Sunday

Sunday is my official day of rest.  Aside from continuous napping, I restrict my activities to motorcycle riding and lawn care.  If I must “do” the landscaping on Sunday, I make it a point to do a half-assed job.  That way I do not feel so much resentment over the intrusion into my life.

This Sunday was special.  My schedule included meeting my daughter and her family at the North Park Shopping Mall for my grandson’s hastily rescheduled birthday party.  That his great grandmother has passed away on his exact birthday bummed us out.  We wanted to get back to a normal life for our newly minted Six year-old as soon as possible.  We were to convene at 11:00 am.  We could celebrate until we left for the chapel and my mother’s Rosary by 4:30, so we had a ton of time.

I felt no guilt over lying in my bed, listening to the morning show on CBS and scanning the Sunday newspaper.  I sipped tea and rested up for the big day to follow.  It was cloudy and rainy.  Storms lingered, left over from a night of mayhem.

My telephone rang.  Did you ever notice how many bad things begin with a telephone call?  I answered confidently.  I felt all the bad news that was remotely possible drained from my universe by recent events.  Hubris filled me.  Naturally.

“Good Morning, Sarah!”  I said cheerfully.

“Hey, Dad.  I just called to say the birthday party might have to be postponed.”

“What on Earth for?  Is everything alright?”

“Not exactly.  Our power went out early this morning.  The house is smoking and the plumbing is leaking inside the house and the Fire Department is here.  They say the house might burst into flames any time.  BAWWWW - BOO HOO HOO!”

“Great Googly Moogly!  Is everyone safe?”

“Yes, but we had to gather all our belongings and put them in the car.  We are almost homeless!”

My daughter calmed down a bit and I offered to drive to Ft. Worth, just in case she needed more storage space.  I would bring my truck along with me…

I raced westward.  When I arrived at my destination half a dozen of Ft. Worth’s finest milled about.  A large fire truck parked, lights flashing, in front of my daughter’s house.  The firemen were using some high-tech infrared devices to track heat sources lurking in the attic and behind the walls.  Their diagnosis?  Lightning struck the electric meter causing a large amount of current to pass through the house through the wiring and copper plumbing.  Much of it was still smoking when I arrived.

I hung out until my family headed for a nearby hotel – their home for the next few weeks.  The firemen stayed until the electric company found time to drop by and kill the electricity at the pole.  They stayed with the house until there were no signs of extra heat to be found.  God Bless them!

Weak but relieved, I returned home and collapsed.  Before I knew it, time to head for the Rosary arrived.  I dressed, but inside I felt weak and wrinkled.  I drove to the funeral home arriving a little early.  Soon, friends, family, grandchildren and neighbors flooded the chapel.  The young ones gathered at their great grandmother’s casket to discuss what might be happening.  “It is sort of like being asleep,” said one.  “Yes, her soul goes to heaven but I think they’ll put her in the ground.”  Another one said.  “Is she coming back?”  “No, I don’t think so.”  It was a touching scene.  At that moment, the gift of innocence seemed more precious than gold – or eternal life, for that matter.

In time, the Rosary began.  The children moved to the very farthest pews where they could continue their discussions uninterrupted.  Before long, the Deacon leading our prayer service was shouting to be heard over the din in the rear.  Scowl as he might, the little angels in the back paid little attention.  I think someone finally went back there and explained “SHUT UP!” to them.  All was quiet for about a minute.

As eternity approached, we reached the end of the service.  In ones and twos, people began drifting back to the parking lot and normal[ish] lives.  It was dark and rainy.  The forecast called for more of the same tomorrow.  “Perfect,” I thought.

I specifically avoided thinking of the havoc the grandchildren might raise during Mass.  They are all good little heathens, as far as I can tell.  Besides, what could be a more powerful reminder that life goes on?

And do not worry. Eventually, my grandson got to celebrate his birthday at the Lego store.  Reports indicate he was exhausted after looking at and playing with as many blocks as he could.  Also, I hear a large bag of blocks found their way home with him.  Good for him!

