Good-bye 2010

While the Busch De Noel is baking I thought I would pass along a few thoughts which have been running through my mind all day today as I have been putting the finishing touches on our Christmas celebration. 2010 was pretty much a terrible year for me and my family. I won't rehash all the dark days here, but instead I am remembering all those who were kind to me this year and I find myself feeling optimistic tonight, for the first time in many months. I went to Kansas in early December and interviewed for a job at the University in Lawrence. It was a wonderful experience, I felt right at home because the people there were wonderful and I fell in love with the town. Last week they called to offer me the job and I, of course, accepted. The trick is that I need to be there in mid-January, which has been a bit distracting from the holiday, I have to admit! But I am honestly thrilled to be going there and looking forward to being the Assistant Director of their Writing Center. I am excited to get to know my co-workers, the tutors and the students, the town, nearby Kansas City, and other things which I have yet to imagine. It is truly a new beginning, and a much needed one. So tonight, on Christmas Eve, with most of my family around me, my wish for all the good people of earth is for them to have a wonderful new beginning in 2011. Peace on Earth, and may all my friends flourish and prosper in the New Year.

One Door Closes...

I have had a whirl-wind couple of weeks. My Mom passed away very early on a Tuesday morning. Wednesday I had a telephone interview. Thursday morning I flew to San Jose for another job interview. Friday I flew back to Arizona and was joined by my husband, my son and my younger brother. Saturday was the memorial service. Monday was my youngest's 21st birthday. The boys left on Wednesday. and 10 days later, with the car packed to the brim, I headed for home - with a stop for a flurry of interviews in Nebraska on my way home. I made it, but it was the journey itself that I want to write about today.

I realize now that I felt very trapped by the situation in Tucson. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that my Mom would hang on for 8 months after my Dad passed. I remember saying at the time, "I'll just rent a house for a couple of months", feeling sure that she wouldn't stay with us even that long. Even though we had a spectacular view of the mountains, and wildlife abounded in our back yard, I felt trapped. Life was out there - beyond my reach. I was in wait-mode, and I hate waiting. It is such an effect point in life. The only thing I could cause, was to keep Mom comfortable and somewhat entertained. I had begun to feel like I would never get my participation in life back. A sort of numbness enshrouded me as I waited, unwilling and perhaps unable to feel anything.

As I started out on my cross-country drive I wondered, "I should be excited... why don't I feel that flutter of excitement in the adventure of this?" I tried to create it, but - nothing. Equipped with a route print-out from google maps, and the Garmin that Danny had lent me, I climbed onto the freeway and started out with the same kind of numbness surrounding me. The first day I crossed Arizona and drove into New Mexico, stopping in the tiny town of Hatch to pick up some of their famous peppers to bring home. The Rio Grand runs through Hatch, but it was a pitiful excuse for a river - more like a stream - cloaked in small trees and fields where they grow all kinds of peppers. I stopped at one of the many road-side stands where three women were stringing peppers with deft fingers into all kinds of beautiful arrangements. I bought a variety of traditional strings from the young Hispanic man, loaded them into my back seat, atop the blanket covering the load of artwork from my Mom's, and got back on the highway.

Still, no excitement. After stopping in Santa Fe the first night, I made it all the way to Goodland Kansas the second day. Only once that day did I feel anything - and that was somewhere in Colorado when off in the distance I saw a couple of towering mountains, and my heart lept for just a moment. It was harvest time and there was a steady stream of trucks on the road outside my hotel, dumping their loads into mountains of golden corn to be shipped to God knows where at the nearby train depot.

I then stopped in Kearney Nebraska for a few days which were laden with interviews, presentations and tours. Everyone there was nice. They were beyond nice, they were kind, and funny, and smart, and lovely people. The job itself sounded like a challenge, but I felt that it would be a lot of fun. Of course, they were bringing two other candidates to the campus to interview, so there was no point in getting my hopes up, but I felt very comfortable there. Comfortable, but still nothing beyond that.

I set out on Saturday morning for the toughest part of the drive, across Nebraska and Iowa. Long and flat and straight for most of Nebraska, I wasn't sure the car needed me to do anything except navigate around all the trucks. I was listening to a book on CD, and if it weren't for the story, I am pretty sure I would have fallen asleep! Then somewhere in Western Iowa the ground began rolling, and as I came up over a hill, flanking both sides of the freeway, there were dozens of huge wind turbines. Again I felt my heart start to race as I tried to keep the car in my lane and see both sides of the road at the same time. They rose like giant trees, whose leaves were blowing in unison on either side of me. They were graceful and lovely. But as soon as they receded in my rear view mirrors, the numbness settled around me again.

