On my Son's Birthday

Today is your birthday, my son. You're 24 years old - an adult, living your own life, finding your own way, growing into the man you want to be.

And it's also your sister's birthday today. Because of that fact, I have a tendency to grieve around this time of year, as I reflect on a child I love and lost, in a way that I'll never understand.

But you know what? It's your birthday. It's a day to celebrate your presence on this earth, to acknowledge that the world is a better place with you in it, a time to express my love and pride in your accomplishments.

You're a good egg. A fine son. A decent man. And your own person. All of which gives me a sense of pride for having played some small part in getting you to those points.

So while I'll always be sad for the loss of your sister, I'll always be happy to have you for my son. Happy birthday, John-John, my Smart Sailor, my comrade-in-arms, my son.

 And remember, it's the spirit of the thing that counts.

The Kindness of Strangers

I've often heard the phrase, "Err on the side of kindness." I've always taken that to mean that when I look back at my own behavior, acting with kindness will never put me in a situation where I'll be ashamed of myself in retrospect.

But I'm ashamed to admit that I've not always been successful in this. For the last year, "erring on the side of kindness" has been one of my primary self-improvement goals, and yet I've still found myself speaking sharply, becoming impatient or not behaving with kindness.

And yet, in spite of my personal failings in this area, nothing has brought the importance of having a policy of being kind like trying to take care of the details of my daughter's death over the last several weeks.

Every single stranger with whom we've had contact has been incredibly, exceptionally kind. The woman who closed Moe's accounts at the Bellco branch, the DMV employees who have helped me transfer the title of her vehicle, the Capital One associate who cancelled her credit cards, our funeral director, the investigator from the Medical Examiner's Office, the woman who works at SuperCuts from whom I asked for a tattoo artist referral, and on and on and on.

All of these people have treated us with consideration and kindness, all have done whatever they could to make the work of settling Moe's estate as fast as possible and not to exacerbate our pain.

Nothing could make this process easy. But these people's kindness ensured the process wasn't any harder for me than it had to be. And there's something to be said for that.

So the next time I read about how the KKK is sponsoring "neighborhood watches" (their motto: "You can sleep tonight knowing the Klan is awake!"), I'm going to try and remember all the people who treated me with exceptional kindness in the worst weeks of my life. I'm going to try and follow their example, because you just don't know what people are going through. It hurts no one to err on the side of kindness, and it might just ease someone's pain.

A Service of Love

When we were planning the Memorial Service for my daughter, one of the things we wanted was for the proceedings to be about her. Not about anybody else's beliefs, not about how she chose to end her life, but about her impact on the world, the example she set for others, and how she left the world a better place than she found it. She was agnostic, and none of us were the least bit interested in having some fire and brimstone preacher-man who never knew her hijack her service to advance his own agenda.*

So we decided that we would basically conduct the service ourselves. People who knew and loved her chose to speak, and tell stories about her life, and how she lived, interspersed with music that I selected.

I'm glad we made this decision - everyone has to deal with the fact of her death in their own way, based on their own belief system, but the common denominator was our love for her, and I thought the service was lovely. I hope she would have approved.

A number of people have asked about the music, so here's what I selected, which was played before and after the service, and between speakers:

Wagner's The Ring Cycle

I Want to Hold Your Hand, Glee Cast recording, featuring Chris Colfer

Still Within the Sound of My Voice, from Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind, Linda Ronstadt

Hallelujah, from Hymns from the 48th Parallel, k.d. lang

Eva (Orchestral), from Dark Passion Play, Nightwish

 

Touch the Sky, from Brave, Julie Fowlis

 

Wagner's The Ring Cycle

__________

*We have seen this happen far too many times, and really, this constitutes a throat-punching offense.

WWMRD?

Today is the birthday of one of the greatest Americans of all time - Mr. Fred Rogers. There's a grass roots movement afoot to make today a national holiday in Mr. Rogers' honor. I'm supportive of the idea, but I doubt it will ever happen. It doesn't seem like our culture spends a lot of time rewarding those who make being kind and supportive their life's work.

