OK, the truth. I have NEVER had a drink in my life. I HAVE felt really, really happy tho, after the muscle relaxant they gave me in the Hospital following a complicated, dangerous birth. If only that were OTC, I would be a life long addict by now.
What I am addicted to at present is the scent of the voluptuous star jasmine that drapes the iron fence on the front and side of Afton's yard. OMN! Such utter bliss! SOCAL is absolute Paradise-with the ocean, the breeze, the lush palm/bouganvillea backdrops. But to even have the fragrance straight from Heaven. How sweet it is!
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Beige Flowers
SO my daughter has not exactly been world renowned for her optic prowess for a few decades now. And today, Afton earned another feather in her cap when a bouquet of flowers was delivered to her door. I thanked the florist delivery guy and turned to bring the red roses in to her. It was not however, a gasp of delight that escaped her lips, but a gasp of puzzlement, utter bewilderment. She smiled, and asked, "But what are those flowers in the middle? The beige ones." I smiled back at her. "Those big beige ones? They're a TEDDY BEAR, Afton, a flippin' 12 inch TEDDY BEAR!"
Did I mention she's blind? And blonde??
Did I mention she's blind? And blonde??
Saturday, April 17, 2010
So this very sophisticated knockout girl, Mattie, proved herself yesterday to be something else as well.
Mattie's First Track Meet
More than just a pretty face,
Little girl? Not a trace.
Moved ahead and set the pace,
Took the challenge, full of grace.
With Grauer team, proved her case,
Won the meet---of course,
our Ace!
So proud of you, Mattie! You can do anything!!!!
Love you!!!
Mattie's First Track Meet
More than just a pretty face,
Little girl? Not a trace.
Moved ahead and set the pace,
Took the challenge, full of grace.
With Grauer team, proved her case,
Won the meet---of course,
our Ace!
So proud of you, Mattie! You can do anything!!!!
Love you!!!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Fairy Godmothers Three
Used to be every fairy tale had a fairy Godmother around to ensure a twist with a happy ending. Nowadays you need oh, let's say roughly 3 incredibly beautiful and talented and relentlessly determined Aunts to make dreams come true and turn one's home into a haven. Make that castle! Introducing the Extraordinary Invincibles---the Terrific TL twins (Treesje Lyndell & Torrey Leeann) and the one and only Wild & Winsome Willow Adair---who have DONE IT AGAIN!
With magic in every finger, major muscle in every move, with indefatigable energy, endless patience, and love unfeigned, they rode into town and ON THEIR VACATION left their cushy Four Seasons digs in the dust, and spent Thursday night until 3 AM! and Friday night until almost 2 AM! working themselves into the ground to switch out niece Mattie's little girl's bedroom to the other upstairs bedroom and create a cool teenage hangout for her and her friends, and an inviting guest room to boot. WHO DOES THAT? Not to mention the AMAZING Mattie & Maya combination, who unflinchingly, with nary a complaint, kept up the pace both nights and WORKED, WORKED, WORKED. Kudos to the sons & son-in-laws who pitched in with muscle and kid duty to make it all happen as well. On the third evening, the big wind up---they all came together, it all came together, and together all said, "It is good." Enough feelings of accomplishment to last, say, a decade or two?
And what a perfect transformation! Last October was Afton's turn to get a gorgeous and sophisticated living room and family room as the girls worked their magic. This was in many ways even a bigger coup, and dramatic change! Move over, Extreme Home Makeover--the Sleight girls are on a rampage! Hope for a weary world.
Happy for you, Mattie and Afton. Proud of all YOU did to make it happen---you deserve a happy place! Was it worth it?
Slumber party, anyone?
Thursday, March 11, 2010
No Snowflake
"No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible."-Anon
My daughter, Willow, and I had an "intense" session this afternoon about ethics and the current foreclosure avalanche. It was interesting to listen to her thoughts, but she appeared disturbed by mine. I would like the issue to be black and white, yes and no, right and wrong. I sense that there is a high road here, but I am not sure of the pavement. With chagrin, I hear of people jumping in with both feet and abandoning the homes they committed to buy when times were flush and the anticipation of exponential profits loomed large.
With those who no longer have the means to pay, whether it be due to job loss or escalating payments that they cannot meet, I have no problem. Unequivocally. Zero. None. Nada. For those who can still manage, I don't get it. Well, I get it, I just wonder. To leave taxpayers with the bill for one's extravagance seems galling. I see the little guy taking it on the chin one more time. (Being a really little guy, I tend to sympathize....) First the Bankers and Wall Street, not to mention the Government Fat Cats, then every man for himself. But if everyone's doing it, it gets to be ok somehow. It brings to mind the image of the Titanic going down, and some of the well heeled men trying to get into the lifeboats, pushing the third class women and children out of their way. Ever has it been. Or maybe I've just seen too many movies.
I told Willow of how uninspiring I find it to hear of everyone who is circling the wagons and hiding their $$, rather than fulfilling their contractual obligations. Yes, obligations. I shared the true story of my grandparents, Lucy & Oral Sholes. After their deaths, our family found out that they had spent their lives paying off bad debts. Not theirs. Oral's Father, Ernest, had been a very well off guy with tons of land, and so had cosigned on loans for friends of Grandpa's brother. Then 1929 and the Depression. Soon both the brother and Great Grandpa had passed on, and Lucy & Oral stepped up to the plate and spent their lives paying these debts off, unbeknownst to anyone else. What saps. How stupid can you get, huh? And not even enough assertiveness to whine about it. But that was in a time where the word "honor" was way more than a word. To some. To me, that's heroic. Absolutely heroic.
Maybe I'm wrong. It could happen. Actually, it inevitably seems to. Thick skull syndrome. Anyone have a hammer?
Sorry, but as much as I cringe when I get panic attacks about how to pay a bill here and then, I want to believe the stuff about God telling us that if we gain the world, but lose our soul, what good is it? Stuff like it being harder for a rich man to get into heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Or a snowflake to give a flip. Wait. What's the chapter and verse on that? I just reread Mormon 8:35-41 (in the Book of Mormon). Try that. Get the impression He may even take some of this stuff seriously.
Nevertheless, I know there are different perspectives. So I have been researching. Well googling. Ethics & Foreclosures. And have found thoughts and ideas different from mine. This is a typical example:
" We're always told that market decisions are amoral - rational. But when an individual makes a rational decision, the decision is immoral."
"I have a relative who owns a house in CA and owes 900K on it. If she had to sell it in 60 days, she would be lucky to get 500K for it. She lost her job, and though she immediately found another one, it pays about 60% of what she had been making. So she got a second job... and they took in a boarder. And she does some work on the side. She is sacrificing her health, and the long term future of her family to pay the mortgage. Doesn't she have a moral obligation, for the long term financial and physical health of herself, as primary breadwinner in the family, to make a rational decision to walk away from that house? I'm not sure I know the answer, but sauce for the goose...etc etc."
The bottomline seems to be why be bound by ethics if the banks are not? Why be the lone man out? In another vein, isn't this the same argument being touted for the US being able to torture our enemies because they torture Americans? Lowest common denominator? How are we ever going to realize being human is a privilege, not an excuse? Especially for those of us fortunate enough to be exposed to ideals and standards and values.
I was told I'm being self righteous and judgmental. I don't know. Maybe if I had money, I would think and feel differently. It's not who I want to be. I think deep down I recognize the temptation, and I'm afraid I wouldn't have what it takes to stand up and be counted in the avalanche before I melted. Global warming may not even give me the chance....
My daughter, Willow, and I had an "intense" session this afternoon about ethics and the current foreclosure avalanche. It was interesting to listen to her thoughts, but she appeared disturbed by mine. I would like the issue to be black and white, yes and no, right and wrong. I sense that there is a high road here, but I am not sure of the pavement. With chagrin, I hear of people jumping in with both feet and abandoning the homes they committed to buy when times were flush and the anticipation of exponential profits loomed large.
