Eulogy

Sadly, my friend's dear father did pass, and his memorial mass was held on Friday. I was lucky enough to get to be a part of the eulogy writing process. His children all wrote down their memories of their father, as well as the highlights of his life, and I worked with my friend to weave them all together.

It's really true what they say, no one says from their death bed, "I wish I'd spent more time at work." Here was a man that was a devoted employee and good provider for his family. He went to work right out of the Air Force and retired from the same company 39 years later. Those 39 years of committed service, however, only got one short sentence in his entire eulogy. The rest of the words spoke of a man committed to his wife, children, grandchildren, friends and faith.

I used to think the "success" of my life would be evident by the number of people who attended my funeral. The more lives I'd touched, been a part of and known, the better. To "only" have loved and been devoted to my family and closest friends, would not have been a life that had reached full potential.

The church on Friday was full. Clearly this man had made a big difference in many, many lives. However, it was the look on his widowed wife's face as she recessed down the aisle when the service was over, that said it all: This man had been successful.


Photo from http://us.123rf.com

Special

Rojo has been asking to go to Tom and Nancy's house in the afternoon since last spring. It started innocently enough, they have a great swing on an impossibly tall tree in the backyard, and he loves to swing on it. At first we'd walk down on a beautiful day, take a swing, and leave.

Then it turned into him doing a bit of a concert and singing church songs at the top of his lungs in a falsetto voice. Nancy would come out from her kitchen and we'd sit around the patio table and visit. If Tom happened to be home, he'd join us, too.

Then our visit got extended and we'd stay for a beer (me) and water (him). Then snacks became involved. Then every now and then turned into him obsessing and begging to go every single day, which Nancy and Tom graciously accommodated as much as their busy schedules would allow.

Spring turned to summer and as summer turned to fall we thought the trend might die out. No. We just moved the party inside. Tom put away the patio table and chairs and instead of bringing Flicka and hanging in the backyard, we took over their family room. Soon Rojo decided there was more action in the basement (a computer, big TV, extra fridge with things Nancy bought just for him and even his own secret hiding place for his snacks so no one else in the family dare eat them).

Fall turned to winter and things got busy with the holidays. We still made it over there 2-3 times a week, though. Then Nancy's dad got really sick and was in the hospital. Rojo had a hard time understanding how it was more important for Nancy to be at the hospital each day with her dad, than being in her basement waiting on him hand and foot. "Nancy's dad is really sick, Rojo, he might die. Nancy needs to be with him."

He got quiet, thought about that a minute then said, "Does everyone die?"

"Yes, honey, everyone dies."

"I'm not going to die, I'm special," he said.

"There's no question you're special," I said.

I don't know if he's just heard the term "special needs" so often, or if he thinks he truly will beat death, or  that he gets that there is no beginning, no ending, only everlasting love, and that those that live in that love live eternally.

I'm betting on the latter.

* Photo from http://static.howstuffworks.com

Go, Ducks!

Conversion to high def? Check!

Snacks, snacks and more snacks? Check!

Beer, wine, Champagne and pop? Check!

Furniture re-arranged so everyone can get a good seat? Check!

Pizza pre-ordered and set to be delivered at halftime? Check!

All my favorite people about to be together in one room? Check!

Go, Ducks!!

Riddle Me This, Rojo

Rojo continues to go on and on (and on and on) about our plans to move to California. It's down to the minutiae. While feeding the dog, "Mom, don't forget to pack Flicka's food when we move to California." While getting ready for bed, "Mom, who is going to read me books at night when we move to California?" When driving to the store, "Will they have Trader Joe's and Safeway when we move to California?"

"Let's not tell L. all about our plans to move to California, okay? Let's just keep that between us for now. You can tell me all about it, but let's not tell your girlfriend, L."

"Okay," he agreed.

Picked him up from school one day and first words out of his mouth were, "Well,  I told L. all about moving to California. She's down with it."

For the next 24-hours it was all about L. and her family and all the things and people they would bring when we moved to California.

Jenn came out to my car on Friday while I was waiting for Rojo and said, "I guess L. got a little freaked out about being told Rojo was going to marry her when she finished college, and they would be moving to California."

L. is fairly new to the school, and only in 5th grade. She does not know Rojo's whole gig. Frankly, if my 5th grade daughter came home and told me some 8th grade boy told her he was going to marry her, move her to California and have three boys: Alexander, Michael and Brandon, I'd freak out myself! Because there are no accidents, L.'s dad was handy right that minute that I heard about this, so I explained the whole thing to him and all is well.

