Honoring Our Lost By Finding Sanity

Andy Rooney had a very nice Memorial Day piece last night- photos and stories of men he'd served with during World War II- men who never came home.

I had ancestors who served overseas- my grandfather and his brothers served in World War I- grandpa came home but didn't talk about it, one great-uncle did not come home, and one did, but wasn't "quite right" ever again.

I have friends who've served during wartime and peace- making sacrifices great and small, from horrifying to merely inconvenient- in the name of our Nation and its Safety.

I thank them all for their service.

What I wanted to say here today I'd held off on putting to pixels because I wasn't sure, didn't want to minimalize in any way what our men and women in uniform are doing- have done- will continue to do- for our country.

But at the end of his on-air time, Andy Rooney said (and I'm paraphrasing) that the greatest way to honor those who will never come home is to make sure, to find a way, somehow, that no one has to ever die again in a war.

And that's what I wanted to say.

I wanted to say that while I understand that nations consist of people and people are by nature argumentative and squirrely and that there will most likely always be disagreements, bad feelings and even hatred between different societies, there MUST be a better way of dealing with it than to have each country throw wave after wave of living bodies at the other one.

I've long thought that if the leader of one country was pissed off at the leader of another one, we should just arm them both and let 'em have at it.

Winner take all.

I know world leaders think long and hard before resorting to armed conflict, but I guaran-damn-tee that they'd think one more time if it were their own asses entering the ring.

Now, granted, alot of world leaders are not particularly scrappy nor physically fit, which is a hoot since they're the ones who throw other peoples' kids at the war machine, so maybe World Leader Armed Combat would not be the most prudent way to solve it.

No worries- I still think it's a good idea,

AND I can eliminate pretty much not only the hellacious expense of staging a giant war by not using huge amounts of ammo, vehicles and bodies to accomplish it

AND not only will it not cost the entire national budget- it would actually diminish the national debt-

*Pay Per View Mercenary Foreign Relations Dispute Resolution*

I'm not kidding and not in the least making light of the Day- historically, it's been done.

The greatest warrior of each country battling each other mano e mano- the stuff of legend, the stuff of story and song, made all that much better by the modern technology that would allow spectators to watch from the comfort of their own homes- to be up close to history without the danger of dying for it.

Because at the end of the day, no matter what starts a war, the end result is never who is "right" and who is "wrong", but who has the most money, toys and sheer amount of bodies to throw at it- bodies that happen to be someone's son, daughter, father, mother- humans that should be at home with their loved ones doing normal human things for the duration of their normal human life.

There ARE humans who enjoy a good fight- live for the thrill, the excitement, the hunt, the strategy, and even the pain. Every society has them.

These are the men (and women) who should be fighting each other.

Of course the optimal scenario would be for everyone to get along and to not fight wars at all.

Tree-huggin' ol' hippiechick that I am, even I am not prepared to believe humanity is that...human.

Next best thing- leave the wars to the warriors and leave the majority of us literally in peace.

To those serving, and who have served- I thank you, my family thanks you, and we wish you and your families homecoming- and peace.

The Stuff of Our Lives

We're packrats.

All of us are packrats. If we bring something into our house, it's found a home forever. Doesn't have to be useful, or valuable, or even recognizable- once over the threshold, it's a permanent fixture.

Alot of our friends are also packrats- the ones we feel most comfortable with. We do have friends who seem to "travel lightly" through life- who can actually say "If I'm not going to use this again, or if I don't know what the heck it is, or if I haven't laid hands or eyes on it for a year, out it goes".

Those people kind of creep me out a little bit.

Now, I'm not talking the stuff of Cops- piles of trash and garbage climbing the walls, oozing out from under the beds, and evolving or mutating its way out of the fridge. I try to keep all that stuff under control (although there are two or three closets in this house I won't open).

No, our stuff is mostly books, magazines and memorabilia. Photographs, negatives, prints and enlargements stack up the years and vacations, births and birthdays before I went (mostly) digital.

