Last night, our poor Monkey was exhausted after a day of puking, light fever, and diarrhea. My darling Christina suggested that I go to the gas station and bring him a Sprite to settle his stomach. It was around 6:30pm when I finally got out the door...dark already.
Driving Mom's suv, I tend to drive a bit on the slow side. OK, I always tend to drive a bit slowly, but that's beside the point. The gas station was maybe a half a mile away, and once I left the subdivision, it was a straight shot from here to there. There was little traffic, the radio was on low, and all was right with the world.
BAM!!!
A deer had run out in front of me. I only recall seeing it for an instant as it slammed into my hood. I hadn't even had time to hit the brakes.
I slowed down and pulled over immediately. I walked back towards where I figured the deer might be...no deer. I looked around the weeds and towards the darkened forest nearby...nope. I stood quietly and listened for awhile, since there was no traffic, and heard...not a darn thing. The deer was nowhere to be found.
Damage to the car was minimal (which means it'll probably cost a fortune). The headlight assembly on that side is broken and loose, part of the body above the bumper was dented in, and there were tufts of deer hair stuck in the bumper. No blood, though. And again, no animal was in sight.
I have to say...that was one tough deer! I can only imagine it staggering to its feet, turning to look at my taillights in the distance, and saying, "Is THAT all you've got? You're lucky I've got things to do, or I'd stick around and kick your ass!"
My hat's off to you, deer. You might be dumb enough to run right in front of an SUV driving 35-40mph at night, but at least you're tough enough to keep on trucking. See you next year!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Discoveries, holidays.
We made it up here to Indiana, and have had a wonderful time. I know that Mom must think that we're the biggest slackers ever...on vacation, we tend to stay up until 2 or 3am and then sleep until 10 or 11. Mom gets up at 5am every day, so her day's half-over before we stagger up the stairs. Even so, we're all having a grand time.
I've taken it upon myself to scan and document the hundreds of pictures Mom has collected over the years. In the process, I'm uncovering dozens of previously unknown stories about my family. Some are sad. Some are hilarious. Some just make you go 'hmmmmmm.' But I'm absolutely loving every single one of them. Many of these pictures are completely new to me, so I have to ask Mom about them. She acts like she doesn't remember, but then launches into a rather detailed (and often funny) account of the circumstances that surround the picture.
Luckily, my wife is a scrapbooker possessed of mad skills. She's absolutely salivating at the prospect of having all of this history at her fingertips, and I know that she'll produce some fantastic scrapbooks eventually.
I'd love to post what I'm finding, but frankly, there's just too much for me to write about just now. I'm attempting to box everything up so that I can ship it home for scanning, but I keep stumbling across something that just needs to be scanned right away.
Christmas was great! Mom is far too generous, as always. As the Master Chief, I'm totally bad-ass...the Covenant aliens don't stand a chance. And just what the heck is Viva Pinata anyway? The best I can figure is that it's something best played after imbibing far too much Nyquil. Sis-in-Law Joanna had her baby, Evan Monty Tucker, on Dec 26, and all is well. Cute kid!
Max, Connor's Elf-on-the-Shelf, was supposed to appear when we got here. However, he was in our luggage, and so we didn't get him until Christmas Day, when he was supposed to 'head back to the North Pole.' Connor was crushed that he didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Max. However, Max miraculously reappeared that night, and we explained that he had probably been watching over our luggage, thereby earning a couple of extra days with our family. I've never seen a little boy so happy.
Mom's really enjoyed spending time with Connor. Truth be told, we feel a little bit guilty leaving him with her while we run little errands here and there, but she assures us that she adores spending time with him. However, she probably won't take him shopping again, as he can be a bit of a handful.
We enjoyed watching the UFC fights with my brother this weekend. I had the chance to play the Wii. OK, I admit it...the thing is kind of fun. I still box better without the controllers, though. And I'm a touch embarassed that my 5-yr-old niece bowls far better than I. It must be that loopdy-loop delivery that she's perfected. Crazy stuff. If Dad were still alive, I bet he'd have found a way to beat us at Wii golf, bowling, and tennis, just as he did before.
We'll spend the rest of the day packing up and otherwise being lazy. We're looking forward to getting home, but leaving here will be a bit more sad for me than usual. Mom's finally on Facebook, so that'll help keep us closer. One of these days, maybe she'll actually post something there.
I've taken it upon myself to scan and document the hundreds of pictures Mom has collected over the years. In the process, I'm uncovering dozens of previously unknown stories about my family. Some are sad. Some are hilarious. Some just make you go 'hmmmmmm.' But I'm absolutely loving every single one of them. Many of these pictures are completely new to me, so I have to ask Mom about them. She acts like she doesn't remember, but then launches into a rather detailed (and often funny) account of the circumstances that surround the picture.
Luckily, my wife is a scrapbooker possessed of mad skills. She's absolutely salivating at the prospect of having all of this history at her fingertips, and I know that she'll produce some fantastic scrapbooks eventually.
I'd love to post what I'm finding, but frankly, there's just too much for me to write about just now. I'm attempting to box everything up so that I can ship it home for scanning, but I keep stumbling across something that just needs to be scanned right away.
Christmas was great! Mom is far too generous, as always. As the Master Chief, I'm totally bad-ass...the Covenant aliens don't stand a chance. And just what the heck is Viva Pinata anyway? The best I can figure is that it's something best played after imbibing far too much Nyquil. Sis-in-Law Joanna had her baby, Evan Monty Tucker, on Dec 26, and all is well. Cute kid!
Max, Connor's Elf-on-the-Shelf, was supposed to appear when we got here. However, he was in our luggage, and so we didn't get him until Christmas Day, when he was supposed to 'head back to the North Pole.' Connor was crushed that he didn't get a chance to say goodbye to Max. However, Max miraculously reappeared that night, and we explained that he had probably been watching over our luggage, thereby earning a couple of extra days with our family. I've never seen a little boy so happy.
Mom's really enjoyed spending time with Connor. Truth be told, we feel a little bit guilty leaving him with her while we run little errands here and there, but she assures us that she adores spending time with him. However, she probably won't take him shopping again, as he can be a bit of a handful.
We enjoyed watching the UFC fights with my brother this weekend. I had the chance to play the Wii. OK, I admit it...the thing is kind of fun. I still box better without the controllers, though. And I'm a touch embarassed that my 5-yr-old niece bowls far better than I. It must be that loopdy-loop delivery that she's perfected. Crazy stuff. If Dad were still alive, I bet he'd have found a way to beat us at Wii golf, bowling, and tennis, just as he did before.
We'll spend the rest of the day packing up and otherwise being lazy. We're looking forward to getting home, but leaving here will be a bit more sad for me than usual. Mom's finally on Facebook, so that'll help keep us closer. One of these days, maybe she'll actually post something there.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Plains, Trains, and Charter Buses
Things started off well enough. We asked the amazing Larry if he could drop us off at the airport on Tuesday no later than 12:30pm. No problem. The flight was scheduled to depart at 2:29pm, so we wanted to leave plenty of time so that we could make our flight with no rush, no stress...some lunch in the airport, an easy walk to the appropriate gate, a tiny bit of waiting around, and then a nice flight to Chicago. Then a short flight to South Bend, Indiana. At least, that was the plan.
Here's the thing: the weather in Chicago was horrible. They weren't letting planes land or takeoff. That meant that our plane wouldn't even leave the ground until Chicago gave the thumbs up for us to do so. Hurry up and wait, folks.
So, we waited. And waited. And...............waited. At around 4pm, they said that we would begin boarding at around 4:45pm, so Monkey and I wandered off to get some sandwiches for the ride. As soon as we had placed our order (at about 4:15pm), Christina called. "They're boarding!" Oh. Crap.
We hustled back as fast as we could, only to find that the horde of folks awaiting our flight were still slowly filing on board. No problem. We ambled on the plane and settled in for the flight.
This was all well and good, but little did we know that our waiting skills were to be tested this day. Our plane fired up the engines, taxiied around a bit, and then...it parked. We were apologetically informed that Chicago weather had worsened, and that we had to wait again. At least they showed a movie to pass the time.
I'm not sure when we actually got off the ground, but we landed safely in Chicago long after the last flight to South Bend had departed. So we dutifully stood in line to reschedule. Christina had a bright idea, and we called a number from one of the pamphlets at the information desk. Suddenly, we had secured a fabulously cheap rate for one night at the Hyatt Rosemont! Whoa! Then, we touched base with the airline folks about our luggage and next flight, and they suggested we take the bus...and gave us free tickets. Whoa! Cool! So we hustled off to find the hotel shuttle.
I'll shorten this for you...we waited an hour for the shuttle, 20 minutes to check in at the hotel, and 20 minutes for our to-go order to be filled at the hotel restaurant. At nearly midnight, we staggered into our room to a couple of fabulous surprises: 1. the room was super-nice(especially for only $69!), and 2. the food was friggin' FANTASTIC! Expensive, but fantastic.
This morning, things went much better. We found our bus after only an hour and a half of fun conversation with Debbie, a fellow-traveler, and the ride to South Bend was relaxing, fun, and uneventful. We even managed to locate two of our bags at the airport when we arrived! Of course, the one with all of our clothes, presents, and medicines was nowhere to be found. "F$#% you, stripey bag!" They said they'll call us when it shows up. Maybe next time, we'll just take the train from Texas.
So we're here at last. It's great to see Mom, and we'll see everyone else tomorrow. Ho ho ho!
One other note...we just got word that little sister Joanna has apparently been stricken with ecclampsyia. Fortunately, they caught it before things went haywire, and she's only 2 weeks from her due date anyway. All is well, and it looks like she'll be having a Christmas baby boy! I'll keep everyone posted.
Happy Holidays, folks. Share the love. Hug everyone in sight. And maybe give your spouse a little holiday spankin'. ;-)
Here's the thing: the weather in Chicago was horrible. They weren't letting planes land or takeoff. That meant that our plane wouldn't even leave the ground until Chicago gave the thumbs up for us to do so. Hurry up and wait, folks.
So, we waited. And waited. And...............waited. At around 4pm, they said that we would begin boarding at around 4:45pm, so Monkey and I wandered off to get some sandwiches for the ride. As soon as we had placed our order (at about 4:15pm), Christina called. "They're boarding!" Oh. Crap.
We hustled back as fast as we could, only to find that the horde of folks awaiting our flight were still slowly filing on board. No problem. We ambled on the plane and settled in for the flight.
This was all well and good, but little did we know that our waiting skills were to be tested this day. Our plane fired up the engines, taxiied around a bit, and then...it parked. We were apologetically informed that Chicago weather had worsened, and that we had to wait again. At least they showed a movie to pass the time.
I'm not sure when we actually got off the ground, but we landed safely in Chicago long after the last flight to South Bend had departed. So we dutifully stood in line to reschedule. Christina had a bright idea, and we called a number from one of the pamphlets at the information desk. Suddenly, we had secured a fabulously cheap rate for one night at the Hyatt Rosemont! Whoa! Then, we touched base with the airline folks about our luggage and next flight, and they suggested we take the bus...and gave us free tickets. Whoa! Cool! So we hustled off to find the hotel shuttle.
I'll shorten this for you...we waited an hour for the shuttle, 20 minutes to check in at the hotel, and 20 minutes for our to-go order to be filled at the hotel restaurant. At nearly midnight, we staggered into our room to a couple of fabulous surprises: 1. the room was super-nice(especially for only $69!), and 2. the food was friggin' FANTASTIC! Expensive, but fantastic.
This morning, things went much better. We found our bus after only an hour and a half of fun conversation with Debbie, a fellow-traveler, and the ride to South Bend was relaxing, fun, and uneventful. We even managed to locate two of our bags at the airport when we arrived! Of course, the one with all of our clothes, presents, and medicines was nowhere to be found. "F$#% you, stripey bag!" They said they'll call us when it shows up. Maybe next time, we'll just take the train from Texas.
So we're here at last. It's great to see Mom, and we'll see everyone else tomorrow. Ho ho ho!
One other note...we just got word that little sister Joanna has apparently been stricken with ecclampsyia. Fortunately, they caught it before things went haywire, and she's only 2 weeks from her due date anyway. All is well, and it looks like she'll be having a Christmas baby boy! I'll keep everyone posted.
Happy Holidays, folks. Share the love. Hug everyone in sight. And maybe give your spouse a little holiday spankin'. ;-)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
A New Addition
Many of you know that we've been trying to add another little member to our fantastic little family. Well, we've succeeded! Maybe not in the way you think, but we're pretty excited about it!
We're dog people. For many years, we had two pugs, Beauty and Beast. Christina already had Beauty when we met. Indeed, I honestly didn't expect for Beauty to come as part of the package when Christina and I moved in together, but it took only moments for me to fall in love with her googly eyes and goofy walk. For one of the ugliest pugs I've ever seen, Beauty was a total sweetheart, and I could not resist her.
Beast came about a year later. We had been thinking that Beauty would enjoy having a companion, so we looked around and found a male pug puppy for sale by a nice couple in Alvin, TX. I remember driving home with him in my cupped hands on my lap. He was an awesome pooch, and I admit that I still miss him.
We had Beauty and Beast for many years, and then Connor arrived. With the demands of a child, Christina finishing school, and me working two jobs, we began to fear that we just couldn't take care of the pugs in the way they deserved. It broke our hearts, but we contacted a pug rescue service, who took the dogs to a vet, where they boarded until a new home was found for them. We kept tabs on them since, and had a chance to come and visit them now and again. We enjoyed seeing them happy in their new home, and although we were saddened when Beauty passed away, we felt that we had done the right thing by giving them up when we did.
Years later, we're living completely different lives. I've got far more free time now that I run my own martial arts school, Christina is a stay-at-home Super Mom, and the Monkey is 7 years old. We're finally able to take care of a puppy again. And we've been really missing our pugs lately, and after discussing it at length, we figured that we should at least start looking for one.
Ah, the universe works in fabulous ways. Someone had already paid a deposit on a pug puppy in Yoakum, TX. Just like Beast, he was born to a family who had two pugs, and only bred them occasionally...they weren't a puppy mill or professional breeder. However, the folks who wanted him blew up their radiator on their way to pick him up. Weighing the cost of their car repairs against the expense of the puppy, they opted to fix the car. Understandable. However, that left the door open for us, and Christina saw the ad online, called the lady, and here we are!
Ta-daaaaa!!! He's really sweet, and pretty well-behaved as far as we could tell. No loud barking, no squirming around...just happy to be held and petted.
We've really missed having a dog around. So, we're looking forward to having the little guy join our family soon. And we're watching a lot of Cesar Millan: The Dog Whisperer, in preparation for having him around. We're discussing names constantly. Here are some of our ideas:
Tank
Maximus
Leonidas
Poopy Pants
T-Shane
Titan
Dammit
Dummy
Sh#@head
Brutus
Silly Beaver
Beaver Nuggets
Beau Gyna (say it fast...you might figure it out)
We're actually leaning towards naming it Mister Mac. That was one of my Dad's nicknames, and somehow seemed right. However, the other name that had us in stitches was this one:
***
**
*
Buttlick Johnson.
I can imagine standing at the back door and hollering for him to come in.
"Buttlick! Buuuuuuuuuutt-liiiiiiiick!! Buttlick Johnson, you get in here!!"
I'll let you know what we decide. Take care, folks. Happy Holidays!!
We're dog people. For many years, we had two pugs, Beauty and Beast. Christina already had Beauty when we met. Indeed, I honestly didn't expect for Beauty to come as part of the package when Christina and I moved in together, but it took only moments for me to fall in love with her googly eyes and goofy walk. For one of the ugliest pugs I've ever seen, Beauty was a total sweetheart, and I could not resist her.
Beast came about a year later. We had been thinking that Beauty would enjoy having a companion, so we looked around and found a male pug puppy for sale by a nice couple in Alvin, TX. I remember driving home with him in my cupped hands on my lap. He was an awesome pooch, and I admit that I still miss him.
We had Beauty and Beast for many years, and then Connor arrived. With the demands of a child, Christina finishing school, and me working two jobs, we began to fear that we just couldn't take care of the pugs in the way they deserved. It broke our hearts, but we contacted a pug rescue service, who took the dogs to a vet, where they boarded until a new home was found for them. We kept tabs on them since, and had a chance to come and visit them now and again. We enjoyed seeing them happy in their new home, and although we were saddened when Beauty passed away, we felt that we had done the right thing by giving them up when we did.
Years later, we're living completely different lives. I've got far more free time now that I run my own martial arts school, Christina is a stay-at-home Super Mom, and the Monkey is 7 years old. We're finally able to take care of a puppy again. And we've been really missing our pugs lately, and after discussing it at length, we figured that we should at least start looking for one.
Ah, the universe works in fabulous ways. Someone had already paid a deposit on a pug puppy in Yoakum, TX. Just like Beast, he was born to a family who had two pugs, and only bred them occasionally...they weren't a puppy mill or professional breeder. However, the folks who wanted him blew up their radiator on their way to pick him up. Weighing the cost of their car repairs against the expense of the puppy, they opted to fix the car. Understandable. However, that left the door open for us, and Christina saw the ad online, called the lady, and here we are!
Ta-daaaaa!!! He's really sweet, and pretty well-behaved as far as we could tell. No loud barking, no squirming around...just happy to be held and petted.