With those who no longer have the means to pay, whether it be due to job loss or escalating payments that they cannot meet, I have no problem. Unequivocally. Zero. None. Nada. For those who can still manage, I don't get it. Well, I get it, I just wonder. To leave taxpayers with the bill for one's extravagance seems galling. I see the little guy taking it on the chin one more time. (Being a really little guy, I tend to sympathize....) First the Bankers and Wall Street, not to mention the Government Fat Cats, then every man for himself. But if everyone's doing it, it gets to be ok somehow. It brings to mind the image of the Titanic going down, and some of the well heeled men trying to get into the lifeboats, pushing the third class women and children out of their way. Ever has it been. Or maybe I've just seen too many movies.
I told Willow of how uninspiring I find it to hear of everyone who is circling the wagons and hiding their $$, rather than fulfilling their contractual obligations. Yes, obligations. I shared the true story of my grandparents, Lucy & Oral Sholes. After their deaths, our family found out that they had spent their lives paying off bad debts. Not theirs. Oral's Father, Ernest, had been a very well off guy with tons of land, and so had cosigned on loans for friends of Grandpa's brother. Then 1929 and the Depression. Soon both the brother and Great Grandpa had passed on, and Lucy & Oral stepped up to the plate and spent their lives paying these debts off, unbeknownst to anyone else. What saps. How stupid can you get, huh? And not even enough assertiveness to whine about it. But that was in a time where the word "honor" was way more than a word. To some. To me, that's heroic. Absolutely heroic.
Maybe I'm wrong. It could happen. Actually, it inevitably seems to. Thick skull syndrome. Anyone have a hammer?
Sorry, but as much as I cringe when I get panic attacks about how to pay a bill here and then, I want to believe the stuff about God telling us that if we gain the world, but lose our soul, what good is it? Stuff like it being harder for a rich man to get into heaven than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Or a snowflake to give a flip. Wait. What's the chapter and verse on that? I just reread Mormon 8:35-41 (in the Book of Mormon). Try that. Get the impression He may even take some of this stuff seriously.
Nevertheless, I know there are different perspectives. So I have been researching. Well googling. Ethics & Foreclosures. And have found thoughts and ideas different from mine. This is a typical example:
" We're always told that market decisions are amoral - rational. But when an individual makes a rational decision, the decision is immoral."
"I have a relative who owns a house in CA and owes 900K on it. If she had to sell it in 60 days, she would be lucky to get 500K for it. She lost her job, and though she immediately found another one, it pays about 60% of what she had been making. So she got a second job... and they took in a boarder. And she does some work on the side. She is sacrificing her health, and the long term future of her family to pay the mortgage. Doesn't she have a moral obligation, for the long term financial and physical health of herself, as primary breadwinner in the family, to make a rational decision to walk away from that house? I'm not sure I know the answer, but sauce for the goose...etc etc."
The bottomline seems to be why be bound by ethics if the banks are not? Why be the lone man out? In another vein, isn't this the same argument being touted for the US being able to torture our enemies because they torture Americans? Lowest common denominator? How are we ever going to realize being human is a privilege, not an excuse? Especially for those of us fortunate enough to be exposed to ideals and standards and values.
I was told I'm being self righteous and judgmental. I don't know. Maybe if I had money, I would think and feel differently. It's not who I want to be. I think deep down I recognize the temptation, and I'm afraid I wouldn't have what it takes to stand up and be counted in the avalanche before I melted. Global warming may not even give me the chance....
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Traffic Jam in Nevada
Believe this? That's right---a pack of wild horses hogging the road! I was SURE I had died and gone to heaven! Blessed by missing the correct turn off (we were going to the one and a half million acre Desert National Wildlife Preserve at Corn Creek to look for birds and sheep), we kept speeding along until we wound up at Creech Air Force Base in the middle of nowhere and stopped to ask for directions. The clerk in the convenience store asked why we would want to do that when Cold Creek was so much better. We turned around and when we found the sign pointing there, we decided on a whim to investigate.
No sooner had we gone a mile than we saw definite signs of animal activity. And I don't mean tracks. Then another mile or so, and the mystery cleared. Lo and behold, wild horses! Yippeee!!!!!!!!!!!! Never dreamed I could actually see them in the flesh, although I have read about them in Nevada. We were less than 20 miles up the road (the 95) from Vegas, and a world away.
They obviously were accustomed to humans (or aliens; how far is this from Area 51, after all?) as they showed no fear, and took their time to move over and share the road. I got out of the car a few times and approached different groups of them as we moseyed up to Cold Creek. They were curious, yet reserved. I did get to stroke a couple of them, but only for a second. Next time, I'm bringing apples!
Anyway, it was a huge thrill for a longtime wannabe Cowgirl/Indian Princess, and the gorgeous glorious sky and pristine snow covered mountain backdrop completed the perfect Western dreamscape. Oh, what a day!
Doesn't get any better than this, does it?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
"To Err Is Human, To Forgive Canine"
Never thought of myself as an animal advocate to any great degree. But then, why else am I vegetarian in the first place? The book, Diet For A New America, surely changed my perspective back when, 15 years ago?
But I have pretty much been a quiet, make-no-waves crusader, content with changing only me. However, now I'm MAD!
I read this morning about a dog in Colorado being stolen from his owner's car by a woman who then asked her brother to get rid of the dog for her. He obliged by putting a rope around the German Shepherd's neck and tying him up to his truck and taking the dog for a 3 mile joy ride of sorts. The Denver Post reported “the dog was forced to run up and around steep hills at the Colorado National Monument near Grand Junction before it was dragged when it couldn’t keep up.” Paw prints in the snow were found to show Buddy at first walking, then running, then being dragged, for 3 miles. Buddy’s body was found with the rope still tied around his neck on a snowy road.
"'Demand Justice For Buddy' is a group formed to support the prosecution of Steven Romero, his sister, and anyone else involved with this senseless kidnapping and brutal murder. There is a petition being delivered to the prosecuting attorney in Grand Junction, CO, Jan.27 at 3 p.m. and again before each trial date for Romero. 'We want to get the maximum penalty the law allows. We support the US attorneys office to ask for the longest prison sentence possible.'"
SIGN PETITION AT: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/6/demand-justice-for-buddys-killer
I also joined the facebook group, To Honor Buddy "Tell 'Em Buddy Sent You" http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=236330769299&ref
"'Do It For Buddy' will truly honor Buddy. He was a shelter dog who was rescued by the Lebers and lived 4.5 happy years in their home with Joe and Sacha and their three heartbroken children. In Buddy's name, we ask that each of you please donate food, blankets, toys, pillows, cash and/or volunteer your time to your local animal shelters. Please tell them 'Buddy sent You.'"
I know this follows on the heels of my outburst at Michael Vick's Hero Award, which I consider the ultimate farce of the year (and wow, look at all that great competition), despite flack from my son that I am obviously against forgiveness and all things good, and bright, and beautiful.
Not so (according to me). Forgiveness in no way overlooks the problem created by a careless mistake or hardcore hatred. And it doesn't pay for the damages either. I believe payment, on whatever level, is what we call a consequence. If I smash into your car, whether you forgive me or not, I expect I'll have to pay to fix or replace it, no? (unless you live in S. Utah, where I guess you just slither off into the shadows when you wreck cars and let the wreckee deal with it...and to think, I almost was going to live there--yuk; but that's another story, and I digress).
The point is of course, we will all be happier forgiving others, but not letting them get away with things. In point of fact, Vick only served a very short time. He served time only for federal charges (the illegality of the dogfighting operation), NOT amazingly enough for animal cruelty. May I remind you in his acceptance speech (last post) he presented himself as the real victim while AT THE SAME TIME claiming to be stronger than 95% of the world population. (You may have noticed what easy lives most people in Haiti or Africa have, and they're black too...just spoiled, I guess).
Ok, touches my heart. Yours? The guy made a simple mistake. Like coloring outside the lines, using the wrong silverware at the Awards Banquet. His infallible Coach and teammates have given him a shot at the brass ring again. So he deserves a second chance. BTW, one that will make him hundreds of millions. Sweet. But an award for courage. Courage?
In that vein I would like to go ahead and nominate Adolph Hitler posthumously for the Nobel Peace Prize. Torture is torture. I figure the more dead, the bigger the award. Do I have it right now?
But I have pretty much been a quiet, make-no-waves crusader, content with changing only me. However, now I'm MAD!