 …

Changes

I suppose by now everyone who knows me also knows my mother passed away just after dawn on April 29, 2011.  My phone rang at 0230 that morning.  A nurse from the rehab center was on the other end of the call.  “Your mother’s condition has changed,” she offered flatly.

“I was planning to come see her tomorrow.  Should I change my plan?”

“I cannot tell you what to do.  All I can tell you is her condition has changed.”

“Thank you for calling.  G’night.”

I hung up the phone and fell into bed.  Sleep drugged my brain, but I felt an annoying uncertainty.  “I don’t suppose that nurse called me in the middle of the night to tell me she was getting better,” I thought to myself.

Then I replayed my visit from the previous day in my head.  Mother had been semi-unresponsive, but we managed a conversation whenever the fog lifted.  After an hour, I told her I had to go, but I would return Saturday, the day after tomorrow.

Without warning, she sat upright in bed, a position that caused her excruciating pain.  She looked me directly in the eye and said, “I love you, Hank!”  She used a loud voice, as if to reach me at a long distance.  It sounded strained, as if speaking was almost impossible.  Then, as quickly as it had come, the light went dim in her eyes and her face became expressionless.

“Are you okay Mom?  Shall I get the nurse?”

She sat still as stone.

“I’ll get the nurse for you – then, I’ll have to head home.  I will return Saturday.

I fetched a nurse and she checked mother’s vital signs.  A physician entered and inspected the wound on her back, taking samples and applying medication.  My mother lay still in her bed.  No spark of life lit her features, but the nurses seemed content that she was stable.  I left for home.

It was 0330 when I poured a cup of strong coffee and hit the highway.  Traffic was mercifully light at this obscene hour and I pressed my speed to the outlaw side of the speedometer.  It was not quite 0500 when I arrived at mother’s bedside.  Other family members showed up and I took a seat by mom’s bed, holding her hand for a long time.  She appeared to be sleeping, but her breath was ragged.  Nurses were in the room, doing what little they could to keep her comfortable.  Most of us stood about the room making quiet small talk until my sister-in-law noticed mom’s breath had slowed dramatically in the past few minutes.  All fell silent and listened.  In, pause, out, went her breath.  In, long pause and then out.  We waited what seemed like an hour for the next breath, but it never came.  The charge nurse stepped to her bedside and held his stethoscope to her chest.  After a few seconds, he looked up at me.

“It is 7:30 a.m.,” I told him.

In a few seconds, we all left the room.  I sat in a padded chair in the hallway while attendants made her “presentable.”  After a time, I went back in to say goodbye.  I found her draped in a clean white gown that covered her from her neck to below her feet.  The attendants neatly brushed her hair and closed her eyes.  There was a palpable silence in the room.  It might have been the first true peace mother had experienced since her birth in 1923.

We each drifted away slowly.  I drove to the funeral home of mother’s choosing and made the final arrangements.  It would be everything she could ask for and more.  The recitation of the Rosary was set for Sunday evening.  Mass of Christian burial and interment would follow on Monday night.

April 29^th was also my eldest grandson’s 6^th birthday.  He graciously agreed to celebrate at the Lego store on Sunday at noon, before returning to the process of saying goodbye to Grandma Lottie.

Saturday provided the time needed to find that black tie – oops – get a new one.  I picked up my suit at cleaners.  Then, I collapsed.  I think I napped and slept straight through to Sunday morning about ten a.m.

That was when things began to get exciting.

…

Camping in with Augie 2.0

…

Despite a life that often mimics a Chinese Fire Drill; I had the pleasure of entertaining one of my three favorite grandsons (so far) over a recent weekend. August, AKA “Augie”, showed up on Saturday afternoon. The usual activities entertained us; reading, jigsaw puzzles (He is a 3-year-old jigsaw genius.), movies and eating from the pantry of goodies. Finally, around eight o’clock, we agreed it was time for bed. Augie wanted to sleep in the “big bed” with Grandfather. I said okay. We both looked forward to a restful ten hours of shut-eye. Instead, we had the following conversation, beginning roughly at lights-out.


“Gwandfather?”

“Yes, Augie.”

“Gwandfather, I’m not comfortable.”

