House of Zathras

Last night we stopped by my sister’s place (otherwise known as the House of Chaos) because it was her oldest son’s birthday. My sister has four kids in all, ranging in age from 2 1/2 to 12. And they have two settings…loud and louder.

Last night the two boys were playing with the birthday boy’s new toys. My elder niece was playing in her room. She has a marvelous imagination and can keep herself entertained for hours, creating her own worlds.

My youngest niece was very wound up…crawling into and out of my lap, running around throwing her stuffed animals, getting back into my lap, getting down again, crawling into BR’s lap to shyly investigate his beard, crawling back to my lap, getting her blanket and resting against my shoulder.

It hit me one of the times she lay curled in my lap, fighting sleep but needing rest…BR and I could have had a child just about that age. That son or daughter would have only been a few months younger than the child relaxing against me.

I felt…bereft.

My daughter has asked for a very special birthday present.

She wants to audition for American Idol. So later on in July, she and I will schlep over to New Orleans. And she will sing her heart out. If we can even make it through the registration process.

*sigh*

My mother would never have done this for me. Of course, my mother doesn’t like driving more than a mile from home or making left-hand turns, let alone drive to another town three hours away. Hell would be for my mother and me to have to drive somewhere together. Or not even together. The other day I was at her house and offered to drive her car around back after unloading groceries. (She NEVER lets anyone drive her car. NEVER!) Amazingly, she agreed. I backed it under the awning so the next time she left she wouldn’t have to back up (she also hates backing up). I maneuvered it in, being sure that all the doors could open and not hit a support pole. Then I locked it and took the keys into her.

She called me later…it seems she never locks the car and went to get something out of it after I left. Then she had to go back into the house to get the keys!! She was bitching at me about locking her car! No good deed goes unpunished.

Makes me wonder about this trip to New Orleans. My husband swears that my daughter and I are taking on the relationship roles (including the yelling) that my mother and I have had for years. Help me. Please.

My niece had her son yesterday, 5 weeks early. The little boy was 6 lbs, 18 1/2 ” long…lungs still a bit weak. But he’s a cute little thing…not as frail-looking as some preemies are. Thank you for your prayers…

Oil still spewing in the Gulf. White House response? Moratorium on exploratory drilling, leading the way to further job loss.

Arizona passes law in an effort to curb illegal immigration. White House response? Sue Arizona.

National Parks being declared ‘no mans land’ due to Mexican usage…Mexican drug cartels using the hills to monitor any policing activity….White House response? Obama goes golfing.

We have an incursion by enemy combatants…and it is allowed to happen.

Obama is no American president…I don’t know what he is, but he is no American leader. He is a tool of liberal agendas, and doesn’t even try to pretend to care about America’s people. He’s intelligent…but that intelligence is distorted by his apparent narcissism that he allows to be lick-spittled into making the absolute wrong choices for this country’s future. A terrible waste of a mind. A miserable failure. A disgrace. And he doesn’t give a damn.

Father, we seek Your peace for our nation and our world.
In the midst of our questions and uncertainty,
we recognize that the unknown details of this day
are already in Your grasp.
We know You sent Your Son as the Prince of Peace
and even this day falls under His command.
Help us to find the strength and comfort we need as a nation
to continue to humble ourselves,
pray and seek Your face for a new day in America
and a new hope for our world.
Amen.

My son Eraserhead is home for his summer break. Hasn’t had any luck finding a job. But three mornings a week, he gets up early to go serve Mass. He made this choice on his own, with no encouragement from anyone else.

Yes, I’m proud of him!

As I stepped down from my truck the wind whipped my hair around my face. It also brought the sounds of the American flag fluttering heavily in the stiff breeze and the poignant sound of a mourning dove.

The sorrow ripped at me before I even walked around my vehicle. A young family stood around a heavily-decorated grave…windchimes, windmills, small solar-powered glass globes… They glanced back at me, and I looked down, not wanting to project my sorrow upon theirs. Three young children wandered around their parents. I stayed by my truck, pressed back by the tears that were building.