We've really missed having a dog around. So, we're looking forward to having the little guy join our family soon. And we're watching a lot of Cesar Millan: The Dog Whisperer, in preparation for having him around. We're discussing names constantly. Here are some of our ideas:
Tank
Maximus
Leonidas
Poopy Pants
T-Shane
Titan
Dammit
Dummy
Sh#@head
Brutus
Silly Beaver
Beaver Nuggets
Beau Gyna (say it fast...you might figure it out)
We're actually leaning towards naming it Mister Mac. That was one of my Dad's nicknames, and somehow seemed right. However, the other name that had us in stitches was this one:
***
**
*
Buttlick Johnson.
I can imagine standing at the back door and hollering for him to come in.
"Buttlick! Buuuuuuuuuutt-liiiiiiiick!! Buttlick Johnson, you get in here!!"
I'll let you know what we decide. Take care, folks. Happy Holidays!!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Future Sis-In-Law Kicks Butt in the Tucson Marathon!!
My future sis-in-law (Christina's Brother's fiancee, Julie) is a seriously kick-ass runner. I usually run the Houston Half-Marathon every year, and I generally come in at about 2 hours and 20 minutes...more or less. That's 13.1 miles for me. Julie crosses the finish line only 30 minutes later...but, she runs the entire 26.2 miles. The woman is FAST. Recently, she ran in the Tuscon Marathon.
Here's an excerpt from the Arizona Daily Star:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Special to the Arizona Daily Star
Tucson, Arizona | Published: 12.08.2008
Women's winner Julie Simcik finished first in just her fifth competitive marathon with a time of 2:50:12.
Simcik, 26, said running gives her an escape and she was trying to keep it simple in Sunday's race.
"My goal is to look for the girl in front of me and go get her," she said. "But (today) there was no one in front of me.
"I didn't like the Biosphere run and I couldn't wait to get back on Oracle (Road). Once you're back on Oracle you feel like you're home free." Simcik, who lives in Chandler, Arizona, finished 11th overall. She said she doesn't maintain a specific training regimen to prepare for races. Instead, she just likes to go on long runs.
"I don't do speed workouts. I just try to run every day," she said. "About two months before this marathon I started going on three-hour runs depending on how the weather was."
Second among women runners was Amanda Nilsen from Denver with a time of 2:55:57. It was her first Tucson Marathon.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Of course, I've got a few things to say about this. WOW. She won the women's division in a friggin' marathon, 5 minutes ahead of her nearest competitor. How absolutely magnificent.
I learned that she beat her previous personal best by around 6 minutes. That's tremendous. WOW, again.
AND...she did it without complicated training schedules, coaches, or specific eating plans. I don't even think she runs with an mp3 player. She just...well...she just runs. She runs because she loves it. She runs because she likes the way it makes her feel. She runs because it helps her to clear her mind and helps her to be a happier person.
Julie, congratulations. You are a huge inspiration. You totally rock!!!
Women's winner Julia Simcik is surprised to find out her time of 2:50:12 from fiancé Doug Prince, center, and friend Jayne Hutchinson.
Here's an excerpt from the Arizona Daily Star:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Special to the Arizona Daily Star
Tucson, Arizona | Published: 12.08.2008
Women's winner Julie Simcik finished first in just her fifth competitive marathon with a time of 2:50:12.
Simcik, 26, said running gives her an escape and she was trying to keep it simple in Sunday's race.
"My goal is to look for the girl in front of me and go get her," she said. "But (today) there was no one in front of me.
"I didn't like the Biosphere run and I couldn't wait to get back on Oracle (Road). Once you're back on Oracle you feel like you're home free." Simcik, who lives in Chandler, Arizona, finished 11th overall. She said she doesn't maintain a specific training regimen to prepare for races. Instead, she just likes to go on long runs.
"I don't do speed workouts. I just try to run every day," she said. "About two months before this marathon I started going on three-hour runs depending on how the weather was."
Second among women runners was Amanda Nilsen from Denver with a time of 2:55:57. It was her first Tucson Marathon.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Of course, I've got a few things to say about this. WOW. She won the women's division in a friggin' marathon, 5 minutes ahead of her nearest competitor. How absolutely magnificent.
I learned that she beat her previous personal best by around 6 minutes. That's tremendous. WOW, again.
AND...she did it without complicated training schedules, coaches, or specific eating plans. I don't even think she runs with an mp3 player. She just...well...she just runs. She runs because she loves it. She runs because she likes the way it makes her feel. She runs because it helps her to clear her mind and helps her to be a happier person.
Julie, congratulations. You are a huge inspiration. You totally rock!!!
Women's winner Julia Simcik is surprised to find out her time of 2:50:12 from fiancé Doug Prince, center, and friend Jayne Hutchinson.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Lessons from Track, 1987
I found some old scrapbooks in the shed today, loaded with stuff from high school. It's been over a decade since I've seen some of that stuff, and I was pleased to see that the books were still in pretty good shape. There were some old pics in there that will see the light of day online as soon as I can get a working scanner...those are good for a laugh, to be sure.
One of the pics was my junior year track picture. That brought up one memory that I've been dwelling on today for some reason. I'm not sure why this one has stuck in my head, but it's there nonetheless.
Back in the day, our track team ran a race called, and I kid you not, "The Fat Man Relay." This was a 400 meter relay in which the shotputters and discuss throwers took the track instead of the usual sprinters and distance runners. These guys were some extremely big dudes, and were solid athletes in their own events. In sprints, however…not so much. This was a race that we ran for fun, but even so, the guys ran their guts out when their time came. Well...more or less.
I recall a day when one particular athlete was running the second leg of a practice relay. He was taking it very seriously, as he did every event in which he competed. Unlike the other guys in his lane, he was stalking around his starting point, getting his mind right, and really focusing on the upcoming sprint. The others were goofing around, hanging out, just waiting to be told to get to the line and then when to start their sprint.
This one athlete (I'll call him Ken, though that certainly wasn't his real name) was not considered the brightest in the bunch, nor the most talented. Yet, he was dedicated, hard-working, and loyal...a really good guy. When the gun went off for that practice race, he was ready for action. The first runner thumped and clumped his way around the first turn and handed the baton to Ken, who grabbed it and ran like he was on-friggin'-FIRE. His face was clenched with strain, his big arms were pumping hard, and his massive legs were churning like crazy...and yet, his speed was not exactly what you might expect from such an effort.
The big guys around me started laughing, hooting, and hollering at how SLOW Ken was...and Coach absolutely EXPLODED. He turned around and lashed a backhanded slap at the nearest offenders shoulder, actually backing up the guy. Silence dropped on us like a hammerblow.
"You shut your mouths, all of you! Ken works his ass off every single day!! If any ONE of you worked HALF as hard as he does, you'd be F@&#ING CHAMPIONS, you know that?!" Shaking his head in utter disgust, Coach walked away and left us standing there, in shock.
The guys watched the rest of the run in silence. Later on, I saw a few of the guys quietly thumping Ken on the back and telling him what a good job he did. Nobody made a big deal out of it...just a “Good run, Ken,” here and a “Keep it up, Ken,” there.
Ken was never a shining star on the squad, but no one could put down his work ethic…the guy was in the weight room knocking out reps constantly. It never seemed to occur to him that he might not make it as a pro. No, he just wanted to do the very best he possibly could, each and every day. I always admired that.
In my job, I see folks every day, training hard, working towards their goals, and making progress at varying rates. I never really make a big deal out of the students who have natural ability, but I make special note of the ones who are really working up to their potential, those who are putting forth a constant, determined effort to learn and move forward in their training, in spite of their age, physical condition, etc. Those folks earn my respect, day in and day out.
I also ask myself what I’m doing to make use of my own natural talents and gifts...am I working my ass off every day, like Ken? Or am I chuckling on the sidelines? Some days are better than others, but I think I’ll put in some extra work today. Just in case.
One of the pics was my junior year track picture. That brought up one memory that I've been dwelling on today for some reason. I'm not sure why this one has stuck in my head, but it's there nonetheless.
Back in the day, our track team ran a race called, and I kid you not, "The Fat Man Relay." This was a 400 meter relay in which the shotputters and discuss throwers took the track instead of the usual sprinters and distance runners. These guys were some extremely big dudes, and were solid athletes in their own events. In sprints, however…not so much. This was a race that we ran for fun, but even so, the guys ran their guts out when their time came. Well...more or less.
I recall a day when one particular athlete was running the second leg of a practice relay. He was taking it very seriously, as he did every event in which he competed. Unlike the other guys in his lane, he was stalking around his starting point, getting his mind right, and really focusing on the upcoming sprint. The others were goofing around, hanging out, just waiting to be told to get to the line and then when to start their sprint.
This one athlete (I'll call him Ken, though that certainly wasn't his real name) was not considered the brightest in the bunch, nor the most talented. Yet, he was dedicated, hard-working, and loyal...a really good guy. When the gun went off for that practice race, he was ready for action. The first runner thumped and clumped his way around the first turn and handed the baton to Ken, who grabbed it and ran like he was on-friggin'-FIRE. His face was clenched with strain, his big arms were pumping hard, and his massive legs were churning like crazy...and yet, his speed was not exactly what you might expect from such an effort.
The big guys around me started laughing, hooting, and hollering at how SLOW Ken was...and Coach absolutely EXPLODED. He turned around and lashed a backhanded slap at the nearest offenders shoulder, actually backing up the guy. Silence dropped on us like a hammerblow.
"You shut your mouths, all of you! Ken works his ass off every single day!! If any ONE of you worked HALF as hard as he does, you'd be F@&#ING CHAMPIONS, you know that?!" Shaking his head in utter disgust, Coach walked away and left us standing there, in shock.
The guys watched the rest of the run in silence. Later on, I saw a few of the guys quietly thumping Ken on the back and telling him what a good job he did. Nobody made a big deal out of it...just a “Good run, Ken,” here and a “Keep it up, Ken,” there.
Ken was never a shining star on the squad, but no one could put down his work ethic…the guy was in the weight room knocking out reps constantly. It never seemed to occur to him that he might not make it as a pro. No, he just wanted to do the very best he possibly could, each and every day. I always admired that.
In my job, I see folks every day, training hard, working towards their goals, and making progress at varying rates. I never really make a big deal out of the students who have natural ability, but I make special note of the ones who are really working up to their potential, those who are putting forth a constant, determined effort to learn and move forward in their training, in spite of their age, physical condition, etc. Those folks earn my respect, day in and day out.
I also ask myself what I’m doing to make use of my own natural talents and gifts...am I working my ass off every day, like Ken? Or am I chuckling on the sidelines? Some days are better than others, but I think I’ll put in some extra work today. Just in case.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Author, author...again.
I love to read. And I actually love to write. I've written several short stories over the years (mostly, just to amuse myself) and have even taken a stab at writing a full-blown Lord of the Rings-type trilogy. I never finished it, although I was well into the second 'book' when I stopped working on it years ago. I picked up that story again a couple of years ago, and even mentioned it in my blog. But running a business and a family took precedence over my recreational writing, so that story is still unfinished.
Last night, I was scrambling around the house at bedtime, looking for something else to read. I really enjoy reading before bed so that I can sort of purge my mind of all my to-do lists, pressures, and every day stressors by immersing myself in a world of fantasy, detectives, or gunslingers. It helps me to power down, so to speak. Well, last night was not a good night for that sort of thing, and I couldn't find a single decent book to read after I finished one the previous night. Drat.
This morning, I was puttering around on the computer, poking around on one of my external hard drives, and I found all my old story material. Hmmmmmmm. I started reading some of my outlines, story notes, and ideas, and felt the old enthusiasm building again. I opened up that old novel and started reading it again...I was a few paragraphs in when I found a sentence that didn't sound right, and so it has begun again. I'm reworking that old story. Again.
Maybe this time, I'll actually get the whole trilogy finished. Maybe I'll only get a few pages farther than before. Either way, I'm looking forward to meeting all my old characters again, and maybe taking them to some new places in the near future. I'll keep you posted.
Last night, I was scrambling around the house at bedtime, looking for something else to read. I really enjoy reading before bed so that I can sort of purge my mind of all my to-do lists, pressures, and every day stressors by immersing myself in a world of fantasy, detectives, or gunslingers. It helps me to power down, so to speak. Well, last night was not a good night for that sort of thing, and I couldn't find a single decent book to read after I finished one the previous night. Drat.
This morning, I was puttering around on the computer, poking around on one of my external hard drives, and I found all my old story material. Hmmmmmmm. I started reading some of my outlines, story notes, and ideas, and felt the old enthusiasm building again. I opened up that old novel and started reading it again...I was a few paragraphs in when I found a sentence that didn't sound right, and so it has begun again. I'm reworking that old story. Again.
Maybe this time, I'll actually get the whole trilogy finished. Maybe I'll only get a few pages farther than before. Either way, I'm looking forward to meeting all my old characters again, and maybe taking them to some new places in the near future. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Little of this, little of that.
Another weekend has passed, and with it, another chance to paint our house. Drat. However, in return for that missed housepainting session, we watched movies, napped, watched tv, napped, and worked/played on the internet. I'm OK with that. Hopefully, the weather will be good next weekend, and we'll get more done.
We had another Graduation at Jade Mountain this past Friday, and I was thrilled to see that we had far more folks in attendance than I expected. It always touches me to see so many folks training with us, dedicating part of their time to our school. I've always wanted to make a difference in the world, and occasionally, I feel like I'm doing so.
My dear friend Larry is staying with us while we get things really rolling at our school and he gets his Krav Maga classes filled up. In the past few weeks, we've really gotten quite a lot done. We're really looking forward to starting the new year at the new and improved Jade Mountain.
In other news, I finally, FINALLY am able to ride my scooter around town. I have insurance, an inspection sticker, an oil change and repairs to the fuel line, and a LICENSE PLATE!!! I stress the license plate because getting the license plate severely stressed me. It took three trips to the tax office, a fax, a laser printer, a fistful of paperwork, and a partridge in a pear tree to get that silly license plate. But I've got it now!!! So I'm legal at 37 mph. Watch out, now!
The fabulous Brian posted this song on his blog, saying that it was stuck in his head yesterday. Well, thanks...now it's stuck in mine. That's not such a bad thing, though. So I'm passing along the favor. Have a great day, folks!
We had another Graduation at Jade Mountain this past Friday, and I was thrilled to see that we had far more folks in attendance than I expected. It always touches me to see so many folks training with us, dedicating part of their time to our school. I've always wanted to make a difference in the world, and occasionally, I feel like I'm doing so.
My dear friend Larry is staying with us while we get things really rolling at our school and he gets his Krav Maga classes filled up. In the past few weeks, we've really gotten quite a lot done. We're really looking forward to starting the new year at the new and improved Jade Mountain.
In other news, I finally, FINALLY am able to ride my scooter around town. I have insurance, an inspection sticker, an oil change and repairs to the fuel line, and a LICENSE PLATE!!! I stress the license plate because getting the license plate severely stressed me. It took three trips to the tax office, a fax, a laser printer, a fistful of paperwork, and a partridge in a pear tree to get that silly license plate. But I've got it now!!! So I'm legal at 37 mph. Watch out, now!
The fabulous Brian posted this song on his blog, saying that it was stuck in his head yesterday. Well, thanks...now it's stuck in mine. That's not such a bad thing, though. So I'm passing along the favor. Have a great day, folks!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
A slow start...
Today, I was fortunate enough to play in a friendly lacrosse game, a scrimmage played with whomever showed up. It was hosted by the Northwest Houston lacrosse club, and it was a lazy, fun way to spend a Saturday morning. I mean, if running around, hitting each other with sticks, and fighting over the ball can be considered lazy. In any case, it was a blast.
I've been staying in shape (round is a shape, right?), but admittedly, I haven't been doing the kind of conditioning that I really need to play midfield effectively. Namely, running back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, all at top speed. Right now, it's more like back.....and forth......and rest....and back........and forth.................and so on. Still, I had a ton of fun. My new lacrosse-style sprint workouts will be starting up next week. Lacrosse season's just around the corner, and I want to be ready! Happily, most of the other guys out there were also moaning and groaning, so I wasn't alone. But when the season starts...it's on like Donkey Kong.
So the remainder of today is just a lazy family day. There are videogames to be played, naps to take, and movies to watch. Oh, I might get a burst of energy and clean up the garage, but don't hold your breath.
I've been staying in shape (round is a shape, right?), but admittedly, I haven't been doing the kind of conditioning that I really need to play midfield effectively. Namely, running back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, all at top speed. Right now, it's more like back.....and forth......and rest....and back........and forth.................and so on. Still, I had a ton of fun. My new lacrosse-style sprint workouts will be starting up next week. Lacrosse season's just around the corner, and I want to be ready! Happily, most of the other guys out there were also moaning and groaning, so I wasn't alone. But when the season starts...it's on like Donkey Kong.
So the remainder of today is just a lazy family day. There are videogames to be played, naps to take, and movies to watch. Oh, I might get a burst of energy and clean up the garage, but don't hold your breath.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thinking, cleaning, scooting.
Starting at Halloween (my birthday), I tend to get very introspective around the holidays. Thanksgiving is here, and the Christmas holidays (Yule, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, etc.) aren't far behind. I have a ton for which I'm thankful...a fabulous family, a wonderful life, fantastic friends...the list goes on. My thoughts tend to wander towards what has happened throughout the year, and what we can make of the one that's rapidly approaching.
