LifePundit

A Funeral We Shouldn't Be Having

Wednesday while I was in the pediatrician's office waiting to hear about Lily's concussion, etc., and feeling all too intensely that life is very fragile, I got a phone call from Saintly Brother. A family member's 25-year-old husband was killed in a head-on collision by an elderly man who crossed the center line.

The family member is actually my nephew's step-daughter (I'm closer in age to my nephew than to my brother). The step-daughter and her husband had two small girls, one just an infant. Neither will remember their father.

I hardly knew him. But what a loss. The thought is overwhelming.

Today I'm picking up my father and we're traveling I don't know how many counties over for the funeral. My father was in a head-on collision when he was 18. His sister died. How do some of us make it, and some of us not?

I have so many thoughts about this. One if them is that I'm glad my father has quit driving, though just last week he threatened to buy a truck and fire Ike (again). Just because you're the only one in the car doesn't mean that you'll be the only one who'll get killed.

The young man whose funeral we're attending wasn't wearing his seat belt. While I'm on a safety kick about wearing helmets for riding, maybe I should be a nag about seat belts, too. Which is not to put the blame on the young man. He might have died anyway, seat belt securely in place. The only thing that's for sure is if the elderly man hadn't crossed the center line, two little girls would still have their father.

The Tests We Take

Today we had lots of tests. The first one was to get to a testing center 30 miles away on time so Lily could take the SAT.

Now, we are a chronically late family, led -- or held back -- by me. I always assume things will take a lot less time than they actually do. For example, if I need to be at an appointment at 2:00, I will plan things so that I arrive at the address at 2:00. I won't have figured in the time it takes to find a parking space, park, gather my stuff, etc. So I'm always a little late, though beginning to catch on to how this works and getting better.

Lily has figured this out, so she needed to leave extra early for the SAT. This wasn't a bad idea since we aren't familiar with the area and it turns out the Democratic primary and the SAT were held at the same school. Getting there on time seemed to be a point of stress for her, and since I wanted her to be relaxed, I let her set the time. So she got us all up at 5:15 to leave at 6:30. (Horses had to be fed and all that, too.)

Sleep deprivation for all. I think even the horses are tired. I'll be surprised if she filled in her name right on the test. Not that it matters. She's in seventh grade so this was something she needed to do for a university-backed program for above average kids, not for getting into college. I think it's like Lake Woebegone, where all the children are above average.

Another mother there this morning said, "I think this is like those 'Who's Who' books where for $29.95 your name can be included." In other words, if somebody's going to say my child is above average, I'm certainly going to bite.

So we arrive at the center  much earlier than anybody ever needed to be there and sat there in the dark and the cold, waiting for the hundreds of other above-average kids. Lily had 12 number two pencils, a school-issued calculator and her snacks. As we were getting out of the car, I asked rather routinely, "Do you have your I.D.?"

NO! In an above-average like fashion, she'd forgotten it. And she panicked. I looked at my watch. No time to drive 30 miles and back.

"What's going to happen?" she said in alarm.

I said, "You'll either get in or you won't." She was upset. I was cold and wanted to go to bed.

Paul said the most amazing thing. "There are always other tests and other days."

I was so proud of him. He passed his test. What he really wanted to say was, "You mean I paid for all this and we got up early and drove all the way here and have been waiting in the cold etc."

Lily calmed down. We finally got in the building (after standing in line in the cold). I told Paul to get her in, because he's got a natural talent for getting past barriers. (Translation: He's a Yankee.) It turned out to be no problem, since she's in seventh grade and he's a Yankee.

I don't know where the day went because I spent most of it in a sleep-deprived coma (I haven't been sleeping well all week). We ate two meals out and managed not to have any brushes with fruits or vegetables, unless you count a pickle.

Lily is riding her horse. Paul is playing the piano. And I'm about to pass my test by riding my exercise bike, even though I really, really don't feel like it.

Cabin Fever

My father called with nothing much to say, other than his next goal is to live until 2008. I think he's a little let-down after Christmas, though now he can concentrate on his blueberry bushes.