After spending the night in a hotel along the Mississippi River, I began my final leg of the journey. It was raining. I crossed Illinois and drove out of the storm. With partly cloudy skies I skirted Chicago and then along the lake shore of Indiana. And then I saw it. A big blue sign hung across the road far ahead of me, "Welcome to Michigan" I knew it said, and I started to cry. Tears were pouring down my cheeks as I drove beneath it, and I realized that I had really thought I would never get home. The sun was shining brightly as I passed beautiful multi-colored forests, and crossed rivers that had actual water flowing in them. There was an urgency in my heart as I thought, "I am almost there!" Most of the state passed my windows in a kind of blur, as I saw familiar signs for familiar places and my heart sped up once again. It was all I could do to keep my vision clear enough to drive as I neared home, fighting the tears that kept threatening to flood my view. As I turned the corner onto my very own street, I couldn't hold them back any longer, and by the time I pulled into my driveway, I was sobbing. I had made it. I was finally home, and life could start again.

Long time - no post

I am not really sure where to start, it has been so long since I posted anything! This has been partly due to the circumstances here with the care-giving of my Mom during her last months. It isn't that I haven't had an abundance of time on my hands - because I have. It isn't because I haven't had an abundance of things that I have wanted to say - because I have. I guess it has been because I have spent the past few months watching and doing my best to help my Mom let go of this life and get ready for her next adventure, and it has not been a lot of fun.

When I started this blog I imagined lots of amusing little tales about life in general, but more specifically about those things we all experience at one time or another. And believe me when I tell you that there is very little that is amusing about the end of life process. So I have been hesitant to write about it. And it is not for lack of trying - I have started several blogs about my experiences here - but I just haven't been able to bring myself to posting any of it. I guess maybe that was because I didn't know how this chapter of my life would end. And now I do.

I gave birth to my two boys at home naturally - no drugs, no intervention, no internal fetal heart monitors - in my own bed with my loved ones surrounding me. That is the way I chose to do it. So I wanted to give my Mom the opportunity to have that kind of control over the end of her life. Although I must say, in hindsight that there is very little one actually controls about the end of life. So it becomes the responsibility of the care-giver to try to honor the wishes of the dying person as best they can. And it is not an easy task. I have done things in the last few months that I never thought I would have to do. The parent became the child, and the child became the parent. I have often thought about the parallels between the beginning of life and the end.

I think the end starts with loosing the ability to drive. When most Americans turn 16, they get their drivers license and with it comes all kinds of freedoms. When they age, eventually they loose the ability to drive safely, and with their license goes a lot of their freedoms. As ones health fails, they then loose their personal mobility, the ability to get up and go where they want, when they want. This is followed by loosing the ability to care for themselves, so they need help feeding themselves, going to the bathroom, showering, standing, sitting, and so on. The parent becomes the child and the child becomes the parent.

Let me say that my Mom went peacefully, in her sleep, and that I think her final days were as good as could be expected considering the amounts of drugs that were necessary to keep her from being in pain. She was in a space that I had created for her, where she could watch the humming birds and the sun rise and set on her beloved Catalina Mountains. I am grateful for that. We had a lovely little service for her at Southside, which I think she would have liked, followed by an ice cream sundae bar - which I know for sure she would have liked. She went to be with my Dad so I know she is happy now, no longer in pain and ready for the next adventure.

Which leaves me here, in Tucson, wrapping up all the lose ends, and facing an unknown future, once again. Many people have thanked me for what I have done these past few months. And while it may appear that I am some kind of good Samaritan or something, I have told them bluntly, "Do not kid yourself, I have done this in the hopes that when my time comes, someone will look after me. Karma." She would have liked that.

Father's Day

This is one of those days that is really hard when you have recently lost your Dad. It's been just over three months since my Dad passed away and, yes, it was hard. I have found myself fighting back tears repeatedly today... as I helped my Mom dress for church... As we sang Amazing Grace, which was one of my Dad's favorites... when I took my Mom to see the little memorial Dad for my that has been put up in the Fellowship Hall at their church... when I had to sing my solo.... The wise and wonderful Dorothy gave me a song to sing this week. I wasn't sure I would be able to get through it since it was titled "My Father Watches Over Me." But before I got up to sing, I said my favorite little prayer... "Please, God, don't let me mess this up" and I managed not get all the way through it without bursting into tears - which was my fear. Yeah me. Somehow, Dorothy knew that I would have to pull myself out of the grief I am feeling today and put my best face and voice forward... and I did. So today, while I am missing my Dad so very much, I am also thankful for Dorothy and her wisdom.