I read this morning about a dog in Colorado being stolen from his owner's car by a woman who then asked her brother to get rid of the dog for her. He obliged by putting a rope around the German Shepherd's neck and tying him up to his truck and taking the dog for a 3 mile joy ride of sorts. The Denver Post reported “the dog was forced to run up and around steep hills at the Colorado National Monument near Grand Junction before it was dragged when it couldn’t keep up.” Paw prints in the snow were found to show Buddy at first walking, then running, then being dragged, for 3 miles. Buddy’s body was found with the rope still tied around his neck on a snowy road.
"'Demand Justice For Buddy' is a group formed to support the prosecution of Steven Romero, his sister, and anyone else involved with this senseless kidnapping and brutal murder. There is a petition being delivered to the prosecuting attorney in Grand Junction, CO, Jan.27 at 3 p.m. and again before each trial date for Romero. 'We want to get the maximum penalty the law allows. We support the US attorneys office to ask for the longest prison sentence possible.'"
SIGN PETITION AT: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/6/demand-justice-for-buddys-killer
I also joined the facebook group, To Honor Buddy "Tell 'Em Buddy Sent You" http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=236330769299&ref
"'Do It For Buddy' will truly honor Buddy. He was a shelter dog who was rescued by the Lebers and lived 4.5 happy years in their home with Joe and Sacha and their three heartbroken children. In Buddy's name, we ask that each of you please donate food, blankets, toys, pillows, cash and/or volunteer your time to your local animal shelters. Please tell them 'Buddy sent You.'"
I know this follows on the heels of my outburst at Michael Vick's Hero Award, which I consider the ultimate farce of the year (and wow, look at all that great competition), despite flack from my son that I am obviously against forgiveness and all things good, and bright, and beautiful.
Not so (according to me). Forgiveness in no way overlooks the problem created by a careless mistake or hardcore hatred. And it doesn't pay for the damages either. I believe payment, on whatever level, is what we call a consequence. If I smash into your car, whether you forgive me or not, I expect I'll have to pay to fix or replace it, no? (unless you live in S. Utah, where I guess you just slither off into the shadows when you wreck cars and let the wreckee deal with it...and to think, I almost was going to live there--yuk; but that's another story, and I digress).
The point is of course, we will all be happier forgiving others, but not letting them get away with things. In point of fact, Vick only served a very short time. He served time only for federal charges (the illegality of the dogfighting operation), NOT amazingly enough for animal cruelty. May I remind you in his acceptance speech (last post) he presented himself as the real victim while AT THE SAME TIME claiming to be stronger than 95% of the world population. (You may have noticed what easy lives most people in Haiti or Africa have, and they're black too...just spoiled, I guess).
Ok, touches my heart. Yours? The guy made a simple mistake. Like coloring outside the lines, using the wrong silverware at the Awards Banquet. His infallible Coach and teammates have given him a shot at the brass ring again. So he deserves a second chance. BTW, one that will make him hundreds of millions. Sweet. But an award for courage. Courage?
In that vein I would like to go ahead and nominate Adolph Hitler posthumously for the Nobel Peace Prize. Torture is torture. I figure the more dead, the bigger the award. Do I have it right now?
Monday, January 18, 2010
Rhymes With ICK! BOOOOOO Eagles!!!!!!
Honestly, I thought I was so above and beyond getting this upset, but when I found out last week that Michael Vick was receiving a Heroic Award for Courage, I LOST IT!!!!!
See what you think:
"The Courage Award Goes to...Michael Vick?
posted by: alicia graef(CARE2Causes)
Ed Block was considered a hero. He served in World War II, was awarded a Purple Heart, earned a master’s degree and worked to help neglected children and end the cycle of abuse.
The Ed Block Courage Award is now given to NFL players who show “commitments to the principles of sportsmanship and courage.”
The recipient of this award symbolizes professionalism, great strength and dedication. He is also a community role model. With this honor, he enters into an association which contrasts his fierce profession by becoming a major component of the Courage House National Support Network for Kids. He becomes an Ambassador of Courage for victims of abuse, violence and neglect.
In December members of the Eagles voted unanimously for Michael Vick to be the recipient of this prestigious award.
Huh?
This award is especially insulting considering recent evidence that was released by the USDA to wsbtv.com under the Freedom of Information Act in regards to Vick’s investigation.
Informants told investigators that Vick and two others strangled low performing dogs by hanging them from trees, drowning them in buckets of water -- one person holding the hind legs, another person holding the dog's head. They said Vick and two others also killed dogs with a shovel, shot them and in at least one case slammed a dog to the ground until it was dead.Vick and co-defendants Purnell Peace and Quanis Phillips "seemed to get an adrenaline high when killing the dogs," an informant said.
An award of this caliber is intended to put the recipient in a place where he can give a voice to the voiceless. It's intended to acknowledge a quality in human beings that we can all reach to attain. It was never intended to stroke the egos of hypocrites. Vick did exactly the type of thing Block took a stand against: abusing the weak and the innocent.
Congratulations to all of the other recipients who have overcome real obstacles and have become role models, like the Jacksonville Jaguars’ Richard Collier who was paralyzed as the result of a spinal cord injury, lost a leg and has since dedicated himself to being a speaker and role model for his area’s youth about personal responsibility and hopes to inspire positive changes.
Now that’s courage."
I checked it out and found more:
So what did Vick have to say?
"I've had to overcome a lot, more than probably one single individual can bear," Vick said. "Take a look at what I've been through. You ask certain people to walk in my shoes, they probably couldn't do it. Probably 95 percent of the people in this world -- because nobody had to endure what I've been through, situations I've been put in, situations I've placed myself in, decisions that I've made -- whether they were good or bad."
EXCUSE ME??? He's the victim? Not the dogs?? Aaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhhh!
This made me ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS, so I contacted this now pathetic organization and said:
This travesty has just sown the seeds of your own demise. With no credulity left, your
organization has nowhere to go but downhill, and into oblivion.
Not only has this award become a pathetic joke, it has precipitated the exit of many from the halls of NFL fandom. Many will now find something worthwhile to do. Count me in on that.
Count me out of ever attending/watching NFL football again. Way to go Eagles. And what a sterling committee!
Sincerely,
Melinda Sleight
If it gets your blood boiling as well, here's how to let them know:
http://www.edblock.org/content/contact-us
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Courthouse Shooting...Part II, Rest of the Story
(Photo by Sylvain GRANDADAM/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images)Ever wondered, "what if?" For Christmas I bought my son-in-law a book that pursues that concept with the events of history. I wondered a bit about the here and now possibilities as the day wore on and I was enmeshed in the aftermath of shooting. Had things gone as planned, I would have arrived at Court yesterday 30 silly minutes earlier--- in time to be on the scene as the gunman opened fire
In my mind's eye, I see myself jumping in front of him, holding out my hand and firmly telling him to give me the gun. Immediately he acquiesces and no one is hurt! Tenderly I tell him everything will be ok now. Having spontaneously intervened in a handful of violent physical episodes in my life (a rape, a knife fight, domestic confrontations) with no bruises and surprisingly good results, I figure this was a scenario meant to be. Yes, I am certifiably more stupid than fearless, and I have been plain lucky. But my imagination has to concede to the reality that my feet of clay (or my dedication to sleep), have led to this other bizarre outcome instead. Under my breath, I excoriate my lapse. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. My theme song.
Then again, who's to say what is real and what is not? As I was finally able to leave the surreality of the crime scene area yesterday, I was forced to wend my way through streets that were not cordoned off. Bonneville was the name of the street that I followed for several blocks and where I encountered the underbelly of Vegas society.
Then again, who's to say what is real and what is not? As I was finally able to leave the surreality of the crime scene area yesterday, I was forced to wend my way through streets that were not cordoned off. Bonneville was the name of the street that I followed for several blocks and where I encountered the underbelly of Vegas society.
And then I saw him. Elvis. In white bell bottoms, shirt, and cape. Bejeweled with glittering red orange chains and embellishments, the trademark black pompadour and dark glasses. The black fanny pack? Hmmmm. Much, much shorter than I ever remembered him and a lot less appealing, nevertheless there he was in the flesh. What else?