As my readers know, I lost my father this year. He and I were close, in our own way. Weeks would go by in which we didn't even talk on the phone, but when we did, it was always great. I've been thinking a lot about him, and what his life and death mean to me. Since he passed, I've been generally more productive in most of the important areas of my life. I've trained more consistently, followed up on more annoying little chores and tasks than usual, and I've found myself adding just a wee bit more effort to everything I do. I've said that I want to live a life that would make him proud, but in retrospect, I've already been doing that. Still, I suppose that I feel that there's always been room for improvement, and that Dad's pleased with the way I've picked up my pace on the everyday things around here.
I'm driving his scooter around here and there. It's got an inspection sticker now, and I'm anxiously awaiting papers from the dealer so I can get license plates. It's funny, but I'm pretty sure that it's always going to be 'Dad's scooter', rather than mine. And I plan to take damn good care of the thing, too.
This morning, one of Christina's cousins had suggested that we work out together, and I offered to open up my school so that we'd have a good place to train. 7am comes pretty darned early during the Thanksgiving break, but I'm sooooo glad I let Lee talk me into it. We had a fabulous little Crossfit workout, and it started my day off with a BANG. Upon arriving at home, I hustled out to the shed (the one that my father, Uncle Robert, and I built) and started cleaning it out...I knew I had less than an hour before the trash guys would show up, and I needed to make space for the scooter. It's amazing what a person can do when they're motivated! I had my way-cool Bluetooth headphones on (and yes, Cathy Dennis, Kelly Clarkson, and Olivia Newton-John were helping me clean the shed), a bandanna over my mouth and nose, and I was dragging stuff out of there like it was on fire. I had to finish at around 9am so I'd still have time to get ready for a family event today, and the trash guys came right on schedule. By the time they pulled the garbage truck around the corner, there was a decent pile of junk on the curb for them to take away. Mission accomplished: the scooter is now happily sheltered in the shed that Dad built.
In the middle of this process, I stumbled across something that I had thought lost forever. I moved a box of old books, and saw a shiny, orange sphere nestled in the space behind the box...it was Dad's old helmet. Many of you may recall that my father built and flew an experimental motorized hang-glider back in the early 80's, and this was the helmet he picked out to protect his noggin.
I was just a kid back then, and I remember Dad laughing with Mom about what to call his fledgling company (which was nothing more than an excuse to buy and build a glider and write if off his taxes. Genius!), and he suggested "Buzzard Aircraft". Mom had a fit, and wouldn't allow it, so he settled on "Mac's Aviation" instead. He placed an ad in the local phone book, and I still remember the business phone number that he had installed in the kitchen: 409 849 3840. As a present, I painstakingly used pieces of masking tape to write the word BUZZARD on one side of that helmet. And he actually left it on there. I later used that same helmet to ride in motocross races with my brother, so I took the tape off.
This morning, so many years later, I picked up the helmet and was sad to see how the interior had nearly fallen apart. It looked like an old car's headliner that droops. The outside was just as solid as ever, though. I ran my fingers over its smooth surface, and suddenly found a rough spot. Upon closer inspection, I could still see the B..U..Z..Z.. in tape residue on that one side. And somehow, I knew that Dad's laughing with me, wherever he is.
Anyway, I'm off to start organizing the garage. Or maybe I'll take the scooter out to the video store...I'm still not quite sure what I want to do, but I know that I want to do something. In either case, I'm feeling extremely grateful for all of my many blessings, and I'm looking forward to a happy holiday season.
By the way, there's a lacrosse scrimmage tomorrow...wish me luck!!!
As my readers know, I lost my father this year. He and I were close, in our own way. Weeks would go by in which we didn't even talk on the phone, but when we did, it was always great. I've been thinking a lot about him, and what his life and death mean to me. Since he passed, I've been generally more productive in most of the important areas of my life. I've trained more consistently, followed up on more annoying little chores and tasks than usual, and I've found myself adding just a wee bit more effort to everything I do. I've said that I want to live a life that would make him proud, but in retrospect, I've already been doing that. Still, I suppose that I feel that there's always been room for improvement, and that Dad's pleased with the way I've picked up my pace on the everyday things around here.
I'm driving his scooter around here and there. It's got an inspection sticker now, and I'm anxiously awaiting papers from the dealer so I can get license plates. It's funny, but I'm pretty sure that it's always going to be 'Dad's scooter', rather than mine. And I plan to take damn good care of the thing, too.
This morning, one of Christina's cousins had suggested that we work out together, and I offered to open up my school so that we'd have a good place to train. 7am comes pretty darned early during the Thanksgiving break, but I'm sooooo glad I let Lee talk me into it. We had a fabulous little Crossfit workout, and it started my day off with a BANG. Upon arriving at home, I hustled out to the shed (the one that my father, Uncle Robert, and I built) and started cleaning it out...I knew I had less than an hour before the trash guys would show up, and I needed to make space for the scooter. It's amazing what a person can do when they're motivated! I had my way-cool Bluetooth headphones on (and yes, Cathy Dennis, Kelly Clarkson, and Olivia Newton-John were helping me clean the shed), a bandanna over my mouth and nose, and I was dragging stuff out of there like it was on fire. I had to finish at around 9am so I'd still have time to get ready for a family event today, and the trash guys came right on schedule. By the time they pulled the garbage truck around the corner, there was a decent pile of junk on the curb for them to take away. Mission accomplished: the scooter is now happily sheltered in the shed that Dad built.
In the middle of this process, I stumbled across something that I had thought lost forever. I moved a box of old books, and saw a shiny, orange sphere nestled in the space behind the box...it was Dad's old helmet. Many of you may recall that my father built and flew an experimental motorized hang-glider back in the early 80's, and this was the helmet he picked out to protect his noggin.
I was just a kid back then, and I remember Dad laughing with Mom about what to call his fledgling company (which was nothing more than an excuse to buy and build a glider and write if off his taxes. Genius!), and he suggested "Buzzard Aircraft". Mom had a fit, and wouldn't allow it, so he settled on "Mac's Aviation" instead. He placed an ad in the local phone book, and I still remember the business phone number that he had installed in the kitchen: 409 849 3840. As a present, I painstakingly used pieces of masking tape to write the word BUZZARD on one side of that helmet. And he actually left it on there. I later used that same helmet to ride in motocross races with my brother, so I took the tape off.
This morning, so many years later, I picked up the helmet and was sad to see how the interior had nearly fallen apart. It looked like an old car's headliner that droops. The outside was just as solid as ever, though. I ran my fingers over its smooth surface, and suddenly found a rough spot. Upon closer inspection, I could still see the B..U..Z..Z.. in tape residue on that one side. And somehow, I knew that Dad's laughing with me, wherever he is.
Anyway, I'm off to start organizing the garage. Or maybe I'll take the scooter out to the video store...I'm still not quite sure what I want to do, but I know that I want to do something. In either case, I'm feeling extremely grateful for all of my many blessings, and I'm looking forward to a happy holiday season.
By the way, there's a lacrosse scrimmage tomorrow...wish me luck!!!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Scooter is Here!!!
I got the call last Saturday night. The driver said that they were nearing Texas, and would roll through Katy at around 4am, and my scooter was safe and sound. I was pretty excited, so I didn't sleep much as I waited for them to arrive. After an extremely long night, they finally called at around 7:30am. Groggy as I was, I was totally pumped to finally take possession of Dad's scooter. At last!
In the few days I've had it, I've driven it several times...around the subdivision, to the soccer fields, to the video store on the corner, that sort of thing. It's already listed on our insurance, and I got it inspected today, so it's practically street legal. I'm awaiting the certificate of origin and other papers that should come in the mail so that I can get it registered here in Texas and get some license plates on it.
Mom seems pleased that it finally showed up, and says that Dad's probably smiling and chuckling at me every time I ride it. That makes me happy...thinking that Dad would enjoy me riding on 'his' scooter. I'm planning to take care of it and ride it for as long as it'll keep on rolling.
My Dad was a kart racer back in his day. He once told me that he finally quit when the race officials started making rules about the karts being a certain weight. "We had been doing everything we could think of to make those things lighter, and then they go and tell us to make 'em heavier...that's just stupid!" I'm sure there was a lot more to it than that, but that's all he told me me back then. He had at least 20 trophies from races he'd won. Oddly, I never thought about that fact when he finally bought me a go-kart from Sears when I was a kid. In my hometown of Angleton, we had a massive back yard, and I had an oval track back there...I drove the crap out of that orange and white kart. If I recall correctly, I named it "The Spider", and I painted the name on its front. He used to sit in his lawn chair out there and just watch me go around and around that track. Sometimes, I'd go the other way...just for the fun of it. And he just watched. I never thought about how cool that must have been for him.
Well...I'm hoping he's getting a good laugh out of this whole scooter saga. I'm kind of a stout guy, so I kind of spill over the sides of that little thing. Even so, it uses very little gas, and will get me most places around town, so I'm really excited to start using it as often as possible.
Thanks for the scooter, Dad. It's pretty darned cool. And the Monkey loves it too.
In the few days I've had it, I've driven it several times...around the subdivision, to the soccer fields, to the video store on the corner, that sort of thing. It's already listed on our insurance, and I got it inspected today, so it's practically street legal. I'm awaiting the certificate of origin and other papers that should come in the mail so that I can get it registered here in Texas and get some license plates on it.
Mom seems pleased that it finally showed up, and says that Dad's probably smiling and chuckling at me every time I ride it. That makes me happy...thinking that Dad would enjoy me riding on 'his' scooter. I'm planning to take care of it and ride it for as long as it'll keep on rolling.
My Dad was a kart racer back in his day. He once told me that he finally quit when the race officials started making rules about the karts being a certain weight. "We had been doing everything we could think of to make those things lighter, and then they go and tell us to make 'em heavier...that's just stupid!" I'm sure there was a lot more to it than that, but that's all he told me me back then. He had at least 20 trophies from races he'd won. Oddly, I never thought about that fact when he finally bought me a go-kart from Sears when I was a kid. In my hometown of Angleton, we had a massive back yard, and I had an oval track back there...I drove the crap out of that orange and white kart. If I recall correctly, I named it "The Spider", and I painted the name on its front. He used to sit in his lawn chair out there and just watch me go around and around that track. Sometimes, I'd go the other way...just for the fun of it. And he just watched. I never thought about how cool that must have been for him.
Well...I'm hoping he's getting a good laugh out of this whole scooter saga. I'm kind of a stout guy, so I kind of spill over the sides of that little thing. Even so, it uses very little gas, and will get me most places around town, so I'm really excited to start using it as often as possible.
Thanks for the scooter, Dad. It's pretty darned cool. And the Monkey loves it too.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Weekend Happenings
It was a busy weekend around here...Saturday, we held our first Jade Mountain Juniors Tournament, where our junior students competed in Hand Forms, Weapons, Sword Sparring, and Sparring. Then yesterday, we had a little "Welcome and Congratulations!" party for Larry Escher. It was more or less a surprise.
Saturday, we had all hands on deck as we set up chairs, readied our scorecards, and double-checked the competitor lists. A minor snag...the fantastic certificates had the wrong wording, and Larry hustled off to get that fixed. When he returned, the certificates were even better than before! We set up the judges table on one side of the mat and placed the four judges chairs in a square so that the kids would have plenty of room to perform. The school filled up quickly, and things got underway more or less on time.
All of us were really pleased with the way that every single student showed a significant improvement on their technique in every event. Wow! Many were very nervous about their first tournament, and most were really excited! Everyone did well, and we had a blast.
The sparring was quite thrilling...nothing like watching a couple of 8-year-olds kick the crap out of each other! As usual, the littlest students were the most aggressive, and even my nephew (who is the least combative person I've ever met in my life) bravely stood his ground against a larger opponent, and gave a good account of himself. He proudly showed off his scrapes and bruises later as badges of courage. In fact, I think they may the the first scrapes and bruises that he's ever had! Now, he's looking forward to sparring with a lot more enthusiasm, and we're all proud of him.
One of our policies at JMMA is that you actually do need to show that you know, and can perform, your skills. We think that it's important to challenge our students, and let them know when they are doing well, and also when they need to apply themselves and get serious about their training. There were some students who surprised themselves (and others) by winning their divisions, while others were astonished to find that they did not. Such reality checks are necessary, and help the students grow. Attitude is everything, and we hope that some of our slackers will pick up the pace now that they know what slacking gets them.
Overall, the tournament was a ton of fun, and we're already looking forward to the next one, which will most likely be in February. I must thank all of our folks who came in to help us pull this thing off...they were fantastic!!
Afterwards, we all went to Wild Wings (or Wild Things, as some of us call it) for dinner, and I informed Larry that he was to be at my house the next day at 11:30am. He asked why, and I told him "Because I said so." He started to protest, and I Dog-Whispered him into silence. You see, I'm no good at setting up a pretense. I had no idea what I could have said to get him to come to his own surprise party. So I didn't say anything...I just insisted that he show up with no explanation whatsoever. Amazingly, it worked.
So we all met at Amy's house on Sunday, and I managed to get Larry there as well. SURPRISE! I hope he enjoyed it. There were even cupcakes that said "CONGRATULATIONS SIFU LARRY JMMA" I ate 4 of them. Did I mention that Renee made her mushrooms? I had 4 of those, too. We all ate, had fun, and laughed a lot as we officially welcomed Larry to Jade Mountain, and congratulated him for being one of only 3 people in the United States to complete the first IKMF Civilian Instructor Course under the fabulous Eyal Yanilov.
So...that was the weekend. I'm finally about 90% over my cold/snot/cough thingy, so I'm getting back to training today. Christina's still feeling crappy, so I'm sending her to the the doctor today. And the Monkey is back at school. His birthday is this week...how in the world did 7 years go by this fast? Wow.
Have a great day, folks. Hug someone you love...and maybe pat them on the behind if you're in that kind of mood.
Saturday, we had all hands on deck as we set up chairs, readied our scorecards, and double-checked the competitor lists. A minor snag...the fantastic certificates had the wrong wording, and Larry hustled off to get that fixed. When he returned, the certificates were even better than before! We set up the judges table on one side of the mat and placed the four judges chairs in a square so that the kids would have plenty of room to perform. The school filled up quickly, and things got underway more or less on time.
All of us were really pleased with the way that every single student showed a significant improvement on their technique in every event. Wow! Many were very nervous about their first tournament, and most were really excited! Everyone did well, and we had a blast.
The sparring was quite thrilling...nothing like watching a couple of 8-year-olds kick the crap out of each other! As usual, the littlest students were the most aggressive, and even my nephew (who is the least combative person I've ever met in my life) bravely stood his ground against a larger opponent, and gave a good account of himself. He proudly showed off his scrapes and bruises later as badges of courage. In fact, I think they may the the first scrapes and bruises that he's ever had! Now, he's looking forward to sparring with a lot more enthusiasm, and we're all proud of him.
One of our policies at JMMA is that you actually do need to show that you know, and can perform, your skills. We think that it's important to challenge our students, and let them know when they are doing well, and also when they need to apply themselves and get serious about their training. There were some students who surprised themselves (and others) by winning their divisions, while others were astonished to find that they did not. Such reality checks are necessary, and help the students grow. Attitude is everything, and we hope that some of our slackers will pick up the pace now that they know what slacking gets them.
Overall, the tournament was a ton of fun, and we're already looking forward to the next one, which will most likely be in February. I must thank all of our folks who came in to help us pull this thing off...they were fantastic!!
Afterwards, we all went to Wild Wings (or Wild Things, as some of us call it) for dinner, and I informed Larry that he was to be at my house the next day at 11:30am. He asked why, and I told him "Because I said so." He started to protest, and I Dog-Whispered him into silence. You see, I'm no good at setting up a pretense. I had no idea what I could have said to get him to come to his own surprise party. So I didn't say anything...I just insisted that he show up with no explanation whatsoever. Amazingly, it worked.
So we all met at Amy's house on Sunday, and I managed to get Larry there as well. SURPRISE! I hope he enjoyed it. There were even cupcakes that said "CONGRATULATIONS SIFU LARRY JMMA" I ate 4 of them. Did I mention that Renee made her mushrooms? I had 4 of those, too. We all ate, had fun, and laughed a lot as we officially welcomed Larry to Jade Mountain, and congratulated him for being one of only 3 people in the United States to complete the first IKMF Civilian Instructor Course under the fabulous Eyal Yanilov.
So...that was the weekend. I'm finally about 90% over my cold/snot/cough thingy, so I'm getting back to training today. Christina's still feeling crappy, so I'm sending her to the the doctor today. And the Monkey is back at school. His birthday is this week...how in the world did 7 years go by this fast? Wow.
Have a great day, folks. Hug someone you love...and maybe pat them on the behind if you're in that kind of mood.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Just a Quick Update...(cough! ack! sniff!)
Today's going to be busy, in spite of the fact that everyone's sick around here. I'm still sounding like I've had too much whiskey (it's actually snot that I've got too much of), Christina's also full of snot, and Monkey...well, he's more or less fine, but he was puking his guts out yesterday. I feel pretty well, but I'll be thrilled to finally have my voice back, and not have to cough up gunk every few minutes.
Monkey's Grandma in Indiana sent him some way cool Star Wars stuff for his birthday, and he's sitting in there right now, playing a Star Wars videogame with his Clone Trooper Helmet on. That's just how he rolls. He's much better today.