Amazing Grace

So a few weeks ago, the amazing Dorothy cornered me during choir practice. "Meg", she said, "I want you to sing a song for me on Sunday". "Yes, Ma'am." "I have a particular song in mind for you...and I want your Mama to hear you sing." It turned out to be a song written to the tune of Oh Danny Boy, which was ironic on several levels.

To make a long story shorter... we went through the song two or three times during choir rehearsal and I was expected to sing it on Sunday to the congregation. Often in this choir someone sings the verse to a song solo and the choir sings the chorus, or some variation on that kind of idea... but this time, I pretty much had to sing the whole song myself, with the choir joining me for one line of the chorus.

Okay, so it had been a while since I had to sing something solo... a very long while....like twenty five years or so... My older brother, Paul usually records the service every Sunday on a little digital recording device, so it can be transcribed. So when he walked over and put the device on the pulpit I didn't think anything of it... and the service went along as usual... then it was time for me to sing. The lyrics of this particular song meant a lot to me because it starts out,"Amazing Grace will always be my song of praise" and Amazing Grace was my Dad's favorite song in church.... As I was singing, I could hear some of the parishioners clapping and calling out encouragement... and when I finished, they stood and applauded as I went back to my seat. Applause is not unusual in this particular church, but standing and clapping...

There is a time during the service each Sunday when the pastor, Alison, walks around the congregation and people can ask for the church to pray for their causes... family members, political issues, environmental issues, etc. When she neared my brother, he stood and asked for "prayers of thanks for my sister and her gifts." I was very moved.

It turns out that even though he has been my brother for 52 years, he had never heard me sing. I think he was shocked. He went home and took the little digital recording device and made CDs of my performance and sent it to my siblings. I have a copy, and to be honest, I think I was a little pitchy. But it made both my Mom and my brother happy... and it was such a simple thing to do. Now I have been assigned the 4th of July, (unofficially 'old white guys' Sunday, this year) wherein I am supposed to sing all of the music for the service. I will do this not only because I love to sing, but because it is something I can do which brings joy to those I love.

Choir practice

It is Wednesday, and that means that I have choir practice tonight. But choir here is unlike any choir that I have ever been involved with, and I have sung with a lot of choirs. For those of you who do not know me well, I have been singing since I was a child - all the time.

It really started the summer after seventh grade when I was sent to the University of Illinois Summer Youth Music program. I did that program for several years, and sang with many other choirs as well. I sang with my family's church choir in the early 1970s. That choir was blessed with one of the professors of vocal music from MSU as it's director, and he gave us Gospel to sing on occasion. My high school choir was pathetic, so I went to the community college and sang with their 'honors' choir - the TOTS. (Tommy O Thompson Singers)

In the mid 1970s I sang in a wide variety of musical groups: rock bands, horn bands, jazz bands, I did country, funk and everything in between! I sang on artist's demo tapes, did background on albums, and sang a variety of jingles. All very interesting and fun, however not particularly lucrative or stable. Later, I sang to my children, like most mothers do. I tried to make sure that they learned to appreciate all kinds of music and encouraged them to sing as well.

Then when my youngest, Nick, was in the 5th grade, he told me to get a life so I went back to college. On a whim I signed up for the choir and rediscovered my love for choral music. Before I knew it I was also singing with their "Chamber Singers", and loving every minute of it. When I finished school, I did a short stint (one season) with the Flint Festival Chorus (the choir that sings with the Flint Symphony). At one point during all this - while Nick was in 7th grade, he was singing with five choirs and I was singing with two - and our rehearsal schedule was brutal. But we did have the opportunity to perform together on several occasions, and those concerts will be with me for ever. (I get kind of teary just remembering them.)

When I was teaching in Istanbul last year I had the opportunity to sing with the Istanbul European Choir - which was a marvelous multi-cultural experience. Singing an Italian Requim in Latin.... in a French Cathedral... to a largely Turkish-speaking, Muslim audience in Istanbul is something I will never forget! Music is the universal language - despite what the mathematicians tell you!

So now that I am hanging out here in Tucson, my brother has strong-armed me into singing with the choir at Southside Presbyterian Church and it is a unique experience on several levels. First of all there are more men than women in this choir - I have never experienced that before! Second, there is no written music involved here - none. The director, Dorothy, is a sixty-something African-American woman, who teaches us the gospel songs we sing each week through rote memorization. Third, I have to sing in Spanish every week - and I no hablo Espanol! Yikes! While I have sung with multi-cultural groups most of my life, and in all kinds of different languages, this choir and this church have a different kind of multi-culturism and I am being challenged in new ways. I like that. There is a surrealism to singing gospel music with a bunch of stiff white Presbyterians (and a few Hispanics) every Sunday. And I can't help but wonder... what will be next?

