Mother, Interrupted

Six years ago today--already enough years in the cycle to have gone around the week--our beloved son Jeremy, trying to save his dog, accidentally slid off a cliff and into Eternity.

Time does not heal. Sometimes it cruelly slices into itself, demanding the present return to the past and feel the void of the future. Sometimes it mocks the living, either fading or exaggerating memories. Always and ever it represents the chasm between those who left and those who remain: all that was and cannot be revisited; and all that was not and can never be experienced.

Ultimately, though, time cannot fully steal. The love that was known remains unextinguished. The fullness of the unique life that was his can never be denied.

I celebrate Jeremy's life every day of my own. On this day, I recall that he went for a hike with his close friends because an irresistible day of splendor in early Spring called him out of his bed and to his final destiny. I marvel that he, who lived with suffering and death so close at hand after having his kidneys destroyed by the horrible train incident when he was 14, stepped out of time and into his Father's arms so quickly and painlessly. Irish and I hold each other close, even closer today and weep again...not only for our loss, but also from from the joy of the unshakable confidence that unites our spirits with his even across time and dimension: "I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE."

Sick

Crying Fowl-er

We haven't had cable in years. The upcoming digital conversion doesn't affect us whatsoever, as we only turn the thing on for movie nights. I'm a bit behind in TV pop culture, though I do occasionally watch a few favorite shows online. The last few weeks, I've heard murmurs about The Most Hated Man on Television, AKA The World's Worst Father. Although I seriously doubt his candidacy for the latter, the former moniker has some justification. The Web is wild with the story, as even a TV hermit like me has heard about it.

Sadly, some of the people in those exotic environs known the San Francisco Bay Area reside in a self-contained, delusional bubble of egotism. Barely regarding the rest of the USA as being of the same species--let alone their fellow citizens--they become pitiable legends in their own minds. Their unchecked narcissism results in some of the most boorish behavior ever publicly displayed--as in the case of Mr. Fowler.

Thanks to ABC and a program I have never watched, what has been heretofore remained mostly secreted behind a glitzy but tattered curtain of "limousine liberal" hypocrisy has been exposed far more adroitly than any blustering talk radio personality could have imagined. And thanks to the Internet, the story will never die.

What two adults have done to lower themselves as human beings, all the while turning self-congratulatory mental cartwheels for having achieved such "superior" status, is in the end their own choices. They themselves are doomed to live with themselves; no one else has to. However, what they have done and are doing to their children is comparable to a crack addict pimping their offspring for the next fix.

Unless Steven Fowler grows a conscience, quite a few therapists will be kept employed when the his daughter and son come of age.

Big bang, little bong

From the Eyrie I can hear, as well as see, a lot happening in our lovely California downtown. Usually the soundtrack is the mundane mix of any city: busy traffic; whining ambulances; bits of laughter and conversation from the parking lot next door; children squealing on the school playground across the street; bass thumps from a passing sound system on wheels. Occasionally the sound of grinding brakes is added, followed by screeching and thudding as two cars try to occupy the same space at the same moment and find their atoms locked. Most often these minor fender benders leave not much more than scratched paint and several annoyed people in their wake. Today, however, the sound didn't drift up lazily--it shattered the normal Friday morning peace with an urgency that shook the entire neighborhood. Almost immediately the sirens began, and I knew this was no casual side scrape.

I was compelled to the window and saw it all happening on the corner just one block over. An ugly dread dropped on me as I stepped into my New Balances and grabbed my house keys. Not normally a gawker, and certainly not wishing to be in the way of rescue personnel, I decided to walk just halfway up the block. The silence of the gathered crowd said everything necessary to grasp the situation. I walked on despite my original intentions and in a moment saw the small SUV that had flipped completely over and squashed roof first into the pavement. In fact, I didn't recognize at first what kind of vehicle it was. Ground up windshield particles lay around like a can of glitter someone had upended. I expected to see blood, and a good deal of it, judging by the disastrous shape of the wreckage. Amazingly, the driver was already out of the destroyed vehicle and being strapped onto a gurney. An eyewitness told me that the young woman had managed to crawl out through what appeared to be a few inches' space between metal and concrete. Looking at her, I could tell how disoriented she was. Her chest and head appeared to be swelling slightly as her eyes, obviously not focusing properly, made her appear as confused as she surely must have been. Internal injuries, no doubt, I thought.

