Tag Archives: Grieving

Our Better Angels

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Maybe I should change the Sunday Morning Sermon to the Late Sunday,,,err,,,Mondayish Sermon.

Antonin Gregory Scalia died yesterday. He leaves his wife, Maureen and nine children. He leaves many friends including Ruth Ginsburg and others. He was a man I can imagine wearing his house slippers and sitting in his recliner. I can imagine he was a granddad, doting and bouncing the grandbabies on his knee. With his rich intellect, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall as he read or told stories to his grandbabies. Today, someone is explaining to those grandbabies how he won’t be around to read those stories anymore. I don’t know his pet name around the house but, I bet that name will be uttered with a tinge of pain today.

 

I bet you have memories of a jolly old grandpa.

 

I also bet you are hearing less about grandpa and more about “but” today. The but you have been hearing is the dehumanizing but. But, Senator McConnell won’t confirm the President’s appointee…But, liberals will now run the court…But, Citizens United will be surely struck down…But, this presidential candidate said this and that presidential candidate said that.

 

I am not sure if he was Jesus or a monster but, the way people are talking, he surely wasn’t a granddaddy who would be missed.

 

We seem to have reached a point where we won’t even wait till the body is cold. We especially can’t wait when it comes to politics. First, we dehumanize those who disagree with us. They are insane, unpatriotic, evil and my favorite, a Fascist. In case you have been sleeping for the last 60 years, Fascist is code for Nazis and Hitler. That code, I believe, is used today as nonchalantly as we empty the litter box. We compare those unspeakable acts 60 years ago to, well, anything we can’t like.  I can tell you for sure, the people who are capable of that kind of unspeakable act do not have grandbabies and will never be missed.

 

Have you ever dehumanized someone you disagree with? I know I have.

 

Antonin did everything society asked of him and when called to serve, he obliged. To be sure, I disagreed with him on almost everything. Instead of hating his sin however, I should hate my own. I should hate the sin which allows me to justify any means to his marginalized end. At his end, he was a public servant who did the best job he could. His decisions were informed by a life experience which is not mine to validate. His character, family or legacy should never have to suffer assassination for his supposed transgressions. This good man, grandpa and public servant’s memory should only be met with my gratitude.

 

How many people wont serve us because we can’t agreeably disagree?

 

It is long past time we quit listening to those drunk with power who appeal to our lesser angels. We know when the ends justify the means, we only really lose ourselves. The man or woman demonized, dehumanized in this political parlor game is in the mirror. I should deny those lesser angels because they are mine. When I subscribe to the us and them culture it may be immediately gratifying but, it is not working. Good people with a heart for public service are suffering. In my silence, they suffer at my hands. I, we, are better than that.

 

By Supreme_Court_US_2009.jpg: Steve Petteway, 
Staff Photographer of the Supreme Court 
(evidence that he took it is here 
(LinkedIn profile here U.S. Federal Government. 
Supreme Court archivist's office confirms 
that this is photo number 2009-03882 and that a 
permanent catalog number will be assigned.derivative work: 
Wehwalt (talk) - Supreme_Court_US_2009.jpg, 
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9771037

Ode to Bright Stars

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We found out Monday that Glenn Frey had died. It will be impossible write about Glenn without superlatives so I won’t resist. To a person, everyone I knew was genuinely shocked. I guess we expected the reaper to first visit the other less sane members of the Eagles. In the end however, I guess the brightest stars are destined to burn out first…and bright his star was.

Quick, do you have a memory associated with an Eagles song?

There were so many. One of These Nights will forever be an 8-Track song. If you have no idea what I am talking about, ask your folks. It will be an 8-Track song cruising on Woodward Avenue in a beige seventies vintage Chevrolet Impala forever. If you are not sure what I am talking about ask Ronald or Roger. Desperado will be the slow dance song which defies the cute sitters at Patrick’s in perpetuity. Ask Tammy or Kim or… if you don’t believe me. Life in the Fast Lane is the song that makes you take your top off, Spitfire convertible top, that is.  Already Gone has broken up more couples than Jerry Springer. If you don’t believe me, ask…

You thought I would blog about her? Nope, sorry.

Anyone with a pulse in the seventies or eighties can name at least one association with an Eagles song. In those decades those songs were prevalent, pervasive and some would say pungent comments about our time. Their lyrics and melodies rang true for another generation fourteen years later.

I know, I went to one of the reunion concerts at Clemson’s Death Valley in the late nineties.

That concert’s attendance was just weird. There were people my age who loved the Eagles but, didn’t really have a chance to see them in concert before the spectacular breakup. There were old people who had probably seen the Eagles numerous times and then there were the kids. Don Henley seems to want to attribute their kid appeal to the rise of classic rock stations. I think he is just too humble to admit the music is timeless.

Whatever the secret sauce, the Eagles doled it out in buckets.