Books. Don't speak to me of Books. Every one of us is a sucker for a good book. I know there's a world of information on the interwebs, including books available to read, but there's something about holding a real book, feeling its heft, turning the pages- reading is (or should be) a tactile event as well as a visual one. Given a choice of destination for an afternoon, all of us will choose Bookstore over mall, or sporting event, or watering hole/eatery. The only thing that rates higher than a bookstore is a park during pretty weather.

So we have books. Thousands of 'em. They've long outgrown our many bookshelves and stack on every horizontal surface in every room and stalagmite up around those surfaces- satellite islands of books surrounding the mainland shelves, dressers and tables.

Any inch not occupied by photographs or books contains memorabilia- the stuff our moms called knick knacks. Not purchased from the furniture store, or Pier One- the knick knacks of our life were hand-picked by my favorite designers- my children and friends. From a tin rooster to a family of resin giraffes to a carved and painted gourd each piece reminds me of the giver and it gives me happiness to dust them, to handle them, to be able to touch something linking me to a loved one no matter how far the distance or time between us may be.

Now, all this stuff would not be a problem except...

...we're fixin' to move. We need to market the house.

If you have ever seen five minutes of the Home and Garden Channel, you know that a house must be more than clean, more than located in a good neighborhood, and more than priced fairly.

It must be "staged".

Staging a house means, in a nutshell, that all personal items must be removed, and all rooms painted a neutral color. Perhaps now is a good time to mention that our rooms are lavender, red, peach, blue, yellow, pink, green, and even a plaid- not a neutral in sight.

Are we starting to see the problem?

I guess I shouldn't worry.

No one in their right mind will make it past the drooly giant dog on the front mat, the turkey on the porch railing, the goats in the yard, the chickens in the tree and the ducks everywhere else.

*We're doomed.*

"Wanted- funny farm desires new caretakers- must love old houses, big trees, small livestock and have excellent sense of humor and imagination."

Migration Day

Our house just got quieter, calmer, infinitely emptier.

I remember road trips my family made to Horicon Marsh in Wisconsin- when the Canada Geese were migrating.

The marsh was covered, every square inch, with geese- flying, swimming, eating, and generally filling the air with proof of their presence- the cacophony of wings beating, honking, the sheer LIFE of them almost indescribable.

Then one night they'd be gone, mostly of a piece, just like that.

And the marshlands were silent- even the fulltime residents unable or unwilling to make a peep or chirp in the unfamiliar vacuum.

That's our house today after our migrating Snowbird Montanan pulled out of the yard headed for the mountains till autumn silents the cicadas, banishes the waves of heat shimmering just above both pavement and pasture, and blows away the aroma of sun-cooked pine- all the lazy, sweltering, familiar things I personally love about Texas.

This is our second summer of having Uncle Joe in our family. I've heard people say that "Joe carries his own weather with him". He's a big guy, with a forceful personality, and there's no way you're ever NOT aware that Joe's around. This has shifted the atmosphere in our normally quiet household, but not in a bad way. I believe that we all balance each other out- that Joe "shakes things up a little" while we "level him out some".

Last summer Joe had surgery at the VA Hospital in Montana and we traveled up there to be with him. Not (just) because we've never been to that part of the country and it made a good excuse for a totally kickass vacation, or because he has no friends up there who would've made sure he was alright- he's got a whole herd of good friends going back the 35 years he's lived there, but because

That's what Family does.

And it meant the world to him that we were there for his surgery, and that we could meet all his friends and get the opportunity to see his Life Before Us- Helena Montana.

This year it was our part of the familial equation that was medically grounded, and it was Joe who held the fort and the farm- spending over a month caring for critters he never asked for and a house that's way too big for one person. Not (just) because he desired to do an intimate study on the sex-lives of poultry, or needed somewhere totally quiet to continue his writing endeavors, but because

That's what Family does.

And it meant the world to us that never for one moment in over a month did I have to worry about Home, because someone was caring for everything who actually knows each critter and every minute of the daily routine.