The reality is this is Vegas, this is life, this is death, and beyond. All improv. The good, the bad, the bizarre. All of this just is. And so it goes. Viva Las Vegas. Bring your camera.
The reality is this is Vegas, this is life, this is death, and beyond. All improv. The good, the bad, the bizarre. All of this just is. And so it goes. Viva Las Vegas. Bring your camera.
Monday, January 4, 2010
"Hell of a Morning for Jury Duty"--- Las Vegas Courthouse Shooting
But he was right--- it was the wrong day for jury duty downtown. Who knew? I carried the summons in my hand as I walked toward the Courthouse with two other jurors I had just met in the garage elevator. Soon we were interrupted by a man going the other way, "They're evacuating the Courthouse. Just get out of here."
What? No way did I get ready and make it all this way to turn around and leave. At least not without some official dispensation so I wouldn't be arrested for no show or have to come back another time. But as we approached the front of the building, and saw the gathering crowd, the wailing police sirens began to sound serious. The sight of the police in front of the doors with rifles pointed, then soon the thundering herd of helicopters above, presented irrefutable evidence that this was not to be just another ordinary Monday morning.
One of the women I was walking with visibly paled and turned around, scurrying back to her car. Another I encountered en route, Jane, and I determined to wait, find out what was going on, and what would be expected of us. Bits and pieces of rumors filtered among us as we waited at the bottom of the steps. Apparently two Federal Marshalls had been shot and killed; then it was one, then four, then the gunman had been shot in the head and killed across the street as he fled. Then we weren't sure anyone had died. Then we were. First it seemed it was a lone gunman, then another had been apprehended and the area was being scoured for two more accomplices.
As time went on, it seemed strange all those law enforcement officers remained silent, and a few people would file out of the courthouse now and then. It's a different world now because of the ubiquitous cell phone, because you can reach out and find friends and family who have access to media information that is unavailable to you when in the midst of something. So soon the consensus was that someone had been shot and the gunman was down.
After an hour or so, finally an officer addressed us through the bullhorn. Different protocols for different situations. Don't quote me on this, but I think he said if you were there for a criminal case, your case was dismissed as of now. I guess crime pays sometimes! For those there about a civil case, the court would contact you in 2 weeks. If you were there for this reason or that reason, whatever reason, you could leave. Finally, he said if you were there as a juror, move to the side of the steps. There an official let us know that no one had the authority to dismiss us except for a Judge. Soon they would poll the Judges and see which of them would choose to hear cases if and when the building was secure enough. So the attorneys walked, the criminals walked, the plaintiffs and defendants walked, but the jury was plain out of luck? Justice isn't blind, she winks. We were told that we could walk a couple of blocks to B of A, where there would be coffee (Starbucks) and restrooms. All buildings for several blocks were on lockdown, so our options were few to none.
Before 10, we returned to the Courthouse steps and were told that a decision would be made by 11:30 and we could call the Court to see whether we would a) be just dismissed with our obligation fulfilled, b) need to return tomorrow, or c) be summoned another time. Oh, and "by the way", all the streets were still sealed off, and the parking garage on lockdown... so not like most of us could be going anywhere anytime soon. Jane and I walked back to Starbucks to wait it out. The weather was beautiful, but we sat inside where the omnipresent helicopters and police cars were less obtrusive and we could hear ourselves talk. We had a nice visit about everything but the surreal situation surrounding us. Denial being what it is. What a diametrically opposed experience to what the families of the victims were going through at the same time. How is it that some people are dancing or relaxing or marrying when others are grieving, suffering, weeping at the same time? Isn't this a strange, strange world?
When I called the Court on my cell and found out they would send out another summons for another day, I was chagrined. No way did I want to come back to this place at another time. I was defensive about the effort I had made to even be in town at this time, to make the trip downtown, to limp a few blocks to the Courthouse from the parking garage, to be one of those who did stick around for hours just in case. All for nothing. I know. Me, me, me.
But my attitude changed a little as I drove away, down a few more blocks through the seediest of neighborhoods. Seeing the really down and out hovering on the streets was another kind of sobering experience. What they have to go through, and go without, made any inconvenience I imagined more than trivial. Later, I learned that the man who caused all the drama and trauma this morning was a disgruntled old geezer who was angry about having his Social Security payments reduced when he moved from California to Nevada (he'd lost a Court case protesting this). I wondered if he'd just taken a little drive through the neighborhood here, if he might not have changed his mind, and counted himself among the lucky ones. Or was this perhaps his neighborhood? What made him choose this battle?
Then I remembered listening to a man tell his story on NPR just this morning as I turned off the freeway to find parking. He was born with a congenital disease that kills most children before the age of 2. All his life he had lived in a wheelchair. All his life. His body betrayed him more and more everyday of his life, muscles wasting away--- he could no longer even hold a pencil. People would sometimes tell him, "If I were you, I would kill myself." Although he felt they likely meant that as a compliment, implying that he had exceptional courage to deal with all he had on his plate, he sometimes felt like replying, "Why, if I were you, I would try to kill myself." But inside he has always felt he was one of the lucky ones. Now with a great wife and two wonderful daughters, his life is full. Did I mention he graduated from Harvard?
How do some of us choose to really live life against all odds, and others to kill and be killed? More to the story:
https://lasvegassun.com/news/2010/jan/05/news-conference-scheduled-federal-courthouse/
How's your attitude? Mine?
More tomorrow.........................
How's your attitude? Mine?
More tomorrow.........................
Sunday, December 6, 2009
You Could Have Heard a Pin Drop
Lessons in Diplomacy
A recent email I received pointed out some interesting interactions I appreciated. I then took the liberty of adding a few more recent ones in hopes of us all growing and seeing perhaps a bigger picture.
At a time when our president and other politicians tend to apologize for our country's prior actions, here's a refresher on how some of our former patriots handled negative comments about our country:
JFK'S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 60's when DeGaule decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaule said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.
Rusk responded "does that include those who are buried here?
DeGaule did not respond.
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When in England, at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of empire building by George Bush.
He answered by saying, 'Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.'
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American. During a break, one of the French engineers came back into the room saying 'Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intended to do, bomb them?'
A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly: 'Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships; how many does France have?'
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A U.S. Navy Admiral was attending a naval conference that included Admirals from the U.S. , English, Canadian, Australian and French Navies. At a cocktail reception, he found himself standing with a large group of Officers that included personnel from most of those countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks but a French admiral suddenly complained that, whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English. He then asked, 'Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?'
Without hesitating, the American Admiral replied, 'Maybe it's because the Brit's, Canadians, Aussie's and Americans arranged it so you wouldn't have to speak German.'
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AND
THIS STORY FITS RIGHT IN WITH THE ABOVE...
Robert Whiting , an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane. At French Customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry on.
"You have been to France before, monsieur?" the customs officer asked sarcastically.
Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously.
"Then you should know enough to have your passport ready."
The American said, 'The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it."
"Impossible. Americans always have to show your passports on arrival in France !"
The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look. Then he quietly explained, ''Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn't find a single Frenchmen to show a passport to."
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes. Sometimes we forget we are all brothers. But I would like to add an email from my friend Flo Ambrosino of Bordeaux, France:
"Here is what hapened in France on Friday after the 9/11 attack, in memory of those who were lost at the World Trade Center.
*At exactly 11:00
- All students, from kindergarten through college, throughout France stood by their desks and observed a minute of silence.
-All fire fighters and soldiers throughout France came out of their barracks and stood at attention in the parade ground to observe one minute of silence.
-All the Church bells of France were rung.
*In the afternoon, the towns in the area of the 1945 Normandy landings threw crowns of flowers into the ocean.
*In Bordeaux, the Franco-American community joined together for an evening ceremony in the Cathedral which was decorated with French and American flags.
*That same evening, there were several soccer matches throughout France that began with the playing of the American anthem.
*French television broadcast these ceremonies throughout the day.
This is the message that I sent in English to many of my American friends so that they would understand the great support that the French felt as the United States was going through a very difficult time."
A recent email I received pointed out some interesting interactions I appreciated. I then took the liberty of adding a few more recent ones in hopes of us all growing and seeing perhaps a bigger picture.