I then noticed a second SUV, a Lexus, pulled off to the side of the street, part of its front fender piled around on the ground. The Lexus' driver, another young woman, stood on the sidewalk calling someone. Police, firefighters, and EMTs were as numerous as the onlookers, each one silently intent on his job. An acquaintance of mine, a Christian man who lives downstairs from me, arrived on the scene and we discreetly prayed for everyone involved in the situation.

The eyewitness told me that the Lexus driver had caused the accident, apparently trying to beat the light at that notoriously tedious intersection. It seemed unjust that the woman on the gurney was not the one whose inattention or irresponsibility had brought the whole thing about. However, as I soon saw, the irony was not yet complete. After the tow truck arrived and pulled the crushed vehicle upright again, an officer rushed in to retrieve the victim's belongings piled underneath. A odd-looking yellow plastic tube fell onto the ground. The incredulous policeman showed it to his colleagues: undeniably an implement for the imbibing of illegal substances...a sweet little bong, right under her coat. Whoops! That's when the second officer joined in a search of the SUV's interior. Within seconds they found what they were looking for. Shaking their heads, they placed everything back inside the wreck and went to their paperwork as it was towed to impound.

Tonight I read on the local paper's Web site that it was the injured driver who was deemed at fault. This contradicted the eyewitness I spoke with, as well as several other people who were on the scene. Funny how things can appear, or how they can be later reported.

Two women left home this morning, neither knowing that her routine would be seriously curtailed before lunchtime. One, driving a new-looking Lexus, would stand by her slightly battered vehicle and talk in subdued tones on her cell, leaving on her own; the other would take a much more circuitous and complicated route before arriving home. Somebody indeed will end up in court, maybe both of them. I certainly hope that nothing more serious will result. All this happened in less time than it takes to walk from the desk where I write this, to my living room light switch and flick it on.

Once again, it is the big bangs that intrude on our lives, ready or not. The little bongs that we think are so well hidden have a way of insinuating themselves, too, at the most inopportune moments...ready or not.

Perchance to...?

It must come with this stage of life: lately one of my favorite activities is sleeping. Not sleeping when normal folks do, oh no! My best sleep comes between 7 a.m. and 9 or even 10 a.m. I realize that most normal folks (like Irish) are up being actually productive during those hours; indeed, many have no other choice. I'm grateful that my situation allows for such idiosyncrasy. But since sleep has become a big part of my life (When can I? How long can I?) I also pay attention to patterns in my dreams as well.

Before you think I'm going off on some silly rant about God speaks to me in dreams--those who know me well are familiar with my hesitation, even loathing to do any such thing. Instead, my silly rant is about changes I've noticed in particular recurring dreams I've had. Self analysis is so much fun, and ever so much cheaper! If you're still with me and are not averse to knowing more about Sharon than you ever thought possible, read on.

Recurring dream 1: Mouth full of glue; I'm forced to continually pull long strands out that stretch like rubber bands
Self interpretation: Need to get up & drink water!
Solution: Remind myself in dream what it means. Stop pulling the strands. Get up and get water.

Recurring dream 2: The hidden room/--sometimes the rooms are junky and sometimes they're delightfully artistic
S.I.: Places I keep all to myself and won't let anyone into.
Solution: Open the doors more. Let people know me better. Shoot, let myself know me better.

Recurring dream 3: In a private moment, people are crowding into the room and refuse to leave
S.I.: These are the characters I haven't written that are sick of me keeping them down. They demand to be seen and heard!
Solution:So start writing again already, blockhead.

Sogni d'oro, everybody.

Three days in a row

Somebody stop me! I'll have to turn in my card to "Procrastinators Unite...Someday" if I keep actually blogging regularly. I mean, I've got a reputation to uphold! My consolation is that practically no one reads these anyway. I'm the quintessential voice-in-a-billion, the grain of sand on the beach, the flitting snowflake in the wintry Sierras. If I posted on the Internet and nobody noticed, would I still be saying nothing?