Lily's cold is no better or worse, so she's going to a riding lesson this afternoon. We both need to get out. We've got cabin fever. (And one of us is a little hard to get along with, though I'm not going to name names since it might be my own.)

I wonder if all the crowds at the malls and the stores are not really people who need things, but people who need a place to go and a thing to do. Yes, there are bargains to be had. Or so I hear. But I don't really need anything, though if I saw it, I'd need it. So I'm not going near a store.

Time is short. Some days, like the few days between Christmas and New Year's, seem like so much time (I was going to make valances, scrapbook several boxes of photos, catch up on some work and write a novel) when viewed from a distance. But each day flies by. I haven't touched the valances, but I have spread out some photos and even tossed some.

How did it get to be Friday? I need to get going here or I'll be all depressed at New Year's that the photos are still spread out and the fabric is still on the bolt. But before that, I have a horse to haul.

To use one of my father's favorite quotes, "Let's go do something. Even if it's wrong."

A few years ago our town got snowed in. It easily happens. We're in S.C. and have no salt or snow plows. When it snows, you stay where you are until it melts.

This was an unusual snow in that it stayed for a few days. At first it was pretty, and as long as the electricity stayed on, it was kind of nice. Then we all got cabin fever. My father called me. "Where do you want to go?" he said. Paul and I lived in a house on the outskirts of town, my parents lived in town.

"I'd like to go check on my horse," I said. I had a horse at a boarding barn and hadn't seen him for days. The barn phone wasn't working, either.

"I'll come get you then," he said. "We'll go see your horse."

"But the streets aren't drive-able," I said. "Especially in the country."

"That's okay," he said. "If we get stuck, at least we'll have something to do."

Potato Guns

I wrote about potato guns in my after-Christmas post and got some questions. Potato guns are cheap, great fun, and I don't think could possibly hurt anyone.

A potato gun is entirely different from a potato cannon, pictured here, which fires a whole potato. There are several  variations and instructions on how to build them all over the Internet. This is not what my husband and child were firing at each other.

Here's a picture of a potato gun, which costs about $2 and gives you 300 shots from one potato.
Don't you love the graphics, which look like they're from the 1950s? This is not an ad. I'm just trying to be sure the world is well-armed with potato guns in case we find ourselves at war with the folks armed with potato cannons. They may be able to hit harder and possibly injure us, but we can get 300 shots to their one. You can get potato guns such as these through Amazon and World Wide Department Store.

It's Safe to Come Out Now

It's safe to come out now. Christmas is over. (Why do cats always hide under the tree? This is Izzie, the indoor cat. Pretend you can't see her, just in the spirit of the season.)

I loved every minute and hope you did, too. So much love. So much food. So much music. So much chocolate. God is good. (Theologically speaking, God would still be good even if he hadn't created chocolate, but the fact that he did tells us a lot about him.)

Here's Paul (my husband) with two treasures from his stocking. A pocket knife, which should go a long way toward helping him to become a Good Old Boy (he's a Yankee). And a potato, which I reminded him should be worn in the front of his pants, not the back.

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Actually, the potato is a different kind of addition to his manly arsenal. It's for the potato guns that Santa brought to each of them. Here they are in action. The smoke in the background is the smoking turkey, which Paul did and it was delicious. Plus we all get to smell like pioneers for a few days.

Santa (Lily) even picked out something special for Parker, the dog. He got a too realistic looking stuffed turkey and frolicked with it in the yard for hours, tail exuberantly wagging.

I even got chocolate in my stocking. Somebody really does love me.

My mother-in-law behaved, and I was full enough of goodwill to pretend I didn't hear everything she said or otherwise this post would be a rant. Easily triggered these days. Lily has a bad cold, so she could disappear at will and say she was resting. Paul had the turkey to tend to. And I had everything else, so I could be as busy as I needed to be. My father-in-law stayed in the kitchen with me and we had a nice visit.