At a time when our president and other politicians tend to apologize for our country's prior actions, here's a refresher on how some of our former patriots handled negative comments about our country:
JFK'S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 60's when DeGaule decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaule said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.
Rusk responded "does that include those who are buried here?
DeGaule did not respond.
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When in England, at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of empire building by George Bush.
He answered by saying, 'Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.'
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American. During a break, one of the French engineers came back into the room saying 'Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intended to do, bomb them?'
A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly: 'Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships; how many does France have?'
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A U.S. Navy Admiral was attending a naval conference that included Admirals from the U.S. , English, Canadian, Australian and French Navies. At a cocktail reception, he found himself standing with a large group of Officers that included personnel from most of those countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks but a French admiral suddenly complained that, whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English. He then asked, 'Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?'
Without hesitating, the American Admiral replied, 'Maybe it's because the Brit's, Canadians, Aussie's and Americans arranged it so you wouldn't have to speak German.'
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AND
THIS STORY FITS RIGHT IN WITH THE ABOVE...
Robert Whiting , an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane. At French Customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry on.
"You have been to France before, monsieur?" the customs officer asked sarcastically.
Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously.
"Then you should know enough to have your passport ready."
The American said, 'The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it."
"Impossible. Americans always have to show your passports on arrival in France !"
The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look. Then he quietly explained, ''Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn't find a single Frenchmen to show a passport to."
You could have heard a pin drop.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes. Sometimes we forget we are all brothers. But I would like to add an email from my friend Flo Ambrosino of Bordeaux, France:
"Here is what hapened in France on Friday after the 9/11 attack, in memory of those who were lost at the World Trade Center.
*At exactly 11:00
- All students, from kindergarten through college, throughout France stood by their desks and observed a minute of silence.
-All fire fighters and soldiers throughout France came out of their barracks and stood at attention in the parade ground to observe one minute of silence.
-All the Church bells of France were rung.
*In the afternoon, the towns in the area of the 1945 Normandy landings threw crowns of flowers into the ocean.
*In Bordeaux, the Franco-American community joined together for an evening ceremony in the Cathedral which was decorated with French and American flags.
*That same evening, there were several soccer matches throughout France that began with the playing of the American anthem.
*French television broadcast these ceremonies throughout the day.
This is the message that I sent in English to many of my American friends so that they would understand the great support that the French felt as the United States was going through a very difficult time."
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Afton---Forever Young
So this is perhaps the longest, most drawn out birthday card anyone has ever received. I hope you were able to muddle through this virtual treasure hunt of sorts down memory lane.But I confess I lied to you. It's not going to work out to be a memory a day for every year because this is the last day, and I figure in my own twisted way, if I don't go ahead and share that last memory, you can stay 39 forever!
So no dusty memory for you today. Just a simple declaration of the overwhelming, unconditional love I have had for you from before you were even born. I hope that comes through the words and images that hint at the feelings I have had, through the times we have shared.
I have found looking back that life is really really rich, even if you're not. Even if it isn't all moonlight and roses, sometimes funny trumps all. Hands down! Or looking back and seeing that you really do have whatever it takes to get through rough patches gives personal strength and perspective that comes no other way. Life, such an outrageous, extravagant gift, isn't it?
There's a book, Oh, The Places You'll Go (Dr. Seuss), that expresses some sweet empowering ideas. Here and now, this remembrance has been a taste of some of the places you have been. With deliberate intention I have exposed the foundations of some of the places I hope you'll someday return to. Moreover, I wanted to fan the flames of discovery and adventure in your soul. My wanderlust has enriched my life beyond my dreams, beyond my imagination. I want wander wonder to make magic of your life too. And it's not even necessary to cross oceans to do so. "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." -Marcel Proust
But where you've been, where you'll go are small matters compared to who you've become, all that you do. I would that you could see yourself for a moment through my eyes. Let me just assure you that who you are and all that you do so far outshines the best of the marvelous places you have been, will go to. You, my love, will ever be my treasure in this amazing world. I could not love you more. Yet everyday I do.
Happy 39th birthday, baby girl!
Love,
Mom
Monday, November 16, 2009
Afton---Murphy's Law
Well, that may have worked had I made sure everyone else on the plane had pills, but I am a slow, slow learner. When we boarded the overcrowded plane, it was all women and children. Well, actually women and babies. Everyone had ONE. Except for me. TWO!! And then this one woman who had NONE. Took her no time to come up to me and volunteer to help me with you both. What a sweet gesture! The only catch was that meant she took your seat. I had known I would have to manage with Adam on my lap for 42 endless hours, but I'd planned on you sitting next to me. And paid for that. But this Good Samaritan had a better plan. Scrunched!
Before the engines started, unfortunately, she began vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. What an ugly word. So I got to spend the entire flight (no, I am NOT exaggerating!) attending to basically 3 babies, rather than 2. The stewardesses (no flight attendants back then) were out of their minds with all the crying babies, they had run out of milk early on, and paid a dear price acoustically; so no help for the hapless hurling helper wannabe. I alone was managing barf bag after barf bag. Not a happy camper, to say the least, but I guess it did keep me from focusing on who to save if the plane went down. And from sleeping.
When we eventually miraculously arrived at Kennedy International Airport in New York, I was more than grateful the nightmare was over. Ha, what did I know? Right after getting through customs, one of our suitcases broke, and everything inside spilled all over the floor (no wheeled luggage in those days, so I was carrying Adam and two suitcases, while you walked at my side, less than a year and a half old.) Not much sympathy in New York, so just me on the floor with two babes, trying to stuff our possessions back into the disintegrating luggage and find a way to tie it shut while not being trampled in the meantime. Funless.
Got on a shuttle to the Stateside terminal, irritating all the disgruntled and ungentlemanly businessmen who just sat and frowned while I loaded everyone and everything in. But we made it, in spite of myself, and soon were at the Stateside Terminal. We somehow managed to get to the Gate, and waited to board our flight to Chicago. Well, I waited. You wandered off. I have no idea how many minutes it took me to notice you were gone. But you were. And I did. Being a calm and composed adult, I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! Started running around, calling your name. People started to pay attention, and search. Ran this way and that in the long hall and finally, finally after who knows how many agonizing minutes, I found precious little you, just sashaying along, oblivious to all the commotion.
I don't know when I have ever been more exhausted, more drained emotionally and physically when we boarded the plane to O'Hare Airport in Chicago. The last leg of our trip. I could do this. A few hours later you would be in Grandma and Grandpa's arms. Sweet. Almost home!
A few hours later we landed, and I was so relieved as we were taxiing in to our gate to disembark. "Welcome to Minneapolis," the voice of the stewardess announced.
Are you kidding? You HAVE to be kidding!!
So they obligingly put us on a flight to Chicago. After all 682 hours of travel, I remember Grandma Mudgie saying how she'll never forget seeing baby Adam's eyes, how they were dilated and staring, like someone who had suffered an irreversible trauma. I think I was catatonic. Still am. And you, my love? It was a miracle you got there at all.
Afton, I know that when you became a Mom, you began traveling a lot with Madison from the very beginning as well. I know you have your own war stories with the airlines as well. I just wanted you to know I've been down in the trenches too and understand how it is. Not just with flying. All the trenches. So I do understand a little. And proudly, proudly cheer you on.
Before the engines started, unfortunately, she began vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. What an ugly word. So I got to spend the entire flight (no, I am NOT exaggerating!) attending to basically 3 babies, rather than 2. The stewardesses (no flight attendants back then) were out of their minds with all the crying babies, they had run out of milk early on, and paid a dear price acoustically; so no help for the hapless hurling helper wannabe. I alone was managing barf bag after barf bag. Not a happy camper, to say the least, but I guess it did keep me from focusing on who to save if the plane went down. And from sleeping.
When we eventually miraculously arrived at Kennedy International Airport in New York, I was more than grateful the nightmare was over. Ha, what did I know? Right after getting through customs, one of our suitcases broke, and everything inside spilled all over the floor (no wheeled luggage in those days, so I was carrying Adam and two suitcases, while you walked at my side, less than a year and a half old.) Not much sympathy in New York, so just me on the floor with two babes, trying to stuff our possessions back into the disintegrating luggage and find a way to tie it shut while not being trampled in the meantime. Funless.
