No Better Place

A friend of mine lost her son a few weeks ago. He was 20 years old and there is still is no conclusive reason why he died. She just found him in his room on a Saturday morning, dead on the floor.

The first line of his obituary read that he had gone on to a better place.

That made me angry. I was angry that he was gone. I was angry that she had to go through this. I was angry that for that family nothing would ever be the same. But most of all I was angry at the whole notion of using that ridiculous phrase.

I understand why people do. It makes them feel better. Gives sense of sorts for the senseless passing. Provides solace to breaking heart.

But please, if something were to happen to me...please don't use that phrase in my obituary. There is no better place than right here, with my children, my friends, and all that is around me. No better place than being where I can see the awe in the eyes of my children as they learn something new. No better place than where I can hear their laughter or comfort their fears. No better place than where I can kiss them goodnight, and exchange big sloppy razzleberries with them. No better place than where I can watch them grow and develop into what I hope are healthy adults that will contribute positively to society.

And I can only hope and pray that I am allowed that gift every day for many, many years to come.

Remembering Jim

My friend, Jim, died the other day.
In his sleep.
He was 44.
My friends aren't supposed to be dying yet.
I only knew him for a couple of years, but he'll be with me forever.
My first impressions of Jim could not have been more wrong - and as time passed and we shared stories, and laughter, and sadness, and anger, and friends, and quite a bit of tequila, I grew to admire and adore my neighbor, and was happier and happier about the future that lay in store for our neighborhood, with Jim at the core.
But now things are different.
We're all feeling a bit lost.
But on Saturday, a full week after his death, after the memorial services, and the days of shock and bewilderment, we came together, whether on purpose or not, as we always have here on our street, with food and drink, and children playing together, and stories and laughter, and somehow enjoyed ourselves again.
Even though it was a little bit emptier, a little less loud, and the tequila wasn't there.
And we included him in our stories, and in our laughter.
Even though the Harley didn't come out for a ride.
And we ate and we drank, and we toasted to Jim.
Even though his West Virginian drawl and mutter wasn't heard.
We felt just a little bit back to normal.
Even though we know it won't be, can't be exactly the same again.

We all love you, Jim. You'll always be a part of our neighborhood. We'll all keep an extra set of eyes out for your kids, and your wife. We'll all smile whenever we hear a Harley, or see a 'vette, or line up the Cuervo. We'll feel you at every ball game, whether here on the block or out on the field.

So long, soldier. Ride strong, brother. Save the other half for me, friend. We'll catch up again sometime...

To Worship at the Temple of Consumerism

I went to Atlanta the other day. Nice weekend. Great weather. My kids, my husband - it was a great little getaway - all a surprise to me, and some much needed Q-time with the fam. My kids have a future in espionage, I believe - because children under the age of 10 typically do not show such restraint in spreading information that is exciting to them. Kudos to them...they have learned well! Oh, that trait will likely backfire on me as a parent when they are teenagers - but that's a different story.

So, we take the town, hit the aquarium, play in the parks, eat great food, and then spend the day in the city's newest tourist attraction - the NEW World of Coca-Cola. Now, I'd never seen the OLD World of Coca-Cola, however, I can attest to living in it for the past 37 years.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect - I mean, really, the entire facility is really just a gigantic, glorified advertisement for one of the world's most pervasive products...ever. The welcome lobby and waiting room were both completely lost on my children - who have never had more than a few sips of Mommy's Diet Coke in their lives. They've never tasted regular Coca-Cola, and aren't big fans of anything fizzy. People kept asking them what their favorite soda was, and proudly, they stated, "water!" to which the attendants replied, "what flavor water?" and they would reply, "no flavor, just plain water! Or milk." I haven't seen that look of shock since my son said he didn't like french fries. They also haven't quite lived long enough to remember the advertising slogans that made history, or understand the breadth of meaning in seeing the phrases repeated in 50 different languages.

But they did understand "The Happiness Factory", which I guess, is their pet name for the project. The name alone gave me the chills. Into the theater we filed, and I knew something was wrong from the start. The illusion they poured millions in to create was already blown, as the giant screen to display the "documentary" - you'll see why I used quotes later on, was stuck in the up position, already revealing the esophagus into the belly of the beast, which was hosting a spasmodic sphincter that my daughter noted multiple times "Mommy, why does the door keep opening and closing?" . The attendant tried her hardest to calm the crowd, offering random cola history and testing the knowledge of the audience in consumerism. After about 10 minutes, she gave up, apologizing profusely and directing the crowd out - not through the intended entrance, but an alternate one - akin to the back hallways of a mall, if you've ever been privy to them - no magic, bright lights, lots of plaster. We plainly followed her direction, eventually ending up in the main hub of the center, but without the grand greeting and direction that would come later, to the thousands that followed. So the few hundred of us wandered a bit aimlessly, like marbles in a big glass jar. Not so much happiness there. Hmmm.

