I took a couple of days off work this week so I could have 4 days off in a row that did not involve death or illness.
It’s been a hard year on that front.
It was about a year ago that Shannon went to the hospital for the first time. Psychosis isn’t pretty and time off to care for a psychotic patient is no vacation.
We also spent Christmas and New Years at Seton, Shoal Creek and then Seton, again. That time it was 14 days.
In February, Pinto, our 18 year-old cat, died. I took time off to help ease him into the next world, take him in to be cremated and then, later, pick up his ashes.
July came, and I got a call from Shannon at work. “You need to call your mother. Your dad’s in the hospital.” I pulled my boss out of a Board of Director’s meeting and told her that “I have to go, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
It was about 2 weeks later.
The day I got back from burying Daddy, I found out that a close friend’s mother-in-law had been killed in a car accident, so I took off an afternoon later in the week for her memorial.
Then, the next month, I went back to Tennessee for several days, a trip I had already planned and paid for before Daddy died. It was a good trip, but the sub-text was always death.
Last week, or the week before—I’m not sure, one of Shannon’s closest friends called to say that his mother had died. And, oh, his apartment had caught on fire. No time off work, because the services were in Waco, a little farther than Shannon can travel these days. We sent flowers and a plant.
Today is the first of my two paid days off, and the phone rang a little after 7:30 a.m. I very often don’t answer the phone. We get too many spam calls. But at that hour of the morning, a call is not just a call. It’s probably important.
The long and short of it is that John’s in the hospital again. I have no details except where’s he at. But I don’t feel good about it.
John has Parkinson’s and has been hospitalized before. The last time was for a month. He got better for a short while, but all the progress with motor skills disappeared almost as quickly as they had come.
The Parkinson’s has been advancing steadily over the last several months. Like Sherman’s march to Atlanta, it has been deliberately and methodically practicing a scorched-earth policy. It destroys so thoroughly that there is little, if anything, left to build on.
So that phone call this morning quickly became ominous.
Maybe I’m over-reacting. In fact, I hope I am.
I should probably take comfort in knowing that we have the resources, both financial and in time off when I need it, to respond appropriately.
But I’m tired of death and illness.
I’ll soldier on and do what has to be done, make no mistake.
And it’s probably just as well that we couldn’t afford to go to Bastrop this weekend, to our little “Hobbit House” in the pines. They don’t have phones there, so I wouldn’t have gotten that call that I didn’t want but really needed to get.
God has either not been in a good mood for the last year or I don’t understand the reasons for his or her decisions. At this point, I’m left without insight. Just pain and trepidation.
And, like this piece, no satisfactory closure.
29 October 2007
28 October 2007
Enough is Enough is Always Enough
Republicans everywhere should quit raising money and spending it on candidates that have almost no chance of winning a general election. Put it in a tax-deferred trust fund or retirement account. Don’t throw it away on candidates that have to fight the Bush/Cheney legacy.
Bush/Cheney and Carl Rove effectively eviscerated the Republican party. They systematically destroyed anyone that did not agree with them.
They have not provided a chain of succession that most administrations do.
Instead, they used a jack-booted thug mentality to kill any opposition, even among their political colleagues.
They ate their own.
Human sacrifice didn’t end with the Inca’s or Aztec’s. It’s alive and well in Washington, DC.
The last several years have made me more jaded than ever about our political leaders.
I don’t like it.
I want a leader I can believe in. One who isn’t unduly influenced by a too-powerful VP. One who has the common sense to lead the free world on his or her own.
W & Company have made that almost impossible for any Republican to accomplish. The ones that didn’t agree with him got destroyed. The ones that did have to explain his ridiculous policies.
So, Republicans everywhere, take advantage of tax laws that allow you to shelter money in tax-deferred accounts. Don’t give it to candidates that have almost no chance of winning.
Invest your money wisely. Take advantage of the time you have before the laws change.
They will. And not in your favor.
“Enough is enough” is always enough. And most of us have had enough. And then some.
Climb down off that high-horse and talk about the things that concern ordinary people: the rising cost and increasing un-availability of health care; the inability of Federal agencies to respond to national emergencies; the precarious military situation that has left our country pretty much unable to respond to a direct attack; the failings of our educational system; the un-Godly high price of higher education, which makes it impossible for many people to get without amassing mountains of debt that will take most of their lives to pay off.
Enough is enough. And I’ve had enough. And them some.
I don’t think I’m alone one this one.
Bush/Cheney and Carl Rove effectively eviscerated the Republican party. They systematically destroyed anyone that did not agree with them.
They have not provided a chain of succession that most administrations do.
Instead, they used a jack-booted thug mentality to kill any opposition, even among their political colleagues.