At last they leave, glancing in my direction. I barely noticed, as I walked towards my painful goal…only two sites away from theirs. I heard the family’s truck start and leave, but by that point I was on my knees at the edge of the weathered marker, staring at the birthdate…today’s date, minus 29 years . The tears are flowing freely, and the weight of choked-back sobs is burrowing deep in my chest. I picture his body down below me…and I can’t stand it. I know it’s just a shell, but it’s my brother and I love him so much…I know it’s not ‘him’, but dammit…he was buried wearing his favorite clothes, and I know it’s all down there, under the weight of the ground.

He was only four and a-half. It was 25 years ago. 25 frikken years, and the sorrow can still rip at my heart and take the breath from my lungs. God, how I miss my little brother.

Robby had the sweetness and character of an angel. His heart condition gave him an almost ethereal essence…the only thought that brought any kind of comfort was that he wouldn’t suffer any of the crap of growing up. Always innocent, always precious, always beautiful.

I finally was able to stand and take a picture of the marker. Then I heard the sound of a bird overhead, close to the small magnolia tree that casts a late-afternoon shadow on Robby’s grave. I see a mourning dove soar to the top of the nearby flagpole. I watch it for a moment, and then it soars off, making a complete circle high in the air, with me at the center. It lands back on the top of the flagpole and bobs it head in my direction.

I had to smile. Maybe it was a message from Robby. I need to look up…he’s not down there. He’s free. I’m the one bound by earthly chains of sorrow. I need to look up and away from that burden.

I still miss him. God, how I miss him. I kneel once more, place my finger to my lips and then place it on his name on the headstone. I love you, Robby.

(His grave is just to the lower right of center, two away from the magnolia tree. Behind the magnolia tree is the site the family was visiting…notice all the paraphernalia around the plaque…their son was only two…)


(The messenger dove, reminding me to always look up….)

Until the past few years, my Dad hasn’t been much for phone conversations. He’s not quite a hermit, but has made sure to live hundreds of miles away from the nearest relative. He can be terse, and will not put up with bullshit from anyone.

When he was still a young officer in the Navy, I was playing with the Captain’s daughter. Apparently she was quite a brat, and my Dad told her that if she didn’t mind her manners, she wouldn’t be allowed to stay at our house. She responded that her daddy was the Captain and stuck her tongue out at him. Big. Mistake. He grabbed her tongue and held on to it, and told her in his house HE was in charge, not her Daddy. She promptly ran home and tattled. Captain-Daddy did come over to thank my Dad for disciplining her because his wife had made her a spoiled brat. Wouldn’t have mattered if the Captain threatened him with the brig, however. Dad wouldn’t have apologized for someone else’s problem.

Fast-forward to last night. My dad actually called me…itself a rare occurrence. We chatted about Eraserhead’s college (Dad manages his tuition program). Then Dad started to reminisce about his Navy flying days when he was a navigator. He told me a story that he has told me several times before. It’s always the same…he hasn’t embellished it over the years (remember, he has no tolerance for bullshit). But Dad is a very engaging story teller, so you don’t mind listening to it again. His favorite, however, is about the time his plane crashed into the ocean (he was flying off the Kennedy). I think it was right after take-off, and it was filmed because it was so close to the ship. The film showed him as the only one who looked around to make sure everyone made it out of the plane.

Rescue was shortly thereafter, and Dad and the rest of the crew found themselves in the sick bay. The doctor asked them if they wanted medicinal brandy, and my Dad said (and here was an embellishment I’d never heard before), ‘F**k, Yes!’. I nearly dropped the phone. In all the times my Dad has relayed his Navy day stories, he only occasionally says ‘shit’ or ‘damn’…and then only when I got into my mid to late 30s or so. My Dad has always been aware of proprieties, even complaining at my sister’s wedding that she dressed the groomsmen and him in TAILS for a mid-day wedding…tails weren’t supposed to be worn until late afternoon/evening. He has always had a very precise code of conduct. Until last night.