The next section we found was a bottling simulation. This excited me somewhat as I had visions of Laverne and Shirley watching the thousands of bottles go by...and I really don't know why that excited me, but it did. We looked at the cleaner, and the capper, and the sorter, and the...well, wouldn't you know it. It wasn't working. People clad in flimsy shower caps and surgical gloves kept tapping at computer screens trying to make things go. I kept thinking as hard as I could, "just turn it off and flip it back on, it always works at home." But they didn't hear me. So that was a wash. A friendly Coca-Cola attendant came up to me and asked me if I was enjoying myself. I didn't answer.

So off we went to climb the big stairs, that got smaller as you got higher - very Willy Wonka. And off the the 4-D interactive movie experience - which much to my pleasant surprise was included in your entrance fee. And we got to keep our 3-D glasses - flimsy paper ones, but they did work, and I knew they hadn't sat on anyone else's face before. The preview movie in the waiting area freaked me out as it was a lesson in taste (not the Vanity Fair kind, but actual sense of taste, including your olfactory system). It was an argument between the taste buds and the olfactory sensors in fact, and it just weirded me out. But I did learn something - I was always taught about four taste sensations - sour, sweet, bitter, and salty. Now I've tucked a fifth sense (it's almost as wonderous as learning about the fourth dimension!) - umami. It's apparently my favorite one, and my daughter's - we'll take anything savory over the old tastes anyday. But it also covers "meatiness" - so I don't know how that works with a vegan.

And off to the movie. It was pretty intense - my three year old LOVED it and couldn't wait to do it again, my five year old was glad it was over. The seats moved, lots of wind in your face, and I swear they sprayed you with soda because I know I felt sticky afterwards. But the effects were cool, to say the least.

To be continued! Coming up:

• Tastes from the planet - who knew I preferred Incan brew?
• Brandon - not just where we live, but an odd frustrated photography coordinator
• Polar Bears - mmm, soft and cuddly and they'll eat you too!
• Tell us your Coke story! - Too easy - but I'll let you provide the joke
• Phalluses and pierced nipples - oh, that's why they called it the Happiness Factory!

And so it begins...

My first born child began Kindergarten today. With delightful anticipation he jumped out of bed shouting, "I LOVE kindergarten!" over and over. He brushed his teeth. He brushed his hair. He tucked in his shirt, had his shoes on the right feet, and was ready to go 20 minutes early. All was off to a great start.

And so his day went on. Easy check in. Set right to work. Figured out the ins and outs and managed to "stay green" all day - which in his school-ese means "I was well-behaved all day". He saw kids he knew from the neighborhood, his playgroup, his pre-school. He remembered to bring his homework home, and couldn't wait to go to bed to start tomorrow.

And all of this on top of it also being his birthday.

Then there was Mommy's version.

Mommy parks in a staff parking lot and staff spot (in my defense, there's no signage of any kind on the lot at all) and gets a gentle reprimand from the Assistant Principal first thing in the morning.

Mommy trips a kid in the breakfast line.

At lunchtime, Mommy almost poisons one of her son's classmates with a chocolate chip cookie. (he has peanut allergies). And then attempts to get the kid to cover it up. And then tries to back pedal out of that suggestion. And then tries to get the cookie back. All of it, as you can imagine, not pretty.

Mommy wears the wrong shoes to pick up her kid. On two counts - first, I didn't realize how long the walk really was, so my shins started to hurt because I would have been more comfortable barefoot. Second, as you wait, you're standing in grass. We live in Florida. Florida grass has innumerable ant hills with ants that bite.

Mommy loses one of the balloons from the bouquet she's bringing her birthday boy by it popping on a saw palmetto plant.

Mommy almost strangles another mommy inadvertantly with balloons while attempting to swipe off the ants from my feet, while knocking another almost over who is holding a freaking puppy.

Mommy has lost about 12 pounds of liquid in sweat while standing in the non-shaded area to wait for her child.

Mommy and child are bowled over a minimum of three times on the walk home by rude bicycle riders who don't understand that Mommies really DON'T have eyes in the backs of their heads and seem to be apparently mute.