What next?

Since my Dad passed away suddenly we, the children, had to figure out what to do about Mom and her care. As I have not been able to find a 'real job' since I returned from Istanbul last summer, we agreed that I would take on the role of primary care giver. We hired a home nursing company to provide nurses for the nights, so I could get some sleep and have my wits about me during the days. There was just one problem to solve. I hated my parents apartment at "The Fountains". It was like a cave and it smelled funky. Their two bedroom apartment had a view of the walls of other apartments and a couple of trees.

Why would you live in Tucson and not live somewhere with some kind of a view. If you look in the homes magazines every house advertised for sale is either "mountain view" or "city view" or "golf view" or some combination of "views". My Mom always wanted me to turn the blinds so she could see out when she went to bed. I couldn't figure it out for the longest time. Then I realized that if the blinds were open and she laid 'just so' she could see a slice of the mountains between the buildings. And what kind of idiot builds a retirement community and does not put exhaust fans in every bathroom! Really? No exhaust fans in a complex of a bajillion tiny apartments filled with old people??? What were they thinking!

So as soon as I could I found a small house and moved into it with my Mom. It was a little scary since I couldn't get in to the house to see it before I leased it, but it is directly across the wash from my brother's house and I knew the neighborhood would be okay for us. The other houses available on a month to month basis were in gated communities and with the stream of people coming and going I wasn't comfortable with that. I hate moving. It is not the actual moving of things that I dislike - it is the sorting and packing and unpacking that I dislike. I feel like I have been doing it my whole life, so I am pretty good at it, but I hate it nonetheless.

The very nice people from Two Men and a Truck did all the lifting and carrying parts. They were great. (Although if you have ever had an e-mail from them it is a bit disconcerting since it looks like it is coming from T women and a truck!) They arrived promptly at 8:15am and four and a half hours later we were all moved in. My brother had taken my Mom out for breakfast and then over to his house while the chaos was taking place and she wanted to come 'home' just after lunch! (I am good, but geez... give me a minute, Ma!) Anyway... it took me about seven hours to get everything moved and her stuff put away enough for her to be comfortable.

This is probably the best decision I have ever made. The view is spectacular. From her bed Mom has an unobstructed view of the Santa Catalina Mountains to the north of Tucson. The same is true from the living room and the dining room - but I am happiest about the view from her bed. She has the ability to actually enjoy the part of the earth where she chose to live her final days. They could have moved anywhere, but she chose to live out her days in Tucson. And now she has space, a fabulous view and Major League Baseball in High Def 24/7.

When she was first put under hospice care last summer I told my husband that I was sure she would wait until the world series was over before she died. 7 months later... and since we have no idea how the cancer is progressing, we have no idea about how much of this season she will be able to enjoy. But she will be able to enjoy every minute of it that she wants.

I had stolen a picture of my Dad from the lobby of the complex where my parents lived. It is a very nice picture - he looks happy. I had set the picture up near my computer but one day Mom found it and started carrying it around the house with her. We took it to a local shop and had copies made. I bought frames and now he is visible from where ever she is in the house. For the most part she has stopped looking for him and is resigned to living with me. It occurred to me one day that maybe the reason that I hadn't been able to find a 'real job' was so I could come and take care of her. I just have to have faith that once she is gone something else will come my way.

Family

Thank God for family... first one would have to understand the connections, so I will explain a bit... My parents met while attending Cornell University (they were married for 65 years). Both of them worked for Michigan State University - my Dad taught there for 56 years! And as we all know, my Dad was a humanitarian of the first order... So.... My cousin George sent this e-mail to my brother Paul, who sent it on to me... Hi Paul, Cornell wins the second of their first tournament game victories, ever, to advance to the Sweet Sixteen; Michigan State hits two go-ahead shots in the final ten seconds, the second as time expires, to also advance; the U.S. House of Reps passes the Health Care Reform bill. Do you think your Dad has already been asked to join the planning committee Upstairs? I think I do. Cuz Geo It is communication like this that makes times like these bearable... Thanks George.