He’s 71 now…he’s entitled to let fly whatever he wants to, I guess. And if you’ve been any kind of long-time reader, you know that I let fly with the f-bomb from time to time.

But it’s my DAD, for goodness sake. My DAD said the f-word. It’s like finding out your parents actually have sex and enjoy it. Which kind of goes with the f-word, I guess.

Oh, and for the record, Dad said that the brandy tasted like shit. He accused the doctor of drinking the good stuff and substituting rot-gut instead, and would need to crash three more times before that stuff tasted good.

*********************
My Dad said ‘F**k’. Does this mean he finally sees me as an adult? It makes me kind of sad…I still want to be his ‘little blue-eyed sweetheart’. *sigh*

The washing machine is fixed! And it was covered by the warranty! Well, sort of. It was actually 5 of Princess No’s bobby pins and one shirt-collar tab blocking the water pump. Which means it wasn’t technically covered by the warranty. But the repair guy (Kris Kringle in disguise, I just know it), said he would write it up as something else.

Christmas Spirit abides in the oddest of places!

Now it’s time to go wash some underwear and socks.

*sigh* It’s the same every year at this time…kids are excited about Christmas…and suspicious. It’s the logic thing…just how does Santa manage it? ALL the houses…in ALL the world…do reindeer really fly?

And they so want to believe…you see it in their eyes…the yearning to believe in the magic.

And it’s a glorious burden to bear the mantle of the last moments of childhood innocence. One girl, whose house burned down earlier this year, announced that Santa knew about her house and came early to bring them some clothes and toys. Ain’t no way I’m messing with that.

And the joy. Do you remember that joy of the expectation of Santa? Kids have to grow up so fast now…why can’t they have a few years of happy expectation?

So when they ask if Santa is real, I tell them that Santa comes to my house. That Santa Claus was originally the very real Saint Nicholas (and you should see their eyes light up as they compare the phonemes of ‘Saint Nicholas’ to the more familiar ‘Santa Claus’). That now he’s an angel with the magic of love that makes all the wonder of Christmas happen.

And as a teacher I have the honor of adding to the magic of love. So screw the regular Social Studies plans…we are going to have Christmas activities, with cutting and gluing and glittering and FUN! Life is too short. Let the kids be kids. Let them be innocent and enjoy the season, because Santa rocks!

The roll call at the end of the Ft. Hood Memorial was just awful to listen to. God bless those who gave their lives.

Robert L. Scandole, Jr. was working as a vice-president at Cantor Fitzgerald the morning of September 11, 2001.

Beyond that, I haven’t been able to find much information on him, except on memorial pages such as this one and this one. The comments are so touching, giving evidence of loving family and friends. His daughter even mentions Mardi Gras in the comments. That made me smile. I hope that Mr. Scandole was able to participate in Mardi Gras and all its fun and revelry. It also makes me curious about how someone who lived in New York knew about Mardi Gras. Was he from the New Orleans or another Gulf Coast town that celebrates Mardi Gras? Did he have family down here? Or was it celebrated where he lived? Had he never been to a Mardi Gras parade, and maybe was getting ready to go to his first?

So many questions about a man I never met. It would be such an honor to find out more about him, maybe have his family share some stories about him.

Speaking of Mardi Gras, the following Bible passage is often related to that pre-Lenten season:

Come, let us enjoy the good things that exist,
and make use of the creation to the full as in youth.
Let us take our fill of costly wine and perfumes,
and let no flower of spring pass us by.
Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds before they wither.
Let none of us fail to share in our revelry;
because this is our portion, and this our lot. (Wisdom 2:6-9)

Although I know his family mourns Mr. Scandole, I hope they are savoring the ‘portion and lot’ in memories of the joy of his life. His life is remembered by those who never met him. I hope this small tribute to him makes Mr. Scandole more than just a name on a list. I hope he enjoyed his life fully, and my prayers and thoughts go out to his family.