Mommy again, almost strangles a bike rider who didn't let us know she was coming, with the balloons.

Mommy hits another ant hill dodging the bevy of bicycle riders that is rivaled only by the Tour de France.

Mommy loses another 9 pounds of water weight on the way home and the shins are killing her. And that stabbing pain-behind-the-eye type headache is beginning to show up. And no, we're not home yet.

Mommy and child get into a fight at a fork in the road. He claims we should go his way because it's his birthday. Mommy says her way because it is shaded, and though a bit longer, has less bicyclists and, again is shaded. Mommy tells child to go his own way and almost makes him cry.

Mommy barely misses a pile of dog crap on the side of the trail while dodging another gaggle of bike riders. She continues on thinking maybe she didn't really miss.

And then it ended. We made it home. Thank god for central air conditioning. And little boys who adore their mommies. No matter how sweaty, cranky, bitchy, or just plain stupid we are.

Now we wait for day two.

Another four letter word

I've finally reached the penultimate in selfishness. In conducting a Google search for an old friend...I came across a reference in the records that he now has a wife. Like a bullet through my flesh. A WIFE. The burn through the tissue...the searing sensation...the shock - the dismay...and why? I myself am a wife. Married to a good husband. Mother to wonderful children. With a beautiful, full life.

I should be happy for him. As I expected him to be for me. He is my friend, and I am his. And always will be, to some extent, I hope...no matter how many years or miles or relationships separate us.

Am I hurt because he didn't tell me? Am I bothered because I found out in this removed fashion? This feels deeper. I can't even think about it...

My son has a knack...

I’ve always felt that my son (my firstborn) has had a particular awareness about him. I know we all cherish our children, and know that they are special and gifted in some way…but something about his presence and how others react to him has always been quite remarkable. The awareness I mentioned, is not only in regards to how he interprets living beings, but I’m pretty convinced that it’s more than that – that he can connect with more than just the visceral world. He is currently 4 years old.

The first set of significant experiences that made me raise an eyebrow or two was when he was about 15 months old. We were living on the west coast, but then were called back east because of a death in our extended family. My husband couldn’t get off of work, so we traveled without him. I wasn’t quite sure how I would handle my baby at a large, conservative, Catholic funeral (the faith and culture of the deceased, but not of our own), but what was important was that we were there. At the funeral home, the tone, was, as expected, somber and silent. But my son seemed to understand that this was not a place for frolicking, and was surprisingly respectful of the situation. Of course, there were a few moments of giggles and laughter – when prompted by others who joined us, but for the most part his behaviour was appropriate for the time. At one point, he approached the casket, stood up on the small kneeling step, and stretched up high on his toes trying to see the deceased. It brought a smile to some faces there and he came back over to me where I sat. He looked at me and said “Okay, Mommy, Okay”. I assumed at the time, it was his method of comfort of some type – he was only 15 months old and perhaps he heard it from around the room. As the mourners approached the casket he watched them, yet seemed to be watching someone else, just behind them all. When my stepmother and the husband of the deceased kneeled at the casket, my son joined them, put his hands on their backs and said, “okay…okay”.

He made it through the funeral at the church with a demeanor impressive of any adult – which took me by surprise and much to my relief. This was a simple church, and the power of the moment, I suppose made an impression on him. He fell asleep on the way to the cemetery, and slept through the internment. The rest of the day went on as usual.

The next day I returned to the cemetery to visit some graves of some other relatives that I had not been to in a very, very long time. The cemetery is absolutely beautiful – so diligently cared for, and a lovely place for repose. It’s quite vast and isolated, so I gave my son the run of the place as I searched for the markers. As he skipped through the grass he would stop sometimes and say “Hi!” and then move on, rolling down a hill, thumping himself down and giggling. He stopped a few times before he finally came upon the marker of my great-grandmother. The grave that I had yet to find. He put his hand on the stone and just smiled at me. I was speechless.

Through the months (as he’s not really old enough yet to refer to time in years), he’s demonstrated some behavior akin to felines…when people joke that they are speaking with fairies. Just little moments few and far between where it seems as though he’s connecting to something – sometimes with words, sometimes not. Then you tap him on the shoulder and he comes back and moves on with life. I spoke with his pediatrician about it, and there seems to be no cause for concern – not that I really was, but it made my mother feel better.