Rumination: My sister-in-law asked me last night if we'd watched the Oscars. Truth is, I've hardly noticed it since the last Lord of the Rings installment. I think we went to see "Prince Caspian" last year and one other movie which was so very memorable that I can't think of it now. Guilty pleasure: It is kinda fun to look at all those cheesy "What Were They Thinking" day-after reports on how much money some unfortunate celebutard paid to look drekky in front of all those people. I can accomplish that without leaving home, and do so often; but then, I do not have a high-priced stylist to deceive me.

The Boo turns 2

It was a typical family event last Friday night--both sides of relatives gathered under one roof to celebrate with Sponge Bob cake, balloons, noisemakers, and hats (no, Irish would not wear one). Kids were all over the place, or so it seemed. Baby had a bad cold and The Boo was just getting over his tonsillitis. The 3 1/2 year-old cousin couldn't speak English, but was adept at making his wants known. The other grandmother made killer taquitos while I, knowing my place, kept clear of the kitchen so she could perform her magic there. The older girl cousins were on hand along with various tias (aunties), Pa and Nonna (Irish and me), and of course Daddy Christian and Mama Alina. The new toys were a big hit, as was the DVD of "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything"--little Christian is a huge Veggie Tales fan.

And of course, I couldn't stop thinking of my own boy at that age, 30 years ago. It really is true that, as we age, the past becomes ever more alive and present. Little guys on the cusp between babyhood and boyhood have that same irresistible, impatient wistfulness about them, regardless of generation. I saw it on my brothers many years ago; then on my son, and now on my grandson. I know that his brother will have that same look on his face a year from April 4 when he himself arrives at this gate. All my brothers became wonderful men, after some shaky journeys along the way. So did our Jeremy. What is ahead for young Christian and his baby brother, who bears his late uncle's name, remains to be seen. But this I know: the promise of a little boy who is loved and anxious to get on with the business of growing into a man is a marvelous thing.

The Sumner Bucket List

My version of that cheesy "check off all the stuff you've done in your life" list that's making the Facebook rounds. Thanks to my many siblings for making these memories possible. Y'all know who you are.

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The Sumner Bucket List

This is a takeoff on the original that's going around Facebook. To preserve privacy and sanity, I'm not asking anyone to actually check anything off.

For you younger whippersnappers, this version is mainly applicable to your parents, aunts, and uncles. It is here for your edification and inspiration. I'd love to see your own parodies.
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Things you have done during your lifetime:

() Been a blind date
() Got kicked out of school
() Watched someone cook a woodland animal
() Been to an outhouse
() Been to the county seat
() Fed 12 people with 3 lbs. of macaroni and part of a jar of Cheez-Whiz
() Saw Hawaii Five-O in black and white
() Made an airplane out of an oatmeal box
() Thought a helicopter was a giant-ass mosquito
() Been lost...in a Kroger's
() Remember seeing MLK Jr.'s speech in Washington, DC.
() Spent the summer diving into a bathtub
() Cried yourself to sleep...in a bed with at least two other kids
() Played cops and robbers...only you were the object being stolen
() Ate crayons. Extra points for also melting them on the side of an oil heater in December.
() Sang every song to six Broadway plays, in four-part harmony, with your siblings for fun, in your underwear. Extra points if it was your brother's underwear.
() First time you went to a restaurant for anything other than a Dairy Queen was after you left home
() Been to the top of Dog Holler
() Done something you told yourself you wouldn't...like eating a live insect
() Made prank phone calls...on a neighbor's phone
() Walked into town to get the mail
() Laughed until some kind of beverage came out of someone else's nose
() Saw a ten year-old boy pee on the snow
() Danced in the rain...in lieu of taking a shower
() Written a letter to Santa Claus...and had it returned
() Been kissed by a mine pony
() Watched the sunrise with someone...after being out all night "borrowing" bicycles
() Blown bubbles with Ivory soap and a wooden spool
() Gone ice-skating...in the kitchen
() Been banned from a movie theater
() Been crawdab fishing
() Driven across three states with eight people in a Ford
() Rode in the open trunk of a car
() Played Tarzan on a grapevine
() Collected kindling wood in the snow
() Lived in more than one country...without ever leaving home
() Lay down outside at night and admired the stars while listening to people inside playing Whist
() Seen a bug zapper and made a wish
() Enjoyed the beauty of light playing through Pabst Blue Ribbon bottles
() Seen the Statue of Liberty...made out of dirty clothes
() Stepped on a needle in the bathroom
() Seen corn growing in a crack under the kitchen table
() Traveled by train...without paying
() Traveled to Hill Top before there was a paved road there
() Regularly used the word "foofie" in everyday language
() Been dog riding
() Heard your mother talk about riding on a San Francisco CABLE CAR
() Seen a Disney movie on TV...in black and white
() Been in a rain forest...behind your house
() Seen pig guts in a washtub
() Been to beautiful downtown Minden
() Driven through Fayetteville in the fall
() Thrown a household pet out a window at a Peeping Tom
() Swam with catfish
() Eaten a Foot-Long with an orange Ne-Hi and a chocolate Jumbo pie
() Been to the marble championships
() Walked on a railroad trestle
() Seen your grandfather's cowlick getting licked by a cow
() Been fishing with your father, using almond-scented hamburger balls
() Played Snake Tag at 10:30 pm
() Caught lightning bugs in a jelly jar...with jelly still in it
() Got picked up by a church bus
() Dressed for a special occasion from a donation box
() Waded in the New River
() Got tired of hearing "Y'all have enough kids for a baseball team!"
() Slit open your brother's football to see what was inside
() Been skinny dipping... in a cold creek...fifty yards from a baptism
() Wanted to punk slap the Brady Bunch

Black (hearted) Friday 2008

I was in a state of depression all day yesterday. It began when I flipped on my favorite morning news site and was slapped in the face with the two inch redline proclaiming the death by stampeding of an innocent WalMart employee. Greed kills...again.

What have we become?

Happy Thanksgiving, BBB

No, that's not the Better Business Bureau. It's my friend Patty somewhere in the heartland, to whom I affectionately refer as Bread Basket Brat. We met each other on Thanksgiving weekend, 1998--two Christians in an AOL pagan chat room trying to demonstrate the love of Christ to some very confused young people. We started IM-ing and emailing back and forth--we belonged to a virtual pen pal group long before the days of blogs and social networking sites--and then exchanged real, 3-D letters and phone calls. BBB and her hubby visited us here in California while on their 15th anniversary trip. While Irish and I have yet to make it to the land of the billowing wheat fields for a return engagement, I still hope to someday. She, admittedly, has been much better at communication than I. Now that we're both blogging, I feel like I can "reach out and touch" my friend any time. I love visiting her little Net nook and reading the parts of her revealed there.

So Patty, for all the times I thought of writing you but didn't (yet we still stayed friends, thanks to your persistence) here's a sincere prayer for the warmest and most blessed of Thanksgiving Days for you and all your tribe. I'll think of you when I don't undercook the turkey this time. Thanks for being there and loving your WCW* anyway.


*West Coast Wacko, in case anyone else is reading this.

Only when I shouldn't

The life and times of an insomniac: I can sleep anytime I ought not; particularly during an important meeting, at the supermarket, at church, or 1 p.m. almost every day. Along about 9 p.m. I get a second wind that's more like a nor'easter. I could easily sit up till 4 in the morning or so and blog, write emails and letters to the editor, leave pithy comments on message boards, or play StumbleUpon. Unfortunately, there's the nagging fact that most life takes place during the time when Big Yellow lights up the sky. Being the building manager, I have to be up and available. So I must take the little girl within by the scruff o' the neck and drag her off to bed, just when she wants to have fun. But no, Sharon, you can't start a movie at 10:42; and you can't have another cookie; and you can't start another art project. Stop. Put down the crayons, turn off the computer, and off to bed with you. Now!