I love Mr. Rogers, and I love him more now than I did when I was a youngster watching him on T.V. I'm sure that's because as a preschooler I had no idea how very special he was, not only as a T.V. personality, but as a human being. But I do now. Mr. Rogers was, quite simply, a mensch. This was a man who spent his life - his whole life - encouraging others to be the very best they could be. He told kids that they were special, that they had something special to offer the world. He believed that each and every individual had intrinsic value no matter what. And best (and most mysterious) of all, he resisted the cancer of cynicism in his life, regardless of how bad things got.

There's a lot to admire about Mr. Rogers, but for me, that last characteristic is the most profound, and the most meaningful. I'm prone to cynicism and disgust, because from my perspective, there's an awful lot of things in this world that encourage that reaction. But Mr. Rogers didn't see things that way - he saw a world where even when bad things happen, there are still plenty of people who do extraordinary things, things that uplift the human condition and demonstrate the virtues he embodied.

This particular virtue - the ability to see the best in others while accepting their flaws without giving in to cynicism - is something I've aspired to my entire life, and I've always fallen short. It's so much easier to be cynical, to sneer and roll my eyes at the condition of the human race rather than attempt to see what's best in us and to work to optimize those characteristics.

But doing the easy thing and doing the right thing don't often meet in this world. I need to work harder at personifying the virtues Mr. Rogers demonstrated. I need to let go of my cynicism, and try to see the world (and the people in it) in ways that lift me up. I need to spend more time "looking for the helpers" and less time "railing at the asshats." When confronted with a situation that makes me tired, or bored, or cynical, I need to pause before reacting and ask myself, "What would Mr. Rogers do?"

Happy birthday, Mr. Rogers. 143.

Miscellaneous Monday

Why-O, Why-O-hio

I'm heading to Ohio this morning for an overnight trip to meet with a vendor. While I know many people in Ohio, and would enjoy seeing most of them, I'm booked solid for this trip so I'll be an "all work and no play" kind of engineer this week. It seems appropriate, somehow - January has been nothing but a great big slog through a swamp of crisis, and for now my goal is simply to get back to some level of normalcy. I'm not holding my breath.

I need more Clydesdales in my life

When I was a teenager, I was involved in a youth riding group that performed at the National Western Stock Show and Rodeo every year. Frequently the other featured act was one of the traveling rigs of the Budweiser Clydesdales, and I loved those horses. The men that traveled with them were always gracious and kind, tolerating the ever-present gaggle of girls who hung around, answering our endless questions and allowing us to "help" get the teams ready for the hitch. So I have fond memories of those animals and I still get choked up when I see them. This year's Superbowl commercial was especially emotionally manipulative, and yet, I don't really care. I want a Clydesdale horse. You hear that, Smart Man? It's the perfect Valentine gift! We can name him "Sweetie Pie," and I'll love him and hug him, and teach him to trail ride. Oh, and I'll need a ladder in order to mount, as well. 

Uncle! Uncle!

So yesterday we were supposed to go see Jekyll and Hyde at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts, but we ended up staying home, instead. That's because I woke up with a sore throat and a headache, and then the Smart Man's Jeep wouldn't start, and then the pressure relief valve in the hot water heater started to leak again, which means we get to replace that, too.* Because evidently the current shitstorm that is our life just wasn't sufficient to keep the Universe amused, and so it just continues to pile on. I'm going to concede this round to the Universe, and possibly the next one, as well. Stupid Universe. Someone needs to punch that motherfucker right in the damn throat.


*That last part meant I got to take an ice-cold shower this morning before leaving for the airport. Whee.

An Open Letter to Longmont United Hospital

Today I mailed a modified version of this letter to the Longmont United Hospital's Chief of Staff, and I wanted to post it here, as well. I don't hesitate to bitch and moan in this forum when things and people piss me the Hell off, so I think it's only appropriate to publicly acknowledge institutions and people when they step up and provide exemplary service.
_______________

I wanted to take a moment to compliment you and your hospital on their outstanding performance during my Mother’s recent stay at Longmont United Hospital.