Incline, O Lord,
Thine ear to our prayers,
in which we humbly beseech Thy mercy,
that Thou wouldst place the soul of Thy servant Robert,
which Thou hast caused to depart from this world,
into the region of peace and light;
and unite in the fellowship of Thy Saints.
Through Christ our Lord,
Amen.

How do you write a memorial to someone you or your friends or family have never met? You don’t know her tastes, what movies she enjoyed, what hobbies she had, how she met her husband. Even more daunting is when that person lost her life in the greatest tragedy to ever strike our country. Countless eulogies and columns and stories and pictures and songs have been published that move people in a way I could never hope to match. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. Every one of the victims who lost their lives deserves to be remembered in some way. It is with great honor that I dedicate this post to Maria Jakubiak and her family. Maria is not forgotten.

Maria and her family emigrated from Poland. According to what I have read, they had a choice between Canada and America. She chose America, because she ‘wanted to see the Statue of Liberty’. What wonderful courage Maria must have had to face coming to a new country, learning a new language, and raising a family in a different culture. She succeeded in those endeavors, learning English, getting her Associates’ Degree, finding employment, going to night-school for her Bachelor’s. The tributes all mark her as a caring employee, even acting as a mother-figure to younger co-workers. There is also a site in Polish dedicated to her. It is apparent that Maria is loved in two countries; her new home and her old one.

Everyone who is old enough has a ‘where were you when 9/11 happened’ memory. I was teaching school that day. We kept the news from the students initially, but a few days after that we had a memorial. The whole school body met around the flagpole at the front to say the Pledge of Allegiance and sing a patriotic song. I had a boy in my class at that time who saw the world in a different light. He was an ‘innocent’; open-hearted, very loving, and unaware of the world at large. As my class walked to the front of the building for the memorial, I noticed he seemed worried, with his eyes wide-open looking around nervously. I took his hand so he could walk next to me. We came to a spot where we had to wait for another class to pass, but he kept on walking. I placed my hand gently in front of his chest to get him to stop…and I could feel his heart pounding furiously. In fact, his whole body started shaking. I knelt down, hugged him, and asked him what was the matter. With tears in his eyes, he expressed that he thought we were going to go out to say the pledge, and then the planes would come crash into us. His view of 9/11 consisted of seeing television footage of the planes followed by pictures of the American flag. The two went together in his mind. And it is an indelible image in the minds of those who remember. But that young student, even as fearful as he felt, was going with us because he knew he had to. And he came away strengthened, his fear abated.

I feel that Maria would have encouraged that little boy. That she would have taken his hand and said the Pledge right alongside him. She does not appear to have been someone who would have given up or lived in fear. She chose America, and worked hard to enjoy its freedoms. I ask God to bless her family and bless her memory. Maria is not forgotten. To her husband, children, and extended family and friends, I offer my condolences and prayers. In the words of her brother, Czeslaw Stylinski, “We cannot forget.”

I offer this prayer for Maria Jakubiak and all the victims of 9/11:

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon them.
May they rest in peace.

Amen.

For more fitting tributes by the people who knew her, go to this site.
Photos courtesy here and here.

From Pope Benedict XVI’s visit to Ground Zero on April 20, 2008:

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We think Bitch Cat is gone. For good this time.

Bitch Cat (BC), for most of her life lived up to the name of ‘bitch’. She was aloof and only occasionally deigned to allow you pet her. It was the humans’ honor and duty to feed her, of course. And if you did something to insult her, she would withhold her presence from you for a day or two. Just look at the arrogance and disdain on her face:

BC was a small cat, not much larger than a kitten. But she had the attitude of a mountain lion. Definitely not a ‘people’ cat. She didn’t like being enclosed in a house. All that changed with her walk on the dark side.

