Off to the Museum

There's something fun, yet scary, to know that a museum will take your toys from when you were a kid.

My parent's attic was a treasure trove of someone's ancient history... Mine!   When the time finally came, I began to drag down dusty dirty relics of my youth.  

First, the circa 1972 toy box, made by my Father, painted red, white, and blue for the Bicentennial.  The inside of the lid still had chalk marks from me using it as a chalk board.  The box had disappeared into the darkness at the top of the pull-down ladder many years ago, once again to see light forty years later.  I had stored some of my toys inside it.  A treasure chest to open later.  A red fire engine with a working ladder.   A stuffed blue bear lovingly made by my Grandmother.  A four-foot orange furry snake won as a carnival prize by my cousin.  Lincoln logs scattered in the bottom.  Metal toy John Deere tractors purchased as souvenirs of Indiana State Fairs.

Then came the Star Wars toys, many still in their original boxes, battered and ravaged by a imaginative boy. Early on, I learned to appreciate the outer package, so they remained intact.  All given as Christmas or birthday presents. 

Personally, I like to tell the story about how my Star Wars action figures moved to their new home... 

I had a plain unpainted wood Conestoga wagon with red cloth canopy.   My cousin had given me a 1969 Sears metal doll house complete with plastic furniture, each piece a different color.  I had a case full of action figures.   In our living room stood three bookcases stuffed with books with about two inches on each shelf in front.   Now imagine, a nine-year-old removing books to create rooms, furnishing each with plastic beds, tables, and chairs, then load the Conestoga wagon with action figures and drive them across the living room to their deluxe apartment in the sky...   They were elated.   I could tell by their firm molded faces.   Who wouldn't want a fourth-floor apartment with a panoramic view of our living room?

Relics of my past.  Now onto a museum.   Aren't museums supposed to be for ancient history like mummies and old vases?

CSM

A Horrible Side Effect of the Fallout

One of the horrible side effects of the death of a parent is the creation of fear. Your own fear.

I'm afraid now. Very very afraid. Not of being alone, orphaned, or having no place to go for the holidays.  But of my own mortality.

When will I die? Will it be tomorrow? What about right in the middle of this sentence? What is that on my arm? My leg? On my cheek? Am I having a heart attack? Are my kidneys working? Is that oral cancer?

My Father died of kidney failure at the age of 77. My Mother died at the age of 73 of oral cancer. Now, that I'm 44, I can't help but do the math. 77 - 44 = 33 years. 73 - 44 = 28 years. 28 to 33 years. Will I get that many? Or less? Or more? Can I bargain?

Then you start with the questions... What's important? Does an apartment full of stuff mean anything? What's the meaning of life? Is that red spot on my forehead the start of a cancerous growth?

This is my fallout for the moment. I fear that now I only have another 28 to 33 years, maybe more, yet maybe less, and that I won't enjoy them or I'll just waste them. The clock is ticking faster. I've got so much living to do. A bucket list of dreams and goals.

I watch people run around acting like the most important thing in the world is to have something that's better, bigger, faster... I just can't get excited about the latest. In an earlier post, I said I wasn't a live-for-the-moment kind of guy. You know what -- maybe I should be.

When my Father died, I thought to myself "No more worrying about him. No more waiting for that phone call." I'm learning that's not true. You still wait for phone calls. You still worry. My worry is when does my moment come. I guess it's part of the grieving process. Maybe it's doesn't take a diagnosis to reorganize things. Maybe it's just that moment you realize that your turn will come.

The thought of "your moment" is a killer all in itself. I find myself with hard thoughts. Will I miss out? Will I find someone to "live-for-the-moment" with? Will I die alone in the middle of the night?

I know -- Wasted time, wasted thoughts.  But at least I thought them.  Otherwise, it would just be another day.   These thoughts are the reminders of how short life is.  Live for the moment.

CSM

The Fourth of July and Being Independent

Imagine growing up thinking that the whole country celebrated your birthday...  

Well, I did, until I got older and realized that the whole country really wasn't honoring me.  Bow to me, now!  The usual response I get back is "Bow to yourself.  I've got better things to do!"  Love it!

OK, so I really don't want to be bowed to. The Forth of July and I have one major thing in common:  independence.  The country celebrates the day we broke our ties with jolly old England and King George over... taxation.   I find that funny since prior to July 4th, 1776, the colonists never paid any form of taxes.  That's right, folks.   Read your history book... Oh wait, I like the way we leave that part out.  Anyway...

I've always thought of myself as an independent person.  I was the youngest of three.  Sometimes called "the late addition."   People have thought that I was an only child and, to an extent, I was.   I didn't have siblings to fight with.  According to my parents, I often just shrugged my shoulders, went to my room, and read.   Who could ask for anything more?

But, the single life has its consequences.   Being independent isn't that great all the time.   What's it like to cuddle on the couch and watching a movie?  Going shopping and offer opinions on styles and looks?  How about making dinner together?  Knowing that you are not alone in the night?  

My friend Lois and I have talked about being independent, also known as "being single" and how it affects our lives.   First, you are in full control with no need to compromise.  I pick my destinations.  I pick the final outcomes on numerous activities.  I can walk naked from the bathroom to the kitchen and no one cares, except the neighbors who draw their drapes.

Being single can be nice, but sometimes, it's rough.  I have to take care of everything.   All responsibility is mine.  I look back at my parent's marriage and think to myself "What a well-oiled machine!"  They had their ups and downs.   Their share of heartaches, good times, and frivolities.   It's something that I want to experience.

Which brings me to my birthday epiphany:  They didn't do it alone.  I mean the signers of the Declaration of Independence.   It was a group effort.   So, I have to admit that I would like to give up some independence for more togetherness.

CSM 

Camping, Travel, and a Soft Pillow

Ah Wilderness!   Camping.  The great adventure.  Hiking through the woods.  The fresh air stirred by a gentle breeze.  The smell of the pine tress.  The green grass. The gnats that buzz around your head when you're trying to pitch the tent.  Sweat rolling down your forehead right into your eyes.   The dirt and grit tracked that stays with you long after you are home.   The air mattress deflating in the middle of the night and end up sleeping on a root.  The treks to the bathroom only to be faces with sandpaper-level toilet paper...

Dear god!  Why didn't I just book a room at the lodge?!  I thought it would be fun trying the rugged camping life.  Boy, was I crazy!

From a recent experience, I've decided camping isn't a one-person activity.  You gotta have someone else there to make it fun.  I've also decided that I'm not much of a tent camper.  I'd rather book a room.  Have a nice bed with a comfortable mattress, clean sheets and blankets.  A bathroom within walking distance with a light that I can turn off and on.  A screen door between you and Mother Nature's buzzing friends is also nice.

In my opinion, it doesn't really matter how I camped.   It was about the fact that I did it.

Right after my Mother died, my life began to change, and may I add, for the best. Her death became the crack in the egg-shell that I needed. Break out of old habits.  Realize that life is short.  Don't wait to create that bucket list and then rush around trying to check off one by one. 

My new thinking habit: Do it now!  That way when the end draws near, you can look back and say, in the immortal words of Edith Piaf, "Je ne regrette rien."  Translated "I regret nothing."  Or if you prefer, how about Frank Sinatra's "I did it my way."   Of course, both made enough money that could do just about anything.  But I digress.

One of my bucket list items is simply stated as "Travel."   My camping experience falls under this category.  I tried it, and decided next time, there will be a pre-booked room at the lodge involved.

As I look back over my life, we were a family of travelers, except for my sister who need a stick of dynamite shoved up her behind then blasted out of her house.  (Sorry, Robin, but I know that J.D. would agree.)  Trips to Florida to visit relatives. Road trips around the state.  A trip to St. Louis, Philadelphia, and New York City.  El Paso, Texas and Juarez, Mexico.  Even a world-wind tour of Europe.

I learned one thing about travel: It's important.  No matter where you go or what you see, that fact remains that you did it.  I have an 80-year old cousin in Florida that will grit his teeth when he reads this, but...  One of my bucket list items was to stay in the Contemporary Hotel and the Polynesian Resort at Walt Disney World.  It did both and they were expensive, but I didn't care.  The fact was I wanted to do it, and instead of waiting, I did it.

My travel list is long.  Places to go, people to see, things to do.

Just make sure you travel.   Oh and one more thing, make sure you've got a soft pillow...

CSM

Favorite Sayings From My Father

Besides being the maddest man I knew, my Dad had many other great talents.    One was coming up with great words of advice or quick-witted responses to questions...

Parting guests often heard "Don't go away mad" or "Glad you got to see me."

My Dad grew up in the late Depression Era then through the World War Two era and graduated from high school in 1954.  I am amazed how many of the Class of 1954 got married to each other (and are still married) and stayed in touch.  Dick and Janet are the ones I remember stopping by the most.   Janet was another one with the best quick remarks.   One time as their visit wound down, Dick asked her if she was ready to go.  (Now, Imagine a 65-year-old with auburn hair and an innocent smile.)  Her answer to Dick was -- "Yes I am.  I'm the live entertainment tonight at the bar."  Blank stares turned to laughter.  My parents were always gracious hosts.  Always entertaining (in many ways), never a dull moment when visitors came calling.

If you got mad, he'd say "Well, you'll just have to be mad until you get glad." 

My Dad got mad a lot.  Don't get me wrong, he had lots of "glad" moments as well.   When the doctor told us the diagnosis, my Dad knew the end was near.  That was in August of 2012.   In October, when I asked his doctor, his gut reaction was six months.  It was wasn't just a "sad" moment, but we also had a "glad" moment.   He told me he was proud of all three of us and couldn't have asked for a better life with such great kids.  I got mad at my Dad on numerous occasions... And so did my Mom!  But regardless, we always bounced back, maybe not right then, but we did.   I couldn't have asked for more resilient parents.  So, I can honestly say I was mad until I got glad.

Ask him how his day was going, you got "I was fine, but I got over it." 

One day, I came into work, a coworker asked me how I was doing, and I said I was fine, but I got over it. For the first time ever, I understood what my Father was saying.  My Dad worked hard for thirty-five years at Delco-Remy in Anderson.  He retired the same year I graduated from high school.  I went to Delco-Remy's open house in the 1970s.  I would have been about 9 or so.  My Father showed me his desk and the "crib."   The "crib" was the supply are for the entire plant.  Boxes of tools, equipment, and supplies lined shelves in the huge caged-in area.   My thought at the time was how important a man he must be to be in charge of all this stuff.   However, now these years later, I know why he was ready to retire.  He got tired of being fine and getting over it.

And my personal favorite -- "I've lived 43 years without 'em, I'm sure I'll live another 43."

I've used my own age, because I've made it my own now.  My Father had a great number of friends, many of them lifelong.  However, there were the ones that didn't like him, despite being himself and sometimes going out of his way to be their friend.  If it went nowhere, he'd say this saying and just move on.  I've had a few people who've come into my life that I've said this about, but I've also got a greater number of friends that I hope I never have to use this saying.

It's hard to imagine anyone not liking my Father.   He had a great sense of humor.  He'd do anything for you.  I know at least one thing he did for me...  Left me with these great sayings that make life a little more interesting.

CSM