My mother had been experiencing increasingly severe pain as a result of a bulging disc between L4 and L5. She had upcoming appointments with a palliative care specialist and a consultation scheduled with Boulder Neurological Associates, but on January 12^th, the pain had become so severe and unmanageable I took her to the Emergency Room on the advice of her on-call General Practitioner at Longmont Clinic. Upon our arrival, your staff swung into action, admitting her for observation in order to provide a pain management plan and a neurosurgical consultation sooner than her scheduled appointments two weeks away.

Dr. Nelson was the neurosurgeon on duty, and on Sunday, January 13^th, after examining her diagnostic tests, he determined that an L4/L5 fusion was the recommended course of action. After discussing the recommendation, we scheduled the surgery for the following day, Monday, January 14^th.

From the time she was admitted on January 12^th until she was released from the Transitional Care Unit on January 24^th, the care my mother received at your hospital was exemplary. Your staff demonstrated a sense of urgency in providing her with short term relief to her debilitating pain in addition to providing the long term solution she needed to get on with her life. Your staff accomplished more in 16 hours than we had been able to do in the previous 60 days of outpatient care, and for this we are profoundly grateful.

I would like to call special attention to your wonderful nursing staff. During my Mother’s stay, she was assigned to the 5^th floor (pre-surgery), the 4^th floor (post-surgery), and the Transitional Care Unit. In every location, the nursing staff was incredibly responsive, patient, kind and conscientious. My Mother never had to wait for assistance to get the restroom, or for a pain pill, and I know that is not the case in every hospital. Such a dedication to the comfort and well-being of the patients under your care speaks well of the cultural norms at LUH, and how well every member of the nursing and OT/PT staff embodies that culture.

As a family member who was acting as my Mother’s health care advocate, the professionalism and attentiveness of your staff allowed me to leave her at night with a clear conscience, knowing she would be well cared for. Not all hospitals inspire such confidence, and it’s entirely due to the efforts and work ethic of your amazing staff.

Our experience at Longmont United Hospital provided an important lesson – that bad events don’t have to lead to bad experiences, and you and every member of your staff should take pride in personifying a level of care and compassion that other hospitals only aspire to. Thank you.

In which I take a deep breath, and appreciate my pearl of great price

I've spent the last several days needing to take a deep breath. There are a variety of reasons for this, but the main issue is that shit keeps happening. Shit that I haven't planned for, and over which I have no control. Some of it is stupid shit (I shattered one of my lacquer nails by closing a door on it, and had to wait for a week to get it repaired because of the blood), some of it is more serious shit (my Hot Daughter totaled her little car in our last snow storm and we've been dealing with the insurance company and trying to find her some new wheels), and some of it is shit over which no one has any control (relatives who are struggling with health issues). There's more, of course, but that's a pretty indicative list.

And to add insult to injury, I'm looking at three weeks of travel starting on Monday, which means my ability to help address this shit is going to be severely compromised by proximity.

So I've been in need a deep breath. Or three. Which I took today.

I was able to do so because my Hot Daughter found a good used vehicle for herself yesterday and is now back to transporting herself back and forth to work. I was able to do so because the Smart Man has taken over much of the burden of my various shit, because he's the Bomb that way. And I was able to do so because my amazing, generous Auntie has stepped into the breach regarding the health issues. All of these things have left me free not only to take a deep breath today, but to fulfill my obligations to my company over the next three weeks.

So today I spent over an hour and a half at the gym. I got my nails done. I made it to the Post Office to mail off jam to my Free Shit Friday participants. I went to the library. And I'm going to spend a good portion of the day doing what I want to do, all because my life is filled with people who not only care for me, but also care for the people I care for.

A pearl of great price, indeed.

Random Acts of Kindness

There's a trend out there. A trend that is lifting my spirit and giving me hope.

I'm speaking of the grassroots initiative to memorialize the victims of the Sandy Hook shooting by performing 26 Random Acts of Kindness. By, as Mr. Rogers noted so sincerely, not only looking for the helpers, but by becoming them.

I love this idea so much. The hashtags are #20Acts or #26Acts, and I've created a Tumblr for the purpose of collecting and sharing stories. Feel free to join, and submit your stories if you wish. It's time to elevate the human spirit instead of allowing it to be defined by the ugliness of Friday's events.