At least, we think that’s what happened. She disappeared for eight days…back when I thought I might have killed her. But she returned. (BTW, =HC= is how I referred to to BR back when I used a blogger site)

Since that return from the dead, BC has been decidedly a house cat. Old age was catching up to her, rendering her slower and less agile than before. The nicer temps in the house felt good to her, and she wasn’t having to continually fight the cats in the neighborhood, including our own PoopKat, who is a bitch in her own right.

BC (actually her name is Misty) has been gone several days now. Yesterday BR and I were walking out in our ‘park’ (the side yard of our house), we saw a disturbed area in the leaves, slightly curved, about 6 inches wide and a little over a foot long. Not too far away we could see a hawk on its nest and heard little screeching sounds. We kind of surmised the hawk had snagged an animal, probably Misty, and went back to the nest. BR mentioned that he was surprised not to find any feathers around, knowing Misty would have put up a fight. That’s when I saw this:

Yep…it matched the bird standing at its nest.

I hope it was a quick death for Misty. Better than the downward spiral she had been taking…slower, skinny as a rail, not able to hold her own in the cat fights.

BR says that whatever little hawkling ate her is going to be the baddest s.o.b. in the forest, ingesting all the bad-ass attitude that Misty had. And Misty came to BR from out of the woods as a kitten, and she returned to the woods. It’s a cycle of life thing, I know. But I’m going to miss that cat. And forgive me if I wish that hawk had taken the yappy little pissing dog that drives us up the wall sometime.

My mom sent me this picture from a family gathering from about 15 years ago. Eraserhead is in this picture with all his cousins…lots of fun growing up on the Gulf Coast. I know my mom didn’t take this picture, because she has a fear of water and would have been freaking out having the kids sitting *gasp* over the water!!! With no restraints tying them to the docks, and no life jackets to protect them from the ankle-deep water beneath the pier! My poor mom.

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Times are indeed tough, but the members of our Armed Services and their families make sacrifices beyond monetary value. If you can spare anything to help these ladies who are making a difference in the military lives, thank you.

Go here to From Chaos to Serendipity and help Sticks. She’s raising money for Fisher House, which provides a place for military families while their loved one recovers.

DaGoddess is also helping to provide military families with professional photos to help provide an album of precious memories.

Both ladies are giving the gift of time to their projects, which is a very special commodity in these days. Thank you, ladies.

Mother’s Day recap:

*Got a book I wanted (Ambulance Driver‘s “En Route“…thanks, BR)

*Got to see a play I wanted to (I left the house ALONE…Woo-Hoo!)

*Got a phone call from Goob. Goob, with whom I probably spoke 10 civil words the week before he left…mostly screaming matches.  Goob, whom had pretty much been brain-washed by the deviants in Utah to think that their perverted life-style was normal and loving, and I was the anti-Christ who helped to steal them from an adoring family.  Goob, whom had never, ever in the intervening seven years, even with calling his bio-mom ever nasty word under the sun, never said ‘love’ to me in any way, shape, or form.  Goob called on Sunday…to wish me Happy Mother’s Day, and to say “I love you.”

*AND, I got a poem from my younger stepson, Buck.  Buck, whom has a learning disability with language.  For whom writing (which I worked with every summer to the dismay and hair-pulling from each of us) has been the bane of his existance because of his earlier speech struggles…a beautiful poem he wrote in school.  It has typos and unusual phrasings…and it’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever received.  (click to see it*)

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For a missing soldier.