Got on a shuttle to the Stateside terminal, irritating all the disgruntled and ungentlemanly businessmen who just sat and frowned while I loaded everyone and everything in. But we made it, in spite of myself, and soon were at the Stateside Terminal. We somehow managed to get to the Gate, and waited to board our flight to Chicago. Well, I waited. You wandered off. I have no idea how many minutes it took me to notice you were gone. But you were. And I did. Being a calm and composed adult, I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! Started running around, calling your name. People started to pay attention, and search. Ran this way and that in the long hall and finally, finally after who knows how many agonizing minutes, I found precious little you, just sashaying along, oblivious to all the commotion.
I don't know when I have ever been more exhausted, more drained emotionally and physically when we boarded the plane to O'Hare Airport in Chicago. The last leg of our trip. I could do this. A few hours later you would be in Grandma and Grandpa's arms. Sweet. Almost home!
A few hours later we landed, and I was so relieved as we were taxiing in to our gate to disembark. "Welcome to Minneapolis," the voice of the stewardess announced.
Are you kidding? You HAVE to be kidding!!
So they obligingly put us on a flight to Chicago. After all 682 hours of travel, I remember Grandma Mudgie saying how she'll never forget seeing baby Adam's eyes, how they were dilated and staring, like someone who had suffered an irreversible trauma. I think I was catatonic. Still am. And you, my love? It was a miracle you got there at all.
Afton, I know that when you became a Mom, you began traveling a lot with Madison from the very beginning as well. I know you have your own war stories with the airlines as well. I just wanted you to know I've been down in the trenches too and understand how it is. Not just with flying. All the trenches. So I do understand a little. And proudly, proudly cheer you on.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Afton---Auf Wiedersehen
"Good bye" translates in German to "auf Wiedersehen," literally more like "until we see again." Much like "Au Revoir" in French. Reminds me of the hymn "God Be With You Till We Meet Again." Our time across the ocean was wondrous, and for now, I have shared these places through my eyes only. I have always had high hopes that at some point you will again see with new eyes that which we shared in the long ago. Here's the wind up.
Well, of course, time flies, and eventually it was time to fly ourselves, to leave Germany to start a new life in the States.
It had been quite an ordeal to bring one baby over on the long Atlantic flight, and I was so dreading taking two babies back across the ocean. Even though I begged, Dad had me convinced he couldn't accompany me on the military flight, as he would be so busy with official matters, whatever. He sent us two weeks ahead of him, so we could spend time in Illinois with my family. How thoughtful! (What he neglected to say was that he needed to "officially" go skiing with the guys for two weeks in Austria and Switzerland. A mere oversight, it seems. Which he will need to spend eternity paying for).
So yes, I was anxious about the trip. Maybe not panic attacks, but definitely nightmares where the plane would go down into the ocean and I would have to try to decide which baby to save (never confronting the reality that I could no more even save myself than eat green eggs and ham.) I decided the only rational thing was to go the the Dr. and ask for tranquilizers for the journey. Done.
So the week before we were scheduled to ship out, I decided to try the magic pills and see how many I might need. Not many, it turned out. I took one and turned into a raving lunatic. I could not stop talking, not stop laughing. Unfortunately, the Bishopric Counselors from Church took the opportunity to stop by that night for some strange reason, and saw me in all my glory. Thank goodness they were really good friends and we were used to teasing and fooling around. But this was beyond the pale. They wouldn't leave, because entertainment was sometimes hard to come by, and I was on a roll. I knew I was a looney toon and probably scaring you, but couldn't stop myself. I laughed myself silly. And it was obvious no one was laughing with me. They were laughing at me. Nice to leave with a good impression.
Goofy is not the same as relaxed and calm, so I knew even while I was performing, that this would be my last hurrah. And I would face the flight with no pills.
Well, of course, time flies, and eventually it was time to fly ourselves, to leave Germany to start a new life in the States.
It had been quite an ordeal to bring one baby over on the long Atlantic flight, and I was so dreading taking two babies back across the ocean. Even though I begged, Dad had me convinced he couldn't accompany me on the military flight, as he would be so busy with official matters, whatever. He sent us two weeks ahead of him, so we could spend time in Illinois with my family. How thoughtful! (What he neglected to say was that he needed to "officially" go skiing with the guys for two weeks in Austria and Switzerland. A mere oversight, it seems. Which he will need to spend eternity paying for).
So yes, I was anxious about the trip. Maybe not panic attacks, but definitely nightmares where the plane would go down into the ocean and I would have to try to decide which baby to save (never confronting the reality that I could no more even save myself than eat green eggs and ham.) I decided the only rational thing was to go the the Dr. and ask for tranquilizers for the journey. Done.
So the week before we were scheduled to ship out, I decided to try the magic pills and see how many I might need. Not many, it turned out. I took one and turned into a raving lunatic. I could not stop talking, not stop laughing. Unfortunately, the Bishopric Counselors from Church took the opportunity to stop by that night for some strange reason, and saw me in all my glory. Thank goodness they were really good friends and we were used to teasing and fooling around. But this was beyond the pale. They wouldn't leave, because entertainment was sometimes hard to come by, and I was on a roll. I knew I was a looney toon and probably scaring you, but couldn't stop myself. I laughed myself silly. And it was obvious no one was laughing with me. They were laughing at me. Nice to leave with a good impression.
Goofy is not the same as relaxed and calm, so I knew even while I was performing, that this would be my last hurrah. And I would face the flight with no pills.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
O Holy Night
Our first Christmas in Bavaria (Southern Germany) was different. You were two months old and we had just moved there two weeks before to join a certain young soldier who had been stationed there since you were 3 days old. We were poor, and lived in an apartment a block from the Blue Danube, above a teenage discotheque, next to a couple of prostitutes, Frederika and Eva. It was all we could do to get oil for the heater to keep warm, and when we would get the oil, it would explode all over, and I would have to clean black soot from the walls. Accents being what they are, at first when Frederika would knock and ask me if we needed oil, I thought she was asking if we wanted Ale. So I would shake my head no. Lucky we didn't freeze!
I had to boil water on the stove to be able to wash cloth diapers in the bathtub. Every other day for dinner Dad and I had a 15 cent package of macaroni and cheese to share, along with a small package of frozen peas. At least he could eat a decent lunch on base. Those were the good ole days! I lost 30 pounds in 2 months and got down to 95! My secret to losing post pregnancy weight, back down to 9th grade lbs!
So obviously we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree. But then. On the 23rd we went to a Christmas tree lot and they gave us one of the trees that hadn’t been sold. Maybe it wasn’t breathtaking, and yet to us, it absolutely was. I strung popcorn and made garlands out of paper chains. What could be more beautiful? The downside was that even though we were together for our first family Christmas, our Soldier Boy had volunteered to take on someone else’s guard duty Christmas Eve night and into Christmas Day because we really needed the money. Here we were next door to the Black Forest and the Land of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and our reality was less fairy tale with a tiny side of grim. So the new momma and baby spent some more quality alone time and we celebrated a little when he got back that night. All's well that ends well.
Our second Christmas in Germany was a little more involved than our first rudimentary one on many counts. Another year, another new baby, another Christmas tree. But it was different in the respect that Dad was able to be home with us this time. That was our extravagance. I was excited to be able to have our little family together for the Holiday, but I started remembering the year before, how it was to miss him, and to think of how lonely and cold it had to have been for him to spend the night in the cramped, cold guardhouse. This year we were so abundantly blessed. To have him not be in Viet Nam. To have him home with us. How lucky can you get? I felt so spoiled this time.
And that made me think of the guardhouse, and who would be spending that special night there this year. Or was it Dad remembering that rather unique experience he'd had the year before? Of course, it wasn't on my mind until it actually was Christmas Eve, so we jumped at this sudden inspiration and got into action spontaneously. Better late than never. I spent the evening making cookies for the soldiers who would be huddled in the tiny guard booths throughout the base. It took a while. We packed our babies into the ancient VW Beetle, and took off at midnight to make our rounds. Once we were on our way, we did have just a second to wonder if these guys with guns would mistake us for Santa... or Russian spies.
