Christmas Carding

I'm getting together my list of recips for my annual Christmas card list. Last year, my plans were somewhat thwarted by my zapping my computer in an attempt to upgrade its memory. (Yes, I can draw blood on multiple species, but cannot install simple computer cards without evoking lethal channels of static electricity. It is good to remember one's place in the world.)

Anyway, I'm hitting everyone up for current addresses, etc. Getting ready to type out a letter, which I no doubt will also post here when the time comes. What pictures to paste into the document, how to approach the narrative, who to send it to and in what manner, who gets what card out of the dollar store options I've brought home. It's always such a chore, getting it all together. But it is also so fun and uber-rewarding to sit down & take stock of all the people in this world who mean so much to me.

That includes you, by the way. I'm glad you show up at this blog.

-C.

Giving Thanks

What I am grateful for:

1. Family
2. Friends
3. Pets
4. Work
5. School
6. Fortitude
7. Clarity
8. Art
9. Sustenance
10. Hope

-C.

Memorial

Joe's memorial was Saturday. There was prayer & Bible readings, Scottish bagpipes & Irish songbirds. My sister compiled a wonderful montage of photos of Joe throughout his life & put together the music. A very kind pastor talked about the celebration of life.

Then we got to a part called "A Brother's Thoughts":

For the past few weeks, I have been trying to get my thoughts together enough to make an acceptable memorial service for my big brother. Let me start by first giving my thanks to all of you present here for this service. I want to express my appreciation to Pastor Greg Ralston for his kind words and support to our entire family. I also want to express my gratitude for the support of my wife Tokuko, my daughter Regina, my son-in-law Sherman, my granddaughter Caitlin, my daughter Colleen, and the rest of our family. They provided the highest degree of what "family" truly means, both to me and my brothers' children. Thank you.

Most of the people here knew my brother as George---not me. He has been and forever will be known to me and my family as "Joe". Joe was born Nov 4, 1931, the first-born of the family. He had it pretty good for the first 6 years, than our sister Mary Jean came along. Then 2 years later, his life changed forever!! The "baby" of the family, his little brother, was born. THAT'S ME!! No more going out to play with his friends----he had to watch "the baby", or else take "the baby" with him!

Joe was a story-teller and I know many of you have heard a lot of stories about him and me. No one could tell a tale like him. Believe me, they were all true! Most of the stories ended with him getting a spanking from Mom, because in Mom's eyes, the "baby" could do no wrong! (THAT'S ME AGAIN!)

We had what I would call a special brother to brother relationship. We were there for each other on many different occasions. Even though I was gone from New York, spending 20 years in the Navy before settling here in the Springs, we knew we could count on each other for whatever assistance was needed. As an example, my wife became pregnant with our first child in Dec 1965. Since I was deploying to Vietnam for an unspecified time, I called Joe in New York and asked if he could care for her while I was gone. Understand, my wife was from Japan and they had not met yet. Without hesitation, Joe said "Of course I'll take care of her. That's what brothers are for." I took my wife to New York, introduced her to her brother-in-law and left. I returned to New York in Oct 1966 and met my 2-month son for the first time. "That's what brothers are for".

In 1998, Joe called me. He had entered into a disastrous second marriage and he found himself alone, saddened and just about to give up on life itself. He said "Tommy, I need you." I immediately went to New York. We talked for 3 or 4 days...that's all we did was talk. I convinced him he should relocate to Colorado Springs, where he could live with me and my wife and our family. He agreed, and in May 1999, he became a member of our household. After all, "That's what brothers are for."

For the past 9 1/2 years, we were together almost every day. Joe got involved in meeting some fantastic people here and truly enjoyed his new life (except he continued to rout for the Buffalo Bills and not the Broncos!)

As much as I truly believe that Joe is in a better place, with his beloved wife Regina, our Mother and Sister, I still am feeling a deep loss. Joe was my hero when I was growing up, and although his passing was rapid, he showed an uncommon sense of pride, dignity and class.

"Big brother, thank you for who you were. I love you and miss you. We'll be together one day. Put the coffee pot on."

-C.

The Crime of Surviving

I just read a very depressing article in The New Yorker about a 90-year-old woman who tried to kill herself when her home was foreclosed upon. I'm filing it away with a depressing article in Harper's from 2 years ago about a woman in her 80s who had to glue her own dentures together because Medicare doesn't cover the replacing of dentures even though she cannot eat solid food without them. And another one that I saved but couldn't finish reading (from the Chicago Tribune) on elder abuse in nursing homes.

