Salooned

July 6, 2015

I stumbled on to this picture tonight.  I have no good reason to share it with blogville, except it is so incredibly campy. It also cracks me up that we were all in college and attending my oft-referenced Baptist Church. Note the bottle of Hot Damn (my buddy Shelly is holding it--she is just to my left) and enjoy the fact that this picture landed on the cover of the church newsletter. Praise the Lord!

July 6...a little verse!

Thank you, Emily Dickinson

A Sunday in the Life

July 5, 2015

My boy always makes me laugh. He caught me here after church this morning. Every other month, my best friend Sarah and I "teach" a little class of 3-year-olds (and by teach I mean we keep them alive and we get to catch up. Stay calm, everyone, Jesus gets His due diligence in there. But let's not forget that they are three.)

 

This picture of me laughing sets the tone for the day and for this series of tales I've woven together with the common theme of "this happened today" or "I thought about it this afternoon" and they all made me laugh.

The day obviously began with the Lord's work. One of our best moments in this class happened last year. A gorgeous little blonde sweetie was always very quiet and content to play peacefully. She was potty-training, as were her comrades among the blocks and playdoh. As sometimes happens, a smell began to creep through the room. Sarah and I turned to the darling fair-haired gem in the corner. After some coaxing, I took her into the bathroom, which adjoins the classroom. As I checked for the culprit of the stink, a turd the size of a softball plopped out onto the floor. 

Sarah heard me gasp.

How could such a thing come out of this tiny human? It was a Sunday School bathroom miracle...of sorts. I did what I had to do to rectify the situation and reported the Biblical poop to my fellow educator.

The following week, it was business as usual. Beautiful toddler, nose-curdling stench. This time, Sarah took a turn at toilet duty. Moments passed. Sarah and her charge emerged from the bathroom and I looked at Sarah expectantly.

"Golf ball," she reported.

_______

After church, we headed to our weekly lunch date with my folks. Dad had made a delightful and unexpected choice of a new deli in town which has received rave reviews and just happens to be housed in our local wine center (again, love the Baptist irony.) Unfortunately, we arrived to find it closed on Sunday. Even more unfortunate was that the closed deli is located next door to my arch-nemesis and Drew's favorite (gag) spot, Red Lobster.

Grace and I have effectively poo-pooed (no pun intended) this icky chain restaurant for several weeks. But today, hungry and in spitting distance of it, with Drew's hopeful face urging us on, we acquiesced. 

We walked in and the foolish hostess offered my stout little man with the big man appetite a kid's menu. Drew put up his hand politely, shaking his head at the thought of the small portions and kiddie puzzles featured on such a menu. 

We proceeded to our booth, and Drew proceeded to order the largest platter of fried varieties of fish available. Apparently, he saw this a rare opportunity to belly up to big Red's table, so he went for the yacht-sized platter of golden grade-D fish.

As Drew tackled the feast before him, Grace managed about half of her shrimp linguini. Drew observed his sister's plate, between his own crunchy bites.

"You aren't going to finish yours, Grace? You see," he explained, "you just have to really put your gut into it, and you can finish."

Isn't that the textbook definition of perseverance? I thought, as he bulldozed his way through his platter. If you really believe you can eat it, by God, you can.

_______

This afternoon I lunched (lunch #2, and light years more tasty: smoked salmon on rye with caviar, pommes frites perfectly seasoned, a divine concoction of greens, raspberries and strawberries called a "love salad") with one of my all-time faves and former student, Philip Steven Verlee (see "The Wait's Over).  

The quote of the day came when he reported that he would turn 30 just weeks after his September 1 wedding. "Thank God," he explained, "30 is the gay 90."

The 4th Sky

The night sky in our neighborhood. There are fireworks all around, but the neighborhood just south of us has a tradition of sending up lanterns. It is a beautiful scene, toward our heavens.

As I watched the last of the fireworks, I listened to "Momma Look Sharp" from 1776. It was a first for me: a moving reminder of the price paid for every day we have here. Especially this one.

Mason

July 4, 2015

July 4 is here, and much like Memorial Day (see "The Pipes, the Pipes are Calling") I know this day means more than I can fathom to those who serve, those who served, those who have suffered loss on behalf of the country. This day may open old wounds or exacerbate the wounds still fresh; or maybe the gratitude of the nation and the barbecues and the flying bottle rockets make it all easier to bear. I don't know. What I do know, is these exceptional people are on my mind today.

In this picture stands the father of one of my dearest, lifelong friends. Jen (the bride) and Matt married in Santa Rosa ten years ago. Here Jen's dad, Mason, is toasting the happy couple. I've no memory of exactly what Mason said in these moments, but it was obviously funny. Mason was one of the quickest wits and smartest men I've ever known. His sensibility was effortless and understated. And his wife (Rose, on his left) and daughter were similarly crafted. I was lucky enough to spend an extraordinary amount of time in their house in high school and college, and it was always one of my favorite places to be.

Mason fought in Korea and nearly died saving a foxhole full of his fellow soldiers. He threw himself over and atop them and bore the brunt of the gunfire that rained down. He never told me any of this. I pried it out of Jen. But she knew very little, either. He wasn't about to talk about himself or his heroism. The leg brace he wore every day and the limp that plagued him were evidence of a story he was not at all interested in telling. 

Mason was much more interested in effortlessly amusing the rest of us. Or so it seemed. The more I learn about the wounds of war, I wonder how much he quietly suffered or covered the pain of his service with wisdom and laughter. I don't know. I doubt he would want me to wonder.

Mason became one of my father's dearest friends, and I loved watching my dad--who couldn't serve because of an ill-timed hernia--admire and love him. They were two strong grown men who clearly loved and respected each other. And Mason absolutely cracked Dad up, which is no small feat.

So it was very difficult when Mason grew more and more ill almost four years ago. He died in October 2011, just a few months after Jen's baby girl was born. Jen and her dad had a bond akin to that between my Pops and me. I knew the kind of pain she was in, and it broke my heart.

Jen asked me to speak at Mason's funeral. It was among the greatest honors of my life. He was a remarkable human being: for the life he lived, for the lives he saved. 

I walked by this picture this afternoon, which is prominently displayed next to the wine glasses we brought home from the one-of-the-best-weekends-of-my-life winery wedding. I stopped in my tracks. I have been struggling all day with how to give this day a little bit of my heart and my voice. Then I saw Mason, unassumingly bringing Jen's wedding his clever charm, and I knew. Just look at our faces. 

We live in a country that is a hot mess in a great many ways. But it is still worth defending and it is still worth celebrating. Happy Independence Day. I'm grateful this country is mine.

And Mason? I hope your walk is now unhindered and your wounds healed. And I know even heaven amuses you and you it. You are greatly missed.

PS--In the driveway, blowing stuff up for 'Merica!!!

The Beer Bread

My buddy Chad calls beer "liquid bread." This is a recipe of my Mom's, which turns beer into bread. 

And the irony that all my Baptist relatives can't get enough of it isn't lost on me.

PS--Grace is keeping the culinary classy.

Helping make the beer bread, complete with slice o' watermelon.

A Lunar Grin

Another exceptional moon moment.

There is a face on it tonight. I think it may be smiling at us :).

I hate to be impolite. So I smiled back.