Mom was also kind enough to include a ton of Dad's old badges and licenses in Monkey's birthday package. Some of them stretch back many years, and it was great to see Dad's face on each and every one...with the same, goofy expression on each. I love you Dad, but you never were good at taking pictures.
Today is our first Jade Mountain Junior Tournament. Everyone is competing, and we're looking forward to it. There are 20 juniors competing, and so we'll be hosting them and their families at our school for a few hours while they compete in hand forms, weapons forms, and sparring. It should be a hoot!
My nephew Jacob will be competing for the first time. He's not exactly the most aggressive character I've ever seen, and we were all wondering how he'd react to sparring for the first time. I must say that we were thrilled to see that he stood right in there and took those punches like a little warrior. Now we'll see if we can teach him to fight back more effectively. ;-)
Well, I'd better get dressed. It's going to be a long, interesting day!
Monkey's Grandma in Indiana sent him some way cool Star Wars stuff for his birthday, and he's sitting in there right now, playing a Star Wars videogame with his Clone Trooper Helmet on. That's just how he rolls. He's much better today.
Mom was also kind enough to include a ton of Dad's old badges and licenses in Monkey's birthday package. Some of them stretch back many years, and it was great to see Dad's face on each and every one...with the same, goofy expression on each. I love you Dad, but you never were good at taking pictures.
Today is our first Jade Mountain Junior Tournament. Everyone is competing, and we're looking forward to it. There are 20 juniors competing, and so we'll be hosting them and their families at our school for a few hours while they compete in hand forms, weapons forms, and sparring. It should be a hoot!
My nephew Jacob will be competing for the first time. He's not exactly the most aggressive character I've ever seen, and we were all wondering how he'd react to sparring for the first time. I must say that we were thrilled to see that he stood right in there and took those punches like a little warrior. Now we'll see if we can teach him to fight back more effectively. ;-)
Well, I'd better get dressed. It's going to be a long, interesting day!
Monday, November 03, 2008
It's Definitely a Monday...
I've been fighting with various drainage and sinus issues all weekend, and last night was definitely not a good night. I think I slept about 2 hours or so...just could not get to sleep with all this snot rattling around in my upper chest. I took some time off today to rest and medicate myself, and I'm planning on sucking it up for evening classes tonight. It's not like I've got a fever and major illness, but I still feel like crap.
I've picked someone to bring my scooter out here from Maryland. We still need to finalize some details, but hopefully, this will end up with my tooling around the neighborhood on my stylin' red machine. Fingers crossed.
My dear friend Larry is finishing up his final certification session in California today, and I'm thrilled for him. It's been no easy task, that's for sure. In addition to bum ankle he picked up along the way, he's also received several contusions and abrasions, scratches on his face, a tweaked wrist, and a pulled calf muscle. Man, talk about the red badge of courage! It'll be great to have him back, and he's bringing Eyal Yanilov with him! Wednesday night, we'll be hosting a Krav Maga seminar at Jade Mountain taught by the man himself!! I'm looking forward to it with great anticipation. Let's hope that I don't cough my junk all over everyone in attendance.
After that, there's not much to report. I've enjoyed reading the books Christina got me for my berfday, and I've eaten amazingly little candy this year. Really. So I'm just looking forward to ridding myself of this cough-and-spit routine so I can get back to working out like a crazy man.
Have a great Monday, folks.
I've picked someone to bring my scooter out here from Maryland. We still need to finalize some details, but hopefully, this will end up with my tooling around the neighborhood on my stylin' red machine. Fingers crossed.
My dear friend Larry is finishing up his final certification session in California today, and I'm thrilled for him. It's been no easy task, that's for sure. In addition to bum ankle he picked up along the way, he's also received several contusions and abrasions, scratches on his face, a tweaked wrist, and a pulled calf muscle. Man, talk about the red badge of courage! It'll be great to have him back, and he's bringing Eyal Yanilov with him! Wednesday night, we'll be hosting a Krav Maga seminar at Jade Mountain taught by the man himself!! I'm looking forward to it with great anticipation. Let's hope that I don't cough my junk all over everyone in attendance.
After that, there's not much to report. I've enjoyed reading the books Christina got me for my berfday, and I've eaten amazingly little candy this year. Really. So I'm just looking forward to ridding myself of this cough-and-spit routine so I can get back to working out like a crazy man.
Have a great Monday, folks.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me!!
I'm now 39 years old. Ta daaaaa! It's been a pretty good day. There have been cards, Myspace and Facebook B-day wishes, phone calls, and a showering of gifts from my beloved wife and son. We ate lunch at my favorite noodle house, I had a little nap this afternoon, and life is pretty darned good.
Usually, I get very introspective around my birthday, thinking about my life and how I've been living it, how I want to live it in the future. Today seems different, though. After going through everything with my Dad this past month, it feels like I've already looked inwards and made that yearly assessment. I have my goals, my plans, my dreams. I know who I am and what I stand for. I have my feet beneath me, and I'm standing strongly, supported by my own strength, and that of my friends and family.
So today was kind of a goofy, do-whatever-I-want kind of day for me. It's kind of refreshing, actually. I've read an entire Robert B. Parker book this evening, just because I wanted to. I've scared the bejeebers out of a few shrieky teenagers when they came to the door to Trick-Or-Treat. And I'm blogging just because I feel like it. My friends, I'm feeling very, very happy to simply BE...I'm relaxed, and enjoying each moment.
I will make one introspective comment, though. I'm 39 today. My father married my mother when he was 40. It seems to me that there's a whole lot of living that can be packed into 40 years, no matter how old you are when you start...Dad proved that. So rather than lamenting the loss of my youth, I'm looking forward to all the fun stuff I've got coming my way!
Happy Halloween, folks. Go do something fun!
Usually, I get very introspective around my birthday, thinking about my life and how I've been living it, how I want to live it in the future. Today seems different, though. After going through everything with my Dad this past month, it feels like I've already looked inwards and made that yearly assessment. I have my goals, my plans, my dreams. I know who I am and what I stand for. I have my feet beneath me, and I'm standing strongly, supported by my own strength, and that of my friends and family.
So today was kind of a goofy, do-whatever-I-want kind of day for me. It's kind of refreshing, actually. I've read an entire Robert B. Parker book this evening, just because I wanted to. I've scared the bejeebers out of a few shrieky teenagers when they came to the door to Trick-Or-Treat. And I'm blogging just because I feel like it. My friends, I'm feeling very, very happy to simply BE...I'm relaxed, and enjoying each moment.
I will make one introspective comment, though. I'm 39 today. My father married my mother when he was 40. It seems to me that there's a whole lot of living that can be packed into 40 years, no matter how old you are when you start...Dad proved that. So rather than lamenting the loss of my youth, I'm looking forward to all the fun stuff I've got coming my way!
Happy Halloween, folks. Go do something fun!
The Scooter Saga Continues...
My scooter is now in Maryland. Dang it. Let me explain...
Using a cool internet site called uship.com, I hired the lowest bidder to ship my scooter from Indiana to Texas. It was a small "Mom and Pop" type shipper with a girl handling the front desk and the guy driving the truck. There were many positive feedback comments for this guy, and just a few negative or neutral, but the overall impression I got was OK. For the price, I figured it was worth a shot. I paid him half of the shipping fee via Paypal.
"Howie" came on the day he said he would, and Mom surreptitiously wrote down all the identifying numbers on his truck "just in case." He carefully loaded the scooter, and I figured he'd be showing up last weekend sometime. Mom had noticed that, rather than using a truck with the name of his business, he was using a Penske rental truck. Hmmmm. Not a good sign.
I called a week later and left a message, saying that I needed to know when he'd be here so that I could be waiting, cash in hand. Amazingly, he called me right back and told me that there was a problem. He'd had a heart attack, and was getting ready to go into the hospital. "Wow, that's terrible!! I hope you'll be OK...um...where's my scooter?" He said that, due to his heart attack, he had kept the rental truck out longer than expected, and they had come and gotten it. With the scooter inside. And here's the rental company's name and phone number.
So I called the number, and spoke with Jim at Cumberland Towing/Penske Rental in Maryland. He asked what I'd been told, and when I related Howie's story, he simply replied, "That guy is full of dog doo doo. He owes us a ton of money for this rental truck, more for trucks rented from Uhaul and more from Hertz."
Oh. Crap. The guy was making money shipping things for folks, but not paying for the rental trucks. He's now got federal warrants out for his arrest, and my scooter is still in Maryland. The good news is that Jim carefully cataloged the stuff in the truck, and has been working with me on getting my scooter released from the state police, and is now keeping it safe for me on his premises. Now, I just need to get a decent shipper who will actually get the thing here...but not one who's headed for jail.
So there you have it. It's unfortunate that I picked the wrong guy to bring the scooter, but I'm glad that it's safe and sound. It will eventually make its way here. I'll keep you posted.
Using a cool internet site called uship.com, I hired the lowest bidder to ship my scooter from Indiana to Texas. It was a small "Mom and Pop" type shipper with a girl handling the front desk and the guy driving the truck. There were many positive feedback comments for this guy, and just a few negative or neutral, but the overall impression I got was OK. For the price, I figured it was worth a shot. I paid him half of the shipping fee via Paypal.
"Howie" came on the day he said he would, and Mom surreptitiously wrote down all the identifying numbers on his truck "just in case." He carefully loaded the scooter, and I figured he'd be showing up last weekend sometime. Mom had noticed that, rather than using a truck with the name of his business, he was using a Penske rental truck. Hmmmm. Not a good sign.
I called a week later and left a message, saying that I needed to know when he'd be here so that I could be waiting, cash in hand. Amazingly, he called me right back and told me that there was a problem. He'd had a heart attack, and was getting ready to go into the hospital. "Wow, that's terrible!! I hope you'll be OK...um...where's my scooter?" He said that, due to his heart attack, he had kept the rental truck out longer than expected, and they had come and gotten it. With the scooter inside. And here's the rental company's name and phone number.
So I called the number, and spoke with Jim at Cumberland Towing/Penske Rental in Maryland. He asked what I'd been told, and when I related Howie's story, he simply replied, "That guy is full of dog doo doo. He owes us a ton of money for this rental truck, more for trucks rented from Uhaul and more from Hertz."
Oh. Crap. The guy was making money shipping things for folks, but not paying for the rental trucks. He's now got federal warrants out for his arrest, and my scooter is still in Maryland. The good news is that Jim carefully cataloged the stuff in the truck, and has been working with me on getting my scooter released from the state police, and is now keeping it safe for me on his premises. Now, I just need to get a decent shipper who will actually get the thing here...but not one who's headed for jail.
So there you have it. It's unfortunate that I picked the wrong guy to bring the scooter, but I'm glad that it's safe and sound. It will eventually make its way here. I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Endings and Beginnings. Goodbye, Dad.
I’m backtracking a bit here. I’ll get to the funeral in a moment, but first, I wanted to share some feelings from my that last day I got to spend with my Dad.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
This morning was to be the last time I’d see my Dad alive. We both knew it, and as unpleasant a situation as it was, we had found peace within it. Dad’s sisters, brother, and niece were due to arrive in the afternoon, and I knew he was looking forward to seeing them. He was comfortable, happy, and very glad to be back in his own home with his dog, Ricco, continually stepping all over him as he lay in bed.
I packed up my things, and talked to Dad. We called my wife and son, and they had a chance to talk with him a bit. It was hard to understand him without his teeth, but I got choked up when I heard Dad telling my son that he loved him, as loud as possible, while my son chattered away on the other end.
All too soon, it was simply time for me to leave. I came in to talk to him one last time.
“Hey, did you find a way to get that scooter home?” Dad began.
“Yeah, Dad. I hired a guy to bring it to me.”
“That’s good…I wanted you to have it. Don’t get cocky, though…it’ll throw ya.”
I smiled at that. How could I not? Dad’s still Dad, and that’s just how he is.
“Yeah, I’ll be careful. I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too.”
“Say hi to your family for me.”
“OK. You be careful.”
“I will.” I laid my cheek on top of his head as I had many times during the last week, but I let it linger there for nearly a full minute, just letting the feel of him seep into me for one last time. I kissed his forehead, squeezed his hand, and left.
“Bye, Dad.”
And that was it. I picked up my stuff, hugged and kissed my Mom goodbye, and let my brother drive me to the airport. There was a wrong turn in there somewhere, but luckily, my brother had his iPhone, and managed to get me there more or less on time with the help of Googlemaps. I passed through security, sat in the waiting area, called my wife, read my book, and basically tried to focus on all the everyday things going on around me.
I wasn’t heartbroken, or angry, or even really sad. No, instead, I was filled with gratitude. I had spent the last week with my father, and we had the chance to express our love as father and son. I was able to help him, to be there when he needed me, and to let him know that we would be OK after he had gone on his way. We were both at peace.
The first flight was short, and I promptly dozed off, so I don’t even remember that time at all. The second flight, from Chicago to Houston, was far more memorable.
I had been reading, dozing, thinking, and watching music videos on my mp3 player. The sky was a beautiful clear blue above us and hazy below. At some point, I woke from an almost-nap, and I saw the flight attendants handing out drinks. While I waited for them to get closer, I pulled out my mp3 player again and started watching my favorite Kelly Clarkson and Cathy Dennis music videos for the millionth time, and I noticed that I took particular pleasure in them, more so than usual. Part of me was thinking about my Dad, and I was turning everything over in my mind, wondering how this whole experience with him might affect me. How will my life change after this?
With that question ringing in my mind, I immersed myself in the sheer pleasure of my favorite songs and videos, cheesy as they are. Slowly, I became aware of an emotion building, swelling within me to the point of bursting with it.
It was joy. Pure and simple…it was joy.
It was if all the happy memories of my Dad, all his laughter, funny stories, wisecracks and practical jokes had joined together, and I felt that massive rush of joyful emotions urging me to fling myself headlong into the next 40 years of my life, and beyond.
“Live…” my inner voice said. This is a voice to whom I listen closely, for it seldom speaks in terms this loud, this clear.
“Live with joy, and adventure, and purpose. Live with love so that you can share it with others. Live with strength, so that you can help yourself, and those who need you. Live…so that you can look back one day with the quiet pride of a life well-spent, people well-loved, and other lives touched deeply by your own. Live…”
And tears rolled silently down my face as I sat there on that plane. What a gift my father had given me.
It’s a funny thing, but that little voice in my head sounds a little bit like my Dad, except that I know for a fact that he’d never say anything remotely like that. He’d just tell me to get my ass up off the couch and go plant some tomatoes and cayenne peppers.
But maybe that means pretty much the same thing. I’ll try it out and see.
Love you, Dad.
The Funeral
My father, William W. McClendon, Jr. was buried in the Paynetown Cemetery south of Greenville, TX, on Wednesday, October 15, 2008. He has passed away on Sunday, October 12, at the ripe old age of 80 years and one day.
Did you know that, if your wife drives like Mario Andretti, you can make it all the way to Greenville from Katy in exactly 4 hours? It was most impressive, I must say.
We left that morning a bit late, and there was bad weather in Dallas that slowed us down to about 75mph, so we were unable to visit Dad in the funeral home. I was told by my brother that he looked fabulous, “10 years younger…they even trimmed his nosehair.”
Wow. They really deserved a tip for that.
By the time it became apparent that we’d never make it to the funeral home in time, we called ahead and let Mom know that we’d just meet them at the cemetery. In the meantime, we were out of gas from the frantic drive. We headed towards the grave site with the intent of finding a gas station on the way, changing into our nice funeral clothes, and then hanging out until time to start.
There were no gas stations out there. None. Cows, chickens, and goats, yes, but gas stations? Nope.
Our car was on Very-Very-Empty, so we decided to head for the nearest town on the map, which was Quinlan. Nice place, once you find it. We coasted into the first gas station we saw, gassed up, changed clothes, and made it back to the cemetery with 15 minutes to spare.
It was a small turnout, but that was expected. Most of the folks who’ve known Dad were up in Indiana and couldn’t make the trip, but his Texas folks were all there. Mom was there, sad-eyed, but with that quiet strength that I’ve always come to expect from her. She’d slept on the drive down with my brother and his fiancée, and she was ready to get things moving.
There was a green tent over Dad’s coffin, and some Astroturf covered the ground so that the few chairs provided wouldn’t sink into the soft, damp earth. The sun had come out, and there was a quiet, beautiful serenity to the tiny cemetery that housed my grandparents and great-grandparents, and would soon keep my father’s remains as well. One of our relatives solemnly picked up his guitar and played a beautiful acoustic “Amazing Grace”, and I’ll never forget how his soft, gentle voice floated over us. One of my cousins gave a short eulogy that we enjoyed…there were sniffles at times, and overt chuckles at others. Dad was a character, yessiree. And well-loved. A sermon from the presiding pastor followed, and after a final prayer, the funeral director quietly knelt in front of us to speak with Mom.
“This concludes our service,” he whispered to my Mom. “Would you like to stay to see him lowered?”
Mom gently replied that she did not, stood up, and started walking towards the car. She was done, friends. She had loved my father for nearly 40 years. She had said her goodbyes, and it was apparently time to get the heck out of Dodge. We trailed behind her, hugging long-lost relatives and thanking folks for coming. Mom just kept on walking, so we hustled to catch up.