Here's the thing, though, Rojo spent a good portion of his time in the Resource Room telling his teacher and aide about his big plans. He said things like, "L.s brother can come, too, you don't leave your siblings behind." He made enough "siblings left behind" comments that the astute Resource Room teacher figured out what was under all this talk of California. "Rojo," she asked, "are you worried about Woohoo going to college?"

"Yes!" he answered immediately.

"Because you are going to miss her?" 

"Yes! I am going to miss her!"

I explained the whole thing to STM and he said, "Wouldn't it be nice if he could just say, 'I'm anxious about Woohoo going to college, I'll miss her,' instead of talking in riddles?"

I've been down Wouldn't It Be Nice Road so many times I no longer need a map. And let me tell you, it goes nowhere.

Every time.

PTSD

So Rojo went to school Tuesday morning, and I decided to use that time to dig in the basement for old photos of him for a school project. Found the towering stack of photo albums, but nine out of ten of them were of Woohoo. Simply cannot find any photo albums of Rojo from grades 1-5. Missing.

Looked through the baby and toddler albums of him just briefly, randomly turning to pages and giving them a cursory glance. That's was all I could do. To really go back and really look and really be back in those years is simply not something I'm up for.

Hard to believe that looking at that darling boy in the picture above, doesn't fill me with joy, right? I know. Just look at him. Could he be any cuter? And any healthier looking? And look at him eating a variety of food and textures. But pictures can lie. That same darling, healthy, happy boy I just happened to get a photo of, that boy didn't live at our house very much. The boy that lived with us then was always in my arms, on my hip, being jiggled, being stuck with a pacifier, and eventually being brushed with surgical sponges and having his joints compressed every two hours to turn on his sensory system and help him to regulate.

I don't have a lot of those pictures. Too busy to go get a camera and take a shot of any of that.

Thought I'd done okay with finding enough pictures for what I needed, thought I'd done okay skimming the surface of the pain without diving into the deep end, thought I'd done okay reflecting on those years and realizing that we are not there anymore, that we have a very happy, joyful, delightful, what-he-is boy living with us right now.

But apparently my body had another idea. As the day wore on I got sicker and sicker. Stomach cramps that felt like labor and hit with a force every 15 minutes for 24 hours. Ended up going into the doctor afraid of what she might find. She didn't have a firm answer, ran some tests and we will await the results. Feeling better now, but there is a lingering sense of non-wellness.

I still don't know what happened to the missing photo albums, and part of me mourns their loss, if they're truly gone, and part of me is relieved never to have to look at them again.

California or Bust!

Rojo goes back to school tomorrow after a 17.5 day "vacation." 2,000 races of MarioKart, a million trips to places like Plaid Panty and 7-11 later (to get random things, mostly gifts for people), he is packed and ready. Had his lunch made since 7:30 this morning. Uniform is hanging on his door knob. He actually said to me, "I can tell you're really ready for me to go to school tomorrow!" Then he proceeded to tell me more about his plans to move the whole family to California in seven years.

For the past 17.5 days I have heard quite a bit about the big move, and it goes a little something like this:

"Mom, we will move to California in seven years, when L. is out of high school (his "girlfriend" is in 5th grade). Before we have our three boys, Alexander, Michael and Brandon, I will be the ice cream truck man and L. will work in an office. You will help me drive the truck. I am not going to get my driver's license. Ever. L. will have a driver's license, though, and a cell phone. She will text. I will not text. I will not have a cell phone.

Everyone is coming with us. You, Dad, Woohoo, Flicka, Grandma, Papa, Grammy, Aunt J., everyone. Actually, Grandma, Papa and Grammy might not be around seven years from now, so probably not them. We will live in Anaheim. We will live in Disneyland. We will live in the hotel there. When I have my kids I will have a refrigerator in the room and I will just get my boys their drinks. I will get Alexander his water. I will get Michael his Vitamin Water, and I will get... who's that one on the left? Oh yea, Brandon, I will get Brandon his Gatorade.

We will need to get a gate for our yard so Flicka and my three boys can't get out. Let's buy a gate. Don't forget to buy the gate, okay, Mom? Promise you'll remember to buy a gate?

How long will it take to drive to Anaheim? Should we fly? What if I have to take a whiz? What if I am on the airplane going to our house at Disneyland, and I need to pee? How long is the plane going to take to get there? We will need to pack all our things and just boom, go straight to the airport when L. finishes  school.

