Wake and Rest

A solemn room with lines of chairs facing a casket. It's contents the shell of someone you cared for, someone you knew or hated or someone you loved beyond reason. Lines of people waiting patiently for their turn to talk to the family standing at the front. Some people are stricken, some laughing. Most could be waiting to buy movie tickets, except that when they see people they know, they hug each other. The politics remain. Who speaks to who, who doesn't. He's dead but we aren't. I float on my sea of grief, head above water but little else. I realize it's pathetic. With an ounce more energy I'd go over and upset it all. But no, I don't do it. I just smile. I have been here before. The room, the line, the people waiting. The rules.

Have we really reached that time that was always implied; when our friends and brothers will drop like soldiers in a war we didn't know we were fighting? I could tell myself we are not like Jim in November, he was older (not that much), or that Mike's health was really poor (Jim's seemed fine), or they must have been breaking some health rule (don't we all every day?) Is now the time to pay the piper, or is this just a bump in the road, a fore-shadowing? We are long past the realization of those golden futures we were promised and now have only the relief of retirement and the hopeful joys of grandchildren to work for. So cruel that this too should be taken.

Then let me pray that they were not alone, and if alone that it was quick and mostly painless. I hope there was a light to welcome them and if there was not, that the darkness was quiet and meant only a final peace.

Michael Sanzone

An obituary has a dreadful finality about it. We had heard about his death before we read it of course. But it didn't seem real somehow. Not that we were telling ourselves that he was alive or that the news was some terrible prank. Just it didn't seem real somehow. I told my friends that I knew it was likely, that it could happen any day. His health was poor, threatened. But you never think it will happen this week; today. He was here, in my kitchen on Saturday. Sometime between Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning he died.

I have known Mike for 27 years. I met him when he and his wife, Margaret, volunteered to help with the plays that I directed as fund-raisers for our church. As I was to learn, they did nothing half-heartedly. In the years that followed, I witnessed much fun and giving. They attended classes and Mike became a deacon. When Margaret started a soup kitchen, he assisted. When he chose a project, he chose to work with the mentally handicapped in the SPRED Program. Understand that he did not pick the easy path, but chose to provide services for the profoundly handicapped, institutionalized adults who lived not far from our church. In his ministry, like the rest of us, Mike was not perfect. When he preached, there were mis-pronounced words and made small mis-steps. He was always ready to laugh at himself. I'd like to think that others were better able to join in when they saw that ministry was a human and forgiving business. He was always ready to pick himself up and start over. Maybe he'd make another mistake, but that was ok too.

Over the years, he and Bill became friends. Together they built bookcases and computer equipment. The two of them were the best of Ham Radio buddies. They put up a tower in our back yard and in his and climbed them. They were both younger then. I was beside myself. They had great fun renting a bucket truck to put up an antenna. They built radio devices, installed them in cars, in the houses, in the garages, and even in suitcases. They joined a club and traveled all over to attend Ham-fests. In the summer it was not unusual to find them on the patio, listening for signals from far-away places, or in the yard stringing antenna wire from the trees.

When I think of Mike, I also think of his way with children. He was always good with kids. He cared about them and was able to encourage and have fun with them. I recall that he once was between jobs and spent some time working as a substitute teacher. He really enjoyed that and confided that he wished he had become a teacher like Margaret. We all wonder about the path not taken. He loved his family, his children, his grandchildren. I know he brought that same good humor and concern to his "retirement" job, driving a school bus, which is why he was so successful at it.

When people die they leave a hole in the universe that can't be filled by anyone else. Having done this so many times before I know that there will be many days when many people think that they haven't seen him lately, or that they will call him or wonder why he isn't in his usual place and time, then catch themselves and remember that they will not be seeing him again, at least not in this life. Then they will remember his smile, his laugh, his kindness, his manner and the things that were pure Mikey. I know I will do it. I'll cry a little but I will also smile.

The Flamingos on the Lawn

The holidays are officially over. The ornaments are boxed. The candles put away. The glitter is gone and the cards are in the trash. New space has been found for presents received. All seems bare and bleak with it's passing. Back to the hum drum of daily living. All that is left of the days made merry are the flamingos on the lawn.