I excused myself after dessert and went to see my mother, who is in the late stages of Alzheimer's. I found her dressed in a silky shirt and in a medical chair in the dayroom with the other residents. She looked good and was awake. "I'm Anne, your daughter," I said as I kissed her. She kissed me back. I could tell I may as well have announced that I was a seagull in from the coast.

"My daughter and son were already here," she said. I'm her only daughter. Somebody is showing up and I'm getting credit, for which I'm always grateful.

"I'm glad you had visitors. Here's a little Christmas something for you," I said, giving her a small but gaudily wrapped gift. My personal theory is that older eyes are weak and that bright colors are stimulating. (Just look at how some of them dress, if you don't believe me.)

"That's beautiful," she said, glowing. "I like all presents."

We literally talked nonsense, but she knew that someone who loved her was there and she was glad for the company. I rubbed her arm for a while in silence. In all likelihood, this is her last Christmas. I felt like it should feel important, moving, filled with meaning and symbols. Maybe it was. My mother was smiling for me, even if she didn't know who I was. I left and listened to beautiful music all the long drive home.

Lily and Paul were waiting for me. They knew who I was, and they were smiling anyway.

Christmas is wonderful. More wonderful still is when you are back home where you belong, with nothing left to do but love and be loved.

Tonight's the Night!

"Tonight's the Night!"

Those magic words got us beyond excitement. "Tonight's the Night!" means it's Christmas Eve. The fat man will wrestle that bicycle down the chimney against all probability. An empty room will be full. People will come. Food and more food and more food will appear, less magically than the bicycle as we watched Mama labor (even making her coconut cake starting with a whole coconut, a hammer and a nail).

Our Christmas is less grandiose. Lily's allergic to coconut and Paul doesn't like it. There will be no chicken salad because I'm too lazy to cook a chicken just to make stock for the dressing and gravy. In fact, I don't even know how to make dressing. It was in Mama's head. Non-Saintly Brother wrote it down once. The directions are not useful as they contain her exact instructions, such as, "put in enough stock until you have enough but not too much." All of her recipes went like that. We will have the sweet potato casserole topped with marshmallows, even though my mother-in-law will declare that it is a dessert and not a vegetable (on Christmas it IS a vegetable.) I tried to find a photo but couldn't.

But we won't have anything if I sit here writing posts. So off I go.

Tonight's the Night! Miracles happen.

If I get a chance, I'm going to write about Christmas Eve in a barn. For me, you can't get a much holier place than a barn, with the manger licked clean by animals, and the holy smell of livestock (I'm serious) and their hay.

Christ was born in a barn. You have to love him.

Time Flies, But at Least I Have the Pictures

My father's been giving us some of the most precious things he could give us: wonderful old photos of our family. He's got boxes of photos and I think it's been a pleasure for him to stick them in albums now that there's not a lot he can do. He took lots of pictures. I remember standing there smiling in front of the blooming azaleas while he messed with the light meter and then shot the photo with a dual-lens Leica. The image he saw on the camera was upside down -- don't know how he managed to capture anything. But the pictures are good. And though there are piles and piles of them, they only capture a portion of life. I took this not especially good shot three years ago. It's of my parents and Lily at the pool. My father could still take care of my mother then, even with her Alzheimer's. Now she's bedridden and he's (supposed to be) in a wheelchair, with oxygen. It didn't take long to go from this stage to where they are.

Christmas is coming. Take lots of pictures. Is there anything more precious?

I tried to follow in my father's  footsteps by taking lots of pictures of Lily, but I was handicapped by my camera. Actually, my camera, a Nikon 2020, was probably all right, but I couldn't afford a Nikon flash so half of her baby pictures aren't properly lit. Some even have a black bar across them. Things have gotten a lot better since I've gone digital.