It’s a bit blurry after that. We went to Aunt Sissy’s, and Mom dutifully handed me the scooter keys and a heavily wrapped package that could only be one thing: the bedpan. I saw her crack a smile, then, and I knew she’d be OK. Mom changed clothes, packed her bags, and piled in the car with my brother and his fiancée 2 hours later, headed for home. We stayed longer, hung out with family and laughed and talked about Dad, about other stuff, and just enjoyed catching up. There were no more tears. My father had moved on, and that’s OK.
On our way home, we stopped and took some pics at the cemetery. Here’s me at Dad’s grave…sorry, it’s a bit blurry:
We’re home now, and I’m in the process of flinging myself headlong into the next years of my life. I feel like I should follow Dad’s example, and get busy with it all. Mom’s hanging in there…she had some rough moments yesterday when she had my brother clear out Dad’s garden in the back yard. She said that she didn’t want the rotting vegetables to attract animals. Dad’s tended a garden ever since I’ve known him, and I know that seeing the plants pulled up and disposed of was extremely difficult for Mom. Even so, she’s a strong woman with an awful lot of stuff to do. She’ll keep on keeping on, as they say.
So there you have it. To be honest, I’ve written every word on this blog over the last month with completely selfish intent…I wanted to get everything down somewhere so that I’d remember it always. However, I also wanted to keep my friends and family updated on my Dad’s situation, since many of you asked to be kept in the loop.
What I didn’t expect was for so many of you to let me know that my blogs were meaningful to you in some way. To you folks, I must say a humble “Thank you.” I’m very glad that I could do anything to help anyone feel better during this time when folks who love my Dad were hurting. Writing all this has helped me to get through it too, so I’m happy to share.
So go…spread the love. Enjoy your time here on earth. Love someone deeply, pursue a challenge, take a risk, and trade every day for something wonderful and amazing. Love to you all.
Rest In Peace, William W. McClendon, Jr. and thanks for everything.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
This morning was to be the last time I’d see my Dad alive. We both knew it, and as unpleasant a situation as it was, we had found peace within it. Dad’s sisters, brother, and niece were due to arrive in the afternoon, and I knew he was looking forward to seeing them. He was comfortable, happy, and very glad to be back in his own home with his dog, Ricco, continually stepping all over him as he lay in bed.
I packed up my things, and talked to Dad. We called my wife and son, and they had a chance to talk with him a bit. It was hard to understand him without his teeth, but I got choked up when I heard Dad telling my son that he loved him, as loud as possible, while my son chattered away on the other end.
All too soon, it was simply time for me to leave. I came in to talk to him one last time.
“Hey, did you find a way to get that scooter home?” Dad began.
“Yeah, Dad. I hired a guy to bring it to me.”
“That’s good…I wanted you to have it. Don’t get cocky, though…it’ll throw ya.”
I smiled at that. How could I not? Dad’s still Dad, and that’s just how he is.
“Yeah, I’ll be careful. I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too.”
“Say hi to your family for me.”
“OK. You be careful.”
“I will.” I laid my cheek on top of his head as I had many times during the last week, but I let it linger there for nearly a full minute, just letting the feel of him seep into me for one last time. I kissed his forehead, squeezed his hand, and left.
“Bye, Dad.”
And that was it. I picked up my stuff, hugged and kissed my Mom goodbye, and let my brother drive me to the airport. There was a wrong turn in there somewhere, but luckily, my brother had his iPhone, and managed to get me there more or less on time with the help of Googlemaps. I passed through security, sat in the waiting area, called my wife, read my book, and basically tried to focus on all the everyday things going on around me.
I wasn’t heartbroken, or angry, or even really sad. No, instead, I was filled with gratitude. I had spent the last week with my father, and we had the chance to express our love as father and son. I was able to help him, to be there when he needed me, and to let him know that we would be OK after he had gone on his way. We were both at peace.
The first flight was short, and I promptly dozed off, so I don’t even remember that time at all. The second flight, from Chicago to Houston, was far more memorable.
I had been reading, dozing, thinking, and watching music videos on my mp3 player. The sky was a beautiful clear blue above us and hazy below. At some point, I woke from an almost-nap, and I saw the flight attendants handing out drinks. While I waited for them to get closer, I pulled out my mp3 player again and started watching my favorite Kelly Clarkson and Cathy Dennis music videos for the millionth time, and I noticed that I took particular pleasure in them, more so than usual. Part of me was thinking about my Dad, and I was turning everything over in my mind, wondering how this whole experience with him might affect me. How will my life change after this?
With that question ringing in my mind, I immersed myself in the sheer pleasure of my favorite songs and videos, cheesy as they are. Slowly, I became aware of an emotion building, swelling within me to the point of bursting with it.
It was joy. Pure and simple…it was joy.
It was if all the happy memories of my Dad, all his laughter, funny stories, wisecracks and practical jokes had joined together, and I felt that massive rush of joyful emotions urging me to fling myself headlong into the next 40 years of my life, and beyond.
“Live…” my inner voice said. This is a voice to whom I listen closely, for it seldom speaks in terms this loud, this clear.
“Live with joy, and adventure, and purpose. Live with love so that you can share it with others. Live with strength, so that you can help yourself, and those who need you. Live…so that you can look back one day with the quiet pride of a life well-spent, people well-loved, and other lives touched deeply by your own. Live…”
And tears rolled silently down my face as I sat there on that plane. What a gift my father had given me.
It’s a funny thing, but that little voice in my head sounds a little bit like my Dad, except that I know for a fact that he’d never say anything remotely like that. He’d just tell me to get my ass up off the couch and go plant some tomatoes and cayenne peppers.
But maybe that means pretty much the same thing. I’ll try it out and see.
Love you, Dad.
The Funeral
My father, William W. McClendon, Jr. was buried in the Paynetown Cemetery south of Greenville, TX, on Wednesday, October 15, 2008. He has passed away on Sunday, October 12, at the ripe old age of 80 years and one day.
Did you know that, if your wife drives like Mario Andretti, you can make it all the way to Greenville from Katy in exactly 4 hours? It was most impressive, I must say.
We left that morning a bit late, and there was bad weather in Dallas that slowed us down to about 75mph, so we were unable to visit Dad in the funeral home. I was told by my brother that he looked fabulous, “10 years younger…they even trimmed his nosehair.”
Wow. They really deserved a tip for that.
By the time it became apparent that we’d never make it to the funeral home in time, we called ahead and let Mom know that we’d just meet them at the cemetery. In the meantime, we were out of gas from the frantic drive. We headed towards the grave site with the intent of finding a gas station on the way, changing into our nice funeral clothes, and then hanging out until time to start.
There were no gas stations out there. None. Cows, chickens, and goats, yes, but gas stations? Nope.
Our car was on Very-Very-Empty, so we decided to head for the nearest town on the map, which was Quinlan. Nice place, once you find it. We coasted into the first gas station we saw, gassed up, changed clothes, and made it back to the cemetery with 15 minutes to spare.
It was a small turnout, but that was expected. Most of the folks who’ve known Dad were up in Indiana and couldn’t make the trip, but his Texas folks were all there. Mom was there, sad-eyed, but with that quiet strength that I’ve always come to expect from her. She’d slept on the drive down with my brother and his fiancée, and she was ready to get things moving.
There was a green tent over Dad’s coffin, and some Astroturf covered the ground so that the few chairs provided wouldn’t sink into the soft, damp earth. The sun had come out, and there was a quiet, beautiful serenity to the tiny cemetery that housed my grandparents and great-grandparents, and would soon keep my father’s remains as well. One of our relatives solemnly picked up his guitar and played a beautiful acoustic “Amazing Grace”, and I’ll never forget how his soft, gentle voice floated over us. One of my cousins gave a short eulogy that we enjoyed…there were sniffles at times, and overt chuckles at others. Dad was a character, yessiree. And well-loved. A sermon from the presiding pastor followed, and after a final prayer, the funeral director quietly knelt in front of us to speak with Mom.
“This concludes our service,” he whispered to my Mom. “Would you like to stay to see him lowered?”
Mom gently replied that she did not, stood up, and started walking towards the car. She was done, friends. She had loved my father for nearly 40 years. She had said her goodbyes, and it was apparently time to get the heck out of Dodge. We trailed behind her, hugging long-lost relatives and thanking folks for coming. Mom just kept on walking, so we hustled to catch up.
It’s a bit blurry after that. We went to Aunt Sissy’s, and Mom dutifully handed me the scooter keys and a heavily wrapped package that could only be one thing: the bedpan. I saw her crack a smile, then, and I knew she’d be OK. Mom changed clothes, packed her bags, and piled in the car with my brother and his fiancée 2 hours later, headed for home. We stayed longer, hung out with family and laughed and talked about Dad, about other stuff, and just enjoyed catching up. There were no more tears. My father had moved on, and that’s OK.
On our way home, we stopped and took some pics at the cemetery. Here’s me at Dad’s grave…sorry, it’s a bit blurry:
We’re home now, and I’m in the process of flinging myself headlong into the next years of my life. I feel like I should follow Dad’s example, and get busy with it all. Mom’s hanging in there…she had some rough moments yesterday when she had my brother clear out Dad’s garden in the back yard. She said that she didn’t want the rotting vegetables to attract animals. Dad’s tended a garden ever since I’ve known him, and I know that seeing the plants pulled up and disposed of was extremely difficult for Mom. Even so, she’s a strong woman with an awful lot of stuff to do. She’ll keep on keeping on, as they say.
So there you have it. To be honest, I’ve written every word on this blog over the last month with completely selfish intent…I wanted to get everything down somewhere so that I’d remember it always. However, I also wanted to keep my friends and family updated on my Dad’s situation, since many of you asked to be kept in the loop.
What I didn’t expect was for so many of you to let me know that my blogs were meaningful to you in some way. To you folks, I must say a humble “Thank you.” I’m very glad that I could do anything to help anyone feel better during this time when folks who love my Dad were hurting. Writing all this has helped me to get through it too, so I’m happy to share.
So go…spread the love. Enjoy your time here on earth. Love someone deeply, pursue a challenge, take a risk, and trade every day for something wonderful and amazing. Love to you all.
Rest In Peace, William W. McClendon, Jr. and thanks for everything.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Almost Time to Head Out.
Dad's funeral will be held in a tiny cemetary in Northeast Texas in a little over 14 hours. We'll crash tonight, pack up early in the morning, and head out. We're planning to go to Greenville first so that Christina and Monkey can see Dad in the funeral home before we go to the actual gravesite ceremony...they wanted some time to say goodbye to Dad before things get started.
Today was a much better day for me. Yesterday was harder, but I think I'm getting my feet under me again, and the funeral will serve to close this chapter somewhat. Dad's influence will never go away, and neither will the lessons that he's taught me over the years. Sometimes, he taught by actually "teaching" me something, with words and gestures, and a straightforward lesson of some kind. Other times, he taught by example, even when he had no idea that I was watching. Either way, those lessons stuck. Thanks, Dad.
My Mom and brother are on their way, and should arrive in Texas late tonight. I hope they can get some rest before tomorrow. They are bringing a couple of very important items for me: keys to the scooter, and a special bedpan. Selfishly speaking, I'm glad they remembered.
It'll be good to see the family, gathered as they will be for Dad's service. We'll all be united in our sadness at the loss of him, as well as in our moments of laughter as we remember the brave, and sometimes ridiculous things he often did. I've got another blog started where I plan to chronicle many of his stories and adventures, and his general "Dadness" as possible. More on that later.
For now, we're off to bed. I'll write something after the funeral, and if I don't have at least one new funny story, feel free to slap me around. Take care, everyone. And go hug someone you love.
Today was a much better day for me. Yesterday was harder, but I think I'm getting my feet under me again, and the funeral will serve to close this chapter somewhat. Dad's influence will never go away, and neither will the lessons that he's taught me over the years. Sometimes, he taught by actually "teaching" me something, with words and gestures, and a straightforward lesson of some kind. Other times, he taught by example, even when he had no idea that I was watching. Either way, those lessons stuck. Thanks, Dad.
My Mom and brother are on their way, and should arrive in Texas late tonight. I hope they can get some rest before tomorrow. They are bringing a couple of very important items for me: keys to the scooter, and a special bedpan. Selfishly speaking, I'm glad they remembered.
It'll be good to see the family, gathered as they will be for Dad's service. We'll all be united in our sadness at the loss of him, as well as in our moments of laughter as we remember the brave, and sometimes ridiculous things he often did. I've got another blog started where I plan to chronicle many of his stories and adventures, and his general "Dadness" as possible. More on that later.
For now, we're off to bed. I'll write something after the funeral, and if I don't have at least one new funny story, feel free to slap me around. Take care, everyone. And go hug someone you love.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Finally Got That Phone Call
Yesterday was Sunday, and I had spent the last 8 hours finishing up my taxes. I'd been on the phone a few times with Mom, who had let me know that Dad had been unresponsive for the last day or so, but there was still nothing new to report.
After putting the final touches on my tax report, I kissed my wife and son, and hopped in the car to go drop the report at my father-in-law's house (he's our tax guy). I called my friend, Brian, to chat a bit, during the 3 minute drive. As I was talking to him, I got a beep...it was Mom.
I hustled to switch over, and it went something like this:
"Mom?"
"Son...Dad passed away...and I'll get back to you."
"Um...OK. Love you, Mom."
"Love you too. Bye."
And there it was. Dad's finally gone. His spirit has left us, and we are left to navigate this world without his particular brand of country wisdom, his humor, and quiet strength.
Mom's probably the toughest woman I've ever met, but I could tell that she wasn't up for a lot of emotional conversation. She tends to plow forward, do what needs to be done, and bury herself in tasks that keep her focus away from more unpleasant thoughts. She'll cry when she has time and privacy to do so. That's just how she rolls. All the arrangements have been made, everything's already handled, and now all that's left is to head to Paynetown, TX for Dad's funeral. That's this Wednesday at 2pm, by the way.
So I dropped off my tax information and headed home. I stopped at the video store to try for Zohan, but it wasn't there. I settled for Leatherheads, thinking that humorous movies will be in demand around our house for awhile. When I got home, I quietly let Christina know that Dad was gone, and we decided to tell Connor later...no sense in making it harder for him to go to sleep. As we finished up our day, I noticed that things were different. Before I had left the house, Dad was still around. Quiet, no doubt, but still around. By the time I had returned, he was gone. Different...and I felt the difference.
Today was to be my triumphant return to teaching. I got up and worked out as soon as I could get started. That accomplished, I fumbled around and tried to remember what else I was supposed to be doing. I was still doing that when Amy, one of my fantastic assistants, called to see why I had missed our meeting at 11am. Crap.
You see, when I'm preoccupied or stressed, two things happen to me: I have trouble making decisions, and I forget things. I had forgotten our meeting.
25 minutes later, I made it to my school to meet with the fabulous Amy to discuss the idea of having a tournament for our junior students. Mom called briefly during the meeting to give me the final funeral arrangements, and then we got back to our discussion. As we finished that up, and my daytime class approached, Amy graciously offered to take the class for me. Apparently, it was obvious that I'm distracted, absent, and not altogether ready to get back to teaching.
Well, she was right. I let her handle that class, and the evening classes with Mark as well, and I came home for the day. We picked up Connor from school, and I sat him down and gently told him about Grandpa's passing. Although he was sad about it, kids are pretty resilient, and he went back to being a kid again almost immediately.
I'm having a slightly rougher time of it, I suppose. I mean, I have no regrets about my relationship with Dad. The week I spent with him during his last days was more meaningful than I can convey, and we parted on the best possible terms. I had accepted his imminent passing, as had he, and figured that I'd be fine.
There's just a touch more finality to this whole thing now. And there's an emptiness that I didn't quite expect. There's no denying that it's there, and it's bugging me. Since it's still pretty new, I'm not that adept at dealing with it yet, although I can say that bowling doesn't help all that much (but that's another story).
I have the feeling that the funeral will bring a certain amount of closure, which will be good for all three of us. There are many ways to deal with my feelings, and I plan to cycle through each of them until I find the best combination of working out, reading, writing, working, playing, meditating, talking, listening, and riding Dad's scooter (which will be here soon). While I'm doing that, I hope that my friends and students will be able to tolerate me until I'm back on my emotional feet.
So if I seem preoccupied, distant, or absent, and if I don't answer emails or messages, please don't take it personally. I've always been good at dealing with my emotions, and although this might take some extra muscle, I'll be fine. Christina's offered to wait on me hand and foot for awhile...who wouldn't feel better with an offer like that on the table?
Take care, everyone. Go hug someone you love, and I'll get back to you.
After putting the final touches on my tax report, I kissed my wife and son, and hopped in the car to go drop the report at my father-in-law's house (he's our tax guy). I called my friend, Brian, to chat a bit, during the 3 minute drive. As I was talking to him, I got a beep...it was Mom.
I hustled to switch over, and it went something like this:
"Mom?"
"Son...Dad passed away...and I'll get back to you."
"Um...OK. Love you, Mom."
"Love you too. Bye."
And there it was. Dad's finally gone. His spirit has left us, and we are left to navigate this world without his particular brand of country wisdom, his humor, and quiet strength.