We were in the middle of the Cold War, and you never knew. Deep breath. We pressed on. It was cold and dark (imagine that) and it felt amazing to surprise these guys who were alone, and probably a tad homesick, on Christmas Eve, and see how grateful they were for a such a bit of unexpected thoughtfulness. Off the wall. Hardly Bob Hope and the USO, but still.... Probably most of the soldiers on duty were single, missing loved ones far, far away. I'm sure it just seemed that way, but the stars appeared so much brighter to me right then. Dazzling.
You know, it was such a simple thing to remember the lonely that night, but that experience will always remain one of my all time favorite Christmas memories. I learned all over again how a little kindness goes an awfully long way, and I was always grateful that over the years our whole family enjoyed nothing more than our tradition of Ding Dong Ditching when leaving goodies as Family Home Evening Phantoms. Who knows, maybe those seeds were planted way back when one holy night.
HO HO HO!
Afton---Christmas To Remember
Our first Christmas in Bavaria (Southern Germany) was different. You were two months old and we had just moved there two weeks before to join a certain young soldier who had been stationed there since you were 3 days old. We were poor, and lived in an apartment a block from the Blue Danube, above a teenage discotheque, next to a couple of prostitutes, Frederika and Eva. It was all we could do to get oil for the heater to keep warm, and when we would get the oil, it would explode all over, and I would have to clean black soot from the walls. I had to boil water on the stove to be able to wash cloth diapers in the bathtub. Every other day for dinner we had a 15 cent package of macaroni and cheese to share, along with a small package of frozen peas. (Those were the good old days. I was down to 94 pounds in 2 months!)
So obviously we couldn’t afford a Christmas tree. But then. On the 23rd we went to a Christmas tree lot and they gave us one of the trees that hadn’t been sold. Maybe it wasn’t breathtaking, and yet to us, it absolutely was. I strung popcorn and made garlands out of paper chains. What could be more beautiful? The downside was that even though we were together for our first family Christmas, our Soldier Boy had volunteered to take on someone else’s guard duty Christmas Eve night and Christmas Day because we really needed the money. Here we were next door to the Black Forest and the Land of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and our reality was less fairy tale, more a teeny tiny side of grim. So the new momma and baby spent some more quality time together and we celebrated a little when he got back that night. All's well that ends well, right?
Our second Christmas in Germany was a little more involved than our first rudimentary one on many counts. Another year, another new baby, another Christmas tree. But it was different in the respect that Dad was able to be home with us this time. That was our extravagance. I was excited to be able to have our little family together for the Holiday, but I started remembering the year before, how it was to miss him, and to think of how lonely and cold it had to have been for him to spend this night in the dark, in a cramped, cold guardhouse. This year we were so abundantly blessed. To have him not be in Viet Nam. To have him home with us. How lucky can you get? I felt so spoiled this time.
And that made me think of the guardhouse, just a little box of a building with hardly room enough for one person to turn around. Who would be spending that special night there this year? Of course, it wasn't on my mind until it actually was Christmas Eve, and rather late at that, so we jumped at this sudden inspiration and got into action spontaneously. Better late than never. I spent the waning hours of the evening making cookies for the soldiers who would be huddled in the tiny guard booths throughout the base. We packed our babies into our ancient VW Beetle and took off at midnight to make our rounds.
Our second Christmas in Germany was a little more involved than our first rudimentary one on many counts. Another year, another new baby, another Christmas tree. But it was different in the respect that Dad was able to be home with us this time. That was our extravagance. I was excited to be able to have our little family together for the Holiday, but I started remembering the year before, how it was to miss him, and to think of how lonely and cold it had to have been for him to spend this night in the dark, in a cramped, cold guardhouse. This year we were so abundantly blessed. To have him not be in Viet Nam. To have him home with us. How lucky can you get? I felt so spoiled this time.
And that made me think of the guardhouse, just a little box of a building with hardly room enough for one person to turn around. Who would be spending that special night there this year? Of course, it wasn't on my mind until it actually was Christmas Eve, and rather late at that, so we jumped at this sudden inspiration and got into action spontaneously. Better late than never. I spent the waning hours of the evening making cookies for the soldiers who would be huddled in the tiny guard booths throughout the base. We packed our babies into our ancient VW Beetle and took off at midnight to make our rounds.
Jingle Bells! Once we were on our way, we did pause just a second to wonder if these guys with rifles would mistake us for Santa...or Russian spies. We were in the middle of the Cold War, and you never know. Deep breath. We pressed on. It was cold and dark (imagine that) and it felt amazing to surprise these guys who were so alone, and probably a tad homesick on Christmas Eve, and see how grateful they were for such a bit of unexpected thoughtfulness. Off the wall. Hardly Bob Hope and the USO, but still.... Probably most of the soldiers on duty were single, missing loved ones far, far way. I'm sure it just seemed that way, but the stars appeared so much brighter to me then. Dazzling. O Holy Night!
You know, it was such a simple thing to remember the lonely that night, but that experience will always remain one of my all time favorite Christmas memories. I learned all over again how a little kindness goes an awfully long way, and I have always been grateful that over the years our whole family enjoyed nothing more than our tradition of Ding Dong Ditching when leaving goodies at Christmastime or throughout the year as Family Home Evening Phantoms. Who knows, maybe those seeds were planted one night way back when, in the far away and long ago.
You know, it was such a simple thing to remember the lonely that night, but that experience will always remain one of my all time favorite Christmas memories. I learned all over again how a little kindness goes an awfully long way, and I have always been grateful that over the years our whole family enjoyed nothing more than our tradition of Ding Dong Ditching when leaving goodies at Christmastime or throughout the year as Family Home Evening Phantoms. Who knows, maybe those seeds were planted one night way back when, in the far away and long ago.
HO HO HO!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Afton---Shake It On, Baby
If you ever do get on Dancing With The Stars, you'll be able to trace your graceful moves back to the Old Country where our evening ritual was dancing to the music. For one hour right around dinnertime every evening, AFN (Armed Forces Radio) broadcast American music, and I would go wild. Rock out! Swinging you around, throwing you in the air, waltzing with you, everything but do-si-do and allemande left. Without TV or radio or phones (too terrified to listen to the military news in the day by myself, and AFN was the only English language station we had), our only connection to our American roots was music, and precious beyond reason. Exuberant moments. Joyful, joyful!
After Adam was born and joined us in this ritual observance, wherein I had my arms full of 2 of you, I was ready for bed, if not hospitalization, at the end of our wild dancing hour. Good thing we moved back to the States before you guys got too big to handle. Still an armful of babies is an armful of babies.
Much later I remember watching you in your growing years as an extraordinarily graceful dancer at your performances. Just wanted you to know I deserve a lot more credit than just paying for those lessons. Rock on!
After Adam was born and joined us in this ritual observance, wherein I had my arms full of 2 of you, I was ready for bed, if not hospitalization, at the end of our wild dancing hour. Good thing we moved back to the States before you guys got too big to handle. Still an armful of babies is an armful of babies.
Much later I remember watching you in your growing years as an extraordinarily graceful dancer at your performances. Just wanted you to know I deserve a lot more credit than just paying for those lessons. Rock on!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Afton---Dinner Is Served
I may have mentioned before that any aspirations I had for being an Ambassador for the United States of America may have fallen a little short. But I always had the greatest of intentions.
So after we moved on base, I decided to invite our former landlords to dinner. They had us over for a fantastic dinner right after Adam's birth, and I wanted to at least reciprocate. I still remember being served an elegant roast with a hardboiled egg in the center of it. That was something almost artful as she sliced it for us. I was intrigued by the unfamiliarity of it all.
And unfamiliarity ranked high in my book. We rarely could afford to eat out, but when we did, we would try new local dishes. Honestly, it was boring to see that all the other Americans we would go out with always ordering the Wienerschnitzel or Bratwurst. We were proud of being a little more risky and experimental, probably just more mental, and trying things that we had no idea of what they were when ordering. Kind of a little game, a little gamble. One time I hit the jackpot in some little town when I ordered zwiebel something---grilled onion covered roast, I think. Fantastic! But Dad got the prize once in Ulm when he ordered some new entree. When it was served, it looked like a huge gray sponge. We surmised it might be a lung, or worse, of some long dead animal. How he ate it, I don't pretend to know.