L. is going to have a job in an office when we have our kids, and I am going to be the stay-at-home dad. If those kids start crying I am going to put them in daycare. If it is the weekend and L. is there I am just going to say, 'Hey, Babe, I'm going to Dairy Queen, I will be home in three hours. I can't take the crying.'

You are going to be Mrs. California, Mom, and I am going to be the Mr. My wife, L., will wear a bridal dress. She will be a bride.

What am I going to do with a pregnant wife? Who's going to go to the hospital with her? I'm staying at the hotel. You have to stay at the hotel with me. STM can go to the hospital with L. You and I will just wait at the hotel. Yea, STM can do that. I don't want to do that.

When my three boys are older they will have cell phones and they will text. I will not have a cell phone. I will not drive, but those boys will drive and they will have cell phones like L. But I will not."

I asked him just what was he going to do since he was going to use day care for the crying kids, not drive, not text, not go to the hospital, and of course the answer is obvious, he'll be at Disneyland!

Join the Revolution

Just got back from Mass and the priest said every time we hear "Resolution" this New Year, substitute the "s" for a "v" and join the revolution - the revolution of love.

Who's in?


* Photo from www.sanetruth.com

Happy New Year!

And happy anniversary to me! Nineteen years today, and I can honestly say, we're happier than we've ever been, not in small part because we've learned a few things about patience, kindness, and forgiveness along the way. Plus, our minds are shot and it's easier to move on when you can't remember anything for more than five minutes.

Happy New Year to you, my friends!

love.

love.

and more love.


* Photo from psdgraphics.com

Holding On 'til Then

Rojo and I just wrapped up another full day of Mario Kart. He talks the entire time he's playing, narrating what's going on in his half of the screen and bossing around what I'm supposed to be doing in mine. Plus, the game itself is noisy and he turns the volume way up. I'm ready for a sensory deprivation tank. I must look like it, too, because out of nowhere he says, "Mom, don't forget we're going to die at the same time. Think you can make it that long?"

Easily Disrupted

Courtney wants me to update my blog. Hmmm... guess she doesn't count music videos and pictures of Christmas cards true "posts." Hoping no one would notice. See, here's the thing. I love to write. I can't not write. I write in my head all day every day and it's enough to make me, and everyone around me, crazy. Nonetheless (best word ever - feel free to steal it), it's nearly impossible for me to write when kids and the husband are home, and they are home, have been home, and will continue to be home for several more days.

Still. STM is watching his 1,000th (I swear) episode of "Prison Break" on his laptop, Rojo is watching a Scooby Doo movie, and Woohoo is at a friend's. Even Flicka Link (x3) is contented and for the next 60 minutes it is unlikely I will be disrupted. By them, anyway. The laundry threatens to disrupt me, as does the dog hair that is flying around like nobody's business, as it's been six days since I vacuumed last and that's about five days too many when you have a profuse shedder, however cute she may be. E-mail threatens to disrupt me. The leftover Christmas candy/cookies/treats threaten to disrupt me. Even Ingrid Michaelson playing in my headphones threatens to disrupt me as there is a good chance I may need to go to iTunes and make "Everybody" repeat a few times, then I'll get tired of it and need to go in and put it back on that play the next song thing.

See the problem? See why I need SABBATH? Sorry. A word like Sabbath should probably not be yelled! Oops! So many things zinging through my brain all at the same time, and with no priority listing. The drivel is just as loud and clamoring as the biggies. Does anyone else have this problem, or just me?

Plus, I have all the Christmas stories to catch you up on and don't even know where to begin there. I guess I'll start with telling you how this year Rojo asked each person for something different for Christmas. He didn't even tell us what he had asked for (or even that he had). My mom just said one day, "Did you know Rojo wants 'Christmas' socks for Christmas? Do you have any idea what he means by 'Christmas' socks?" With a little digging I learned he wanted slipper socks like she wears. Yes, women's socks. Yes, she bought them. Yes, he's wearing them right this minute, actually.

He told Woohoo he wanted pajamas with Santa on them and she and I searched the city looking for them until going to Old Navy, seeing their one and only pair on the mannequin, and thereby beseeching the poor sales girl to strip the mannequin on the spot and selling us the pair, which, again, were women's and again, yes, he is all too happy to wear. They really couldn't be cuter. Santa has a jaunty magenta hat on each of his repeating pattern heads and there's a lovely shade of green going on there, too.

He told STM that he wanted a BIG tiger from Santa, but he told me he wanted a SMALL tiger from Santa. Darned if that Santa didn't find matching big and small tigers. Rojo was thrilled but not surprised. Why should he be? It's what he asked for! Why am I always so surprised when I get what I ask for? Why is he never?

Rojo told my in-laws he wanted those chocolates wrapped in gold like coins. Got 'em. Told my sister-in-law he wanted a Boston Terrier T-shirt. Got it. He didn't really get a whole lot else from the family, but he did get a BCS T-shirt with the Fightin' Oregon Duck on it from Kathleen, and he's proceeded to wear it three of the six days since he opened it. You know that Oregon is in THE championship, right? You know they're playing Auburn, right? You know that Rojo loves Auburn, right? You know that I've HIDDEN his Auburn T-shirt from him so he doesn't start a riot in the streets around here, right? You know I'm not kidding, right? Did you also know that Rojo has determined we need a BCS party and has created a guest list and fortunately his favorite people are my favorite people, and they are coming? No, you didn't know any of this because I've been too busy running around like a chicken with my head cut off and not stopping to have a big part of my Sabbath, which is WRITING.

Anyhoo. Sorry, Courtney, that's just a smidgen of the madness running through my head at any given moment.

Sabbath

Traditionally, the Sabbath is a day of rest and reverence. A holy day. A day to quiet oneself. We don't Sabbath well, as a culture. We go. And go. And go. We're much better at doing than at being, and I am no exception.

A friend of mine and her husband once took a whole year and called it the year of Sabbath. They withdrew from their book clubs, church groups, regular social engagements, committees that they sat on, etc. And there were a lot, because they are wonderful and involved people and other wonderful and involved people love having them come and be wonderful and involved, but it had come to a point when they couldn't simply cut back, they needed to make a declaration. Take a stand for holiness. And quiet. And Rest. I didn't know them at the time, but I love hearing this story and come back to it over and over in my mind.

My New Year's goal is to put more Sabbath into each day. More reverence. More holiness. More rest. More stillness. More quiet. More listening. More being.

Everybody.

The Digital Nativity

Have a Sane Christmas

Look at the Christmas card Kario sent me. I laugh every time I look at it, and can pretty much think of at least one person that fits each of the descriptions!

The Christmas Card

Today is Hopeful Parents Day. Come see me!

Ascension Attitudes

I have heard that the three Ascension Attitudes are love, praise and gratitude. In my Angel Blessings book, it says the big three are love, gratitude and surrender. I love that because to me praise and gratitude are a bit redundant (and if I've said it once I've said it a million times, don't be redundant). However, surrender is MUCH harder than praise, don't you think? Surrender? C'mon, that's HARD!

I think we all think - at least I know I do - that if we surrender, our lives will get worse, not better. We believe that our fear of bad things happening is what's keeping them from happening, and that we have some mind control over bad things happening, and to surrender that mind control will open up the flood gets and let all kinds of hellish things in. Don't we think that?

I know that growing up I was repeatedly told to surrender my life to Jesus. No way was I doing that. I knew the minute I let him take over he'd "make" me a nun, and I wanted no part of being a nun. Never mind that we weren't Catholic (anti-Catholic, in fact), never mind that I had wonderful nuns as teachers in high school and they seemed happy in every way imaginable, never mind that now I fantasize  about life in a nunnery. Never mind. No way was I letting go and surrendering to God's will.

Every morning I draw an angel card and then meditate on it for as long as my monkey mind allows me to before I cart it back again. Naturally, in the time since reading about the three Ascension Attitudes I've drawn the Surrender card at least 50% of the time. "Quiet" Mary.

Today I drew the thing again. I always go to the book and read the corresponding information, and since I've read that flippin' page a million times lately, I practically know it by heart. However, today I read words I hadn't digested before: "Deep surrender opens the connection with your Eternal Self which is your personalized manifestation of an important aspect of God."

By surrendering, we are able to manifest in us, aspects of GOD.

Not enough can really be made of that.

In My Dreams

(Get ready to see a lot of Quiet Mary - just sayin')

First had a dream that I walked into the hairdressers and my gal was talking to some older woman. The older woman said, "Let's just get this over with as soon as possible." Then the older woman began to drink like a fish. Somehow my awareness kicked in and I realized this older woman was my hairdresser's mother, and together they were going to do my hair! I called a meeting, sat them both down at a table in the back room, and announced that this simply was not going to work for me. I did not want anyone DRUNK doing my hair, for starters, and did not care for  the let's-just-get-this-over-with attitude one tiny bit. So. I'm learning to be assertive, if only in my dreams. It's a good start, right?

Next dream I was trying to find some privacy to get dressed, but there were people everywhere. Finally found a spot in the woods (!) and someone found me there, too! I told them that I thought I had some ANIMALS I needed to give birth to, and would they be a sport and UNZIP the back of my body (!) and pull them out, please? Only if it was not too much of a bother. They obliged, and out came some damn thing that I can't even remember. A bird? A dog? Not sure. Then I said, "I actually think there is more in there, would you please check, as long as you are there anyway?" They pulled out TWO more animals of some sort and then zipped me back up and away I went.

I DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO GIVE BIRTH, people! OMHOG!

Then later, when I'd finished my very important and totally unmemorable business, I went by to check on the animals I'd just sort of given birth to. They were all nestled in some sort of outdoor cozy shelter with their animal-appropriate mothers, sleeping, eating, resting and in all ways doing great.

So, all's well that ends well, but still. Let's review the facts: I had only a vague sense that I was pregnant and even then, only as an afterthought I took care of the whole birth thing. Then, after a completely detached experience of getting them out of my body, I wanted nothing to do with the actual raising of my offspring. Too busy.

I know this dream is not about my parenting. I am going to go ahead and give myself an A on that front. What this dream is about is my DREAMS. A total afterthought. Detached. No time for. I check in on them from time to time and guess what? They are still there! Somehow living despite the complete negligence I have for them.

Quiet Mary, my ass.

Level Up

 Meet my friend, Greg. He's actually much larger than this in real life - and his personality is even bigger.

Greg can do pretty much anything. Including making really great short movies. You have to see his latest, Level Up. Not only is it DELIGHTFUL, it stars his son, Leo, and their daughter, Sophie, is in it, as well. Greg just happens to be married to my friend, Toeless, and we all know you know about my friend Toeless! Not enough can be made of this movie. Have a watch! Send your friends! Laugh! Smile! Enjoy! And THANK THE GOOD LORD YOU ARE NOT STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL!

Here's a trailer to get you wound up!

Quiet Mary

On Sunday, the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, one of my Mary-loving friends had a gathering for all of her Mary-loving friends. We ate chocolate, drank Prosecco with pomegranates dropped in (yummy, pretty and in keeping with the theme), and made Mary art. One of us (so not me) is a theologian/art teacher. Is there a better combination? Really? 

She led us through the art project and even let us all veer from it totally and do our own thing, like all good art teachers/theologians should do, if you ask me. This is a picture of what I ended up with. In Mary's hair is written the Hail Mary over and over again. We were supposed to chop up Mary's face into sections and in each section do a repeated pattern of something that represented Mary: bumblebees, roses, fleur-dis-lis, pomegranates, etc. I was all set to do that, had penciled out my sections and was ready to go to town when I stopped and announced that I didn't want to do that. Not like me at all to buck "authority."

The friend/teacher said, "You don't have to. I can imagine for you that it would be hard to hear Mary through all that noise."

Visual noise. Yes, that was it, exactly. Although I had looked at the prototype and admired it greatly, I didn't want to have it in my home, much less create it. 

Thank you, Quiet Mary. I can hear you now.

Simple

Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.

- Leonardo da Vinci

Got to have lunch with one of my oldest and dearest friends on Saturday - just 90 minutes together as we don't live in the same city, and that was as long as we had to meet halfway and attempt to catch up, before returning to our busy/over-committed lives.

There are low-maintenance friends and then there are zero maintenance friends, like this one. We could (and do) go months without e-mails/calls/visits and then one of us contacts the other and we pick up right where we left off. Have been doing that for 33 years, fully expect another 33+ years of the same thing.

She is, and I mean this as the ultimate compliment, just the same since the day I met her, which is to say: simple. She has no ego whatsoever. Is never confused. Never in crisis. Never "going through a hard time." Never at a crossroads. Nothing. That is not to say that her life is not complicated, but she? She, is simple.

She will retire in ten more years from teaching first grade to very low income students. She takes kids from families with very little support or means, and teaches them to read. Teaches them to believe in themselves. Teaches them to fly. Year after year after year after year. I asked her what she'll do when her kids are both gone and out of college (eight more years until then), and then when she retires. "We'll simplify our lives," she said.

It was always their priority that there be a full-time, at home parent, and she was the one trained for a career with the passion and talent, so her husband has only worked very part time and at very low paying jobs, and only when their girls are in school. They have made it work. Not only have they made it work, they have one daughter ready to head off to college in the fall, and another one not too far behind. Their girls are impressive in every way imaginable. 

And in large part, because they've kept it simple.

* Photo from http://citysimplicity.blogspot.com