So the wind has gone out of the sails of our lives for a while, but that's not a bad thing either. We've got a ton of projects that need done this summer that only the three of us can do- mainly going through this house top to bottom and shedding about 1/3 of the "stuff" in it in anticipation of trying to get moved to our other place, and Joe will be trying to accomplish the same in Montana with his "stuff" that's still up there.

Come fall, we'll all be ready for the return migration and moving forward with our plans for the future- plans that've gotten delayed some, and shifted a bit, and revised a tad, but never canceled, because

That's what Family does.

The Blue Light Special Holds No Power Over This One...

I have a confession.

I'm a terrible failure as the parent of a future consumer.

This began when we decided to home school our son, for even though our reasons were varied and included the blocks of time we need to be out of town for medical visits to Houston, the large teacher to student ratio in our local school, mostly we're doing it because so much of what we feel is important to learn and experience can't be found cooped up in a classroom, but must be gotten for real and for true- be it Nature or Theater or Museums or Wonders of the World- the stuff of road trips.

So he missed out on peer pressure and brand indoctrination.

And even though he's as wishful as the next kid when it comes to gadgets, games and other treasures, he's got a different way of looking at things- something I'll gladly take both the credit and the fall for.

The other day in the car he asked me "Mom? Am I spoiled?"

I told him yes. And no.

Yes, because he is what amounts to an only child, even though he's got 2 half siblings they don't really 'count', being so much older than he is- grown and gone already. Whatever time, money and energy we have is devoted to him and him alone.

No, because by and large, he doesn't take advantage of that position.

I asked him if someone had accused him of spoilage, and he said "No- I was just thinking about getting the PS3 for Christmas- I know it was pretty expensive..."

Whereupon I reminded him he did not recieve the PS3 LAST year when it was new (and $400), but this year when it was NOT new (and $250). That alot of the hype and furor over a new gizmo is being the first on the block to get one.

This child of 10 then cast forth the following opinion-
"Well, once something is out for a while, the only distinction the person who got one first has is that they paid alot more for theirs".

Sorry, Shopping Frenzy God- you do not have this boy's soul.

Then we were talking about houses- specifically the new house we are planning on building, and that instead of a bigger house, we are planning on trading down- smaller house, fewer rooms, less of everything. Not because we have to because of budget (although our budget IS thin), but because we WANT to.

He told me about a friend's mothers house he was in while we were in Houston- he said they have a gigantic house for just 2 people- the friend's mother and his sister who lives with her.

In addition to the clearly lavish digs, there are apparently very large-screen tv's and a furniture wonderment of sofa that seats 8 and includes cup holders, foot rests, the literal 9 yards.

Then the common sensible spirit in the boy stuffed the budding consumer parts back into the shadows and said "But there are only 2 people who live there, and one of those is in a wheelchair- what in the world do they need a sofa that seats EIGHT for?"

I'm afraid "Trading Up" and "Bigger is Better" are also concepts that are lost on this one.

I'll admit that this is a boy who does not raise his hand to ask to go to the rest room, who is easily bored with mindless repitition, and who has a very hard time rising before 10am and sleeping before midnight.

But he's also a boy who holds the elevator door open for people without being asked to, who remembered all my favorite dishes when he and a friend went to the chinese restaurant to pick up food while I was sick, and who cares for and about even the littlest critter on our farm.

So while I'm horrified (evil grin) that our boy is not gaining the important skills needed to function in a consumer-driven society,

I'm heartened and proud as can be that he's growing into a wonderful man, and a most excellent human- just like his daddy.

Oh, To Be Twenty One Again

Not really. I wouldn't be 21 again for all the tea partiers in Kentucky.

When I was 21 I was pretty newly married with a tiny baby. I thought I knew what I wanted from life, and how to get it. My husband and I had a written plan and believed that if we followed that plan, we'd attain all our goals and be happy ever after in no time (well, at least by the 20 year mark of that neat little plan).

When I was 21 I was pretty conservative, having given up my wilder days of the late teen years (drinking age was 18 back then and I crammed alot of partying into 2 short years).