Why it matters

Election '08 is over; I can go outside and breathe the clean campaign-free air once again...at least until the inauguration. I had my reasons for not supporting Barack Obama, but am obligated to pray sincerely for him as our new president. (Who knows, maybe if I'd prayed more for George W. Bush he may not have blown it so badly--or at least my attitude would have been better about it.) And I do pray for him. He will need all the prayer he can get.

I said the air is clear. That's not really true, as the opponents of Prop. 8 won't accept that we the majority of California voters want to preserve the traditional institution and definition of marriage. They're behaving like thug-brats who will stomp their feet--in our faces, mind you--until they get their way. Regardless of one's opinion concerning homosexuals and their rights, our constitutional democracy should be respected. If you lose, as the Republicans did in the national, you shouldn't get to whine for a sympathetic judge who'll overturn the results. I imagine that's what will happen here. Our governor mole-in-chief encourages that very thing. (As my friend says, "They voted for The Terminator; what they got was Arnold Schwarzenegger".)

Aside from my Irish, whose presence and love have been my earthly salvation for 36 years, I have two glorious bright spots in my life: Christian, almost 2; and Jeremy, 7 mos. It sounds self-absorbed, but they are the main reasons I still care what happens to this country. I can't resolve the war in Iraq or fix the cruddy public education system or the national health care crisis or smite corrupt politicians and unfair "journalists" (oh, if I only could!) but I can swing a giggling little guy up to touch the chandelier; or let him touch a drool-covered finger to a bright board book page; or rock and soothe him till Mommy (our daughter) comes back. And I can teach him "Jesus loves me, this I know".

Lest I forget: Camila. She's our young friend from church who comes over on Thursdays and goes to AWANA with me. I get her a lot during vacations and school breaks, too. She's so much a part of our family that it's hard to remember sometimes that she has a mom and lives somewhere else. She knows where everything in our house is and goes right for what she wants--the privilege of the beloved.

Here's to the boys; and here's to sweet Camila. Sorry we didn't leave this world in better shape than when we found it. We haven't given up, though.

Dear Congresscritters

Yes, YOU. Comfortable-for-life shiny shoed "public servants":

Judgment Hall comin' up on the right.

Dear WaMu

It was so good to hear from you. We know you've been pretty distracted, what with going bankrupt and being swallowed up by JPMorgan Chase and all--and yet you found time to send us an invitation to use some special checks to max out our new $6K line of credit. Please don't get me wrong: we appreciate your thinking of us in such a difficult time. It's just that, you see, we finally got completely out of debt. Yep, we don't owe you or anyone else a dime! (It's exhilarating!) I wish you could celebrate with us; I'm sure you would if you weren't so awfully preoccupied. I suppose you miss us. Truth is, WaMu: we don't miss you, and we'll be passing on that generous offer. Have fun with your new overlords owners.

Regards,
Sharon

From me, to me

Dearest Sharon,

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting that Dove bar back on the shelf this morning. You know how hard we work! Remember: the holidays are coming.

Fondly,
Sharon

Greetings from Plate Jungle

That's my new name, or the moniker I 'd carry if my last name were Palin, according to the Sarah Palin Name Generator. A much-needed moment of levity in the most contentious presidential campaign in my lifetime (Harry Truman was in the White House when I was born).

Well, at least I'm not Zipper Window or Freestyle Blitz.

The other men in my life

Christian AKA BooBoo AKA Papas:

and his little sidekick Jeremy AKA Munchkin AKA Munchie:


And that's what's been keeping me occupied!

Shout out to Alina who made them possible. ;)

Honda brinka revelation

Our daughter's lovely tricked-out Accord, the one she proudly negotiated herself and still had 4 years of payments on, was stolen from out front of her apartment, used in two crimes, and reduced to an ashy, black carcass to remove the evidence. Good news: the babies' car seats were not in it at the time, and Triple-A paid for junking the rubble. Further good news: Daughter Dear now understands why her stodgy parents advised her not to buy the number one stolen vehicle in America, and is now looking for a used midsize SUV.

But I'm not saying anything.

Pledge to remember

7 years ago today. Have we learned anything? Can we so quickly forget?

A thousand words

Give or take a few: