nightswimming

A few days ago I made a comment about R.E.M. and how they should do a benefit concert for the Georgia Theatre in Athens. This led to copious R.E.M. listening on Youtube.

This is one of my favorites: Nightswimming

mighty

The mighty have fallen. The reel mower has struck out.
Have I mentioned this experiment with the reel mower? I'm too tired at this point in the day, with the temperatures at 95 F, to even search through previous posts. I think I may have.
I will tell you something about reel mowers. They cut fine grass. They really do. They are used on fancy golf courses because they have this ability. I mean them no disrespect.
Here's what they don't cut:

• dense grass
• thick grass
• tall grass
• any other grass I can't think of right now that isn't fine grass
• weeds
• twigs
• pinecones
• crabgrass

The last weekend for my experiment, I was actually crying some, which no one noticed because I was sweating so hard there was no way to tell. Because it took hours to cut the front, and it took hours to cut the back, and when you turned around to view your progress, it was difficult to tell that you'd cut the grass. The grass was definitely shorter, but all the weeds were definitely still standing. It was so bad, not only did the neighbor on my left start cutting the side of my property adjoining his house, the neighbor on the other side followed suit. The center of my front lawn stood like a defiant mohawk, begging someone to call code enforcement.
Thus we find the true reason a reel mower is unsuitable. During the summer in Georgia, it's pretty much unbearably hot by 9:30 am. You need to be DONE by 9:30 am. You can't be just getting to the back yard by then.
Also, and I can now speak from experience, I've tried the kind of mowing where you look behind you and the tall grass is still standing, versus the mowing where you look back and everything is one height, and I prefer the second kind.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the reel mower now. I'm open to suggestions.

--Laura

fathers

A recollection.
When I was younger, we lived in Missouri. Dad was in the Air Force then, and had the assignment to be in the missile field for days, then home for days. During the same time, mom was trying to give pregnancy a repeat performance. She was taking lots of drugs and spending lots of time sick in bed as a result.
So when kindergarden came, with it came Field Trips [tm]. I remember one in particular; it was a train ride. There are things I can still remember about kindergarden. The workbooks. Mrs. White and Mrs. Snow and how funny it was to have Snow White in one class. I remember a wooden piece of furniture in the classroom, which if turned right side up was a bridge to climb, and turned upside down was a rocking boat. I'm pretty sure in this day and age it would be banned as too dangerous, so I'm glad I got the chance to play with it because I loved rocking in the boat. Anyway, there are lots of things I remember about that year. However, I couldn't tell you where we went on our train trip. I think the memory of Why was drowned out by the memory of How.
Dad went.
He was the only dad.
In a sea of moms.
We love that story to this day, how dad was in from the SAC field and took me, only to discover that he was Freak Dad of the Universe, with mothers whispering about him. Well, I imagine that part. I have a good imagination.
I don't remember if I noticed this or cared. Dad was still pretty amazing to me back then, because he could wave his fingers at the radio and the volume would go up and down. It took more time than I care to admit for me to realize that he was pinching the antennae against the metal frame of the car door with his other hand. Hey, I was a pretty smart kid. I mean I learned to read early and later I skipped a grade, but I just wasn't the type of kid to ferret out downright DECEPTION. I know what you're going to call that, but I call it TRUSTING.
Just saying.
Anyway, that and my dad putting his foot through the ceiling are probably my two favorite memories of him in those years. Because when your dad willingly does something for YOU that makes him look really out of place, it's almost as wonderful as seeing his size 10 foot come shooting through a ceiling. I say almost because in all honesty, you really can't beat seeing a foot shoot through a ceiling. I don't care who you are.
Since then, the list things he's done for me, things which made him look foolish, out of place, or downright silly, has gotten pretty long. And I think that's pretty neat. I may not remember all the Whys, but I will remember the Who. It was my dad. He has a pretty big foot, sure, but he also has a pretty big heart.
So if you're a dad, I want to wish you a Happy Father's Day. And one word of advice from someone who knows. Don't sweat looking really out of place every once in a while. Your kid will never forget it.

--Laura

the day the music died

It's a sad day for art deco in Georgia. The Georgia Theatre in Athens has burned to a shell.

All I have to say is this: maybe R.E.M. will remember they were an Athens band and show the old gal some respect. I'm just saying.

sometimes when you ask, you get what you want

The phone call I'd been waiting for came around 9:30 this morning. Mom was out of surgery. I think she might have been singing.

Results? She had no blockages. Well, to be precise, she had some minor blockage in 2 veins so small they couldn't put stints in them if they wanted to. Those will be treated medically. According to the cardiac doctor, the heart looked like he'd done the bypass surgery last week it was so clean. And the fancy pacemaker they'd put in had actually improved the heart function. They will be decreasing some of her heart medicine in the upcoming days as a result.

So they had still put dye in her system, but as little as possible. And her kidney function remained the same. And she's being discharged on Friday. Without dialysis and in time for a nice weekend with them. As for dad.... well, happy Father's Day.

Does this still mean I need to get a present, or will he be totally overjoyed and not notice? I guess I need to get a card, just in case.

--Laura

roller coaster

Well mom has had a bit of a roller coaster today.

The protocol they followed yesterday produced no improvement in her kidney function. The outcome was something I know she hated to hear: they would perform the arteriogram, followed directly by dialysis. And that's where she'd stay, hopefully temporarily. Possibly though, it would be permanent.

Plans can change however, and they did. My mother is being treated by doctors who simply love her. I've met them personally and I know it to be true. And her internist happens to be one of the best internists in the country. So these men -- her cardiac doctor, her internist who's been with her for a decade, and her renal doctor -- have been huddling all day, have been calling around to other specialists all day.

So this evening, they explained to her that there was a Japanese study which showed that going immediately to dialysis after the arteriogram was not a successful preventative measure, providing no significant improvement to the patient's result. In his words, "there's no reason to torture you with dialysis if it's not going to help you."

Current plan (subject to change): they will inject the dye, then monitor her. They know this will trigger a renal crisis. If she goes into renal failure, they will put her on dialysis at that point, and not before.

How's that for a game plan? Imagine planning a renal crisis. I am wondering if it could work for other crises. Cities could set up call centers.

Hello? 811, what emergency can I schedule for you today?

Um, yes. It looks like I'm going to have a heart attack, and tomorrow I'm going to be driving by the hospital with the A-rated trauma ward, so could I have it, oh let's say 3:30pm?

Yes, definitely, good planning. We've got you scheduled. I'm putting in a work ticket now.

Thanks so much!

It would take the mystery out of things, definitely.

I just wish we could start it tomorrow at 6:30am.

--Laura

nerves and worries

Today, in about an hour in fact, my mother is scheduled for an anteriogram. Again.

Well, not again, to be precise, but this is another heart procedure we had hoped we would not be facing. Nearly three years ago, she had bypass surgery, which was probably one of the scariest things I've experienced. If asked to rate "Seeing your mom split open like a roasting chicken and then sewn back together" on the scary scale, it would be, well, up there, for me.

They were going to do the procedure last night, but her kidneys aren't in the best condition, and that dye is toxic. They couldn't risk rushing in and damaging them, so all last night she was treated to hospital food and medicine designed to protect them from the dye this morning.

And today, they will (assuming all went well last night), shoot dye inside my mom, and when the blockage is found (they are convinced, based on her symptoms the past month that they are indeed dealing with a blockage), they will put in a stint. Because heck, why not? They're already in there. Modern medicine still kind of blows my mind.

It struck me that when Paul came back to my house to do a repair on the kitchen tile, he didn't charge me. I told mom to ask if there was a free repair policy on something so much more important than kitchen tile. It seems like a fair question.

It also strikes me how much I worry about kitchen tile and business plans and retiring my last debt. Sometimes, you get jolts from life itself that put things into perspective.

So, I hope I don't have to tell you where I will be driving this weekend, after work on Friday. I know, it's Father's Day and all. But having mom home safely after a successful procedure? I bet dad would take that over a new set of golf clubs just about any day of the week.

--Laura

there is... accidents and aftermath: part III

As coverage of events in D.C., at the Holocaust Museum unfolded, it became clear how terrible the events could have played out had the man realized his goals. That he meant to kill was clear, because he did; that he meant to kill important people was also clear, because he did -- a husband and a father -- even if in his mind that wasn't important enough. A new play, scheduled for that evening, promised the actor, Morgan Freeman, as the narrator for the production, as well as Attorney General Eric Holder, National Security Adviser James Jones, and former Secretary of State Colin Powell.

Truly, a man with a desire for destruction meant to satisfy it in a museum dedicated to remembering destruction in its many guises. Instead, a man just a year older than me with a .38 and a uniform (no bullet proof vest, as it turns out), stood in the way. In shooting that guard, the attacker was at the beginning and the end of the rampage. An NPR commentator I like had this to say.

As I listened to the radio coverage throughout the week, I found myself humming a song I know. It is contained in a choral arrangement I've performed (with a full choir), for the last few years at easter vigil, known as the Passion According to John, by liturgical writer Christopher Walker. What I hummed is not a complete song, really. It's a short phrase, repeated just two or three times in a 30-35 minute program.