My friends and I had partied across the country- drank tequila shots in the back of a shag carpeted VW bus with an obscure rock band in Yellowstone Park, almost accepted the marriage proposal of a French Canadian lumberjack from Yellowknife, yanno- normal everyday teenage kid stuff...

So at age 21 I was all grown up and worldly.

'Round about year 30, everything started going to hell in a handbasket.

Turned out things weren't really black and white after all- there were like a million shades of gray.

Turned out marriage sometimes doesn't last forever no matter what you promise or how hard you try to make it work. Things like alcoholism and abuse are really "extenuating circumstances" and no matter how much you want them to go away, no matter how much you try to pray them away, they stick around.

So at age 33 I was divorced, with a house I couldn't afford and 2 children.

So at age 33.1 I did the exact wrongest thing and married again for all the wrongest reasons.

By age 35 I was divorced again and in Texas- the only good thing to come of that marriage was the move to Texas.

For here I met my current husband and recieved the blessing of a new start- a new marriage and a new baby at the age of 40.

And I make jokes, telling people my childrens' ages- almost 29, almost 24, and just turned 10- give it a minute for them to realize I was almost in the clear, those olders were almost grown, and I say "Ya. I know. What was I THINKING????"

I tell people that only the young should have babies- not because of the sheer energy needed, although there is that- but because youth is blessedly ignorant.

When my older 2 kids got sick as babies, I was concerned, and worried, but not too much. I walked the floor with their feverish little selves and thought "They are sick, but they'll get better".

When Alec got sick as a baby, I was concerned, and worried, and walked the floor with his feverish little self and thought "People die every day, and alot of them are babies".

Because here's the thing.

At 21 I had not lived. Not really. For really living means being aware that this thing called life isn't forever. Someday we'll stop- someday we'll all stop.

I read once that when you reach the half century mark, Life stops giving you things and starts taking them away.

While I don't believe that completely, since I am sure to always try new things, meet new people, go new places- an idle mind and body do get old- I am aware now more than ever that every sun sets on a day that will never be repeated.

One more grain of sand through my hour-glass.

You'd think that realization would make me WANT to go back- call Do Overs on alot of my life and be able to do things less...stupidly.

Yet everything I've done, even (and sometimes especially) the stupid things, have made me who I am, shown me what's important and what's useless bullshit, made me acutely aware of the value of things that have no price tag or blue book.

I'm 50. And graying. And pear-shaped. And tired.

I'm crabby more than I should be, and impatient with those I love more than I should be, and so ashamed of both traits. Even while sniping at my loved ones I think to myself "How on earth did I ever get so lucky to have these wonderful brilliant funny dear people in my life?"

I realize this and am able to relish every little good thing in my life only from the perspective of age, of aging, of being aged.

And I wouldn't be 21 again for all the tea partiers in Kentucky.

Siddown Matt, and Let the Lady Talk

My dad was a news photographer- and a gifted one.

For years he accompanied the reporters to the stories, recording the visual aspect that would catch the readers' eye even moreso than the headline- a thousand words and all that.

I remember him coming home from football games, sometimes scuffed up from being inadvertently tackled at the sidelines- that telephoto lens sure messes with depth perception.

I remember him coming home from celebrity interviews, sometimes with an autograph.

I remember most vividly him coming home from the sad stories- accidents, fires, tragedies of all sorts, and almost without exception he would've taken his photos and retreated quickly before the reporter started their part.

What he couldn't stomach were the questions. Not well thought out information gathering journalistic inquiries, but those the reporter perceived as such.

"Mr. Jones- you've just lost everything you own to the tornado that went through last night- how do you feel?"

"Mrs. Smith- you're very lucky to have survived that auto wreck- how does it feel that the rest of your family didn't make it out of the car before it exploded?"

If the average reader gasps and is tempted to throttle the reporter, it's considered "hard hitting coverage".

The reality is that it's not. It's insensitive, shock value garbage just a little lower on the journalism food chain than supermarket tabloids. At least those have no basis in real life and don't tear the guts out of suffering families.