Boogie the Giant Schnauzer, November 11, 2001 - November 24, 2012

The best dog in the world. The worst Thanksgiving ever.

Remembering my Auntie

The last time I saw her - our family reunion last year.

I can't believe you're gone.

I suppose that's always the case when someone passes away suddenly and without warning. The shock of the event hits the observers like a punch in the stomach, leaving us gasping, in pain, uncertain what to do in order to get our breath back.

So we cry, and in the tradition of our family, we cry together, because no one cries alone in our presence.

By most measures, you led a perfectly ordinary life. You married young, selecting your mate wisely and well the first time out of the gate (unlike most of the women in our family). You quickly had two children. You moved often, depending on your husband's military assignment. You participated in your community wherever you went. You gained your own professional skills.

But you were anything but ordinary.

No one told a story like you. The lines around your eyes and mouth were a testament to how often you laughed, and how joyfully. You lived a life of service, volunteering to help in your sons' school activities, teaching vacation bible school, visiting the old folks at the nursing home. You relished your role as a Grandma, rejoicing in each expansion to your family.

I remember how angry you were after 9/11. I couldn't understand it at first, until I thought about it. After a lifetime of your husband's deployments to the very region that spawned the terrorists, you saw the loss of life on that day as a loss to your family. And family meant everything to you.

Your faith was a cornerstone in your life. You took the lessons of your church to heart, trying to live your life generously, with compassion, and love. You were never sanctimonious about it, and you never made me feel like you loved me less because I didn't share your belief.

Do you remember when you told me that it's better to be kind than truthful? I do, and while I still struggle with that lesson, I try to remember it and follow your example.

Do you remember when I told you that I thought your kids had grown into fine men, and you told me that the credit was theirs and not yours? I do, and I apply that lesson with my own kids.

Do you remember when you won one of the prizes in my Summer Reading Program? You were so excited to have WON, and your enthusiasm reminded me that even the smallest victories can enhance our daily lives.

With your example, you taught me that people of good conscience can disagree about even the most fundamental things, but still remain partners in this life, supporting and loving one another as members of the same tribe. 

My heart is breaking for your family. Your husband, my beloved Uncle, married you when he was 19 years old. He's never really been an adult without you by his side, and I imagine how lost and alone he must be feeling. My cousins, both decent and good men, have lost their mother, and their children their Grandmother.

I don't know what happens to us when we die. Really, no one knows for sure. But I hope desperately that wherever you are, your light continues to shine, and you can experience peace in knowing that you've left this world in better shape than your found it. But I'm selfish enough to want you to have stayed in this world longer. We're a poorer place without you, and I will love and miss you, all the days of my life.

I Want to Hold Your Hand

I don't have much time today, so I'm embedding my favorite rendition of "I Want to Hold Your Hand" evah.  This is Chris Colfer from Glee. His character Kurt is singing for his dad, a widower, who's in a coma after a coronary event.

Fair Winds and Following Seas

As many of you know, I'm a member of a blog circle called "The UCF." We're a merry band of conspirators, a community of friends and fellow travelers. I've met many of them, and I consider all of these men and women my friends. We share our tragedies and triumphs, respond with help and support when required, and our unofficial motto is "UCF Powers - Activate!" - a tribute to our diverse skill set and abilities. As a group, there's nothing we can't do.

And now we have a tragedy of our own. Over the weekend, one of our members passed away unexpectedly.

Wendy, I will miss your wit, your kindness, your generosity of spirit. I'm a better person for having known you. Our community - and the world - will be a poorer place without you in it. I lift my glass to you, and envision you in Valhalla, taking charge and putting the place in order with your indomitable spirit. Fair Winds and Following Seas, dear friend, and thank you for the pleasure of being a part of your life.

My deepest sympathies to her surviving family.

Ask Hot Chicks Dig Smart Men, Edition the Third

Today's question comes from the lovely Carol Elaine, who asks, 

Janiece, who wrote the Book of Love?

I believe it was The Monotones. What do I win? Nothing? Well, that's a gyp.