These people were not deadbeats. They were hardworking people who lived good lives, raised good kids, paid their bills, and expected better from the systems that they contributed to for years. What is wrong with us? Why does the richest nation in the world take such shoddy care of its elders? Forget talking about the economic downturn; these problems have been here for decades, and it is reprehensible. Why do we punish our own people when they have the audacity to survive?

And what exactly can I do in light of all of this? I'll have to get back to you on that.

-C.

Same Life, but Not

There has been a dramatic shift in my psyche since my trip to Colorado. Would you all think me terrible if I said here that it was one of the best trips of my life? Yes, I went back to say good-bye to my cancer-riddled uncle, who died while I was there (and, if anybody is up for the story, Joe chose the right time to leave to the very hour. The very rightest hour to go. Bless you, Joe, and thanks.). It was painful and exhausting and I smoked and stopped exercising and had a headache that lasted 2 weeks. (See blog entry entitled "Joe" for more on this grief). But I found a clarity that has been missing from my life for years. It's not easy to elaborate on here. Next to impossible, really. I'll just say that I look at my life now, and it is much the same. Same people, same environs, same aspirations, same challenges. And the same me-same body, same heart, same mind, same hands.

Same life, but a very different living. Does that make any sense? My living of my life is different. Beautifully so, and it is such a blessing that I nearly feel guilty for taking the good that came with the bad.

Nearly, but not quite. Certainly not enough to deny myself any good that is offered me, however it offers itself.

-C.

Random Thoughts

#1- Guthrie's Tavern on Addison is one of my favorite Chicago haunts. They have board games (Yahtzee!). They have delivery menus from a couple of dozen nearby restaurants & don't care if you order out. They don't care if you bring in chicken wings from the nearby Jewel instead of ordering out. They have cheese sticks & mini-pizzas on site if you don't want to order out or go to Jewel. And today they introduced me to Beamish genuine Irish stout, which is brewed in Cork, Ireland & is almost as good as Guinness (I cannot say better because that would be blasphemy). Love Guthrie's.

#2-Southport Lanes & Billiards is another great place. They have many pool tables, which is fun even though I suck at pool. They serve Guinness on draft and breaded & deep-fried green beans which is just a freakin' genius idea because they taste amazing especially when you are craving cigarettes and will not smoke. Not to mention being able to kid yourself into thinking that at least you are eating veggies.

#3-In trying economic times, it is good to be a lightweight (in drinking terms). I have had two beers and am ready for bed. I don't get bragging rights but I have more cash left in my pocket than the hardcore drinkers that have to down 4 or 5 to relax. And no hangover. So there.

#4-My friend Mark is a very talented writer, very funny. You should visit his Wordlustitude blog (wordlust.blogspot.com), hit the links to his online columns (so that he can stay employed)and also buy his book. I am saying this because it is true & not because he bought the last round & the fried green beans. Thanks, buddy, by the way.

#5-There are more random thoughts but I do have to go to bed so that I can hit my snooze button the requisite dozen times before getting up, tripping over a cat bed, & going to work. More puppies & kitties will need me in the morning, and maybe a turtle, guinea pig, ferret, rabbit, rat, iguana (I love them even though they are mean, or maybe because), hamster, or bearded dragon.

But please, no birds. Birds freak me out.

-C.

Thanks, Guys!

A big sloppy kiss in thanks to everyone who wished my mom a happy birthday. (Except for you, poetry-writing boy. Buy her pearls? You're supposed to help get me out of trouble, not deeper in. See if I give you any more discounted coffee...).

In addition to helping make my mom's birthday special, we also succeeded in exercising one of the many tasks that I manage not to shirk, which is to embarrass my poor mother with my wacky-crazy daughterness as often and as thoroughly as possible. Somehow, I find myself never too distracted to do that. I've embarrassed my mother in her home, in cars, in parking lots, in front of strangers, friends, family; on planes, at schools (remember Mrs. Harris?), in numerous department stores, at least 3 different shopping malls, on 2 continents; in print, picture, and video. Now, I've done so in cyberspace! Isn't technology a marvel?

Happy birthday, Mom! I'm so glad you were born; aren't you glad I was?

aishite imasu.

-C.

Here is another reason why I am a jerk:

Today is my mother's birthday. I am not allowed to tell you how old she is. I would love to, because my mom looks around 10-15 years younger than she is, and hell, I think she should brag. But she is modest and doesn't want people in her business, so I will not tell you here how old she turns today.

Why not just go ahead & post her age, you ask? That's easy-I am afraid of my mother. She is 4 foot 11ish, about 96 pounds, and I am afraid of making her angry. I will use words like "fuck" & "asshole" with gleeful abandon, but I will not post my mother's age on this blog because I do not make my mother that angry without suffering her wrath. Those of you who scoff-you live in ignorance. Those of you who are gravely nodding know my mother (or a mother like her), know me (or are like me), and accept my humility without question. Good for you; it means that your eyes and brains work well.