Mom's probably the toughest woman I've ever met, but I could tell that she wasn't up for a lot of emotional conversation. She tends to plow forward, do what needs to be done, and bury herself in tasks that keep her focus away from more unpleasant thoughts. She'll cry when she has time and privacy to do so. That's just how she rolls. All the arrangements have been made, everything's already handled, and now all that's left is to head to Paynetown, TX for Dad's funeral. That's this Wednesday at 2pm, by the way.
So I dropped off my tax information and headed home. I stopped at the video store to try for Zohan, but it wasn't there. I settled for Leatherheads, thinking that humorous movies will be in demand around our house for awhile. When I got home, I quietly let Christina know that Dad was gone, and we decided to tell Connor later...no sense in making it harder for him to go to sleep. As we finished up our day, I noticed that things were different. Before I had left the house, Dad was still around. Quiet, no doubt, but still around. By the time I had returned, he was gone. Different...and I felt the difference.
Today was to be my triumphant return to teaching. I got up and worked out as soon as I could get started. That accomplished, I fumbled around and tried to remember what else I was supposed to be doing. I was still doing that when Amy, one of my fantastic assistants, called to see why I had missed our meeting at 11am. Crap.
You see, when I'm preoccupied or stressed, two things happen to me: I have trouble making decisions, and I forget things. I had forgotten our meeting.
25 minutes later, I made it to my school to meet with the fabulous Amy to discuss the idea of having a tournament for our junior students. Mom called briefly during the meeting to give me the final funeral arrangements, and then we got back to our discussion. As we finished that up, and my daytime class approached, Amy graciously offered to take the class for me. Apparently, it was obvious that I'm distracted, absent, and not altogether ready to get back to teaching.
Well, she was right. I let her handle that class, and the evening classes with Mark as well, and I came home for the day. We picked up Connor from school, and I sat him down and gently told him about Grandpa's passing. Although he was sad about it, kids are pretty resilient, and he went back to being a kid again almost immediately.
I'm having a slightly rougher time of it, I suppose. I mean, I have no regrets about my relationship with Dad. The week I spent with him during his last days was more meaningful than I can convey, and we parted on the best possible terms. I had accepted his imminent passing, as had he, and figured that I'd be fine.
There's just a touch more finality to this whole thing now. And there's an emptiness that I didn't quite expect. There's no denying that it's there, and it's bugging me. Since it's still pretty new, I'm not that adept at dealing with it yet, although I can say that bowling doesn't help all that much (but that's another story).
I have the feeling that the funeral will bring a certain amount of closure, which will be good for all three of us. There are many ways to deal with my feelings, and I plan to cycle through each of them until I find the best combination of working out, reading, writing, working, playing, meditating, talking, listening, and riding Dad's scooter (which will be here soon). While I'm doing that, I hope that my friends and students will be able to tolerate me until I'm back on my emotional feet.
So if I seem preoccupied, distant, or absent, and if I don't answer emails or messages, please don't take it personally. I've always been good at dealing with my emotions, and although this might take some extra muscle, I'll be fine. Christina's offered to wait on me hand and foot for awhile...who wouldn't feel better with an offer like that on the table?
Take care, everyone. Go hug someone you love, and I'll get back to you.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
There's Just Not Enough "Thank You"
I'm home. I spoke to my Mom this morning, and she told me that Dad's 'happy as a lark', now that some of his family has come up to see him. Joann, Paula, Buddy, and Sissy all hopped a train from Dallas to Chicago and then rented a car to get to Elkhart, and he's been thrilled to have them around.
"Y'all sure took your sweet time gettin' here!" he reportedly said, laughing, when they showed up.
Dad's perked up a bit, and I'm glad. I don't know if he's managed to eat or drink anything other than his 'little Cokes', but the main thing is that he's happy and comfortable at home.
I had a big emotional moment on the plane that I think is worth sharing, but I'll save that for another post. What I want to do now is thank the folks who kept Jade Mountain rolling for me while I was away.
I came in last night, worn out, and planning to visit my school for just a short while, just to touch base and then get home so I could finally get some sleep. As soon as I entered the doorway, I noticed that there was a large pile of stuff underneath the stairs, covered with a canvas. Then, as I climbed the stairs, I noticed that the official school plant was on the landing, and that the window decorations had been changed, making that area much more inviting.
Folks, when I walked in, I had no idea that my SWAT (Sifu Whit's Apprentice Trainees, as they now call themselves) had spent hours redecorating the school while I was gone. It's now much more open, clean, efficient, and fabulous. Old equipment that I had planned to 'someday' sell had been hauled out and placed in storage. Walls had been redecorated. The bathroom had been redecorated. And the storage room had been converted into a SWAT changing room and office.
Wow.
Had I not been worn out, I'd have been crying in front of everyone. As it was, it was a close thing, and I spent much of the time wiping my eyes and sniffling as I strolled around, taking in the 'new' Jade Mountain. They had worked their tails off to do this, all without my knowledge, and just because they wanted to give something back to me, their teacher, and to the school that they have come to cherish.
I was humbled, honored, and deeply touched. I can't thank them enough...I just can't. I've always felt that without devoted students, being a Sifu is kind of useless, worthless. I could have the world's accumulated knowledge of martial arts, but without someone to take it from me, it would just sit there, in my mind and body, with no purpose. My team has made me feel like the greatest Sifu alive. I suppose I can only thank them day by day, skill by skill, and lesson by lesson, for they deserve the very best I can possibly give them. And dinner...I'm taking them all out to dinner.
There isn't enough "Thank you" in the world to express my gratitude towards these fine folks, so I'll try and pile it all into one:
"Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart."
(from left)Bill Landry, Kevin Hall, Renee Bracamonte, Misty Hanson, Sifu Whit, Amy Jones, Terry Thurman, Mark Dong, and Shaun Lawler (not shown)
"Y'all sure took your sweet time gettin' here!" he reportedly said, laughing, when they showed up.
Dad's perked up a bit, and I'm glad. I don't know if he's managed to eat or drink anything other than his 'little Cokes', but the main thing is that he's happy and comfortable at home.
I had a big emotional moment on the plane that I think is worth sharing, but I'll save that for another post. What I want to do now is thank the folks who kept Jade Mountain rolling for me while I was away.
I came in last night, worn out, and planning to visit my school for just a short while, just to touch base and then get home so I could finally get some sleep. As soon as I entered the doorway, I noticed that there was a large pile of stuff underneath the stairs, covered with a canvas. Then, as I climbed the stairs, I noticed that the official school plant was on the landing, and that the window decorations had been changed, making that area much more inviting.
Folks, when I walked in, I had no idea that my SWAT (Sifu Whit's Apprentice Trainees, as they now call themselves) had spent hours redecorating the school while I was gone. It's now much more open, clean, efficient, and fabulous. Old equipment that I had planned to 'someday' sell had been hauled out and placed in storage. Walls had been redecorated. The bathroom had been redecorated. And the storage room had been converted into a SWAT changing room and office.
Wow.
Had I not been worn out, I'd have been crying in front of everyone. As it was, it was a close thing, and I spent much of the time wiping my eyes and sniffling as I strolled around, taking in the 'new' Jade Mountain. They had worked their tails off to do this, all without my knowledge, and just because they wanted to give something back to me, their teacher, and to the school that they have come to cherish.
I was humbled, honored, and deeply touched. I can't thank them enough...I just can't. I've always felt that without devoted students, being a Sifu is kind of useless, worthless. I could have the world's accumulated knowledge of martial arts, but without someone to take it from me, it would just sit there, in my mind and body, with no purpose. My team has made me feel like the greatest Sifu alive. I suppose I can only thank them day by day, skill by skill, and lesson by lesson, for they deserve the very best I can possibly give them. And dinner...I'm taking them all out to dinner.
There isn't enough "Thank you" in the world to express my gratitude towards these fine folks, so I'll try and pile it all into one:
"Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart."
(from left)Bill Landry, Kevin Hall, Renee Bracamonte, Misty Hanson, Sifu Whit, Amy Jones, Terry Thurman, Mark Dong, and Shaun Lawler (not shown)
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Homecoming, Departures
Dad came home today. He's resting comfortably in his own bed, with his wife nearby, and his dog in his lap. He's much more relaxed than he was in the hospital, and I don't blame him one bit.
I got up early this morning, showered up quickly, and gathered up my stuff so that I could spend time with Dad while Mom got her antibiotic shot (that pesky pneumonia is still giving her fits) and finished tying up things with the Hospice folks. She made sure the oxygen tanks showed up, called everyone involved, and generally prepared for Dad's return. We figured we had covered all the bases, and if all went well, Dad was due to leave the hospital at around 3pm (6pm is what I guessed would be the final result...I've never known these things to happen on time.)
There was a lot of quiet time with Dad today. He seemed eager to get home, and asked more than once what time it was. I happily reassured him that we had finished almost everything, and that he'd be home soon. He had more fluid drained from his lungs so that he'd be more comfortable at home. My brother stopped in to see how Dad was doing. The nurses removed his PIC line (nutritional IV) and his other intravenous lines, and I spoke with the nurse regarding various procedures.
Ruth was Dad's nurse during the day, and let me tell you, she was fabulous. She was always great with Dad, and I'll never be able to thank her and the other folks at EGH enough. I always felt that they worked really hard for Dad and cared for him. Thanks, folks!
Then there was a tiny little snag. It seems that we needed two witness to sign a particular form...two folks who knew Dad, but weren't related to him, and weren't employees of the hospital. HOLY CRAP!!! Most of the folks Dad hung out with were family members. The guy who sold him the scooter didn't count, so we were scrambling to find folks to sign this one paper so that Dad could ride in the ambulance and come home.
Mom (who has a hard time asking ANYONE for help) went next door to talk to the fabulous Bree, a stay-at-home mom who knows Dad fairly well. She dropped what she was doing, scooped up her adorable 2yrold daughter and hustled up to the hospital. Next, Mom called the family Pastor, who likewise, jumped in whatever car he drives, probably hollered "YEEEEEEE-HAAAAAWWWWWWW!" and showed up at the hospital mere minutes later. They signed the paper, I signed the paper, and all was well with the world again. Again, thanks are in order.
The Pastor stayed a bit longer to chat with Dad. He quietly let Dad know that he'll be there if needed, and asked if there was anything Dad wanted him to pray for.
There was a moment of silence before I heard him quietly say, "Pray for Mary."
I don't recall many times in my life when I heard emotion touch my father's voice. All that mushy stuff just wasn't comfortable for him, and he was fine to just smile and nod, rather than bare his heart to the world like his oldest son would probably do. And yet, it was there. In what are probably his final days, he's thinking of her...of us. That's Dad.
We readied him for the trip after that, and as 3pm got closer and closer, it became clear that they weren't playing around! He really was going to leave the hospital on time! This left me with a bit of a predicament...I had to find a way to liberate the bedpan. Oh, yes, you know the bedpan of which I speak. That stainless steel vessel of doom that proved the depth of my ignorance...yes, THAT bedpan.
As much as it had embarrassed me, I had gotten rather close to that bedpan. We have a much better relationship now, and I felt that it was an important part of Dad's whole experience. Too important, in fact, to be left behind. So what's a guy to do? I mean...do I clean it out, dry it off, tie it up in a plastic bag, wrap it up in my sweatshirt, and then stuff it into a bigger plastic bag so that I can walk off with it? Me? I'd never dream of such a thing.
Yeah...and monkeys'll fly out of my butt.
The bedpan is now resting comfortably in Dad's bathroom. There it will stay until he no longer needs it. Afterwards, I'm sure it will somehow find its way to Katy.
3pm showed up, and so did the ambulance guys, Rob and Josh. They were polite, efficient, and ready to roll, baby. They carefully slid Dad, waffle mattress and all onto their gurney, and we were off. I did take a moment to pass off a certain bundle to Aunt Linda before climbing into the ambulance with Dad. "Take care of this...it's important." Aunt Linda nodded solemnly, and I followed Dad to his ride.
After passing the house, turning around, and then finding it again, Rob and Josh rolled into the driveway. We brought them inside to see where Dad would be placed, and they promptly ruled out the gurney and the wheelchair. "We'll just have to carry him up. Don't worry, we do this all the time." You know what? The were right. Dad was in his own bed before I could say Jiminy Cricket. There was some discussion with Amy, the Hospice nurse, while we also thanked Rob and Josh for bringing Dad safely home, followed by some scrambling for a bedpan (Dad wasted no time requesting it once he got home) and then we all breathed a huge sigh of relief. Dad's home, at long last. He has three huge oxygen tanks at the foot of his bed, and a host of supplies, medicines, and small machines nearby, but I can see how relieved he is to be back in his own home again.
Since he's been home, he's actually drank a bit of Coca Cola, as well as a bit of water. He's been able to pet his dog Rico any time he wants. And he even talked to his grandson in Katy, my son Connor. That got me, folks. Dad was happily telling Connor that he loves him while Connor chattered away on the other end. Hearing that love in my Dad's voice, a voice unaccustomed to holding that kind of tone, that moved me.
The only other thing I want to mention is something you'd probably see in any MadeForTVMovie. I had some alone time with Dad, and I wanted to tell him something I always felt that he knew, but I seldom said it to him aloud.
"Dad, I just wanted you to know that I'm proud to be your son."
"Yeah...well, I'm proud to have you."
I don't need much from my Dad. He and Mom molded me to be pretty independent, and I'm not a guy who spent his whole life seeking Dad's approval. Honestly, I always felt that I already had it. But a little confirmation at a time like this is extremely meaningful. Dad's a man of few words, and he invested more meaning in those seven than most could express in a 10 page speech. I'm OK with that.
I leave tomorrow morning, knowing that I will probably never see my father alive again. For many, that would be a horrible tragedy, but it's not like that for me. This past week has been a good one for us as father and son, a rare and valuable gift. I'll treasure this time for the rest of my life, and I can sleep at night knowing that I showed Dad how much I love him by being here during these final days. I've also felt his love for me, and feel that he'll always be with me, no matter where I go or what I do.
And by the way, there's always that crazy chance that his sheer toughness will reassert itself, he could go into remission and he'll last for months. That would be just like him, that freakin' tough old coot. I'll keep you posted. In any case, don't waste time where your loved ones are concerned. Tell them you love them every day. You'll feel better...I promise.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Dad's Scooter
Day 6, October 6, 2008
It's quiet here in Dad's room. He's off the BiPAP, and it's a lot easier to understand him with the smaller oxygen mask. He's resting comfortably. Still joking a little bit. He likes to have the nurse call button firmly in his hand at all times, saying that he'd be "up a creek without that beeper...I think they're all asleep back there."
Mom's gone back to the doctor for more tests. I'm hoping that she starts feeling better somehow, but I know that the things that she needs to get done simply must get done, and no one can do them for her. At least her fever is gone.
I thought I'd throw a little video up here for comic relief...OK, it's not that funny, but it makes me laugh. Before I get to the vid, I'll explain a bit about this whole scooter thing.
2 years ago (when Dad was a spry 78 yrs old) his wrecked his truck, and his failing eyesight kept him from renewing his license. Stuck at home, and resenting the loss of his mobility, he got to thinking that a scooter might be a good idea...just the thing for those short trips to the gas station/convenience store or my brother's house nearby. He mentioned it to Mom, who promptly vetoed the idea.
"Have you lost your MIND? NO!!!"
My father was not deterred in the least. Every day, he began to pester her to take him to Ed's Cycles to look at the bikes. Every day, Mom refused. This went on for weeks...every...single...day. Finally, he threatened to just walk there if she wouldn't drive him, and he actually started walking down the street. Mom finally relented, and drove him to the motorcycle shop.
Once there, Dad walked straight over to the Harleys, and Mom turned on her heel and walked back out to sit in the car. "No. Way. I'm not going to be a part of this ridiculousness." Dad waved to her from the store window, but she would not be moved.
Finally, he brought the salesman out to talk to her and assured her that they had found something more suitable. Mom warily exited the car and followed them to the showroom. Here's what she saw:
Its top speed is only about 38 miles an hour...maybe 40, if there's a tailwind. She reluctantly agreed, only because she wanted to give Dad a chance to keep his independence.
They got it home. Dad rode it up the block, and then back down the block, and then laid the bike down in the middle of the road after losing control in some gravel.
And that was that. It went into the garage, and stayed there. Dad dutifully started it, day after day, just to make sure that it continued to function, but he never rode it again.
Mom always said that he wanted me to have it. With gas prices as high as they are, it would be the perfect ride to my school and back. I did have some trouble with it at first, but finally figured things out.
At first, I always suggested that Mom just sell it and if she really wanted me to have a scooter, then just pass the money along and I'd buy one back in Katy. But now that I'm here, and I've ridden it and run my fingers along the scratches left by Dad's wreck...I really want it. THIS scooter. Not a fancier new one, not one that goes faster...THIS one. Because it was Dad's.
I know he only rode it once, but to me, it symbolizes his determined spirit, his desire to do things his own way, his passion for living. How could I just sell it, and buy some new, empty machine with no feeling attached to it? There may come a day when I choose to buy a bigger, better, faster scooter, but not yet...not just yet.
So laugh at me if you will. I know that I'm not exactly the most macho figure on the road with my little red scooter...but I'm ok with that.
It's quiet here in Dad's room. He's off the BiPAP, and it's a lot easier to understand him with the smaller oxygen mask. He's resting comfortably. Still joking a little bit. He likes to have the nurse call button firmly in his hand at all times, saying that he'd be "up a creek without that beeper...I think they're all asleep back there."