Love is a complicated subject. Everyone brings their own baggage to the table when they enter into a loving relationship, whether the tie is romantic, platonic, or familial. In my own case, the familial baggage is a tendency to treat men with a certain amount of contempt. We pass this trait down generation to generation, reinforced both by our tendency to be a matriarchy and our history of picking men worthy of contempt when we're young women. It's not pretty, but there it is.

Part of my process for getting over this was to come up with some "rules to live by" in my romantic relationships, both to ensure I treated my prospective partner with respect, and also to prevent myself from being subsumed. I've added to the list over the years, and I've also come to realize that these rules apply to every loving relationship, not just the romantic ones. Their inclusion in this list, however, doesn't mean that I don't occasionally fail to apply them in my relationships. Sometime my failures are SPECTACULAR, in fact. But I'm trying to do better.

Love means that the happiness of the person you love is as important as your own. Not more important - that's subsuming your own needs and wants for the benefit of someone else, and that's not love, but emotional servitude - but equally important. Sometimes that means you do something you may not want to do because it brings happiness to your love, and sometimes it means they do the same for you.

Love means not keeping score. That way lies accusation, bitterness, and anger. This does not mean, however, that things should be so unbalanced that you feel taken advantage of and used. In a perfect world, loving relationships would be a perfect communism. But we don't live in a perfect world, and there's no such thing as a perfect relationship. 

Love means taking care of each other. Even when you don't feel like it. Especially when you don't feel like it.

Love means keeping the intentional digs out of arguments. Fights happen. They're part of long-term relationships of all kinds. But when they do happen, keeping the intentionally hurtful comments out of the discussion can only end well. As opposed to not doing so, which can only end badly. Certain things, once said, can never be unsaid - or unheard.

Love means always telling the truth, but staying silent works, too. As my wise and wonderful friend Jeri notes, choosing to speak should only happen when the following criteria are met: Is it necessary, is it true, is it kind and will it make a difference. Otherwise, you should probably consider keeping your mouth shut.

Love means treating those you love with at least as much courtesy as you would treat a stranger. This one seems obvious until you think about it. Being rude to a stranger would make most people uncomfortable because, after all, what will the stranger think of you? Being rude to a loved one is much easier, because you presumably already know what your loved one thinks, plus they have to forgive you once you apologize. But that doesn't make it right, and if you love someone, don't they deserve to be treated better than a complete stranger?

Love means speaking up when you're hurting. Expecting others to read my mind and automatically fix what's wrong without some guidance is pretty unfair, not to mention pretty passive-aggressive. And snotty, backhanded comments don't count. No, they don't. 

Love means not putting all your emotional eggs in one basket. I love my Smart Man, and he's my only romantic interest, but he's not my only love. I love my extended family, my kids, and my friends with equal (but different) intensity. This allows me to be a well-rounded human being, with a variety of interests and relationships. Putting all of my social and emotional needs on the shoulders of a single person isn't fair to either of us, and such a strategy will surely fail.

Love means having the courage to be an individual, even if that puts you at odds with your love. I gotta be me. And if that means I disagree - even vociferously - with someone I love, then that's just how it is. I can't compromise myself, my values, my integrity, for another person, or I lose who I am.

Love means being okay with being alone. Because I have to love myself, first and foremost, before I can engage in loving relationships with others. Plus I find I'm pretty good company as I get older, which is a bonus.

So there's the Book of Love, which was apparently written by me. Thanks for your question, Carol Elaine.

Missing My Gram

A year ago today, my family lost its matriarch - my Grandma Winky.

It still seems strange that I no longer send flowers for birthday or Christmas, or send homemade jams to the assisted living facility where she spent her last years. 

It's the natural order of things. But I still miss you, Gram.

Giving Thanks

Here in the United States, it's somewhat traditional to use the Thanksgiving holiday to reflect on those aspects of your life for which you're thankful.

As I noted earlier in the week, I have to say that this is the best time of my life. I want for nothing, and the only thing I can think of that would make my life better would be suddenly becoming independently wealthy so I could devote myself full time to college and volunteer work.