But tonight really made me catch my breath. We went out to dinner at a new restaurant down the road a bit from our home. (We’re in a new development in what was rural Florida, so everything is a “bit down the road”, but development is encroaching bit by bit every day). My husband had come in a separate car and he left as such and took our daughter with him. We needed to pick up some milk so we stopped at the 7-11 which is adjacent, got out, got back in the car and went on our merry way. But before I pulled out of the driveway and into the street he said, “Over there, Mama, over there – look at the ghosts!”,
and I replied, “Where, honey?”
“Over THERE”
As I was driving and he was behind me I couldn’t see to where he was pointing, so I asked, “Outside the car?”
“No, inside the car,”
“In the car?”
“Yes, Mommy, next to you.”
“Is it one ghost or more?”
“Two”
“Can you tell me what they look like? Man? Woman?”
“Both. But they’re little ghosts – a boy and a girl…”
“Are they sad? Are they happy?”
“They’re sad. Both of them are very sad. And they’re right there, Mommy, and sad.”
I continued on down the road. When I turned into the entrance of the development he said, “they’re gone now Mommy. The ghosts are gone. They’re aren’t any ghosts in Florida (he thinks our development is Florida – and hasn’t quite yet grasped the concept that Florida is a state and how big it is).

What made the experience so remarkable was that just last week, our community experienced the loss of a middle-school age boy who shot himself, and a kindergarten age girl who died suddenly of, as yet, unexplained causes…in the parking lot of that 7-11 in her mother’s arms. As far as I am aware, he does not know about these events – he was not with me when I found out about them, nor have I discussed it around him. I suppose it is possible that he may have heard something at pre-school…but the events are so recent…I don’t know, it seems like a stretch. Four-year olds are not that prone to gossip as of yet – though I suppose the teachers may have discussed it just as news among themselves.

So that’s it. There’s my experience as of late, or rather, my son’s. The Splendor of Light…his name means, as it turns out. I didn’t even realize it at the time – it wasn’t part of the process of putting his name together. But coincidentally, my daughter’s name means the same thing. I suppose that’ neither here nor there, but it was a realization I made just a few months ago. And the name of the town we now live in seems derived from Litha, - which I just found out about last week – the whole light and life abundant, the Sun God reaching the peak of his strength. A town that we decided to move to, on a complete lark, in the middle of nowhere (at the time), 3,000 miles away from a place we adored. Again, maybe all of that means nothing…

But there it all is for what it’s worth. I just wanted to put it all out there – to perhaps someone of an open mind who might at least respect the story…thanks for your time.

Storms blow.

I've tried to keep this all pretty generic in ideology and concept and all that...but I can't anymore. I never wanted to call anyone out in particular or bring myself down to the level of those I most oppose. But I can't keep quiet about this one anymore...entirely. Well, I'll try to do this as politely as I can, and discreetly...just to ensure that I am not to be included in the ranks and like as this individual.

There is a particular County Commissioner here who has just got to go. She needs to step down and save what's left of her soul and try to find it again. She needs to stop claiming that she represents me in any way, shape, or form, or all of the people of her "constituency". I know, I get it - yeah, yeah, yeah - she's our elected official from this very district - unfortunately.

I'll even admit that I voted for her, and follow with noting that was simply a vote of ignorance on my part. I didn't investigate her, I didn't know much about her opponent, and it was truly a vote of convenience...one less thing to think about. How disappointing I was.

She's a megalomaniac of sorts really, wielding this uber-conservative club in the name of Christ, and swiping down anything that could possibly be construed as controversial, free, democratic, or American.

Her vision of values is so blinded by the right-wing rhetoric (her own included) that she can't even see the gross injustice she inflicts on others personally and politically.

She just needs to go. Back to her homestead and get a hobby. Maybe learn to knit.

Maybe to South Carolina. Join the Christian Exodus movement that's pointing towards there...she'd be quite happy among those folk, among the least truly Christian people I've ever heard of.

And her fellow Commissioners, save one, are her dutiful sheep, following her ridiculous, discriminatory, and immature rants and elevating them into "law". I think they fear her wrath more than anything else. I find it hard to believe that they all honestly agree with her on everything. But I do believe she'd crack your jaw with a sound wallop. I wouldn't put it past her.

I can't even go on anymore. I just get too upset. And I'm not one to rattle easily. Really, I'm not. But please, Ronda, just go away...silently, peacefully, with whatever little scrap of respect and/or dignity you might possibly have left.

I'll even put it in prayer form, so you can appreciate it better. Oh, God...please let Ronda realize the err of her ways and let her set her sights on something more appropriate for her skills and personality, like amateur wrestling.

Was that petty? Sorry, I meant that.