New Year rings in, she will be leaving the Army, at least officially (and the permanence of her leaving is still in question). Her husband is still in the Army and they will be moving to Ft. Hood in Kileen, TX. She keeps reminding me that "everything is bigger in Texas", and apparently that is true even for my barely over 5 ft. daughter. They are expecting! The rumor is that it may be twins, but I can't imagine that my daughter would tolerate that, so we'll see when the blessed event (I can say that, but not with a straight face!) occurs.
Now I have gone through this process twice myself, a boy and a girl-the perfect family. (Ahhh ...we'll have to discuss that in another posting, but I can hear my friends laughing all around the country.) Having trusted my prenatal care and childbirth to a close friend, I never knew there were drugs available, let alone the WONDERFUL invention called the epidural. No, I chose (not really-I wasn't ever really given a choice) to have my children with no medication of any kind. Note:
1. Do not choose an OB-GYN who, in their other life, is a drinking buddy of yours.
2. Natural childbirth is not all they crack it up to be. Take the drugs! Most doctors, like the one I had, for instance, who say natural is best, didn't give birth.
I have also had the great pleasure of having a stepdaughter who I didn't have to give birth to, but get to enjoy all the same. (Take note-this isn't a bad plan!) She has provided me with 3 wonderful grandsons (although there are days she might argue at least part of that statement). Somehow, it just seems different when it's my baby, my youngest child, giving birth.
When I was an adolecsent, my mother used to curse me by saying, "Someday, I hope you have a child just like you!" I did! Two of them, in fact! I am biting my tongue, even as I write this posting not to utter those same words! In fact, just the thought of my baby have a baby(ies), seems on many levels to be all wrong. I am way too young to be a grandma, let alone a grandma many times over. Just yesterday, an old friend from high school called and told me so! (I believed him too! Thanks Paul!) Perhaps I should explain that although my friend has seen a picture or two over the years, we haven't seen each other in person since I graduated at the end of my junior year of high school and moved to another state. Then he moved to California, which is nowhere near the state that I moved to. That might explain the lovely compliment, or maybe... it's just true.
Anyway, back to talking about me! I really am too young for this whole grandma thing, but since I make my living in early childhood, I've decided that I will try to find the silver lining. After all, 1. I don't have to give birth to him/her/them. 2. Grandparents get to enjoy all of the good parts, like having chocolate eating contests, or cookie dough fights, and then send the little darlin's home to their parents. 3. You only have to nod, smile and commiserate over sleepless nights, never having a shoulder that hasn't been urped on, and the inevitable trips to the ER to get an errant screw out of his/her/their nose. (Don't ask!) 4. You don't have to do parent/teacher conferences! (Enough said!)
Now don't misinterpret that I would change having my children. One lives in Texas, as I said, and I miss her terribly everyday. The other is soon to be 22,spreading his wings, and living his life as an adult. (Now, having said he, that intimates he is male. All of my early childhood training teaches me that men do not even start to grow a brain until age 25, and evidently car insurance companies agree, so again I say "enough said!") Watching them grow, watching me grudingly letting go, and at other times shoving as hard as I can, parenthood has been a learning experience for all concerned and it has made me appreciate my own parents more than I ever thought possible. The fact that I am alive still is a testament to their parenting skills! Now I just have to bite my tongue and not utter that curse, but you know what they say, "What goes around, comes around!" Besides, I'm just too young to be a granny!
Now I have gone through this process twice myself, a boy and a girl-the perfect family. (Ahhh ...we'll have to discuss that in another posting, but I can hear my friends laughing all around the country.) Having trusted my prenatal care and childbirth to a close friend, I never knew there were drugs available, let alone the WONDERFUL invention called the epidural. No, I chose (not really-I wasn't ever really given a choice) to have my children with no medication of any kind. Note:
1. Do not choose an OB-GYN who, in their other life, is a drinking buddy of yours.
2. Natural childbirth is not all they crack it up to be. Take the drugs! Most doctors, like the one I had, for instance, who say natural is best, didn't give birth.
