Reaching The Shore With Mom

Was just thinking back to a time in my life when I reached the shore, so to speak.

Mom led me there.

It was the year i was in summer school- sometimes bad things happen and you respond (either in anger, or sadness, maybe a combination of both) but sometimes things totally blindside you, and you accept your bullet in silence. One would think this was a noble thing, but I'm seeing it as more of a "deer-in-the-headlights' thing". The year I had to do summer school was the year my brother died, sort of a culmination of things. I guess psycologically I shouldn't draw a connection between the two events, but tell that to a 10 year old.

I think that what made summer school so cringingly unacceptable was the very idea of it. For me it was a confirmation of sorts; 'you, sir, are a loser. you are not one who thrives in his environment, you endure it. Others will pass, they will have their day in the sun. you won't get recess until you catch up. you are a loser. face it now, accept it. your mama didn't make you one, your papa didn't make you one, but make no mistake about it.'

It was the summer of decorating my folder with superheroes I clipped out of the newspaper. It was the summer, the hot, dry sunny summer of sweet catalpas and their sticky, fermenting mess-puddles. It was the summer of blueberry muffins from Davidson's, of Super Pretzles and Van McCoy's 'The Hustle'.

It was also the summer I found $10 in my textbook. Being the guy I was (too scared not to own up to it) I promptly turned it in to the teacher. About a week later the principal of the school presented it to me in front of the class, which included (i think) gang members. Upon leaving the school that day, one of them swung a broomstick over his head, coming down just before my feet, for no particular reason. He said nothing, he did not rob me, he did not swing again. I guess I just needed the hell scared out of me that day.

i could tell you about the wad of Charleston Chew I had to jettison because the bell rang or about the '67 Firebird my sister was driving when she dropped me off for class one day. I could relate how the roofers dropped tennis balls down to us once. But I'd rather mention the shore.

We lived close to the lakeshore then. Had we been about 50 years earlier we would have had to been rich to do so. Nevertheless, due to the presence of criminal-types we didn't often go to the beach. My mom and my brother often accompanied me to summer school on those hot mornings. I remember one day my mom saying we had a little time and we should walk a little further.

We ended up at the beach. Right to the shore. We stood looking out over the water toward the rising sun. I'd never been to the beach at sunrise before. It was beautiful. I don't remember we ever discussed it, either then or ever after.

There are times in one's life where they find themselves facing a particular form of hell. It's hell of an internal sort and no one can really help, or go there with you, or get you out. So you go. You go by yourself and you go when you're 10 and you have no choice, when you need to go, but you need even more to be convinced of your value in this world. You go when you're scared and you're sick and your brother is about to die.

But sometimes you go to the shore, too. You go where it's beautiful and it makes sense. You go with someone you love and who loves you and although you can't really help each other's hell, you go together and for a moment at least, it's fine.

Cool Cookies In Hot July

Thought you'd like to try these outstanding cookies!

Free Shipping- what have you got to lose?

Ringo Starr/Dave Stewart's 'Off The Record' is Right On

Click on the pic to see a preview of the program

Click on the 'play' button to hear cuts from Liverpool 8

One of the lines from the Beatles' 'A Day In The Life' goes, "I just had to look,having read the book'; it seems that those of us who grew up in the wake of Beatle mass-hysteria spent much of our time playing catch-up- like for tomorrow's test- in late-night cram sessions.

So last night I stayed up to watch the HBO special 'Off The Record'. I'm glad I did.

It's fun to see these veteran rockers chat about good times. Ringo is endearing, has probably grown the most musically since the Beatles, plus he is (and seemingly always has been) down-to-earth.

Dave Stewart is, well, Dave Stewart. In the context of his work in Eurythmics he is a legend. To see him in this role as a rock 'n' roll interviewer/documentarian is very cool, indeed. Watch it yourself; tell me what you think. All I know is, I won't be tired of cramming for this kind of test for a long time.

Remembering You Today, Mom

This is my mom, back in the day. We lost her a number of years ago, but this is a celebration of her life, not a recollection of my loss. Mom, I miss you today.

Mom loved her birthday and she loved Mother's Day. In fact, it was often the same day, and in her life it had been the date of her first communion and Easter, too.

Mom loved flowers; around this time of year lilacs and forsythia are in bloom. It seems the sun shines so brightly here in early May against a crisp, clear blue sky. The delicate petals of flowering bushes seem to glow in the light. Until we moved into a house, though, mom cultivated wax begonias, african violets and geraniums, and these were often her gifts; she actually joined a geranium club by mail!

One year when I was just about twelve my mom's birthday came up on us and I didn't have the money to get her anything. I had asked a friend to allow me to charge an item on the account my mom established at a store. Truthfully he didn't have the authority to do that, although it would have been alright, both with the store owner and my mom. But his integrity left a lasting impression on me. He also gave me a sum of money out of his own pocket. Because of George I was able to get a few planting supplies to give her. But as I look back, what a wonderful thing, to remember how great my mom was and how special this great friend had been in granting me this legacy of integrity and compassion.

I have two songs today; the first is an Ella Fitzgerald standard, 'Too Marvelous For Words'- that's for you, mom, and for every mom out there.

The second is from Peggy Lee, 'Is That All There Is'- it's a little, well, we've all felt this way before; disillusioned. In fact, I understand it's based on a story called 'Dissilusionment'. Listen to it, but don't take it into your spirit. It made an impression on me as a kid because my mom was attracted to it, but philosophically I think there's more to be had. I like to describe it as the serendipity of life and if you wouldn't mind a little part-time psychology, I think it's healthier in the long run to anticipate that good is just around the corner.

I have no idea who might read this, but I want to wish you well today.

Ring The Cowsills Into The Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame This New Year's

Geez, I can't believe it.

At this, the end of the year, and as a pretty average middle-aged guy I guess I've got enough problems in my life to be concerned about without mentioning today's blog subject. It's just that it's the niggling little stuff that gets me going sometimes.

On the surface, it seems so trivial. Look at the week we've had: political assassination; animal attacks; missing people; I could go on. So what am I writing about today? The Cowsills.

The Cowsills then- click on the pic to go to the official Cowsills website-

I've got bills to pay, kids to feed. I've got half a foot of snow coming down right this minute. There's enough on my plate to deal with. So why does this band rate today's mention?

It's just so unfair.

It seems that I found myself on the official Cowsills web site today, and discovered that there is a petition drive to consider the band for nomination in the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. What I find hard to believe is that they are about 6500 signatures short!

The Cowsills today- click on this pic to sign the petition-

This is the Cowsills, folks!

Comprised of a family whose name really is Cowsill, the band is probably best known (or didn't you know) as the real-life inspiration for the TV series 'The Partridge Family'. A real family whose real mom sang with them. In my book, very cool.

The Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame, or 'Mecca', if you're a music lover like me- Click on the pic to hear a classic Cowsills cut-

I doubt that I have many readers to this blog, but I'm going to ask whoever happens by to jump on this bandwagon. Let's get the Cowsills into the Hall of Fame for the new year!

It's What We Believe About Animals That Is Wild

From the Project Gutenberg EBook of Round-about Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fancy, by Frank Richard Stockton- click on the image for the book-

With all due respect to the victims of the tiger attack and their families-

Not long ago I was reading the latest newsletter of our local zoo. The photo accompanying the article (unfortunately for me) illustrated how the zoo has changed over the years. Although not exactly spelled out, I know that the changes reflected the difference between how we perceived our role among wild animals in captivity when the zoo was first created and now. To be brief, the focus then was on creating a 'zoological park'; the emphasis was on making an appealing flow of foot traffic. The walkways were straight and led into clusters of cages/exhibits or gardens/fountains/ponds to break up the monotony. In other words, the park focused on creating a display that appealed to the consumer.

But as times changed, effort was made to ensure the relevance of the zoo as a viable form of entertainment. The old zoo system must have been perceived as quaint and even cruel, as it seemed to encourage a sense of subduing or conquering of the wild. Perhaps it conjured up images of the big game hunter demonstrating his prowess in the last great wild frontier, stuffed heads displayed over his mantel and bearskin carpeting his floor. The new system reflected a more progressive (read 'kinder, gentler') stance; it stood to swing diametrically in the other direction, raising the image of the captive beast to that of unwitting victim, nature's survivor, the endangered species now fated to live out its life in captivity as it had become impossile to live as it had in the wild.

A tragic story of loss in the name of being well-intentioned- click on the image to see the trailer for this movie-

For reasons that I don't understand, we seem as a society to be given to extreme and radical responses to the questions of our times. While it's true that an era now ended saw animals as something to be conqured, a creature to prove dominion over, those of our own time seems bent on forcing the wild into an equally abhorrent caricature, that of the hapless victim requiring our strategic planning to ensure its very survival. Neither of these views are entirely correct.

Click on this image to read an article on zoology-

Whether someone is culpable in the recent tiger attack remains to be seen. But whether habitat design or human misbehavior contributed to the animal's violent response, one thing is certain; either scenario underestimates the unpredictability of what we used to call 'nature'. I don't mean 'nature' as in 'mother nature', but the word we use to describe what someone or something is liable to do. Wild animals are beautiful and they do entertain us, but they never lose their nature. And here's another fact that is bound to frustrate our litigation-silly culture; you can't sue an animal! Isn't that amazing? There are no laws or rules to govern the behavior of animals. There are all kinds of laws to govern the behavior of humans, who, incidentally, have a nature, as well.

Another tragic miscalculation in the name of entertainment; click on the image to read an article on this attack-

Today, when I visit our zoo (I can call it ours, since my commitment goes above and beyond the price of admission) certain glaring differences from the way it was when I was a kid are apparent; less use of 'houses' (remember the monkey house, or the reptile house, or the bird house?). If houses are used at all anymore, they are used as souvenir shops or grudgingly for animals whose habitat is more easily adapted to it. I photographed empty cages in a house the last time I was there. The architecture, by the way, was gorgeous, if you like that sort of thing (and I do)- lots of deco light and shadow play. Another difference is an increase in the language of conservation and recycling- good habits in and of themselves. I have no complaint against them. The only thing is that I often feel chided when I walk around and have to be reminded that my decision to clothe my children in disposable diapers has an impact on the ecology. There is also a greater ephasis on fundraising and all of it in the name of protecting wildlife for future generations. What happened to the resources that weren't used to protect them for this generation? To put it another way, how did they ever make it without us?

Click to read an excerpt from the book Zoo: A History of Zoological Gardens in the West (Hardcover)by Eric Baratay (Author), Elisabeth Hardouin-Fugier (Author)

I was a kid once, going through my dad's collection of National Geographics. Less a sense of entitlement or a need to dominate, their approach was to learn from and appreciate the wild, but never to lose sight of the fact that there is the nature to contend with. There was never anyone to blame but ourselves in case a mishap should occur. Even our domesticated pets had a nature that could not be denied, but now they are a member of the family and thereby entitled to as full a life of possibilities as our children, complete with health insurance and dental plan.

I guess that's what bothers me the most; it's not that I belong to one side of this issue and it seems we are losing debate in the court of public opinion, it's that as I grow older I continue to realize that from generation to generation as we advance in technology we regress in plain old fashioned horse-sense. We literally forget from generation to generation the things about ourselves and the world around us that are wonderful to know. Like amnesiacs we need to relearn things we should have had all along. But those voices in our culture- Madison Avenue, political affiliation and lobbiest influences, the media and even organized religion make us to be less than animals. They bring shame to our very existence when they tell us to not behave according to our nature and not to expect other species to act according to theirs.

Click on the book to follow the link to Amazon.Com for Zoo: A History of Zoological Gardens in the West (Hardcover)by Eric Baratay (Author), Elisabeth Hardouin-Fugier (Author)

Ride To Chemo Brings Positive Christmas Memory

As adults, we try to create these perfect holiday scenarios for our children. After all, we reason, that is what our adults did for us. But when you reach adulthood, you find there is no 'perfect' and that very 'un-perfect' elements juxtapose themselves into our little self-fashioned worlds, creating along the way Christmas memories that at first blush are more 'mutant' than 'hybrid'.

This is one of those memories.

It was during the year my mom was diagnosed with cancer that certain stirrings were awakened in me, stirrings that did not reach fruition until a number of years after she had already passed on when I left the home of my parents, married and had children of my own. My brother was proceeding nicely, making sound decisions on his education and developing solid relationships, one that would lead to marriage. I, on the other hand, was not ready, either for marriage or career, or it seems to see my brother move out and move on.

That was my situation around the time my mom began chemotherapy. As I look back now, it seemed almost like grace to me; after all, one of my brightest early memories was as a family on the weekend car errands. This was when stuff would happen, like shopping for school supplies and clothes- really, any of the more occasional necessities than groceries would be shopped for on those errands. It was then that we had a chance as a family to take a breath before the work/school week began. It was a time before the landscape was dotted with food chains. In fact, a kid could get thirsty in the back seat, or hungry as he passed by his favorite burger joint, and back then parents actually could and would say no to any requests to stop. Now, just marvel on that; to say 'no' and have it stick.

But mom, in her resourceful and accommodating way, would keep a can of diet soda and some ginger snaps in her purse. And to this day, if I was to smell kleenex tissues that had been hanging around with Doublemint gum inside a purse, and I just happened to be eating ginger snaps washed down with warm diet pop, well, I guess I'd just about mist over, that's all.

So we'd pass around the supplies, one can and oh, maybe 10 or 15 snaps, and it always seemed like enough. In fact, it seemed like more than enough, now that I think of it, because we always seemed considerate to one another. I don't remember that particular trait being hammered into us, but it was a part of the family fiber- neither cajoled nor threatened into us, it was simple respect, an unwritten rule of the road. There was enough for everyone because everyone looked out for one another.

When mom began chemo I had the luxury of being able to set my work schedule around her appointments. My dad did so as well, more often than not. Again I say this must have been grace, since, if we did have to say goodbye, it was this sort of memory that would affirm and validate the love we shared for one another. Our trips to the old Chicago neighborhood to the doctor's office beneath the L tracks became an odd assortment of juxtapositions: a sense of gladness in the midst of concern; a celebration of Christmas and a desire to give and share, while life and time were ebbing away. One would think it horrific, morbid or gross to think of it in these terms, but so much of life is about the ideal in the midst of chaos. If we wait for ideal circumstances to celebrate ideal notions, we miss out on a lot and we cheat ourselves of joy. I can't believe it to see myself even write this, but it's true. It doesn't seem right to have, for example, Christmas displays in a ward full of terminal cancer patients, but in a greater way, it doesn't seem right not to. For these were the people who made Christmas for us; this was their circumstance, and just then we were being called on to accompany them toward their greatest journey. I don't mean to wax poetic, but we would escort our loved ones to the grave, then turn back toward our lives. They would continue their journey without us.

Trips to the doctor's office were not complete without some discussion as to what we could do for the nurses that had been so good to mom. She liked to give, liked to remember people at Christmas. As we became part of the regular crowd there, I remember that when one of the nurses went out for lunch to a local spot, we gave them our order as well. It may seem like strange bedfellows, but at least there were bedfellows, and nice ones at that.

On return trips, I would grow silent as I drove the mini-van through slushed streets home before going on to work. We began a tradition then and continued another one. Mom developed this taste for McDonald's cheeseburgers, (not bad when chemo patients sometimes lose their appetites) so we would buy a sackful. The diet pop was in her purse, still warm, and she was still bringing ginger snaps for us to eat. Only this time I was not in the back seat, not a kid anymore; I was driving, and only beginning to drive toward married life and family. We did eventually lose mom, not through cancer as it turns out, but complications of congestive heart failure. It was like an ugly trick to have been out of the woods with cancer, but not to get better. But during that time when it seemed my own life was on hold it was good to be able to return in some small way the gift my mom, my parents gave to me; that confidence that indeed we were in this together, this life of ours, and we were faithful to one another to the end. I don't imagine that is unique among families, but to see it played out at home was and is meaningful. And it gives weight and meaning to those times of celebration.

I wanted to mention as I wrap this up that I wish it was much better written, more polished. I don't always have the luxury of the second draft. But this topic wouldn't be complete unless I mentioned about the oxygen bottles. One of my roles as 'Tank Tonto' was to go to the hospital to trade out empty bottles for full. It meant going through to the old neighborhood hospital complex and sometimes parking a way's out to do this errand. It meant walking through the neighborhood and passing by homes decked out for Christmas. As somber as it seemed my errand was, I wondered what sort of challenges were behind the doors I passed. I knew we were not the only ones struggling with illness and I hoped the others bore up ok as well.

The oxygen bottles rolled loose on the floor of my van until I got home to unload them. I remember hitting the brakes and hearing this clang like a bell. I would think about how the tops of those things could shoot off under pressure and do me some damage. Again, Christmas decorations in the hospital oxygen department, along with a conversation with one of the techs I was familiar with; no, people who are on oxygen don't usually go off it again.

Driving through Chicago after work I would pass a tiny church. The sign out in front said it was Pentecostal, and that is what I considered myself to be. To make a long story short, this church represented the next step toward my life today. I used to think about and pray for the people who attended there. I imagined families generations deep who attended there. I met a nice girl there who thought it strange that a single man such as myself would drive a minivan, when he had no family; "looks kind of strange, you know?", she would say. Funny, it never occured to me. At that time in my life it seemed to fit me pretty well.

I made a vow a while back not to ever post music on this site. I am going to break that promise today. I won't promote it, and I won't provide links for you to buy it. But if you'd like to, you can hear a different Christmas song that was significant to me and my mom by clicking on each of the pictures on this post. I hope not to be fined for using copyrighted music. Maybe the association would understand, it being Christmas and all. -Joe