Christmas 2009

Whenever things in my life start to go south, my mind strays towards the absurd. Hence the flamingo decorations. Looking at them now, I wonder what I was thinking. We have a family legend that things go badly in odd numbered years with Republican administrations. We had a Democratic administration, (or so it seems) so things didn't go too badly south this year. Mom needed serious surgery, but she is well recovered. My poor aunt died after a horrible and prolonged illness. I guess nothing saves either part of that, except that possibly she lives on in her lovely granddaughters and great-granddaughters which will soon number 1 more. I had spinal surgery, but I got very good advice from the oddest of places, and because of that, I am doing very well. Just before Thanksgiving, I got a call from my almost-life-long friend saying that her husband had died suddenly. Shocked and devastated, yet she is bearing it with grace and strength that she didn't know she had, but I always did. I spent Christmas Eve coughing and sneezing, hacking and wheezing to the point that I stayed home from our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. But, I was well enough to at least attend Christmas Day. I didn't get too close to the family. We won't even talk about how I was looking. Suffice to say, it's a good thing we don't have a formal Christmas dinner. Em did well to marshal the under-40 set to assist mom and BJ didn't need to be asked. I am always proud of my kids. I think it was the pain and anticipation of the spinal surgery that sent me over the edge. It could be worse, some people drink. I bake cookies and buy ridiculous lawn decorations. Next year, well, let's not make any promises.

And to all, a good night.

It Takes All Kinds

There is a plain boring species of bird called a cowbird. It is gray with a brown head. The cowbird lays its eggs in the nests of other birds. The cowbird chicks grow quickly, and may consume most of the food the host brings. If starvation does not kill the other birds' chicks, in some species the baby cowbird will use its large size to push the other chicks out of the nest. Other species of cowbirds simply share the nests. The other day, we were watching the birds when we saw a cardinal hen feeding a young chick. Cardinals will feed each other seeds in a very sweet manner, usually you see the mated pairs doing this in the spring. On closer inspection, it was obvious that this cardinal hen was not feeding a cardinal chick, but was clearly shepherding around a little almond shaped gray baby. If birds are self-aware, the chick probably wonders if it will be crested and red when it grows up. But for now, it was fluttering its wings happily and following its mom around. If the other birds looked oddly at Mr. and Mrs. C., they didn't seem to notice. Us mother hens must care for the chicks, just because they need to be cared for.

Winging It

We live not far from a bird sanctuary. This is, in actuality, a few acres of unimproved land. After 2 1/2 years we had seen a few interesting birds but just had not gotten around to looking for them. So I bought a bird feeder and watched helplessly as the first squirrel that came along dumped the entire contents of the feeder on the ground. After 5 pounds of birdseed became squirrel feed and there was not a bird in sight, I tried feeding the squirrels and the birds. I fed the squirrels and the squirrels and some chipmunks and a few birds. Then came the Yankee Flipper. Now only the smart squirrel eats from the feeder. We have been visited by a number of birds that I have never seen in these parts. Who knew they were here? We have seen cardinals and jays, goldfinches and chickadees, cowbirds and woodpeckers. They come in droves and then there's nothing, then they are back. Some gather together, some will only eat alone. Some come in pairs and one eats while the other watches. If you watch you can see. The Jays are the bully boys of the neighborhood. They fly in and everyone scatters. Like us, they are winging it.

Reflections

This was an incredibly inspiring day. The above picture was supplied, via cell phone, by my friend who was fortunate and brave enough to actually be there. Even though I had to work, I managed to re-arrange my schedule and went down to the lunch-room to watch the inauguration. My thoughts on this are many. I was amazed by the crowds. I was appalled that 34 words and Justice Roberts couldn't get it right?? I guess he gets nervous too. He should have rehearsed more. I kept thinking that Michelle must be cold and her feet must hurt. Why didn't she pick a warm coat? I'd have wanted to go home about an hour into it. I was also appalled by some of my colleagues who are apparently so narcissistic that they think whatever is walking through their minds is more important than these once in a life time events. I wouldn't want to attend a concert with many of them. I was also amazed at how many people, when walking into a room of silent people, glued to the words of our new president, felt the need to make some stupid pronouncement. I should have stayed home, which was my first impulse. I know that this was a first, because he's black, but he's also simply Barrack. There is something transcendent in the strength of his words, the strength of his ideas and the strength of his purpose. To be American was once a beautiful and special thing and it can be again. Mama loves Obama, and apparently, so does pretty much everyone else. He is who we are and who we want to be.