I've got a Canon Elph that's great because it's small and smarter than I am. I love being able to take it with me places with ease, just in case I remember to take a picture. Unfortunately, like most little cameras, it's slow. Which means I take a lot of photos that show what happened seconds after the action. I can't tell you how many pictures I have of Lily jumping her pony, but there's no pony over the jump -- just a tail exiting the picture. Kind of like Breugel's Fall of Icarus where all you see is a foot going into the water. I can use multiple shot mode, but that doesn't give me the precision I'd like for snapping the shot NOW. It's more like a cartoon of scenes in motion. Sometimes I get the shot.  Sometimes I don't.

We're looking at other cameras now. Paul has his eye on a SLR Nikon D40 that we're hoping will do a better job with action shots. Nikon camerasThe catch is, you have to remember to bring it and use it.

By the time he decides, there'll probably be even better choices out there. And then we'll need one of those digital photo frames that's like an on-going slide show.This is a paid post, but every word is true.

Scaredy Cat Pumpkin

Every Halloween Paul and Lily carve the pumpkin together. This year Lily designed a scared cat that would make Martha Stewart envious. Paul and Lily carved it together. We were all shocked and delighted at how well it turned out. It's hard to photograph because the design curves around the pumpkin so it's difficult to catch all sides. Click on the photos to enlarge. And, to read a scary Halloween ghost story, check out today's post on the Maco Light, with another installment coming tomorrow.

Reasons to Like Halloween

Reasons to Like Halloween:

1. When people come to your house, they're not coming inside (no crisis cleaning needed).
2. Nobody is expecting you to cook a meal.
3. If your in-laws insist on coming over, you can give them a bowl of candy and leave them in the house while you go somewhere, anywhere. Perhaps a goblin will get your MIL.
4. If you have to a wear a costume, you can choose a baggy one and wear a mask if you don't feel like putting it all together. If you've just lost weight and look great, you can dress trashily to show it off and nobody but me will say nasty things about you. I'll talk bad about you from under my Halloween Burqua, but people in burquas are invisible so nobody will pay any attention to me.
5. You can be stupid and buy good chocolate candy, which will call your name all week long and you'll end up having to buy more if you give into temptation (plus you'll have to Trick or Treat in your Burqua), or you can buy non-chocolate candy and wonder why you're eating it when you really don't even like Sour Patch Kids candy all that much. I should've bought candy corn. I will not touch that stuff.
6. Your cobwebs will look like Martha Stewart Halloween decor.
7. Anything broken or needing repair on your porch or house will seem like part of your Halloween scenery.
8. You don't have to watch your husband wrestle the pumpkin into a stand, then realize it is too tall and scrapes the paint off of the ceiling. There's no reason to curse over a pumpkin. (Why I caved in and we have an artificial Christmas tree.)
9. You don't have to send Halloween cards, and if you did, please don't do it again.
10. You don't have to buy anyone presents.
11. The only thing you need to feel guilty over is whatever you ate.
12. Maybe a goblin really will take your MIL.

Coming Tuesday or Wednesday:  The Maco Light.  A real ghost story, and I have seen the lights. Scared me to my tingly toes.

Where did they go?

My 95-year-old father really surprised me yesterday. He went to a planned activity at his assisted living place.

He does not like to participate in planned activities unless he planned them. He plans his own activities. They usually end up not as he plans them, but that is half the pleasure of them, I think. As my Non-Saintly brother once observed, "If he's in a boat, he runs aground. If he's on land, he falls in the water."

Yesterday my father decided to go to a bible study. "It was fascinating," he said. "The minister was going through Genesis line-by-line. I listened to every word. I was really paying attention.

"And the next thing I know, I wake up and I'm the only one in the room," he confessed.

"I may have to move. I'm too embarrassed to see these people ever again."

I laughed and laughed. And so did he. Can you imagine one minute you are listening and the next minute you're the only one in the room?

His heart can't provide enough oxygen to his brain or anywhere else, so sleep is never far away.

It could be worse. A good friend works at a large medical practice. In the middle of a meeting, their brand new CEO fell asleep. Everyone else sat around and talked for a minute, then decided not to disturb him and went back to their offices.

We could all use more sleep. I just hope that when it's my turn, somebody will wake me up when it's time to go.