I have also had the great pleasure of having a stepdaughter who I didn't have to give birth to, but get to enjoy all the same. (Take note-this isn't a bad plan!) She has provided me with 3 wonderful grandsons (although there are days she might argue at least part of that statement). Somehow, it just seems different when it's my baby, my youngest child, giving birth.
When I was an adolecsent, my mother used to curse me by saying, "Someday, I hope you have a child just like you!" I did! Two of them, in fact! I am biting my tongue, even as I write this posting not to utter those same words! In fact, just the thought of my baby have a baby(ies), seems on many levels to be all wrong. I am way too young to be a grandma, let alone a grandma many times over. Just yesterday, an old friend from high school called and told me so! (I believed him too! Thanks Paul!) Perhaps I should explain that although my friend has seen a picture or two over the years, we haven't seen each other in person since I graduated at the end of my junior year of high school and moved to another state. Then he moved to California, which is nowhere near the state that I moved to. That might explain the lovely compliment, or maybe... it's just true.
Anyway, back to talking about me! I really am too young for this whole grandma thing, but since I make my living in early childhood, I've decided that I will try to find the silver lining. After all, 1. I don't have to give birth to him/her/them. 2. Grandparents get to enjoy all of the good parts, like having chocolate eating contests, or cookie dough fights, and then send the little darlin's home to their parents. 3. You only have to nod, smile and commiserate over sleepless nights, never having a shoulder that hasn't been urped on, and the inevitable trips to the ER to get an errant screw out of his/her/their nose. (Don't ask!) 4. You don't have to do parent/teacher conferences! (Enough said!)
Now don't misinterpret that I would change having my children. One lives in Texas, as I said, and I miss her terribly everyday. The other is soon to be 22,spreading his wings, and living his life as an adult. (Now, having said he, that intimates he is male. All of my early childhood training teaches me that men do not even start to grow a brain until age 25, and evidently car insurance companies agree, so again I say "enough said!") Watching them grow, watching me grudingly letting go, and at other times shoving as hard as I can, parenthood has been a learning experience for all concerned and it has made me appreciate my own parents more than I ever thought possible. The fact that I am alive still is a testament to their parenting skills! Now I just have to bite my tongue and not utter that curse, but you know what they say, "What goes around, comes around!" Besides, I'm just too young to be a granny!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Heroes
It's funny how when you are a kid, your heroes are usually people (using that term loosely here) like Superman, or the Road Runner for always pulling one over on poor Wiley Coyote, or maybe the latest sports hero like Michael Jordan. My heroes were usually Cubs players or Bears players, Blackhawks or Bulls (Could you tell I had two older brothers, or a mother who knows more about sports than anyone I have ever met? The hockey referees thought she was so worthy-or they were tired of her telling them how to do their jobs-I'm not sure which, that they gave her an official referees jersey!) Then I got into music and one musician, and then another, were my heroes. It's funny, as you get older, you begin to realize what you may have been missing in your own surroundings-the same surroundings you worked so hard to escape as you began to be independent.
Last Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, I was tapped on the shoulder (in reality, it was more slapped upside the head, as in the Marx Brothers movies I so loved as a teen) and shown what I had been ignoring for so long, in my own way. My heroes were the same people who loved and nurtured and raised me-and believe me, that wasn't always an easy thing to do! That day before Thanksgiving, when many were washing the turkey and cutting up the celery and onions for the stuffing, I was sitting with my mother, 3 weeks into recovery from a heart attack and triple bypass surgery. Also there was my sister, who tag-teamed with me for almost a month to provide round the clock care to my mother, and also to my father, who has been ill for many years with congestive heart failure, advanced emphysema, and cancer. My sister did this while trying to also spend precious moments with her wonderful and supportive husband and 4 children. To fill out this pre-Thanksgiving crew was the most important ingredient in this mix-my brother (my Irish twin) and my nephew. They had no idea what an important part they had to play in this day.