But different cultures have their own foods, and their own way with foods, and one of the things I had discovered about the German culture was the foods they didn't have any familiarity with. They didn't eat corn, regarding it as lowly feed for cattle, not something meant for human consumption. They didn't have jello, and they didn't have marshmallows. So guess what?
Yep. I can hardly believe it either. I invited them over for corn, jello, and marshmallows! Well, at least I ambushed them with that dynamic menu. Figured they'd have to love sweet corn once they tried it. Heck, I have never even been able to stand jello myself, but must have thought I was spreading the gospel of marshmallows or something. Hostess with the mostess. Moi.
So I greeted them at the door. Surprised I didn't just tie feedbags around their stout little necks. But they were all smiles and gracious guests, no one actually gagged or got ill, and Hans Fried managed to keep a little conversation going on between us all. Likely they were distracted enough seeing you and playing with you again, they could forgive me my trespasses. They left on good terms. Funny though, we never did see them again.
I would sincerely like to claim to have gone on from there and developed into the quintessential hostess, but even though I have left jello far behind, my fling with corn petered out, and I only occasionally flirt with marshmallows on the end of a stick; still, it's probably safer bet to go out to eat with me than to come to my house for dinner. Just saying.
So after we moved on base, I decided to invite our former landlords to dinner. They had us over for a fantastic dinner right after Adam's birth, and I wanted to at least reciprocate. I still remember being served an elegant roast with a hardboiled egg in the center of it. That was something almost artful as she sliced it for us. I was intrigued by the unfamiliarity of it all.
And unfamiliarity ranked high in my book. We rarely could afford to eat out, but when we did, we would try new local dishes. Honestly, it was boring to see that all the other Americans we would go out with always ordering the Wienerschnitzel or Bratwurst. We were proud of being a little more risky and experimental, probably just more mental, and trying things that we had no idea of what they were when ordering. Kind of a little game, a little gamble. One time I hit the jackpot in some little town when I ordered zwiebel something---grilled onion covered roast, I think. Fantastic! But Dad got the prize once in Ulm when he ordered some new entree. When it was served, it looked like a huge gray sponge. We surmised it might be a lung, or worse, of some long dead animal. How he ate it, I don't pretend to know.
But different cultures have their own foods, and their own way with foods, and one of the things I had discovered about the German culture was the foods they didn't have any familiarity with. They didn't eat corn, regarding it as lowly feed for cattle, not something meant for human consumption. They didn't have jello, and they didn't have marshmallows. So guess what?
Yep. I can hardly believe it either. I invited them over for corn, jello, and marshmallows! Well, at least I ambushed them with that dynamic menu. Figured they'd have to love sweet corn once they tried it. Heck, I have never even been able to stand jello myself, but must have thought I was spreading the gospel of marshmallows or something. Hostess with the mostess. Moi.
So I greeted them at the door. Surprised I didn't just tie feedbags around their stout little necks. But they were all smiles and gracious guests, no one actually gagged or got ill, and Hans Fried managed to keep a little conversation going on between us all. Likely they were distracted enough seeing you and playing with you again, they could forgive me my trespasses. They left on good terms. Funny though, we never did see them again.
I would sincerely like to claim to have gone on from there and developed into the quintessential hostess, but even though I have left jello far behind, my fling with corn petered out, and I only occasionally flirt with marshmallows on the end of a stick; still, it's probably safer bet to go out to eat with me than to come to my house for dinner. Just saying.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Afton---Honor Thy Father
In honor of Veteran's Day today, this memory has to do with before you were born. To honor the Veteran who took center stage in your life.
The spectre of Viet Nam loomed oppressively everywhere in the later 60s. It was a polarizing reality, of such a scope and breadth, that it impacted literally everyone and everything. But not on the same level, certainly, and not in the same way. D. was a founding member of the Y Americans his last two years at BYU. With his wholesome good looks, he sang patriotic songs, "This Land Is Your Land", "Freedom Isn't Free", on tour from Disneyland to the Ed Sullivan TV Show in New York. It was good times had by all, singing about freedom. Putting your life on the line for it, well that's a whole different animal.
Freedom is a pretty abstract, almost generic term, as used by most of us, casually, and with only a layer or two of understanding and appreciation. But those who have paid a price for it, by losing an eye or a leg or a loved one, or through blood, sweat, and tears, have far greater depth, far greater intensity in actually loving freedom. Because love is far more a song, than a parade, than a feeling; it's a dedication, a behavior, a way of life.
I think it's like romantic love or parental love in a way. What would you, could you, hold back from your beloved, or from your precious child? Only when you are willing to and actually do sacrifice for someone do you truly experience the completeness, the absolute knowledge of your devotion. The greater the sacrifice, the greater love. Some spiritual parallels are relevant here.
But sometimes to contemplate being asked to commit to making the ultimate sacrifice, putting one's life on the line for the love of freedom, when you're young and just beginning to step into all that life seems to promise, is a rather heavy thing.
And so it was for your Father. He had no desire to serve in the military, and had spent several years safely sequestered from that opportunity through college and mission deferments. But Congress passed a lottery system for the Draft the year he graduated from college. Two months after our wedding, his number was called up from Idaho, and so we left Seattle for him to report.
I remember his Mother driving us several towns away to the train station to drop him off, and she and I weeping all the way back to Geneva. I was soon to leave for Chicago to live with my family, scared of what the future might hold.
Found out two days later that the future is always full of surprises. Rejected because of back problems from his motorcycle accidents, he showed up out of nowhere with a big grin on his face before I left for my flight. Phew!
We moved back to Seattle and resumed life. Every couple of months, he would be called up again, this time in Washington State, would go and report and come home usually that day. Yawn. Got to be enough of a joke that they would hold mock farewell parties at work for him. The following summer he would be 26, and the draft could no longer touch him at that point. We felt comfortable enough to go ahead and start our family, a little earlier than we'd originally thought. Why not? Life seemed benevolent, if not magnanimous, to us in comparison to what had been a close call.
And so of course, life twisted, as it is prone to do. That spring, a month after we found out we would become parents in the Fall and welcome you, he went for one of these routine report for duty calls by the Draft Board. He didn't come home that night, or that weekend. Not even a phone call for two weeks! I had no idea where exactly he was, but I was sure the military had kidnapped him.
Devastated, picturing him decapitated in a jungle, a corpse before your birth, I fell apart in the bathroom. I wept and howled and screamed for two days and nights in there without coming out, until there was no emotion left. Quite a trooper, huh? Never had I felt so numb, so alone. I don't know if being pregnant, or being more than a thousand miles away from any living soul that I knew, exacerbated my fears, or if I am just naturally dysfunctional.
But just as strong as my vehement negative reaction to these events that were so out of my control, was the simultaneous and pervasive deep pride in my new husband, stepping up to the plate and being the man who accepted this mantle, even though he had absolutely no desire to. I had watched him initially when the first summons came the summer before and I knew without words being spoken, how foreign, how abhorrent this idea was to him. Never a fighter by nature, but a peacemaker, to think of killing or being killed was more than out of his comfort zone. I had observed his quiet times of contemplation without intruding, but I had wondered what I would do if I had been the one facing this destiny. Much later I asked him if he had thought about fleeing to Canada. Depending on the intent, that could be a noble option as well. Of course, he had given it serious thought. But in the end, he had soldiered up. The feelings that swelled inside me knowing that come what may, he had made an honorable decision were something I had never felt before. He jumped in and took the risk.
It ended up, happily for us, that he got orders to go to Germany rather than Viet Nam.(Can you believe I actually cried when he got those wonderful orders? Not for joy, I just didn't want to leave the States! And I worried he might not be able to take us with him too. One of the most amazing experiences of my life ahead of me, and I whimpered.)
I want you to know that those deep, deep feelings of pride I had as a young wife surfaced and throbbed once again with full intensity as the Color Guard who had played "Taps" and shot the rifles at your Dad's gravesite folded the flag that covered his coffin and placed it in my hands. He didn't have to pay the ultimate price, but he was willing to.
For men and women who like him, were willing to give it their all, and especially for those who did, I hope you and I forever keep a tender place in our hearts.
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