Today is my mother's birthday, and I forgot to send her a card. I called in a tearful apology, and she has forgiven my slight, but I do not forgive myself. Not yet. Am I being too hard on myself? M. has said yes, my sister said yes, Kat would say yes, many would say yes. I do not. I allowed my stressful week (month?) to distract me from a very important responsiblity, which is to remember my mom on her special day. She doesn't want jewelry, she doesn't eat candy, she's not big on fancy wrappings or grand gestures. My mom (like most moms) just wants to be remembered, to get a simple card (on time!!!!), and have it left at that. Not much to ask, but too much for stressed-out C. to deliver, and this is unacceptable. This is another reason why I am a jerk, and I must address that and will.

So I am calling upon you, loyal audience, to help me make my amends. Anyone, everyone, who is reading this blog, I need you to leave a comment wishing my mother a happy birthday. Allow your voice to make up for my thoughtlessness. Even if you know my mother & wished her a happy birthday on your own. Even if you don't know my mother except through me. Even if you have no idea who I am, much less who my mother is, but stumbled on this blog just for a way to pass the time, or goof off at work, or as a stop to your porn site-WHATEVER!!! If you are reading this, post a comment saying:

"Happy Birthday, Tokuko!"

Do it, please. Do it now. It will take 2 minutes, and don't forget to check your spelling. Me & mine are fussy about spelling. Thanks.

-C.

I am also an enormous jerk...

...and that is not the word I wanted to use here, but my dad did ask me to clean up the language, and as I've put a card or two of his late in the mail (in the past, thank you!), I figured that I could help make it up to him with a curse-free blog entry. You're welcome, Dad; hope you like it.

But I really am a jerk (insert foul language of your choosing here). I have had a busy week. The job demands at a vet practice can be rough. Little things that irk me become giant things that infuriate me when there are busy exam room doors, admits, anesthetics, treatments, all with a skeleton crew. Furry patients sometimes do not want to cooperate; fragile veins sometimes don't, either. Put a fragile vein into an angry furry beast & you have a flustered vet tech wannabe who starts to question every single one of her skills despite previous success. My lower back is screaming; my feet are, too. My right knee joined in the bitter chorus today, just to remind me that I am not a kid anymore, and that the physicality of pup-and-kit wrangling is tougher now than it was before, and bound to get tougher still as time stops for no man, beast, or stunning brunette with a Peter Pan complex.

I have some new scars-one actually looks like a zipper down the inside of my left forearm. I've never been into tattoos (having a father with a dozen of them takes away from their mystique), but I've been looking at my scars from vet medicine and thinking that I might just tattoo the names of the offending patient next to each one. Hey, if Walter's bite mark (Walter!) or Scout's claw marks are embedded into my skin for life, why not a stylized version of their names to go with them? Or maybe a paw pad? Or a smiling canine face (is he smiling? Or snarling?)? Mmm, must ponder.

What was my point? Oh, yeah, the jerk thing.

So, there is a Chicago-based writer with whom I am vaguely acquainted. I saw her perform at my first poetry slam at the Green Mill Lounge on my 30th birthday. She was fantastic. I saw her again when I went to another slam a couple of years later. We spoke briefly, and I was intrigued by her confidence, her talent. I would love to see her perform again, and I would love the chance to let her know that I admire her work.

I may not get that chance. I've recently found out that this very gifted woman, newly married, younger than me, is in the hospital. She had her large intestine removed as it was irreparably diseased. Her post-op experience has been described to me, and it is too horrifying to repeat here, or maybe anywhere. To make things worse, complications have developed, in the form of infections, blood clots, inert internal structures. Yet, through all of it, this person has maintained such a sense of optimism & strength that I can only stand in awe of her.

In awe, and greatly ashamed. Ashamed that I allow minor stresses to give rise to temper tantrums. Ashamed that I complain of joint pain when my intestines function fine even when I throw junk food at them. Ashamed that I cannot find a moment in a hectic day to be grateful that I made it to the age of 35 with the only scars on my skin having come from working in a profession that I love, not from withering disease or major invasive surgery. Maybe I will have another bad day tomorrow, maybe I will not be able to hit a vein, maybe a thousand little things will get me going because I haven't yet figured out how to balance my passion against my ego. But I'll be able to get up from my bed, eat a breakfast of solid food, swallow without agony, and go to the bathroom without waiting for 4-6 months to heal.

Fuck it. Sorry, Dad, but your curse-free blog entry/present will have to wait. It's time to call it like it is: I am an enormous asshole.