“Okay, find a position that is comfortable.

Augie began flopping, rolling and flailing about under – and above – the covers. This continued for about 20 minutes. After that, we had ten minutes of quiet and stillness.


“Gwandfather, I am thirsty.”

“Huh? Oh. Okay. Just let me turn on the water drinking light…”

I snapped on the bedside lamp and picked up the large glass of water I keep beside the bed. I held it out for the boy and he eagerly slurped it up.

“Had enough? Okay then, let’s get back to sleeping. Close those eyes, now,” I admonished gently. I fell into a deep sleep, almost instantly.


“Gwandfather?”

“Yes, Augie?”

“Gwandfather, I dreamed a bear took the underwear off the triceratops horn and ripped them all up.”

"That’s nice. Let’s not worry about that right now, okay? Let’s get a little sleep. How does that sound?"
He agreed and we fell asleep, I think.

“Gwandfather, it is morning. Can we get up now?”

“What the…” I squinted at the clock with sleep-drugged eyes. It said it was 2:20 A.M. “Augie, it IS technically morning, but it is still time to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get up, okay?"
He agreed and we laid our sleep heads on the pillows once more.

"Gwandfather, I' thirsty."

"Okay, I'll get the water."

"Gwandfather, you forgot to turn on the water drinking light."

"We don't need it.  Just feel around with your lips until you find the glass."

I shoved the water glass in his general direction.  After a few seconds, his little lips latched onto the glass and the slurping resumed.

"Have you had enough?"

"Yes, Gwandfather.  Thank you."

"Okay. G'night, Augie.  Sweet dreams."




“Raaarrrrhhh!.”

"Eeaaarrgggh! What the [bleep] was that?”

“That is the sound my dragon makes.”

Augie held up a shadowy figure of a plush dragon. It was one of a dozen little stuffed friends helping him get comfortable.

“Okay, let the dragon have a little rest, too, okay? Please?” I crashed.

"Gwandfather, what was that sound?"

"Oh, probably just some old man, tying a noose to the ceiling fan. It is nothing to worry about. Now, let’s see who can pretend to be asleep the longest.” [z]


“Snoooorrrt! My nose is clogged up.”

“So I hear. Would you like some nose spray? I have some saline spray to make it better."

He declined, graciously and said he would be fine without it. I collapsed onto the pillow.


"Snoooorrrt!"

"I’m cold."

“Here let me help you get under the covers. If you are still cold, you can snuggle up with me and I’ll keep you warm.”

With that, Augie began wiggling and kicking under the covers. When he stopped an hour later, he was snuggled against my back with his elbows and knees planted firmly in my kidneys and spine. I was still half-asleep and willing to settle.


“My little tummy is growling. It sounds like this: Grrrrrble, Gurgle.”

“Say, that’s a pretty good impression. I guess that means your tummy is sleepy, right?”

“No, that means my tummy is hungry.”

“We’ll have breakfast soon. Just let me lie here awhile longer,” I begged.


“Gwandfather?”

“Yes, Augie?”


“I tooted.”

“Okay, let’s go see what’s for breakfast…”


We walked down the stairs and waded in to a new day. We ate hearty, played indoors and out. I even managed to stay awake long enough to read a story or two. Eventually, the gods showed mercy and Augie’s mother retrieved him.  He pretended he didn't want to go, but I told him we have to bear up under adversity, like big boys.

It was a challenge, but I am happy we did it. It makes the rest of my life seem so much easier.

…

U.S. Economy Circles Drain?

…

Recently, it occurred to me that we may be in more trouble than we know. Over the weekend, I had an opportunity to reflect on the Congressional approach to cutting a relatively small amount of money from the current budget. Overall, it was an unflattering spectacle. There were plenty of threats, name-calling and outrage on every side of the issue. Every party stretched truth beyond recognition and lies hovered near the lips of the speakers.

It was only at the last minute that the parties reached agreement. I am sure the nation sighed with relief, as did I.

The next hurdle for our federal government is the debt ceiling. Since we are in the hole for more than $14 trillion, what harm could come from borrowing another trillion or two? I expect very little.