Mom's gone back to the doctor for more tests. I'm hoping that she starts feeling better somehow, but I know that the things that she needs to get done simply must get done, and no one can do them for her. At least her fever is gone.
I thought I'd throw a little video up here for comic relief...OK, it's not that funny, but it makes me laugh. Before I get to the vid, I'll explain a bit about this whole scooter thing.
2 years ago (when Dad was a spry 78 yrs old) his wrecked his truck, and his failing eyesight kept him from renewing his license. Stuck at home, and resenting the loss of his mobility, he got to thinking that a scooter might be a good idea...just the thing for those short trips to the gas station/convenience store or my brother's house nearby. He mentioned it to Mom, who promptly vetoed the idea.
"Have you lost your MIND? NO!!!"
My father was not deterred in the least. Every day, he began to pester her to take him to Ed's Cycles to look at the bikes. Every day, Mom refused. This went on for weeks...every...single...day. Finally, he threatened to just walk there if she wouldn't drive him, and he actually started walking down the street. Mom finally relented, and drove him to the motorcycle shop.
Once there, Dad walked straight over to the Harleys, and Mom turned on her heel and walked back out to sit in the car. "No. Way. I'm not going to be a part of this ridiculousness." Dad waved to her from the store window, but she would not be moved.
Finally, he brought the salesman out to talk to her and assured her that they had found something more suitable. Mom warily exited the car and followed them to the showroom. Here's what she saw:
Its top speed is only about 38 miles an hour...maybe 40, if there's a tailwind. She reluctantly agreed, only because she wanted to give Dad a chance to keep his independence.
They got it home. Dad rode it up the block, and then back down the block, and then laid the bike down in the middle of the road after losing control in some gravel.
And that was that. It went into the garage, and stayed there. Dad dutifully started it, day after day, just to make sure that it continued to function, but he never rode it again.
Mom always said that he wanted me to have it. With gas prices as high as they are, it would be the perfect ride to my school and back. I did have some trouble with it at first, but finally figured things out.
At first, I always suggested that Mom just sell it and if she really wanted me to have a scooter, then just pass the money along and I'd buy one back in Katy. But now that I'm here, and I've ridden it and run my fingers along the scratches left by Dad's wreck...I really want it. THIS scooter. Not a fancier new one, not one that goes faster...THIS one. Because it was Dad's.
I know he only rode it once, but to me, it symbolizes his determined spirit, his desire to do things his own way, his passion for living. How could I just sell it, and buy some new, empty machine with no feeling attached to it? There may come a day when I choose to buy a bigger, better, faster scooter, but not yet...not just yet.
So laugh at me if you will. I know that I'm not exactly the most macho figure on the road with my little red scooter...but I'm ok with that.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Dad's Still Dad
Dad's resting. Not much has changed, really. He's still not eating, although he did request a sip of Coca-Cola this morning (we happily obliged). The mottling that had appeared on his feet last night (a sign of poor circulation, and not a good sign at all) was a bit better, but otherwise, the situation is the same.
However, my aunt called Mom this afternoon to tell her that one of the nurses had given Dad morphine, rather than the vicoden that he has been taking for days. Mom blew her top, and called the nurse and tore her a new one. Mom's an artist at that, by the way. Black Sash, 5th degree. You see, the plan was to bring Dad home, get him settled, and THEN start him on the morphine. Once you're on morphine, you're staying on it until you're gone, and Mom had not yet approved that course of action. Dad's been getting on fine with the vicoden, she says, and now, he's in another time zone...he may not even care about getting home. In the nurses defense, a morphine IV injection IS on his chart as a prescribed med for his pain...she just didn't know all the details.
What's done is done, though. The next nurse specifically asked him if he wanted the pain pill or the morphine, and he requested the morphine.
Morphine or not, when we came in to see him after all this came down, he asked us to take his BiPAP mask off so that we could understand him. That accomplished, he said that Uncle Henry had come in to see him earlier in the day.
Uncle Henry: "William, do you want me to pray for you?"
My Dad: "Yeah, pray me up a bedpan!"
And Dad laughed at his own joke. He told us that Uncle Henry dutifully hustled off to find a nurse (Uncle Henry's not a licensed bedpan tech like me), and Dad laughed again. Then he asked us to replace his mask, and he rested from the effort of talking with us.
His body is wasting away, but he's still in there, sharp as a tack. The morphine is relaxing him a ton, and we are concerned that he may not make it home...but he's not in pain now. He's been having a lot of anxiety over his breathing, but now, that stress is far, far less. He's much more comfortable than before.
I'm still searching for the proper emotions regarding the 'jumping of the gun' in regards to Dad getting morphine. I know that no nurse would flippantly push morphine into someone's IV without at least looking carefully at the patients chart. If it didn't happen today, we might have put him on it tomorrow. Or the next day. And he'd have been suffering all the while we waited to approve the stuff.
I really think that we've done pretty much everything that can be done, and each day, we continue to do so. I wonder if the universe might have given a nurse a nudge in that direction so that a good man wouldn't suffer for longer than necessary. He might still make it home after all...we don't know. We're just going to continue with the plan of getting him home ASAP, once we can get things ironed out with the Hospice folks. His time is short, and we know that. We're as ready as we can be, and I know that's not nearly ready enough.
It's nice to know, at least, that Dad's still in there. He's fully aware of what's going on, and he's accepted it. He has chosen to face bravely forward, with his usual unflinching strength and wry humor. I hope and pray that when my time comes I can face it half as well as my dear father.
And by the way, to those of you who have emailed, texted, and commented to show your support...thank you. I'll never be able to repay you for helping me be strong right now.
However, my aunt called Mom this afternoon to tell her that one of the nurses had given Dad morphine, rather than the vicoden that he has been taking for days. Mom blew her top, and called the nurse and tore her a new one. Mom's an artist at that, by the way. Black Sash, 5th degree. You see, the plan was to bring Dad home, get him settled, and THEN start him on the morphine. Once you're on morphine, you're staying on it until you're gone, and Mom had not yet approved that course of action. Dad's been getting on fine with the vicoden, she says, and now, he's in another time zone...he may not even care about getting home. In the nurses defense, a morphine IV injection IS on his chart as a prescribed med for his pain...she just didn't know all the details.
What's done is done, though. The next nurse specifically asked him if he wanted the pain pill or the morphine, and he requested the morphine.
Morphine or not, when we came in to see him after all this came down, he asked us to take his BiPAP mask off so that we could understand him. That accomplished, he said that Uncle Henry had come in to see him earlier in the day.
Uncle Henry: "William, do you want me to pray for you?"
My Dad: "Yeah, pray me up a bedpan!"
And Dad laughed at his own joke. He told us that Uncle Henry dutifully hustled off to find a nurse (Uncle Henry's not a licensed bedpan tech like me), and Dad laughed again. Then he asked us to replace his mask, and he rested from the effort of talking with us.
His body is wasting away, but he's still in there, sharp as a tack. The morphine is relaxing him a ton, and we are concerned that he may not make it home...but he's not in pain now. He's been having a lot of anxiety over his breathing, but now, that stress is far, far less. He's much more comfortable than before.
I'm still searching for the proper emotions regarding the 'jumping of the gun' in regards to Dad getting morphine. I know that no nurse would flippantly push morphine into someone's IV without at least looking carefully at the patients chart. If it didn't happen today, we might have put him on it tomorrow. Or the next day. And he'd have been suffering all the while we waited to approve the stuff.
I really think that we've done pretty much everything that can be done, and each day, we continue to do so. I wonder if the universe might have given a nurse a nudge in that direction so that a good man wouldn't suffer for longer than necessary. He might still make it home after all...we don't know. We're just going to continue with the plan of getting him home ASAP, once we can get things ironed out with the Hospice folks. His time is short, and we know that. We're as ready as we can be, and I know that's not nearly ready enough.
It's nice to know, at least, that Dad's still in there. He's fully aware of what's going on, and he's accepted it. He has chosen to face bravely forward, with his usual unflinching strength and wry humor. I hope and pray that when my time comes I can face it half as well as my dear father.
And by the way, to those of you who have emailed, texted, and commented to show your support...thank you. I'll never be able to repay you for helping me be strong right now.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Decisions.
I'll remember today. At least, parts of it. I've recounted most of what happened earlier, including the lung cancer diagnosis. Now for the latest news:
The lung cancer is of a type I've never heard. It's called malignant mesothelioma, and it's caused from previous exposure to asbestos. Amazingly, Dad didn't get it from smoking all those years. No, his prior work history is to blame this time. Long ago, Dad had the opportunity to join a class action suit against Dow, his employer of 30 years, and he declined. "Hell, I knew it was bad back then, but I chose to work. I'm not gonna sue them when I made the choice myself." Typical Dad. It's inoperable, by the way. In his current condition, he wouldn't survive chemo, radiation, and I don't think that surgery can even be done for this crap. Not that he would survive that, either.
Anyway, they found and identified the cancer cells from the fluid that they took from Dad's lungs. They take the fluid out, and it just comes right back. He's on a real Darth Vader mask now, a BiPAP. He's not getting better.
After spending the morning with Dad (and shuffling me around as well) we came back to Mom's house in the afternoon. Then, Mom got a call from the cancer doctor, and we left the house like it was on fire to get back to the hospital to talk with the doc. He was a very nice man, and he spoke with as much tact and clarity as is possible when delivering this type of diagnosis. We discussed options, the difference between Hospice and Home Care, and we talked about what Dad would probably want. Then, it was time to take all that info to Dad and hear his opinion.
We got back in the room and started to talk to Dad about the situation. As soon as we started talking about the cancer, he said, "Take this mask off!" Thinking he was about to jump out of the bed, we quickly helped him get it off, and then he said, "BEDPAN!" Apparently, he just needed to go, and wanted to make that desire perfectly clear.
Fortunately, I'm a licensed bedpan technician, so we were able to take care of him quickly and easily, but the whole effort still wore him out. Afterwards, we got him comfortable again, replaced the mask, and let him rest for a few minutes.
"I suppose y'all want my decision."
What? We were a touch surprised, thinking that he hadn't heard all of our discussion, but knowing Dad as we do, we should have figured that he'd be paying attention. We said yes, we did certainly want to hear his thoughts on the matter.
"Take me home...make me comfortable...and let me go."
...................................................
It was the tone of his voice that broke me. And inspired me. And reminded me why I love my Dad the way I do. I'm glad I was here to hear him say this. I don't think I've ever heard braver words spoken aloud. I'm just grateful that I've been able to spend this time with him.
There are more details, more thoughts and feelings, and yes, even more humorous commentary, but to be honest, I think I'm done for right now. I'll touch base again tomorrow sometime.
The lung cancer is of a type I've never heard. It's called malignant mesothelioma, and it's caused from previous exposure to asbestos. Amazingly, Dad didn't get it from smoking all those years. No, his prior work history is to blame this time. Long ago, Dad had the opportunity to join a class action suit against Dow, his employer of 30 years, and he declined. "Hell, I knew it was bad back then, but I chose to work. I'm not gonna sue them when I made the choice myself." Typical Dad. It's inoperable, by the way. In his current condition, he wouldn't survive chemo, radiation, and I don't think that surgery can even be done for this crap. Not that he would survive that, either.
Anyway, they found and identified the cancer cells from the fluid that they took from Dad's lungs. They take the fluid out, and it just comes right back. He's on a real Darth Vader mask now, a BiPAP. He's not getting better.
After spending the morning with Dad (and shuffling me around as well) we came back to Mom's house in the afternoon. Then, Mom got a call from the cancer doctor, and we left the house like it was on fire to get back to the hospital to talk with the doc. He was a very nice man, and he spoke with as much tact and clarity as is possible when delivering this type of diagnosis. We discussed options, the difference between Hospice and Home Care, and we talked about what Dad would probably want. Then, it was time to take all that info to Dad and hear his opinion.
We got back in the room and started to talk to Dad about the situation. As soon as we started talking about the cancer, he said, "Take this mask off!" Thinking he was about to jump out of the bed, we quickly helped him get it off, and then he said, "BEDPAN!" Apparently, he just needed to go, and wanted to make that desire perfectly clear.
Fortunately, I'm a licensed bedpan technician, so we were able to take care of him quickly and easily, but the whole effort still wore him out. Afterwards, we got him comfortable again, replaced the mask, and let him rest for a few minutes.
"I suppose y'all want my decision."
What? We were a touch surprised, thinking that he hadn't heard all of our discussion, but knowing Dad as we do, we should have figured that he'd be paying attention. We said yes, we did certainly want to hear his thoughts on the matter.
"Take me home...make me comfortable...and let me go."
...................................................
It was the tone of his voice that broke me. And inspired me. And reminded me why I love my Dad the way I do. I'm glad I was here to hear him say this. I don't think I've ever heard braver words spoken aloud. I'm just grateful that I've been able to spend this time with him.
There are more details, more thoughts and feelings, and yes, even more humorous commentary, but to be honest, I think I'm done for right now. I'll touch base again tomorrow sometime.
News...not good.
Day 4, October 4, 2008
Yesterday was mostly a blur. I chose to stay the night at Dad's room in case he needed anything. This meant no sleep whatsoever for me, but I was able to see that he was passing the night well, and the nurses were taking good care of him. Mom came and got me at 5am, and I crashed for a few hours at her house. Dad didn't improve much yesterday, still gurgling and not getting any stronger. However, I'm now a licensed bedpan specialist.
I did manage to sleep well last night, and awoke this morning to an empty house. I knew that Mom's an extremely early riser, so I called her cell. Things aren't going well this morning...Dad's struggling. She said she couldn't come get me, she was tied up with Dad. I told her I'd think of something.
You guessed it. The scooter. Did I mention Dad's scooter? I've been tooling around the neighborhood on it. I figured that Dad would have just jumped on it and headed out...so I followed his example.
I passed Mom on the way, and she u-turned to catch up with me in the hospital parking lot. Rather than berate me for driving it as I expected, she simply said, "Do you see any other scooters here?"
"No."
"That's because it'll be gone when you get back. Drive it home, and I'll bring you back up here."
"That's crazy! I'm already here!"
"Seriously, it'll be gone when you come out. Get moving."
Have I mentioned that there's no arguing with my Mom? I drove it home. It's a beautiful morning for a drive, anyway.
Now for the news, and it's not good: Dad's got lung cancer. We're going to have a cancer specialist look him over. If there's anything to be done, we want to know, but Dad's too weak for surgery, chemo, or radiation. What else is there to do? We'll find out if there is anything, but it doesn't look like there's much left at this point. If the options are exhausted, we're bringing him home and setting him up in a spare room, to make him as comfortable as possible until the end finally comes. With stronger pain medication, there's a chance he could just slip away before we can even get him home, but we'll just have to take it one step at a time.
Thanks for all your texts, emails, and comments. They really help. Your well-wishes and support will never be forgotten, and they really are helpful during all of this.
Hug your loved ones, folks, and talk to them. There comes a day when all of us deal with this stuff, one way or another. There will be things left unsaid, undone, tales untold, and there lie regrets. There is an awful lot of stuff I'll never know about my Dad...he's too far gone to regale me with tales of his colorful youth, so I'll never know what his favorite pastime was when he was a kid, or who was his first crush, or if he skipped school to go fishing. The stuff I know now is all I'm going to know.
But, I know he loves me. He knows I love him. We've had a good time as father and son, and reached a comfortable companionship over the years. I can certainly live with that.
I'll update when I can. Be well.
Yesterday was mostly a blur. I chose to stay the night at Dad's room in case he needed anything. This meant no sleep whatsoever for me, but I was able to see that he was passing the night well, and the nurses were taking good care of him. Mom came and got me at 5am, and I crashed for a few hours at her house. Dad didn't improve much yesterday, still gurgling and not getting any stronger. However, I'm now a licensed bedpan specialist.
I did manage to sleep well last night, and awoke this morning to an empty house. I knew that Mom's an extremely early riser, so I called her cell. Things aren't going well this morning...Dad's struggling. She said she couldn't come get me, she was tied up with Dad. I told her I'd think of something.
You guessed it. The scooter. Did I mention Dad's scooter? I've been tooling around the neighborhood on it. I figured that Dad would have just jumped on it and headed out...so I followed his example.
I passed Mom on the way, and she u-turned to catch up with me in the hospital parking lot. Rather than berate me for driving it as I expected, she simply said, "Do you see any other scooters here?"
"No."
"That's because it'll be gone when you get back. Drive it home, and I'll bring you back up here."
"That's crazy! I'm already here!"
"Seriously, it'll be gone when you come out. Get moving."
Have I mentioned that there's no arguing with my Mom? I drove it home. It's a beautiful morning for a drive, anyway.
Now for the news, and it's not good: Dad's got lung cancer. We're going to have a cancer specialist look him over. If there's anything to be done, we want to know, but Dad's too weak for surgery, chemo, or radiation. What else is there to do? We'll find out if there is anything, but it doesn't look like there's much left at this point. If the options are exhausted, we're bringing him home and setting him up in a spare room, to make him as comfortable as possible until the end finally comes. With stronger pain medication, there's a chance he could just slip away before we can even get him home, but we'll just have to take it one step at a time.
Thanks for all your texts, emails, and comments. They really help. Your well-wishes and support will never be forgotten, and they really are helpful during all of this.