-C.

I am a proud American....

...and no, this is not a post about the results of the election. I said that I would rarely, if ever, debate or discuss my political leanings in this forum. (Go find me on Facebook for that!).

I am a proud American who demonstrated her pride by voting. And today, in record numbers, across lines of race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, socio-economic status, and nation of origin, so very many of my fellow Americans demonstrated that same pride. While we may not agree on right versus left, red versus blue, or the CU-Buffs versus the CSU-Rams, our ballots, be they paper, electronic, absentee, early, mail-in, write-in, fill-in-the-blank-in, whatever, have been taken. Counted. Heard. Together.

Starbucks, where I hold a second job, today offered a free cup of coffee to anyone who voted. Two days ago I was frustrated because of an off-the-cuff comment about bothering to vote. But today I poured out free coffee & heard stories from young first-time voters, naturalized citizens who voted, cops & dog-walkers & teachers & musicians who voted. A girl I worked with drove to Indiana this morning to vote in her home state, then made it back to Addison Street in time to pour out free coffee next to me. I learned about an old woman who voted for the first time in her life because she finally, blessedly, felt like her voice might matter. I will always be irritated by the "why bother?" crowd, but today my green apron job afforded me the opportunity to recognize the greater number of the "I bother" crowd. So many cups of coffee. So many who bother.

Thank you, my fellow proud Americans. Thank you for showing me your faces and your voting receipts, and for telling me your stories. I hope you enjoyed that coffee. I hope you know that when I wished you a nice day that I meant it with all of my heart. I hope that, regardless of how any of us feel about the outcome of this or any election, that we can come together as a common people to work towards bettering the nation for which we showed our affection and our allegiance. Maybe over coffee.

And...go Rams!!!!!

-C.

Why I Bother

*-Warning! Tall mouthy woman on soapbox ahead-*

So, I was talking about voting, specifically my voting, more specifically, my 2.5 hour wait in line for early voting. I wasn't talking about my politically leanings, just the process of the act of voting. I rarely debate my leanings, and you will likely never see me do so here. People believe what they believe and act accordingly, as do I.

Someone said, in reaction to my hours-long wait, "Why bother?"

Grrrrrrrrrrr.

So here is my response:

I bother because many generations of my family have served in the U.S. military, up through and including the Revolutionary War; their sacrifices are branded into my DNA, and I honor them. I bother because people like Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Sojourner Truth didn't have the opportunity to vote when they were my age, and I honor them. I bother because in 1917 a woman named Alice Paul went on a hunger strike for weeks to bring attention to women's suffrage, and I honor her. I bother because in 1963, 3 men named Chaney, Schwerner, & Goodman were murdered in their quest to bring equality to voting, and I honor them. I bother because in 1989 I saw, on TV, a Chinese citizen stand in front of a tank in a failing effort to bring democracy to his people, and I honor him. I bother because today, in places like Saudi Arabia and Vatican City, women are not permitted to vote at all, and I am certain that they would relish standing in line for mere hours to do what I take for granted, and by standing in that line and casting my ballot, I honor them.

I'm not here to promote a platform, or a party, or a person. I don't give a damn what most people think; conversely, I don't expect most people to give a damn about what I think. I just want people to bother. Please. Even though the system is flawed. Even if you think it doesn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things. Even if a 2.5 hour wait seems like so much time out of your day.

Just bother.

-C.

Choosing Your Battle

I'm sitting at my bistro table eating steak tacos from a place under the Addison Red Line station called "El Burrito". I'm pretty certain that the beans have real lard in them. It's a coronary in a to-go box, but I promised myself (after a half-hearted attempt at healthy eating last week) that I could eat whatever I wanted as long as I didn't smoke. So I'm gorging on lots of cheese, Doritos (Sweet Spicy Chili-it rocks!), scones & muffins, and various dirt-cheap Mexican food in large quantities. Oh, and the Starbucks' new hot chocolate. Four different kinds of cocoa mixed into what is essentially half-and-half, steamed to perfection, topped with real whipped cream & caramel sauce. I don't even like hot chocolate that much, but, really, it's any excuse to over-indulge in the one vice whilst I fend off the other.

This will not last long. The cravings will subside, and my pants will start arguing with my waist & thighs, and who wants their pants to lose an argument? I'm penciling in some workout time this week (now that I'm cough-free), and I'll be back to being my previously trying-for-a-healthy-lifestyle persona soon enough.

But in the meantime, there are all manner of affordable fatty & sugary foods at the ready. What did my old doctor say? That I would have to put on 100 pounds as a non-smoker to match the health risks of smoking at a lean weight? Quite the margin of error, don't you think?

-C.