I'm getting ahead of myself in this story, so let me backtrack a bit. As I mentioned, my mother was about 3 weeks out from surgery and home for about 2 weeks. Within days of bringing her home, the paramedics were back to take my dad to the hospital. He has always been something of a miracle. Every time a doctor would tell us, over the many years he has been ill, "He is not going to pull a rabbit out of a hat this time", out came the rabbit. On the Monday before Thanksgiving, there were no more rabbits, and the magician wanted to come home. We struggled with whether we could get him home, but we promised him anyway. We brought him home on a beautiful, warm and sunny November Kansas City day. The temperature was one degree below the record high! He got to enjoy the sunshine and warm breezes and he was loving every minute off it. He knew he would never venture outside again.
That night, he drank a couple of Bloody Marys, his drink of choice for the last few years, and sat while I read him my brother's blog (see justblowingsmoke.blogspot.com). He was so proud of his son, who sometimes kicking and screaming, followed in his father's rather large footprints, and made his own unique version of them. Now my father, WWII Marine that he was, was not exactly what you would call "computer user friendly". Yes, he and my mother have a computer, but I don't believe my father ever touched the keyboard. That very night, as I read my brother's blog to him, he asked me to move over and show him how to do it. I taught him how to scroll through, pull up archived blogs, and even how to read the comments others made. He read every one. I was so amazed, I teased him and pulled out my cell phone and took a picture of him sitting with his oxygen tube at the computer. I knew no one would believe my father had entered the cyberworld. Little did I know how important that picture would become.
On Tuesday, my sister and I watched, and prayed, as my father struggled to hold onto this world and the family he loved so well. We knew my brother and nephew were due later in the evening and hoped they would get there in time. My mother sat with him and, without us telling her, realized that her 57 years of marriage to this man she so loved was about to end-at least for now. That evening, when my father realized that my brother and nephew would be walking in the door any moment, he suddenly became someone we hadn't seen in a very long time. When my brother and nephew finally arrived, we rushed to warn them that this was not what we had been seeing over the last week, and not to get the wrong impression. My father proceeded to become again the over-achiever he had been all of his life. He told stories of his childhood and his wild and crazy teenage years as a hot rod driving farm boy in Iowa. He told stories of joining the Marine Corp. at 17 and landing in the Marshall Islands soon thereafter. He told of his bachelor days just out of the Corp, and the early days of his courtship with my mother. We all talked for nearly 3 hours, when he became tired and said he was ready for bed. My sister helped him into bed and my father's over-achieving was coming to an end.
Throughout the night, my father slipped further from us. We gathered around and told him that we loved him, held his hand, kept our vigil. We assured him that my mother would be fine and he had fought the good fight. He dozed and awakened intermittently. At one point, he awoke and, when asked if he needed anything, said "Hmmmm, it's not what I expected." We all speculate on the meaning of that! As we neared dawn on Wedesday morning, he awoke one last time and my sister told him she loved him. He said "I love you too" and slipped away from us. Several hours later, his body let go. He had his family surrounding him, the wife he adored for more than half a century at his side, and a son and sister he missed beyond words waiting for him on the other side.
You may ask "Why share the details of something so personal?" I answer that, although this was one of the most devastating moments of all of our lives, it was also one of the most beautiful. This great man, who loved his family beyond everything else in the world; who was a true and loving life partner to the same woman for 57 years; who was lauded in the industry he was part of all of his adult life as a brilliant man with, as my brother always says "a moral compass that was always true and held others to the same standard"; had fought the good fight for more years than he should have had to. This man was no longer tethered to oxygen tanks and IV stands and struggling so hard it broke your heart. This great man was free! This man, along with the woman who stood by him and cared for him in his illness with the love and compassion that only comes with truly, unselfishly loving someone, showed me what real heroes are. They are the people you meet everyday. They quietly go about their lives, raising their children, providing for their families, never asking for anything, and not complaining when they don't get a fair shake in life. They lead by example, and though not perfect, I'd put them up against politicians, actors, musicians, sports figures, or just about anyone else you'd care to match up and I bet I'd win.
Monday, we celebrated my father's life, not his death. It was personal and healing and I know he was watching. I could feel him there, giving my mother, myself, my siblings, his grandchildren, friends and extended family his quiet boundless strength. Best of all, he was in his church with his God. His "band of brothers", the Marine Corp. was there to send him home with the pomp and circumstance they reserve only for one of their own.
Just one more note on this: my family will always be indebted to Catholic Community Hospice of Kansas City. They made my father's final hours peaceful and provided unselfish and unwavering support to my mother and the rest of my family, while asking for nothing in return. At the moment of his death, a sweet angel by the name of Nancy, stood with us as John McDermott sang Irish tunes in the background on the CD player. As he took his final breath, she whispered, "Listen to what song just came on." We were so lost in the moment, that none of us realized that in his final moment, Amazing Grace began to play. We will always be eternally grateful that she noticed. It became an integral part of his celebration, as was the Battle Hymn of the Republic.
As the roses and Bells of Ireland begin to fade, the memories of one of the world's true heroes never will for those who were blessed to know him.
Last Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, I was tapped on the shoulder (in reality, it was more slapped upside the head, as in the Marx Brothers movies I so loved as a teen) and shown what I had been ignoring for so long, in my own way. My heroes were the same people who loved and nurtured and raised me-and believe me, that wasn't always an easy thing to do! That day before Thanksgiving, when many were washing the turkey and cutting up the celery and onions for the stuffing, I was sitting with my mother, 3 weeks into recovery from a heart attack and triple bypass surgery. Also there was my sister, who tag-teamed with me for almost a month to provide round the clock care to my mother, and also to my father, who has been ill for many years with congestive heart failure, advanced emphysema, and cancer. My sister did this while trying to also spend precious moments with her wonderful and supportive husband and 4 children. To fill out this pre-Thanksgiving crew was the most important ingredient in this mix-my brother (my Irish twin) and my nephew. They had no idea what an important part they had to play in this day.
I'm getting ahead of myself in this story, so let me backtrack a bit. As I mentioned, my mother was about 3 weeks out from surgery and home for about 2 weeks. Within days of bringing her home, the paramedics were back to take my dad to the hospital. He has always been something of a miracle. Every time a doctor would tell us, over the many years he has been ill, "He is not going to pull a rabbit out of a hat this time", out came the rabbit. On the Monday before Thanksgiving, there were no more rabbits, and the magician wanted to come home. We struggled with whether we could get him home, but we promised him anyway. We brought him home on a beautiful, warm and sunny November Kansas City day. The temperature was one degree below the record high! He got to enjoy the sunshine and warm breezes and he was loving every minute off it. He knew he would never venture outside again.
That night, he drank a couple of Bloody Marys, his drink of choice for the last few years, and sat while I read him my brother's blog (see justblowingsmoke.blogspot.com). He was so proud of his son, who sometimes kicking and screaming, followed in his father's rather large footprints, and made his own unique version of them. Now my father, WWII Marine that he was, was not exactly what you would call "computer user friendly". Yes, he and my mother have a computer, but I don't believe my father ever touched the keyboard. That very night, as I read my brother's blog to him, he asked me to move over and show him how to do it. I taught him how to scroll through, pull up archived blogs, and even how to read the comments others made. He read every one. I was so amazed, I teased him and pulled out my cell phone and took a picture of him sitting with his oxygen tube at the computer. I knew no one would believe my father had entered the cyberworld. Little did I know how important that picture would become.
On Tuesday, my sister and I watched, and prayed, as my father struggled to hold onto this world and the family he loved so well. We knew my brother and nephew were due later in the evening and hoped they would get there in time. My mother sat with him and, without us telling her, realized that her 57 years of marriage to this man she so loved was about to end-at least for now. That evening, when my father realized that my brother and nephew would be walking in the door any moment, he suddenly became someone we hadn't seen in a very long time. When my brother and nephew finally arrived, we rushed to warn them that this was not what we had been seeing over the last week, and not to get the wrong impression. My father proceeded to become again the over-achiever he had been all of his life. He told stories of his childhood and his wild and crazy teenage years as a hot rod driving farm boy in Iowa. He told stories of joining the Marine Corp. at 17 and landing in the Marshall Islands soon thereafter. He told of his bachelor days just out of the Corp, and the early days of his courtship with my mother. We all talked for nearly 3 hours, when he became tired and said he was ready for bed. My sister helped him into bed and my father's over-achieving was coming to an end.
Throughout the night, my father slipped further from us. We gathered around and told him that we loved him, held his hand, kept our vigil. We assured him that my mother would be fine and he had fought the good fight. He dozed and awakened intermittently. At one point, he awoke and, when asked if he needed anything, said "Hmmmm, it's not what I expected." We all speculate on the meaning of that! As we neared dawn on Wedesday morning, he awoke one last time and my sister told him she loved him. He said "I love you too" and slipped away from us. Several hours later, his body let go. He had his family surrounding him, the wife he adored for more than half a century at his side, and a son and sister he missed beyond words waiting for him on the other side.
You may ask "Why share the details of something so personal?" I answer that, although this was one of the most devastating moments of all of our lives, it was also one of the most beautiful. This great man, who loved his family beyond everything else in the world; who was a true and loving life partner to the same woman for 57 years; who was lauded in the industry he was part of all of his adult life as a brilliant man with, as my brother always says "a moral compass that was always true and held others to the same standard"; had fought the good fight for more years than he should have had to. This man was no longer tethered to oxygen tanks and IV stands and struggling so hard it broke your heart. This great man was free! This man, along with the woman who stood by him and cared for him in his illness with the love and compassion that only comes with truly, unselfishly loving someone, showed me what real heroes are. They are the people you meet everyday. They quietly go about their lives, raising their children, providing for their families, never asking for anything, and not complaining when they don't get a fair shake in life. They lead by example, and though not perfect, I'd put them up against politicians, actors, musicians, sports figures, or just about anyone else you'd care to match up and I bet I'd win.
Monday, we celebrated my father's life, not his death. It was personal and healing and I know he was watching. I could feel him there, giving my mother, myself, my siblings, his grandchildren, friends and extended family his quiet boundless strength. Best of all, he was in his church with his God. His "band of brothers", the Marine Corp. was there to send him home with the pomp and circumstance they reserve only for one of their own.
Just one more note on this: my family will always be indebted to Catholic Community Hospice of Kansas City. They made my father's final hours peaceful and provided unselfish and unwavering support to my mother and the rest of my family, while asking for nothing in return. At the moment of his death, a sweet angel by the name of Nancy, stood with us as John McDermott sang Irish tunes in the background on the CD player. As he took his final breath, she whispered, "Listen to what song just came on." We were so lost in the moment, that none of us realized that in his final moment, Amazing Grace began to play. We will always be eternally grateful that she noticed. It became an integral part of his celebration, as was the Battle Hymn of the Republic.
As the roses and Bells of Ireland begin to fade, the memories of one of the world's true heroes never will for those who were blessed to know him.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Rainy Days and Mondays......
What's that old Carpenter's song say? "Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down". I am not a rainy day hater at all. I don't mind working on rainy days. It seems you're not missing as much, somehow, if it's raining outside. If it's a rainy weekend, then it's a good time to get caught up on some indoor chores, or watch Season 2 of Grey's Anatomy or CSI (any of them) on DVD. It's even a good time to catch up on the latest Harlan Coben novel or clean out my email box.
Mondays, however.....I'm trying to think of something good to say, and I am drawing a blank! You're exhausted from the weekend, and need a day off to recuperate, but back to work you go! Not only do I hate Mondays on Monday, but I already start to resent them on Sunday, knowing it's looming over the horizon. Sometimes, I even start to resent Monday on Saturday night. I begin thinking of all of the things I need to squeeze in on Sunday because the next day is Monday. I don't know, but somehow, it just doesn't seem fair that Monday encroaches further and further into my weekend.
You don't often hear people say they hate Tuesday. You still have a long week ahead of you with no relief in sight, but somehow, it's just not MONDAY. The weekend may still be around the bend, but you can almost smell it. (Like right before it rains-you can smell it coming!) Thursday is like rounding third base-you're almost home! No matter what happens on Thursday, you know you can take it because it's ALMOST FRIDAY!
Friday....ah sweet Friday. In your mind, you have already started the weekend, which is why Friday meetings are really pointless. They can make you attend in body, but no matter what they do, you're brain is already on weekend! Weekends might as well start at noon on Friday. (Yes, I do realize that for some people, they do. Us peons, however, don't get to officially start weekends until 4:00pm.)
Then it's the weekend. You swear you're going to sleep late, but your brain is programmed to get up at the crack of dawn for work and won't switch over to weekend mode. (At least you can ignore it and roll over for awhile.) You lay there and plan out what you want to do with your weekend, and before you know it, it's Saturday evening and that resentment is starting to creep in. You go out with friends and tip a few Black and Tans, followed by just a taste of Irish Whiskey to chase it away. Before you know it, it's Sunday morning! The cloud of impending Monday is stronger than the coffee you have to drink to wake up and you spend the day rushing around to stay ahead of it. Before you know it, it's Monday again.
I'm sorry! I just can't think of a good thing to say about Monday. It doesn't seem quite fair that it has to be the most hated day of the week. Perhaps we should just make weekends a three day affair and incorporate Mondays into them. Monday has had such a bad rap for such a long time! I think we should give Mondays a break.
But then-Tuesday would become the most hated day of the week.......
Mondays, however.....I'm trying to think of something good to say, and I am drawing a blank! You're exhausted from the weekend, and need a day off to recuperate, but back to work you go! Not only do I hate Mondays on Monday, but I already start to resent them on Sunday, knowing it's looming over the horizon. Sometimes, I even start to resent Monday on Saturday night. I begin thinking of all of the things I need to squeeze in on Sunday because the next day is Monday. I don't know, but somehow, it just doesn't seem fair that Monday encroaches further and further into my weekend.
You don't often hear people say they hate Tuesday. You still have a long week ahead of you with no relief in sight, but somehow, it's just not MONDAY. The weekend may still be around the bend, but you can almost smell it. (Like right before it rains-you can smell it coming!) Thursday is like rounding third base-you're almost home! No matter what happens on Thursday, you know you can take it because it's ALMOST FRIDAY!
Friday....ah sweet Friday. In your mind, you have already started the weekend, which is why Friday meetings are really pointless. They can make you attend in body, but no matter what they do, you're brain is already on weekend! Weekends might as well start at noon on Friday. (Yes, I do realize that for some people, they do. Us peons, however, don't get to officially start weekends until 4:00pm.)
Then it's the weekend. You swear you're going to sleep late, but your brain is programmed to get up at the crack of dawn for work and won't switch over to weekend mode. (At least you can ignore it and roll over for awhile.) You lay there and plan out what you want to do with your weekend, and before you know it, it's Saturday evening and that resentment is starting to creep in. You go out with friends and tip a few Black and Tans, followed by just a taste of Irish Whiskey to chase it away. Before you know it, it's Sunday morning! The cloud of impending Monday is stronger than the coffee you have to drink to wake up and you spend the day rushing around to stay ahead of it. Before you know it, it's Monday again.
I'm sorry! I just can't think of a good thing to say about Monday. It doesn't seem quite fair that it has to be the most hated day of the week. Perhaps we should just make weekends a three day affair and incorporate Mondays into them. Monday has had such a bad rap for such a long time! I think we should give Mondays a break.
But then-Tuesday would become the most hated day of the week.......
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Veteran's Day
Sunday is Veteran's Day, a day of rememberance to honor those who served and those who died to protect our rights and freedom. When I was a kid, this used to be a very special day filled with parades and ceremonies. Now it's a day off of work for the bankers and postal workers and a day of sales at the mall.
As the daughter of a US Marine who served in the South Pacific as part of Lost Company A of the 10th Amphious Tractor Battalion
( see http://justblowingsmoke.blogspot.com/2007/10/lost-battalion.html) , I was raised with pride and respect for those who serve. Now my daughter, my youngest child, serves as a medic in the US Army. She left for basic training right after high school graduation, just days before her 18th birthday. She has served at Ft. Jackson, SC; Heidelberg, Germany; twice at Ft. Sam Houston, TX; and now at Ft. Bliss, TX. She is expecting her first child this June. She has seen things in her young life, caring for those coming back from "the sandbox", that most of us can't even imagine. Although she hasn't had to go "downrange" yet, (and as a mother, I am counting my blessings), many of her friends and classmates from high school, basic training and AIT school have. Some are on their second or third tour there. Many are like my own children.
Regardless of how you feel about the right or wrong of the war, the reason we are there, or when or how we should pull out, let there be no mistake! Those who serve, or have served in this war, or those past, deserve our thanks and our respect and deserve it without reservation. On this Veterans Day, take the time to remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. Remember those who served and then came home and got on with their lives. Remember those who are still paying the price for our freedom everyday-overseas; at home; healing from injuries visible and not; and for their families who worry every moment of everyday whether the chaplain will come walking up their sidewalk and knock on the door. The next time you walk through the airport and see a soldier in uniform, take the time to go up and thank him or her for their service. It only takes a moment, but that moment can be a lifelong memory to that soldier. If you are flying, and a soldier happens to be on your flight, ask the flight attendant to allow the soldier to deplane before everyone else as a sign of respect. Applaud the soldier as he or she does. Some of them are going to go "downrange" and some will not come back. Some of their families will be left with bills they can't pay, fatherless children, shattered lives, but proud of their loved ones who gave the ultimate sacrifice. The least we can do, as we sit in our comfortable recliners, luxury cars (or in my case, really good seats at the Kansas City Garth Brooks concert on Nov. 14th) is say thank you. Tim McGraw did that really well at an awards show awhile back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7ixC-LYDGc
For those in the Armed Forces home and abroad, past and present, from the bottom of my heart-Thank You!
As the daughter of a US Marine who served in the South Pacific as part of Lost Company A of the 10th Amphious Tractor Battalion
( see http://justblowingsmoke.blogspot.com/2007/10/lost-battalion.html) , I was raised with pride and respect for those who serve. Now my daughter, my youngest child, serves as a medic in the US Army. She left for basic training right after high school graduation, just days before her 18th birthday. She has served at Ft. Jackson, SC; Heidelberg, Germany; twice at Ft. Sam Houston, TX; and now at Ft. Bliss, TX. She is expecting her first child this June. She has seen things in her young life, caring for those coming back from "the sandbox", that most of us can't even imagine. Although she hasn't had to go "downrange" yet, (and as a mother, I am counting my blessings), many of her friends and classmates from high school, basic training and AIT school have. Some are on their second or third tour there. Many are like my own children.
Regardless of how you feel about the right or wrong of the war, the reason we are there, or when or how we should pull out, let there be no mistake! Those who serve, or have served in this war, or those past, deserve our thanks and our respect and deserve it without reservation. On this Veterans Day, take the time to remember those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. Remember those who served and then came home and got on with their lives. Remember those who are still paying the price for our freedom everyday-overseas; at home; healing from injuries visible and not; and for their families who worry every moment of everyday whether the chaplain will come walking up their sidewalk and knock on the door. The next time you walk through the airport and see a soldier in uniform, take the time to go up and thank him or her for their service. It only takes a moment, but that moment can be a lifelong memory to that soldier. If you are flying, and a soldier happens to be on your flight, ask the flight attendant to allow the soldier to deplane before everyone else as a sign of respect. Applaud the soldier as he or she does. Some of them are going to go "downrange" and some will not come back. Some of their families will be left with bills they can't pay, fatherless children, shattered lives, but proud of their loved ones who gave the ultimate sacrifice. The least we can do, as we sit in our comfortable recliners, luxury cars (or in my case, really good seats at the Kansas City Garth Brooks concert on Nov. 14th) is say thank you. Tim McGraw did that really well at an awards show awhile back.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7ixC-LYDGc
For those in the Armed Forces home and abroad, past and present, from the bottom of my heart-Thank You!
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