Even your average kindergartner can't help but ask incredulously, "How do you THINK it feels, you dumbass?"

Or, if the reporter really has no idea of what to ask, the next best thing is to ask what you've got loudly or rudely and call it "edgy".

Matt Lauer is the master of this form of "hard hitting, edgy journalism".

You can tell that he thinks he's doing great- that his role as anchorman for the morning show will be validated if he gets heavy-handed with the guests.

Sorry, Matt. It's not. All you accomplish is to be completely unlikeable by coming across as rude and pushy.

An interview is basically a conversation between two people even though the interviewer generally has an idea of what he/she wants to cover in the allotted time frame.

Cutting off the answer to the question you've just asked is rude, no matter who you're talking to.

Raising your voice to someone is rude, especially if that someone is your guest. On your show. Your morning show.

If I see a Matt Lauer interview coming on the TV, I turn it off.

Yanno who gives an excellent, calm, thought-provoking interview?

Ann Curry.

Class act all the way.

Just once I'd like to stick a microphone in Matt's face and say, "Matt Lauer- no matter how hard you try, how loudly you interrogate or how abruptly you cut off your guests mid-sentence, you will never hold a candle to the reporting skills of Ann Curry."

"How does that make you feel?"

Seagull Management

I'm a boss.

I haven't always been a boss- most of my life I've been an employee.

The last 8 years I've managed a clinic for 19 area Veterinarians- the same clinic I was an employee at for 7 years before I became the boss.

Becoming the boss is sort of like becoming a mom. When you hold that new baby in your arms, you think with white-hot conviction "I will not make the same stupid mistakes my own mother made- I will be the Perfect Mother".

By the time your child is 5 years old you hear your mother's words flying out of your own mouth and you look around in horror thinking "Where the hell did SHE come from???"

So when I became the boss, I thought "I will not make the same stupid mistakes all those bosses I have worked for made- I will be the Perfect Boss".

I made sure the clinic was fully stocked and updated.

I made sure there were cokes in the fridge and chocolate on the cabinet shelves.

I made sure there was name-brand shower gel in the bathrooms.

I fought long and hard to institute both performance bonuses and the ability to offer group health insurance.

I allowed the technicians the freedom to choose their own hours and schedules- thinking that since they were all, yanno, adults, that the clinic would be staffed and cared for by people who were cheerful and who wanted to be there- on accounta they chose when they would do so.

I was annoyed when the staff not only did not keep the clinic clean, but seemed to willfully tear it up.

I was dismayed when faced with disputes that made the back seat battles between my offspring siblings look like the ultimate in diplomacy. "He's not cleaning up after himself". "She keeps drinking my water". "HE'S BREATHING MY AIR".

Thoughts entered my head that were depressingly like what I'd heard OTHER bosses utter in frustration and anger.

"What's the matter with these people?"
"Don't they know how hard times are and how good they have it?"
"Employees just can't be trusted- you have to watch them every minute".

But here's the thing-

Those same employees have stepped forward time after time and taken on things that are clearly NOT in their job descriptions- just because I needed them to.

Those same employees have not cursed me because we're not giving out bonuses anymore (and no more will be forthcoming till the economy turns around), but have thanked me that when I needed to cut hours to save our budget I did it without firing anyone outright or canceling the health insurance.

They understand that while they can't say "You don't know how hard this job is" because I've done every icky part of it myself, they can be sure that I will be fighting for them and their rights, because I've done every icky part of it myself.

So while my bosses question the wisdom of my "hands-off management", I refuse to tighten the reins and become a "looking over the shoulder" boss- because that way does not lead to increased production, but to increased resentment.

I refuse to engage in the Seagull Management I've experienced all my working life- the boss who swoops in, makes a lot of noise, shits on everyone and flies out again.

I believe in my employees but am aware that at some point MY bosses may decide to "make an example of someone" since too many of them are of the school that nothing gets staff attention like firing someone and it'll be me saying

"Welcome to Walmart- would you like a buggy?"
or
"For 49 cents more you could Texas-size that".

And working for the Seagull Manager.

Again.