So I'm grateful. Grateful that I live in a country where I have the freedom to pursue the things that make me happy. Grateful that I have financial security, so I don't have to worry about keeping a roof over my head and food in my belly. Grateful that I have my health, and the ability to maintain it. And most of all I'm grateful for the people in my life, who make everything worthwhile.

Happy Thanksgiving, Hot Chicks and Smart Men.

My Cup Runneth Over

I was trying to think of something to blog about today, and the only thing I could think of was how great my life is right now.

I have an amazing helpmate who is truly my partner in this life. I have two great kids who are both making excellent decisions and becoming contributing members of society. I have a super Mom whose health remains good. I have a weird, wonderful extended family. I have a cadre of astonishing friends who have chosen to bless me with their presence in my life. I have a job that I like that meets my financial needs.

In spite of the vagaries of middle age, I've decided this is the best time of life. My cup runneth over, and this overabundance of good fortune is a good problem to have.

I ♥ Grover

Quebec City - Day 1

I thought it was supposed to be cooler at these Northern latitudes. Yeah, right. It's almost 90 degrees and about 75% humidity, and I spent the day walking around the Old City, the Upper Town, the Lower Town, and I think every town in between.

And have I mentioned that the wireless service at this place blows? I've had to call them about it twice already, and I haven't even been here 24 hours. Which would be one thing if it was free, but it's not - I paid extra for it.

Okay, the requisite bitching is over.

Quebec City is awesome. It's perhaps one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen, and almost as clean as Singapore. The city has made an effort to maintain the flavor and authenticity of the architecture (more on that tomorrow), so the city has an ancient aura to it, without all that "open sewage" and "amoebic dysentery."

Today's activities included short lectures and walking tours. Before lunch we did the "upper town," which is the military and religious epicenter of the city from an historical perspective. I was not aware of just how influential the Catholic Church was in terms of cultural legacy in French Canada. Pretty much the entire upper town was dedicated to spreading Catholicism and educating the natives in same, or defending the river. Both of these activities permeates every aspect of the historical life of this place.

After lunch we did the "lower town," which was basically the ghetto district of the city during the early years. Workmen, primarily the Irish fleeting the Potato Famine, would enter North America through Quebec City, and some would stay in order to work as Stevedores, Longshoremen, and Masons. The lower city is where they lived. The streets are hilly and narrow, hot in the summer and cold in the winter. The main street is now primarily an artisan's colony, and the Merchant and Financial Houses have been restored for the purposes of tourism.

I was really tired this afternoon after a stressful day yesterday and a short night, so I ate dinner here at the hotel. Coincidentally, the hotel's restaurant appears to be one of the better restaurants here in Quebec City. It's one of those rotating restaurants at the top of a tower with a 360 degree view of the peninsula. Plus the salmon was excellent, and I had a lemon creme brulee for dessert. 

I understand that the people of Quebec City consider their city the epicenter of French culture here in North America. While I have a typical American's contempt for all things French, this trip may make me change my mind. Except about their military, of course. With the exception of the WWII French Resistance, I still think their modern military are a bunch of pussies.

I hope you all are having a fabulous week, too.

Happy Birthday, Smart Man

Yes, today is the Smart Man's birthday. I got him a new back pack for his laptop and a nice gift certificate to Amazon, the repository of all of life's material pleasures. Once we return from our trip, I'll be making the LEGENDARY HUNGARIAN TORTE CAKE for him.

But the real gift is to me. Given to me by his mother, oh those many years ago, in the form of a life partner who makes me laugh, forgives me my foibles, and loves me in spite of my Mad Cow.

Happy birthday. I love you.

Boogie Blogging Friday, Furlough Edition

Yep - I'm on furlough this fine Friday. Today's agenda:

1. Sleep in.
2. Walk the dog.
3. Laundry.
4. Massage.
5. Grocery shopping.
6. Make two lasagnas for tonight's family get together.
7. Attend tonight's family get together.

With plenty of goofing off periodically sprinkled in. Hey - it may not be exciting to you, but to me it's an almost perfect day. The only thing that would make it better would be if the Smart Man was available to spend it with me. Alas and alack, he had to work today. So it's me and the Boogie Dog, who is quite happy to have his normal servant back in the house. Here he is, enjoying his tasty breakfast.