There is no greater love than this; to lay down your life for your friends.

We all know that when we hear scary music in a movie, something bad is coming. Similarly, this short phrase, set to minor notes, weaves its way through a narrative of human failings, betrayal and ultimate violence, drawing attention to the destruction. And your personally held beliefs about the divine are irrelevant to this observation, because the music is universal: When you hear this passionate story of good men doing nothing and bad men doing terrible things, and then hear the tender, considered notes of Christopher Walker, as a wrenching, almost-whispered counterpoint, it is stirring. It is humiliating. I can think of only a few examples of literature or music that brought me to hot tears the way this snippet of music does.

There is no greater love than this; to lay down your life for your friends.

Which in turn is a fitting way to conclude what I began recently as a line of thought about a young man in Texas, facing the reality that he was instrumental in the death of his friend. I asked in an earlier post to consider your own life, if you've ever faced such a situation. I asked you to think about the aftermath, when you broke a code you felt was founded on your guiding principles, and how those around you reacted.

It is tempting to dwell on the fact that you asked a lot from your friend(s), because it's the truth. And it's tempting to feel pretty bad about it, because that's appropriate. But it's not what I dwell on when I consider this topic.

From my experience, I know that there's a number of ways to react to being wronged, so there's a number of things they could have done to you, said to you. And what can you say when that happens? You wronged them; They wronged you back. That is fair. That is justice.

But in Texas, where a man set for soaring success instead met tragedy, there is a family not pressing charges. There is a mother inviting him to participate in the rituals of grief. There is understanding and consolation, fragrant with the balm of grace. That is not fair. That is not just. That is love.

And in D.C., there is the memory of a man who loved funny movies, who loved his wife of less than a year, who loved to make people laugh. And he opened a door to an elderly man who turned a gun on him seconds later. His life counted for something every day. This week, it counted for something even more, saving the lives of friends, coworkers, and total strangers. That's not fair. That's not just. It's love.

So consider not those who railed against your selfishness or who attempted to do equal damage for the damage done them. They benefitted from whatever arrangement you had with them in the past. When the benefit dissolved, so did the arrangement. That was fair. That was just. It was not love. Consider instead those who did not walk away just because you failed at something. It wasn't because they were unaffected by your actions or felt no pain. On the contrary; they stayed because they understood your disappoinment. They shared in it. But they also understood that you did more to hurt yourself than you ever could do to hurt them. They knew that the worst you'll ever be is never all you'll ever be. And they didn't want you to forget that either. They went into the stormy dark and found you, so you wouldn't be alone. They didn't do it to win an award. They did it because it was what the friendship required at the time. They did it so the two of you could walk away from the storm... together. Nothing fair or just about it. It's all about love.

This weekend my thoughts have been on summer plans, parties, landscaping and bird watching. But I have also given consideration to the next steps this young survivor will make. Love is both powerful and fragile. Much can happen to alter the path it takes. Friends who love that man have stepped out into the storm with him and offered their hand. It is his choice to take the consolation they offer or reject it. And after the storm has moved on, they can celebrate its passing together. They can clean up, put on dry clothes and move forward, growing in the healing sweetness of time the way a tomato ripens in the heat. Or, they can abandon each other for lighter people, those with faint memories of the past, but no understanding either, and deny themselves any celebration, any yang in the union of yin and yang. They can choose to deny themselves any taste of the fruit of their combined labor.

What choice would you make? It's a big "if" for a family and for a man so young. I hope in the coming days, he recognizes not only the gift they are to him, but the gift he is to them in return, and I hope they will always manage to stay open and available to each other.

--Laura

accidents and aftermath: part II

Some people choose to blog about deeply personal issues and post them for the world to discover. Personally, I find that ridiculous and embarrassing. Freedom of expression is cool. I like it. However, it leads me to appreciate privacy even more, when it seems no random thought goes unpublished and no confession goes unshared. I could be accused, therefore, of speaking about people and things I know nothing about. I want to say however that I don’t hold comment on this young man's story by way of making an example of him or holding him up for ridicule. In fact, he has prompted serious consideration on my part, not only because of the gravity of this event and the price of his (and Jordan’s) actions, but because of the response of all those so significantly impacted by them. So I hope that by mentioning them, I do no additional harm. Ask yourself this: What is your code? Has your loyalty to that code been complete until now, or has the veil been torn aside, revealing to you and perhaps even to others that you aren’t always who you say you are?