They ate their own.
Human sacrifice didn’t end with the Inca’s or Aztec’s. It’s alive and well in Washington, DC.
The last several years have made me more jaded than ever about our political leaders.
I don’t like it.
I want a leader I can believe in. One who isn’t unduly influenced by a too-powerful VP. One who has the common sense to lead the free world on his or her own.
W & Company have made that almost impossible for any Republican to accomplish. The ones that didn’t agree with him got destroyed. The ones that did have to explain his ridiculous policies.
So, Republicans everywhere, take advantage of tax laws that allow you to shelter money in tax-deferred accounts. Don’t give it to candidates that have almost no chance of winning.
Invest your money wisely. Take advantage of the time you have before the laws change.
They will. And not in your favor.
“Enough is enough” is always enough. And most of us have had enough. And then some.
Climb down off that high-horse and talk about the things that concern ordinary people: the rising cost and increasing un-availability of health care; the inability of Federal agencies to respond to national emergencies; the precarious military situation that has left our country pretty much unable to respond to a direct attack; the failings of our educational system; the un-Godly high price of higher education, which makes it impossible for many people to get without amassing mountains of debt that will take most of their lives to pay off.
Enough is enough. And I’ve had enough. And them some.
I don’t think I’m alone one this one.
27 October 2007
Ring of Fire
When Daddy died and me and Mama were picking out music for his funeral, I suggested “Will the Circle be Unbroken?” Daddy always liked Johnny Cash, and I was just trying to get the details done before I started crying again.
Mama said, “No. The circle’s already broken.”
I let it go. We ended up with some nice music, including a really good Faith Hill song my niece wanted.
But I still keep thinking about that circle, and I’m not sure it’s broken. At least not in the way she thinks it is.
I hadn’t been home in 15 years when Daddy died. I knew my mother didn’t accept my “lifestyle”. I keep telling everyone that I can’t afford a “lifestyle”, but that doesn’t seem to keep them from making assumptions about me that they shouldn’t. I don’t know if that’s what Mama was doing or if it was mostly in my mind.
Needless to say, we just didn’t talk much, and when we did, it was not always comfortable. She didn’t tell me important things that I had to find out about from my older sister. Like my nephew getting arrested for shoplifting. Like how much my niece despises her mother. Like my other nephew (in middle school) getting caught taking his mother’s pot to school.
When Daddy started getting sick, Mama kept on editing information. And in retrospect, I think it may be that she was only telling me the part of reality that she was able to accept at that time.
She was only beginning to accept the reality of Daddy’s condition when she was sitting in the CCU waiting room at Methodist Hospital in Memphis. She had always known that Daddy could die soon, but she had never accepted it.
I can’t judge, because I hadn’t either.
In those few days, we went through a whole bunch together that I never thought we would ever have to. It made me appreciate her more, and her appreciate me more, I think.
She got to see me at my best. She saw me honoring my father and making sure that he died with dignity. I set off a fire storm when I insisted that we cut off life support a day before she wanted to. When I her told why, she agreed: he was hemorrhaging all over and getting worse. His bruising had gotten much worse, and he was bleeding from his eyes. He was likely to bleed out in his stomach over night.
I didn’t want him to die alone. And he very well could have.
Faced with the facts, she agreed.
We proceeded, and Daddy died very shortly after being taken off life support.
Mama said, “No. The circle’s already broken.”
I let it go. We ended up with some nice music, including a really good Faith Hill song my niece wanted.
But I still keep thinking about that circle, and I’m not sure it’s broken. At least not in the way she thinks it is.
I hadn’t been home in 15 years when Daddy died. I knew my mother didn’t accept my “lifestyle”. I keep telling everyone that I can’t afford a “lifestyle”, but that doesn’t seem to keep them from making assumptions about me that they shouldn’t. I don’t know if that’s what Mama was doing or if it was mostly in my mind.
Needless to say, we just didn’t talk much, and when we did, it was not always comfortable. She didn’t tell me important things that I had to find out about from my older sister. Like my nephew getting arrested for shoplifting. Like how much my niece despises her mother. Like my other nephew (in middle school) getting caught taking his mother’s pot to school.
When Daddy started getting sick, Mama kept on editing information. And in retrospect, I think it may be that she was only telling me the part of reality that she was able to accept at that time.
She was only beginning to accept the reality of Daddy’s condition when she was sitting in the CCU waiting room at Methodist Hospital in Memphis. She had always known that Daddy could die soon, but she had never accepted it.
I can’t judge, because I hadn’t either.
In those few days, we went through a whole bunch together that I never thought we would ever have to. It made me appreciate her more, and her appreciate me more, I think.