Then, the notion crossed my mind that the harm lies in the process. As nervous creditors watch, our Congress may put on another “show” over this issue, too. Then, at a quarter ‘til midnight, they’ll announce an agreement. It will be too late.

I imagined the emotions and judgments a serious creditor might make while watching the federal circus, day after day. The thought made me queasy. What would it do for the sensitive digestive tracts of, say, the Chinese? I hope they have a large wok handy as they watch. I can imagine them needing a wash-up before meeting to decide what to do – days or weeks before the deadline.

Then I imagined a large container ship might sail into the Port of L.A. a week later. The cargo of redeemed U.S. Treasuries would have the ship decks awash under the load. In a few more days, trillions of dollars in U.S. currency would arrive at a port in China, say, Shanghai.

Then? Well, let’s just say our debt problem would be less, but we might soon feel nostalgia for $5.00 per gallon gasoline.

Gee. I truly hope I am wrong about this.  Or, maybe not.

…

5 Year Old's First Job

...
My friend Odis sent this. I think you will like it, provided you have not seen it recently. Me? I am hiding my own Easter eggs, so what do I know.


Here it is:

Here's a truly heart warming story about the bond formed between a little 5-year-old girl and some construction workers that will make you believe that we all can make a difference when we give a child the gift of our time.

A young family moved into a house next to a vacant lot. One day, a Construction crew turned up to start building a house on the empty lot.

The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door and spent much of each day observing the workers.

Eventually the construction crew, all of them "gems-in-the-rough," more or less, adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important.

At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars "pay" she'd received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.

When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own paycheck at such a young age.

The little girl proudly replied, "I worked last week with a real construction crew building the new house next door to us."

“ Oh my goodness gracious," said the teller, "and will you be working on the house again this week, too?"

The little girl replied, "I will, if those assholes at Lowe's ever deliver the damn sheet rock..."

...

The Blank Page

…

This Christmas past, “Santa” brought me some new bicycle clothing. It is the real stuff, too. High tech and form fitting (oh, no) it is stylishly black with large chartreuse panels fore and aft on the jersey. These highly visible panels cry out for an inscription.

I have considered selling advertising on the space, but dismissed the idea. Who would buy it? A “Fat Farm,” perhaps? Maybe a cardiologist would be interested. You know, "Don't let this happen to you!"

Well, forget them. I think I need a more direct and useful message. I can put two messages on the jersey, one in front and another in back.

Right now, I am thinking “Man Down” for one side and possibly “Call 911” on the other.

I admit I may need a little help here. If anyone has a suggestion or two, I would be happy to get it – just post a comment and let me know what you think. Surely, my alert readers can offer some better choices!

…

Tis the Season

...

First, let me say my mother is showing signs of recovery. The rehab center took her off physical and occupational therapy weeks ago. She simply was not fit enough to benefit. Now, they are considering putting her back on.

Her improvement baffles medical science, but not me. During my recent visits, I have adopted the policy of smuggling rich chocolate malteds into her room. She sucks them down as Manna from Heaven, which is practically true.

Since I began, she has recovered her voice (a mixed blessing if ever there was one); she has recovered the use of her left arm and her ability to swallow seems healed – at least during the malt slurping periods.

Next week the therapy staff will reevaluate her abilities and make a judgment on her fitness. Meanwhile, I will be pushing the calories… Heh, heh.



The surprise of the week came from my son. He showed this morning up on a new BMW motorcycle. His lacks a few accessories I consider necessary for real touring, but that can be fixed with the application of $$$. Okay, maybe $,$$$.

For those of you interested in such things, the bike is an 800 cc water-cooled twin cylinder. It is very handsome, handles well (runs like a scalded dog and stops as if it hit a wall.) Ben says he was surprised to find motorcycles could also turn – a feature largely missing on his “old” bike.

To my surprise, it was not expensive as BMW stuff goes. You know, the key fob for $395.00, retail.

So, for you lot who bemoan your inability to hit the road, I suggest you take a look at one of these puppies, provided your wife or girlfriend will allow it. You know who you are.

...