Hug your loved ones, folks, and talk to them. There comes a day when all of us deal with this stuff, one way or another. There will be things left unsaid, undone, tales untold, and there lie regrets. There is an awful lot of stuff I'll never know about my Dad...he's too far gone to regale me with tales of his colorful youth, so I'll never know what his favorite pastime was when he was a kid, or who was his first crush, or if he skipped school to go fishing. The stuff I know now is all I'm going to know.
But, I know he loves me. He knows I love him. We've had a good time as father and son, and reached a comfortable companionship over the years. I can certainly live with that.
I'll update when I can. Be well.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Seeing Dad
Day 1, Wednesday, October 1, 2008
This morning began way, way too early. 3:40am, to be exact. That’s when my mother-in-law called to let me know that she was in our driveway, ready to come in and watch Connor while my fabulous wife drove me to the airport. To be honest, I don’t remember much about that time period, other than a quick, dark car ride to Houston Intercontinental Airport for a 6am flight to Chicago, then another to South Bend.
We got my ticket on Priceline, and ended up flying United. Even with the $15.00 charge for my one checked suitcase, I will strive to fly United every time from now on. The plane ride was the quietest I have ever experienced…it was quieter than my car! Seating was spacious, and we were greeted with soothing music as we got on board. Wow. This beat Continental hands down!
So I had a good trip to Chicago, but I still don’t remember most of it. I got to O’Hare on time, waddled over to the gate for my connecting flight, and waited. And waited. And waited. Thought about killing myself, changed my mind, then waited some more. Apparently, there was a ‘maintenance issue’ with our intended plane, so the guys in the hangar were sending another one. Or so we thought. Finally, after over an hour of waiting, the attendant announced that they had no idea of the location of our plane, so they were going to rebook us on another flight, which was scheduled to depart at 12:08pm, a full 2 hours after the original.
I could have gotten upset, but I figured I’d be grateful that they decided to put us on a fully functional plane a bit late, rather than a punctual but “Sanford and Son” plane that might have fallen out from under us. Once on the plane, I was pleased to see that it was a decently sized and comfortable plane with cute flight attendants. Sweeeeet. I dozed immediately, and awoke when the pilot announced our imminent landing in South Bend. I made it!
My brother came and picked me up, and it was great to catch up with him during the ride to my Mom’s. Once there, I jumped into her SUV, and we were off to see my Dad.
I finally found out that he actually turns 80 in 10 days (I was never really sure before), and finally, it looks like the years have caught up with him. I turned the corner to enter his hospital room, more than a little concerned at what I might find, but I was relieved to see…my Dad. Older, more shrunken, and wearing a Darth Vader breathing mask, but aside from that extraneous stuff, he’s still every inch my Dad. He hadn’t really eaten anything yet, saying he’s still too weak, but he lifted my spirits by popping off to Mom when she took a look at his IV insertion point and forgot to replace the covers. “Marr-rry!! Cover me up, I’m freezing!” Same old Dad. I could see the years that Mom and Dad have shared in the way she alternately fussed over him and then harassed him to no end. He’d generally respond with one-word answers until he got snarky right back at her. It was good to see that he still has his spirit. The man’s not done with this world just yet. He’s still fighting. “You know, your mother and I have been married for 39 years…and she’s just as mean today as the day I married her!” That got a smile and a quick retort from Mom.
Worried about bedsores, Mom asked me to help roll Dad on his side so she could check him out (none at all, thank goodness), and then we made him as comfortable as we could by rubbing lotion on his legs and feet, and getting more warm blankets. He managed almost a half a cup of warm broth and some tea before wearing out. Hey, when you haven’t eaten for 3 days, that tiny bit of food is a big deal. We’re hoping that this, coupled with the IV therapy that starts tonight, will help him to get over the hump and get well enough to come home.
There’s more, but I’m finally going cross-eyed from the lack of sleep. I’m going to attempt a shower before bed, and then I plan to count sheep until there are none left to count.
Day 2 Thursday, October 02, 2008
After more hours of sleep in a row than I’ve had in months, we were up and out the door at about 8:20am to see Dad. When we got there, he had his breakfast on a tray in front of him, and was actually eyeing it with some intent. Mom could only stay for a few minutes until she had to leave for her antibiotic shot (pneumonia, remember?), so she put in his teeth, and left me to feed him. We chatted a bit as I gave him a few forkfuls of biscuits with gravy and helped him with the orange juice. After a bit, he paused for a moment, and then said those fateful words: “I hate to tell you this, but I have to use the bedpan.”
Oh crap.
I figured it was urgent, so I hustled to find a bedpan and get it situated. In the heat of the moment, I was a bit nervous…I didn’t want Dad to have an accident because I was too slow, so I was scrambling around in a frantic search. I found one, managed to get it under Dad’s rear, but he kept saying “Is it under? It don’t feel like it’s under.” I tried to adjust it again before the nurses came in to rescue us.
This:
is NOT a bedpan. I don’t really know what it is, but it is not, I repeat, NOT a bedpan. I think it’s something you use if you need to puke.
This, however, IS a bedpan:
And let me tell you how hard the nurses had to try to keep from laughing at me, a nearly 40 year old man who didn’t know what the hell a bedpan looks like. I didn’t blame them…I’d have laughed at me, too.
Everything was OK after that. Using the bedpan was quite enough exercise for Dad, and after the nurse came in and helped him finish up, he asked me to take out his teeth and fix him up so he could take a nap. He’s resting comfortably now, finally getting more nourishment from that extra IV line as well as the few bites and sips of food he’s had. They’re bringing a big chair in so that he can sit up in it, rather than stay in bed the whole time, and start him walking again. He’s weak as a kitten, but that’s just his body. His spirit is just fine.
Although he is improving, we are all finding ways to prepare for the inevitable. As strong as his spirit may be, his body just won’t last much longer. It could go in a day, a week, a month…we just don’t know. All we can do is love him, and each other, and see what each moment brings. I know we’ll get by.
By the way, every single nurse that has seen me since the bedpan debacle has actually chuckled and waved at me. How nice.
A quick update from later that day:
A note about the big chair I mentioned: it’s kind of an industrial grade recliner, but it doesn’t act like the ones I’m used to. We put him in it after his tests, and as we got him situated, I put a blanket over his feet, and the extra weight nearly catapulted him across the room. Fortunately, I was there to catch him, and he wasn’t hurt at all…just a bit startled.
Mom showed up again soon afterwards, and we all spent time hanging out with Dad and getting him whatever he needed. Since Dad’s pretty hard of hearing, Mom bellows at him so loudly that it’s actually funny. Likewise, Dad’s responses are still feisty enough to make us laugh. It’s the same way they’ve spoken to each other for nearly 40 years, and that’s just how they roll.
Dad had ordered a Chef Salad, but was too wrung out from tests and various bedpan escapades to eat it, but Mom did manage to get him to take some broth, pudding, and tea. We sat with him for awhile, getting him waffle boots to keep his feet from getting bedsores, turning him every so often, and making sure he was warm and comfortable as possible. Dad rests a lot…just going to the bathroom tears him up the way the half-marathon whips me, so most of the time, there’s not that much for me to do.
Sometimes, I worry that I should be doing more, like reading to him or talking to him more. I know that I won’t have much more time with him…the hours are ticking away, and I have no idea how many are left. However, he assures me that he’s happy to just know that I’m here, and he’s not up to listening to me reading western stories, or to my typically ridiculous anecdotes. I do what I can, and when I don’t know what to do (bedpan issues come to mind), I call the nurses and ask how I can help, even if it means to just stay out of their way while they do their jobs. When Dad’s gone, how much I did for him here in the hospital won’t matter to him a single bit…but it will matter to me. He’s been a great father, so I feel I should be here to do whatever I can to help him through this time.
After dinner, I gathered up some of my toys and came back to the hospital to stay the night, just in case he needs something. I’ll probably doze off at some point, but I can always crash later in the day if need be. I brought my books, some martial arts DVD’s, music, and of course, my laptop. Even though there’s no WiFi here (CAN YOU FRIGGIN’ BELIEVE THAT??!!), I can still get my thoughts down and work on other projects while I’m here.
By the way, I feel I should mention the fact that I’ve been joking with everyone as much as possible ever since I set foot on the ground here. I hope I don’t upset anyone. Some might wonder at the fact that I can joke at all, with my father in such dire shape. They might wonder if I love my Dad. ”How can he be so…so…happy?” they might ask. Well, let me clarify this for you. I’m not happy that he’s in this situation. I’m not happy that I’m probably about to lose my Dad very soon. I’m not happy that my Mom is going to have to live without him when they’ve been together for nearly 40 years. No, I don’t joke because I’m happy, people.
I make jokes because I love my father very much. He and Mom both taught me to be strong in tough situations, because screaming “Why me?” to the heavens never brings a satisfactory answer. Fathers die…all of them. That’s just a part of life, and joking is how I get through each and every day of mine. Dad taught me that a long time ago, and I don’t see a reason to toss out that lesson now. In fact, now’s probably the best time for me to use it. So laugh with me, please. Dad prefers that.
This morning began way, way too early. 3:40am, to be exact. That’s when my mother-in-law called to let me know that she was in our driveway, ready to come in and watch Connor while my fabulous wife drove me to the airport. To be honest, I don’t remember much about that time period, other than a quick, dark car ride to Houston Intercontinental Airport for a 6am flight to Chicago, then another to South Bend.
We got my ticket on Priceline, and ended up flying United. Even with the $15.00 charge for my one checked suitcase, I will strive to fly United every time from now on. The plane ride was the quietest I have ever experienced…it was quieter than my car! Seating was spacious, and we were greeted with soothing music as we got on board. Wow. This beat Continental hands down!
So I had a good trip to Chicago, but I still don’t remember most of it. I got to O’Hare on time, waddled over to the gate for my connecting flight, and waited. And waited. And waited. Thought about killing myself, changed my mind, then waited some more. Apparently, there was a ‘maintenance issue’ with our intended plane, so the guys in the hangar were sending another one. Or so we thought. Finally, after over an hour of waiting, the attendant announced that they had no idea of the location of our plane, so they were going to rebook us on another flight, which was scheduled to depart at 12:08pm, a full 2 hours after the original.
I could have gotten upset, but I figured I’d be grateful that they decided to put us on a fully functional plane a bit late, rather than a punctual but “Sanford and Son” plane that might have fallen out from under us. Once on the plane, I was pleased to see that it was a decently sized and comfortable plane with cute flight attendants. Sweeeeet. I dozed immediately, and awoke when the pilot announced our imminent landing in South Bend. I made it!
My brother came and picked me up, and it was great to catch up with him during the ride to my Mom’s. Once there, I jumped into her SUV, and we were off to see my Dad.
I finally found out that he actually turns 80 in 10 days (I was never really sure before), and finally, it looks like the years have caught up with him. I turned the corner to enter his hospital room, more than a little concerned at what I might find, but I was relieved to see…my Dad. Older, more shrunken, and wearing a Darth Vader breathing mask, but aside from that extraneous stuff, he’s still every inch my Dad. He hadn’t really eaten anything yet, saying he’s still too weak, but he lifted my spirits by popping off to Mom when she took a look at his IV insertion point and forgot to replace the covers. “Marr-rry!! Cover me up, I’m freezing!” Same old Dad. I could see the years that Mom and Dad have shared in the way she alternately fussed over him and then harassed him to no end. He’d generally respond with one-word answers until he got snarky right back at her. It was good to see that he still has his spirit. The man’s not done with this world just yet. He’s still fighting. “You know, your mother and I have been married for 39 years…and she’s just as mean today as the day I married her!” That got a smile and a quick retort from Mom.
Worried about bedsores, Mom asked me to help roll Dad on his side so she could check him out (none at all, thank goodness), and then we made him as comfortable as we could by rubbing lotion on his legs and feet, and getting more warm blankets. He managed almost a half a cup of warm broth and some tea before wearing out. Hey, when you haven’t eaten for 3 days, that tiny bit of food is a big deal. We’re hoping that this, coupled with the IV therapy that starts tonight, will help him to get over the hump and get well enough to come home.
There’s more, but I’m finally going cross-eyed from the lack of sleep. I’m going to attempt a shower before bed, and then I plan to count sheep until there are none left to count.
Day 2 Thursday, October 02, 2008
After more hours of sleep in a row than I’ve had in months, we were up and out the door at about 8:20am to see Dad. When we got there, he had his breakfast on a tray in front of him, and was actually eyeing it with some intent. Mom could only stay for a few minutes until she had to leave for her antibiotic shot (pneumonia, remember?), so she put in his teeth, and left me to feed him. We chatted a bit as I gave him a few forkfuls of biscuits with gravy and helped him with the orange juice. After a bit, he paused for a moment, and then said those fateful words: “I hate to tell you this, but I have to use the bedpan.”
Oh crap.
I figured it was urgent, so I hustled to find a bedpan and get it situated. In the heat of the moment, I was a bit nervous…I didn’t want Dad to have an accident because I was too slow, so I was scrambling around in a frantic search. I found one, managed to get it under Dad’s rear, but he kept saying “Is it under? It don’t feel like it’s under.” I tried to adjust it again before the nurses came in to rescue us.
This:
is NOT a bedpan. I don’t really know what it is, but it is not, I repeat, NOT a bedpan. I think it’s something you use if you need to puke.
This, however, IS a bedpan:
And let me tell you how hard the nurses had to try to keep from laughing at me, a nearly 40 year old man who didn’t know what the hell a bedpan looks like. I didn’t blame them…I’d have laughed at me, too.
Everything was OK after that. Using the bedpan was quite enough exercise for Dad, and after the nurse came in and helped him finish up, he asked me to take out his teeth and fix him up so he could take a nap. He’s resting comfortably now, finally getting more nourishment from that extra IV line as well as the few bites and sips of food he’s had. They’re bringing a big chair in so that he can sit up in it, rather than stay in bed the whole time, and start him walking again. He’s weak as a kitten, but that’s just his body. His spirit is just fine.
Although he is improving, we are all finding ways to prepare for the inevitable. As strong as his spirit may be, his body just won’t last much longer. It could go in a day, a week, a month…we just don’t know. All we can do is love him, and each other, and see what each moment brings. I know we’ll get by.
By the way, every single nurse that has seen me since the bedpan debacle has actually chuckled and waved at me. How nice.
A quick update from later that day:
A note about the big chair I mentioned: it’s kind of an industrial grade recliner, but it doesn’t act like the ones I’m used to. We put him in it after his tests, and as we got him situated, I put a blanket over his feet, and the extra weight nearly catapulted him across the room. Fortunately, I was there to catch him, and he wasn’t hurt at all…just a bit startled.
Mom showed up again soon afterwards, and we all spent time hanging out with Dad and getting him whatever he needed. Since Dad’s pretty hard of hearing, Mom bellows at him so loudly that it’s actually funny. Likewise, Dad’s responses are still feisty enough to make us laugh. It’s the same way they’ve spoken to each other for nearly 40 years, and that’s just how they roll.
Dad had ordered a Chef Salad, but was too wrung out from tests and various bedpan escapades to eat it, but Mom did manage to get him to take some broth, pudding, and tea. We sat with him for awhile, getting him waffle boots to keep his feet from getting bedsores, turning him every so often, and making sure he was warm and comfortable as possible. Dad rests a lot…just going to the bathroom tears him up the way the half-marathon whips me, so most of the time, there’s not that much for me to do.
Sometimes, I worry that I should be doing more, like reading to him or talking to him more. I know that I won’t have much more time with him…the hours are ticking away, and I have no idea how many are left. However, he assures me that he’s happy to just know that I’m here, and he’s not up to listening to me reading western stories, or to my typically ridiculous anecdotes. I do what I can, and when I don’t know what to do (bedpan issues come to mind), I call the nurses and ask how I can help, even if it means to just stay out of their way while they do their jobs. When Dad’s gone, how much I did for him here in the hospital won’t matter to him a single bit…but it will matter to me. He’s been a great father, so I feel I should be here to do whatever I can to help him through this time.
After dinner, I gathered up some of my toys and came back to the hospital to stay the night, just in case he needs something. I’ll probably doze off at some point, but I can always crash later in the day if need be. I brought my books, some martial arts DVD’s, music, and of course, my laptop. Even though there’s no WiFi here (CAN YOU FRIGGIN’ BELIEVE THAT??!!), I can still get my thoughts down and work on other projects while I’m here.
By the way, I feel I should mention the fact that I’ve been joking with everyone as much as possible ever since I set foot on the ground here. I hope I don’t upset anyone. Some might wonder at the fact that I can joke at all, with my father in such dire shape. They might wonder if I love my Dad. ”How can he be so…so…happy?” they might ask. Well, let me clarify this for you. I’m not happy that he’s in this situation. I’m not happy that I’m probably about to lose my Dad very soon. I’m not happy that my Mom is going to have to live without him when they’ve been together for nearly 40 years. No, I don’t joke because I’m happy, people.
I make jokes because I love my father very much. He and Mom both taught me to be strong in tough situations, because screaming “Why me?” to the heavens never brings a satisfactory answer. Fathers die…all of them. That’s just a part of life, and joking is how I get through each and every day of mine. Dad taught me that a long time ago, and I don’t see a reason to toss out that lesson now. In fact, now’s probably the best time for me to use it. So laugh with me, please. Dad prefers that.
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