She got to see me at my best. She saw me honoring my father and making sure that he died with dignity. I set off a fire storm when I insisted that we cut off life support a day before she wanted to. When I her told why, she agreed: he was hemorrhaging all over and getting worse. His bruising had gotten much worse, and he was bleeding from his eyes. He was likely to bleed out in his stomach over night.
I didn’t want him to die alone. And he very well could have.
Faced with the facts, she agreed.
We proceeded, and Daddy died very shortly after being taken off life support.
But he was not alone. He was surrounded by his family: a loving wife, 3 children, 2 grandchildren, a sister, brother-in-law, a brother and a sister-in-law.
It was hard, but it was what he wanted. And what we wanted, as well.
She also saw the bad side of me, my temper when I get riled and my habit of cursing anywhere, even in church. (She swatted me for that one. I may be 42, but she’s still my Mama. She has the right.)
Since then, we’ve become closer than I think we’ve ever been.
My older sister and I aren’t really speaking right now because of some things that happened on that trip home. She was inconsiderate and I was irritable. Not a good combo.
Mama doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like to see her children divided. She said that “sometimes, that stuff just ain’t that important.”
I agree.
I’ve offered an olive branch to my sister. I got a jar pickled olives back.
I told her we needed to bury the hatchet because it was hurting Mama. Let bygones be bygones. No one blames the other for anything.
Her response was a very terse email: “Okay. Sounds fine to me.”
That’s the last I’ve heard.
And I keep coming back to that circle. And, Mama, you’re right. It is broken. Just not in the way you thought.
The arc that goes from me to Mama is stronger than it ever has been. We talk about things that we wouldn’t have 6 months ago. We’re honest, and she tells me how hard it is to be alone. I tell her that I know, because I’ve been alone, too. Rich and I only had 5 years together, and she and Daddy were very close to their 50th anniversary.
The arc from me to my older sister is mostly a dotted line, if a line at all.
On this one, I’ll side with my mother: some things are more important than petty disputes.
The circle should not be broken.
Right now, the closest thing we have to a circle is a ring of fire.
Thank heavens for Johnny Cash. He’s always there when you need him.
24 October 2007
Scrapes and Burns
I’ve been watching Ken Burns’ documentary series about WWII on PBS. I’m a news-junkie and a documentary-freak, so I’ve enjoyed what I’ve watched so far.
Mostly, that is.
Not because of the quality or content of the presentation, but because of the implicit commentary that lurks between the lines of the entire series. And I doubt Ken Burns set out to do anything other than create an accurate and compelling history of one of America’s most-defining periods in time.
The men and women interviewed talk about things very matter-of-factly. They recount horrors and shortages and courage and necessity in the same tone of voice. The subtext--that our country had no choice but to mobilize our military personnel and industrial resources—almost drowns out what they’re saying.
Their words hold a quality of inevitability and righteousness that paints a stark contrast to our contemporary world, where the US is deeply divided about the necessity and righteousness of the Iraq war. Few speak of it with the conviction or dedication that they did during WWII.
What Ken Burns’ film does, without ever mentioning it, is call into question the arrogance and cynicism of our contemporary leaders. It never mentions Afghanistan or why we have inadequate troop levels where the real war should be. Never even hints at it.
It doesn’t have to.
Any thinking person who sees the film would likely arrive at the same questions.
Mostly, that is.
Not because of the quality or content of the presentation, but because of the implicit commentary that lurks between the lines of the entire series. And I doubt Ken Burns set out to do anything other than create an accurate and compelling history of one of America’s most-defining periods in time.
The men and women interviewed talk about things very matter-of-factly. They recount horrors and shortages and courage and necessity in the same tone of voice. The subtext--that our country had no choice but to mobilize our military personnel and industrial resources—almost drowns out what they’re saying.
Their words hold a quality of inevitability and righteousness that paints a stark contrast to our contemporary world, where the US is deeply divided about the necessity and righteousness of the Iraq war. Few speak of it with the conviction or dedication that they did during WWII.
What Ken Burns’ film does, without ever mentioning it, is call into question the arrogance and cynicism of our contemporary leaders. It never mentions Afghanistan or why we have inadequate troop levels where the real war should be. Never even hints at it.
It doesn’t have to.
Any thinking person who sees the film would likely arrive at the same questions.
17 October 2007
Lightning Never Strikes the Same Place Twice, Except When it Does
We have the two most perverse cats I have ever seen. Amanda has refused to drink from a water bowl since day one. Our bathroom tub had a leaky faucet, so she decided she preferred the drip-water over bowl-water.
These days she prefers the kitchen sink, with a slow trickle of water that she can stick her head under and let it roll off her head. She catches the water in her mouth as it rolls over and down her pretty black head.