God of all goodness,
Look with love on those who wait
for the safe return of their loved ones
who serve in the armed forces of their country.
In faith and hope, we turn to you for comfort.
Grant that we may trust in your mercy
and send an angel to sustain us as we await their safe return.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

*******************

Almighty and eternal God,
those who take refuge in you will be glad
and forever will shout for joy.
Protect these soldiers as they discharge their duties.
Protect them with the shield of your strength
and keep them safe from all evil and harm.
May the power of your love enable them to return home
in safety, that with all who love them,
they may ever praise you for your loving care.
We ask this through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Today would have been my baby brother’s 28th birthday.  He died when he was 4 1/2, when I was only 19.  I still remember the awful drive to Pensacola from Jacksonville, where my then husband was stationed in the Navy.  My ex may have not had much sense, but at least he knew better than to let me drive home that day.  And I remember throwing a god-awful fit, insisting I drive.  At that point, my family hadn’t told me Robby had died, just that it was serious and I needed to get home.  When we got to a rest stop, we called to say we were on the way (pre-cell phone days).  My grandmother answered the phone, and broke down when I asked her how Robby was doing.  She couldn’t speak, apparently passing the phone to the priest.  I still denied the possibility of my brother’s death listening to him haltingly tell me the awful news.

I was a blubbering mess for most of that drive.  As my husband drove, I looked up at one point to see a cross in the sky.  It was probably just the remnants of two plane contrails, but it was lit up in the setting sun as we travelled westward.

It hit home then.  Robby was gone.

And even now, over 20 years later, I still miss him.  It still hurts.  Sometimes the only comfort is that he didn’t have to grow up to face the crap that is in this world now.  He died innocent and free of this shitty world.

I miss you Robby.  Sissy loves you.

We received a letter from Goob today.  From what we can tell (his writing is AWFUL!!!), he is having a blast.  It sounds like the part he likes best is the food, especially breakfast.   Eggs, bacon, grits, pancakes, more grits, muffins…he’s in it for the food, lol!

And many of you know why Goob hates Utah in general and a certain Mormon there in particular…and then fate gives him a Mormon missionary as a bunkmate!  Life can be strange.

Anyway, some of you had said that you might like to write to Goob.  I’m sure he would enjoy that!  Just drop me an email and I’ll send you his address…and thank you for taking the time.  It’s a long, lonely time in bootcamp despite the good food!

A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, observing his wife, looking at herself in the mirror. Since her birthday was not far off he asked what she’d like to have for her birthday.

‘I’d like to be six again’, she replied, still looking in the mirror.

On the morning of her Birthday, he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms, and then took her to Six Flags theme park. What a day!

He put her on every ride in the park; the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Roller Coaster, everything there was.

Five hours later they staggered out of the theme park. Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down.

He then took her to a McDonald’s where he ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a chocolate shake.

Then it was off to a movie, popcorn, a soda pop, and her favorite candy, M&Ms. What a fabulous adventure!

Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed exhausted.
He leaned over his wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, ‘Well Dear, what was it like being six again?’

Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed.
‘I meant my dress size, you idiot!!!!’

The moral of the story: Even when a man is listening, he is gonna get it wrong.

I was perusing a local library’s web page when I came upon this notice:

We now have a computer equipped with a web cam that is available for you to visually and verbally communicate with your military family and friends. This computer is also available to the public for video conferencing, but military families will have first priority. The computer is located in the second floor meeting room.

I bolded the part that impressed me.  Around here, we know whom we have to thank for ensuring our freedoms.  God bless our Armed Forces AND their families…the families truly have the hardest jobs in any branch of the military.

Your Word is “Love”

You see life as possibility to form deep connections with a few people.Relationships are the center of your world, and you always take time to bond with those you love.You are caring and giving. You enjoy helping those you love. And when it comes to romantic love, you feel passionately … even in a very long term relationship.

What’s Your Word?

(H/T to Tink)

Pro-choicers often say that ‘forcing’ a woman to have a baby can condemn the child to a life of hardship and poverty…why should that child be condemned to a life of suffering?

A child like this one:

I hope pray the message can get through.

Jungle Mom has an excellent observation on civilization, science, and education.  Where has our humanity gone?

…watching President Bush and his beautiful wife fly away today.  God bless you sir, and thank you for all you’ve done.