I think many people have the luxury of a life lived according to a code. They are the people who read something in the news and say, “That’s so awful. I cannot imagine that. I would certainly never do that.” I’ve been in my office while conversations like this took place. I’ve always listened quietly without comment. I respect their confidence, but I am aware of its fragility.

I think if you’d approached Johnnie a few weeks ago, he would have told you that doing the right thing was more important than the thrill of the moment. I would think someone of his age would place a pretty high value on the loyalty of a friend. And then a week before graduation he got in a car to do a little drag racing on wet roads. His code did not protect him. Nor did it protect his best friend.

So what happens when you break the code you swore you'd never break? Well, I think the first impulse is to look for witnesses. Finding none, the second impulse is to hide the evidence. Who hasn’t done this? You give yourself a stern lecture, assure yourself that the lesson has been learned, and you move forward a better man – a better woman – for what you learned. That’s what you tell yourself anyway, as you go scott-free.

A luxury to be sure. But what about the times when you aren’t so lucky? What happens when people you love have a front row seat for your spectacularly bad behavior?

I submit this for your consideration. Have you ever thought to turn that situation into a good time to assess your friendship?

I’ll back up. A code is a bad thing to break. It really is. It changes how we view ourselves. It shakes what we thought we stood for. It calls our convictions into doubt. And you’re going to be dealing with that for as long as it takes to come to grips with your own fallibility and frailty. You aren’t a hero, and lots of times that’s news to your ears the first time you hear it. I could tell you about the time I first realized this, but it wouldn’t help you. It happened to me. It was personal. I walked that lonesome valley by myself, and fortunately or unfortunately, you have to do the same, and it’s something that will be deeply personal for you too.
That’s not what I’m dwelling on though. What I’m asking is this: how did your friend react when you broke your code?

Let me back up one more time, because I want to make something clear. I’m not asking how you reacted to having a witness. I’m guessing that you didn’t act real pleasant. I’m asking: how did your friend react?

I’m asking, because there’s a family in Texas who won’t be pressing charges against the driver of the vehicle that killed their only son. And as deeply as they felt their loss, they asked the man to be a pall bearer at their son’s funeral. So what do you think of that?

--Laura

accidents and aftermath: part I

The news story I posted earlier is sobering, and has been devastating to a Texas family. It’s been on my mind often the past two weeks. Thoughts turn, inevitably I suppose to the poem To An Athlete Dying Young, by A. E. Housman.

Jordan earned a place at the Air Force Academy on both an athletic and an academic scholarship. He was poised on tiptoes, like a competitor on a high dive, moments before release into the world he had prepared for, trained for, entering the water with skill and every promise of success.

I’ve been told about his funeral. There was the massive attendance by classmates. There were two football jerseys draped over his casket, representing his plans to take his highschool number on with him to the collegiate game. There were reports of how it took hours for everyone to process past his casket. The principal who spoke at his funeral said that this New Orleans transplant, who evacuated with his family during Katrina, had a heart as big as Texas. He had made a place for himself. He belonged to them.

Most notable, at least for me, is that the young man who was driving the car during the accident was a pall bearer at the funeral. Moreover, Jordan’s family will not press charges.

Why? It was an accident.

Do you find this remarkable? I do. Oftentimes, the outcome is so much different. The family can’t stop the young man from getting charged, particularly as drag racing is illegal in the state of Texas. But they want him to go on, as best as he can, with his life. These young men were good friends. Some would even say best friends. One was driving and got away with non-life threatening injuries. One life was lost forever. But the family realizes one thing. The loss is the worst thing the man will ever suffer. It is punishment enough. In fact, it is punishment too much – it does not fit the crime.

Boy, but I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. It was an accident.

People like to be good. Well, let me clarify. People like to be viewed as good in the eyes of those they love and admire. But the truth is, we don’t necessarily like being good all the time, because it’s fun to be dangerous and it’s titillating to be wicked, and who doesn’t like being titillating? But when it comes to our core, when it comes to doing the things we feel are right, we all have a little code in our head that we live by. We don’t like to break that code, and we don’t like others to witness it when we do.

So what happens when we break the code? What happens when someone else sees us break it?

I think a lot depends on why you break the code. If it’s something you did deliberately, it means that something vital in you has changed. It means your code no longer applies. In that case, you need to send everyone that memo, because the people who love you need to know and adapt accordingly.

So what if you didn’t mean to break the code? What then?

--Laura

a trip with a different purpose

Mama Rose was planning to be out of town this week, and return today. She was prepared to witness the graduation of one of her nephews. He'd asked her to sit in the audience, so that when he got his diploma, he "could wink at her."

She still went to Texas to see Jordan, but it wasn't for his graduation. He's the subject of this sobering news story.

--Laura