Tonight, Lucy demanded to have the water on so she could do likewise. I found her sitting in the kitchen sink whining at the faucet. Sure enough, when I turned it on, there her head went right under it.
I don't know if Amanda has been teaching her bad habits, or if she just thinks she's missing something by not getting her head drenched.
Personally, I don't see the charm in drinking water that has already coursed through my hair.
So, we have about the only cats in the universe who don't run from water unless it's in a dish.
Go figure.
These days she prefers the kitchen sink, with a slow trickle of water that she can stick her head under and let it roll off her head. She catches the water in her mouth as it rolls over and down her pretty black head.
Tonight, Lucy demanded to have the water on so she could do likewise. I found her sitting in the kitchen sink whining at the faucet. Sure enough, when I turned it on, there her head went right under it.
I don't know if Amanda has been teaching her bad habits, or if she just thinks she's missing something by not getting her head drenched.
Personally, I don't see the charm in drinking water that has already coursed through my hair.
So, we have about the only cats in the universe who don't run from water unless it's in a dish.
Go figure.
05 October 2007
I Love Lucy
We have a new kitty. She's only a few months old and is the spitting image of a young, skinny Pinto (our 18 year-old cat that died in February). An orange tabby with beautiful markings.
She was a stray that wandered up and settled in at one of Shannon's friend's house. He already has more than he can really take care of, what with leukemia and all.
So he called up Shannon and said "Have I got a cat for you". Or something to that effect.
Neither Shannon nor I have had a kitten in a long time. She turns from whining to incredible silliness on a dime. Everything is a kitty toy, whether it is or not. She's like the child that opens up Christmas presents and plays with the boxes.
We've named her Lucy. After that other silly red head.
She's putting on weight and has a little tummy now. Half of her weight, though, must be ears. If she ever grows into her ears, she'll be a plus-size girl.
And did I forget to mention the beautiful eyes? They're different from Amanda's, but just as striking.
Lucy made herself at home immediately. I think that she has spent some time as an indoor cat. She knew what the litter box was for and wasn't afraid of the sofa (AKA the Buick). She knew instinctively where to sack out to get the best attention. (That would be next to Shannon, on the Buick.)
She's also decided that my computer chair actually belongs to her. It's one of her favorite places to curl up into a comma.
She's a challenge, no doubt. But she's help lift a pall that had overtaken this house. Between the deaths that have come and the very real possibility of others to come soon, we need a little silliness in our lives.
She makes me smile when I haven't in a while. She still hasn't figured out that her tail is attached. She runs around in circles trying to catch it, and, when she does, goes immediately into grooming mode.
For someone who lost his innocence decades ago, she is refreshing. She reminds me that all is not bad in the world. That innocence exists. That hope does, likewise.
Amanda's other name is "Little Miss". I've taken to calling Lucy "Little Mess". Just 'cause she is.
She's a mess, our little Lucy with the giant ears. But she's our mess.
It was time.
She was a stray that wandered up and settled in at one of Shannon's friend's house. He already has more than he can really take care of, what with leukemia and all.
So he called up Shannon and said "Have I got a cat for you". Or something to that effect.
Neither Shannon nor I have had a kitten in a long time. She turns from whining to incredible silliness on a dime. Everything is a kitty toy, whether it is or not. She's like the child that opens up Christmas presents and plays with the boxes.
We've named her Lucy. After that other silly red head.
She's putting on weight and has a little tummy now. Half of her weight, though, must be ears. If she ever grows into her ears, she'll be a plus-size girl.
And did I forget to mention the beautiful eyes? They're different from Amanda's, but just as striking.
Lucy made herself at home immediately. I think that she has spent some time as an indoor cat. She knew what the litter box was for and wasn't afraid of the sofa (AKA the Buick). She knew instinctively where to sack out to get the best attention. (That would be next to Shannon, on the Buick.)
She's also decided that my computer chair actually belongs to her. It's one of her favorite places to curl up into a comma.
She's a challenge, no doubt. But she's help lift a pall that had overtaken this house. Between the deaths that have come and the very real possibility of others to come soon, we need a little silliness in our lives.
She makes me smile when I haven't in a while. She still hasn't figured out that her tail is attached. She runs around in circles trying to catch it, and, when she does, goes immediately into grooming mode.
For someone who lost his innocence decades ago, she is refreshing. She reminds me that all is not bad in the world. That innocence exists. That hope does, likewise.
Amanda's other name is "Little Miss". I've taken to calling Lucy "Little Mess". Just 'cause she is.
She's a mess, our little Lucy with the giant ears. But she's our mess.
It was time.
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