Henley was quoted in a statement a few days ago that Glenn Fry “was the one who started it all…the sparkplug…” I think that is the kind of thing a partner says about his fallen friend. Truth is, the Fry, Henley partnership will go down in the history of American music. To be sure, there were others, Meisner, Walsh, Felder… But, Fry and Henley had the vision. Sometimes by sheer force of will they kept the dream alive.

Until they couldn’t.

In 1980 a couple of years before I graduated high school, it was over. Some of us actually grieved. We always believed and in 94 we were given one more small dose of melodic genius. The Eagles were granted what a precious few will receive in this life, a curtain call. This time, it’s gutwrenchingly final. I think we are sad that another generation will never get the gift of 94. Maybe we are sad the group who wrote the score to our youth is now gone forever. We are sad for Don and the others. We are just shocked and sad. Rest in peace, Glenn.

Catching Up

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I have been on a little sabbatical for a few months.

 

Since we visited last, my clan moved from the Half Acre Wood. Our little world is a little more sterile and severe today. Don’t get me wrong, suburbia has its advantages. Those pesky Dandelions are a distant memory after the scorched earth of new construction. The new sod stands in formation ready to beat back nature. We traded our easily traversed Leyland Cypress and Razzledazzle bushes for a six-foot privacy fence. For our trouble, we have met precisely two of our new neighbors. One of those meetings was about, you guessed it, our fence.

 

To be sure, however, a few of our neighbors have not yet been built.

 

IMG_1782Our little cul-de-sac only really has two houses with families installed. Our Saturday and Sunday mornings are still filled with hammer blows, mixing and sawing. We are a work in progress. We had a little note from the Homeowners Association in our mailbox one day but, no one has come by to welcome us. Jennifer tells me there will be more people moving around in the summer.

 

 

 

I am looking forward to summer.

 

After being invited for left-overs at my mother-in-laws last night, we drove by the Half Acre Wood. See, Leslie’s left-overs are better than most first-cooked meals. Fried Okra, Limas, Roast… well, I bet you can taste my picture. Being two blocks away from your Mother-In-Law has its advantages. Being six miles away is, well, slimming. We had taken Jennifer’s car so she forced me to ride by the Half Acre Wood. It was my first time since I saw it in the rear view mirror of the U-Haul. I saw the double four-foot Oaks with Rach’s tree house first. The tree house was still in-tact but, the new owner, a single guy, had taken down the swings. I saw the Cedar with the dog grave yard next. Then the garden shed came into view.

 

I miss the Half Acre Wood.

 

I guess new adventures are on the way. I think our new abode needs a name. I will work on that. Home is such a loaded word. Home is where Rach’s height and date is written on the pantry door. Home is where the coffee pot has stained the counter. Home is where a piece of hardwood creaks and should be avoided before everybody wakes. Home is where the best dog ever, period, … is buried, until the next best dog is.

Bub’s Light

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They still make fun of me today. I sat on his couch in his living room and rubbed my hands together while I watched them intently. It was like I concerned that they would spontaneously combust or something. I looked at the floor, walls, hands, anywhere but his eyes. I couldn’t look at the eyes of the man whom I was asking for his daughter’s hand. As beads of sweat formed on my forehead which, by the way, was much shorter at the time, he only smiled.

His smile was a service because, you would have probably laughed out loud at this spectacle.

He smiled because by this time it was really no secret. By this time, Jennifer and I were spending most of our non-working time together. By this time, I ate at his table almost every night. By this time, I was his helper on his various projects. By this time, I was his Walmart wingman. By this time he had already introduced me around at the hunting camp. By this time, I was already his third son. By this time, he knew all we lacked was a ring and a vow.

I wish you could have known him.

You would have liked Bubba because everybody else did. Going anywhere with Bub took longer because he knew EVERYBODY and each and every one of them liked him. He greeted everyone warmly even the strangers who were apparently visiting from another planet. He introduced me like I was some kind of royalty. He was so proud of me for reasons which continue to escape me now. With Bub, I always felt like a wealthy Widget mogul when we both knew I counted my Tom’s Chip coins in his basement.

Like my own dad, I learned service from Bub. He constantly provided his electrician skills to anyone who needed help. He would get old air conditioners and refrigerators for his service. He knew the value of service and the dignity of a widow-woman’s two Mites. Today we still use a stove Bub got in trade. He allowed me to help when I could. He loved the stories people told and few people knew that a little conversation and coffee after a job was all the payment he needed.

He left us almost a year ago now. There is darkness in this life but, Bub was full of light. Toward the end Bub had a Cardinal visit him from time to time on the Dogwood tree outside his window. There is a Cardinal that sings as I sit on the cinderblock steps in my front yard most mornings. I use that time, just as the sun comes up, to pray and meditate. Maybe its Bub’s Cardinal because I sometimes feel Bub’s presence as his Cardinal sings. Maybe Bub just asks God to send the Cardinal because he knows I miss him.