A force of nature

Now I am angry. I am really angry. Apparently it wasn't enough for God to take my Dad and leave my Mom here dying of liver cancer, but God decided to take my Aunt Carole as well. This is just not okay with me, and I am angry. I loved my Aunt Carole. She was a force of nature who was always up for a good debate. She was one of the warmest, most welcoming people you would ever meet. It seemed to me that a smile and a laugh was never far from her lips, and I could count on her to find the proverbial silver lining in any situation. She loved music and played the piano or keyboard. She swam 30 laps in the pool every day. She was the kind of person who, just sitting next to her, made you feel optimistic and like the adventure of life was worth the trouble it caused.

So I am angry that God decided to take her from us. Many years ago when my Dad's mother died, he was overseas. I believe that he was living in Kathmandu at the time, working as the United Nations, Food and Agriculture Representative. However, he had travelled to Pakistan to a conference, and upon my Grandmother's death, it was my job to track him down and deliver the news. When I finally reached him, and told him about her passing he said, "Oh. That explains the bloody nose I had last night." It seems that in the middle of the night he had awoken with a bloody nose, for no apparent reason. He told me that he figured that the bloody nose was my Grandmother stopping by to let him know she was going.

I spoke to my Aunt Carole on the phone the Sunday before my Dad passed. She was, as usual, very encouraging, and made me feel like the decision we had made to put Dad in hospice was absolutely the right thing to have done. She was stricken that night, and was unable to communicate again as she was put onto a respirator. The doctors decided it was Guillain-Barre syndrome which took my Aunt. This is a syndrome which attacks suddenly and severely for no apparent reason, and I am angry.

I don't know if anyone told her that my Dad passed away. Did she too go to be with Dad? I am heartbroken from my cousins. Scott, Pam and Marianne. But I am mostly heartbroken for my Uncle Sid, the oldest of the three Axinn children. To have his younger brother and sister taken within days of each other is completely unfair, so I am angry.

I want the sun to stop shinning brightly in Tucson, it should be raining to reflect my mood. But even more, I want to hang out with my Aunt Carole and my Dad, to revel in their wit and optimism. I want to sit at her breakfast table, once again, and have a debate as I sip my first cup of coffee in the morning. But for now I have to focus on the task at hand. I want my Mom to have peace and beauty in her remaining time. I want her to be surrounded by love and tranquility, not constant reminders of death and sadness. I want her to have her beloved baseball games on the television, whenever she is up to watching, and peaches to be in season, so she can have peach cobbler for breakfast if she so desires. And if God wants me to stop being angry, it will be so.

Passings

Within a short time of posting my last blog on Monday night, my Dad, George H. Axinn, passed away peacefully. The suddenness of his passing took the world by surprise. It has been a rough week to say the least. The loss has been felt profoundly by so many people - dozens of notes of condolence have been received by members of my family. But there are some strange twists to this whole episode as well.
     The first of the bizarre twists was that I learned that my Aunt Carole, my Dad's sister had been struck with a malady that put her in intensive care on the same day that my Dad passed. My cousins rushed to be with her, and she is expected to recover. (Thank the Gods.) But the suddenness and severity of her illness stunned us all. I had just spoken to her the day before, and there was no sign of any problem.
     The next bizarre twist was that I checked in to the local resort since family members were arriving and everyone needed someplace to sleep - especially me. Many of you know that my Mom has terminal liver cancer, and has been under hospice care for some months now. I had been with my Mom 24/7 for a few weeks, and had not had much rest. After ordering a meal and consuming it, I passed out, for what I had hoped would be a good long rest. Unfortunately, about five hours later I woke up violently ill from, apparently, a case of food poisoning. Within 24 hours I was once again able to eat a little and could participate in the arrangements for Dad's memorial service.
     The final bit of bizarreness was that we received word that my Dad's dear friend and assistant from Nepal, Dwarika Shresthra passed away on Thursday. Again, this was a huge shock to us all. My brother, Bill said that he was sure that Dad and Dwarika were together now.
     There was a wonderful memorial service at the Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson yesterday. It lasted over two hours and was filled with wonderful music, great stories and testimonials by dozens of people - and an enormous chocolate cake - which my Dad would have loved. My sister Cathe spoke, and then my little brother Bill. Bill was eloquent and his talk was deeply moving. I was very proud of my siblings. Both Larry and Nick got up and said a few, well chosen words - again, I was very proud. My brother, Paul created a great slide show of pictures of Dad which was enjoyed by everyone in attendance. The Elders of the Church asked for one of Dad's MSU caps, which I had laid on the alter, and it will now hang in perpetuity in the fellowship hall in his honor. It was a long and exhausting day, so I came back to the hotel and slept long and hard.
     I awoke early this morning. I made myself a cup of joe and went to sit out on the balcony to watch the sunrise over the dessert. A humming bird came over to drink the dew from the tree hanging next to me... so close I could almost touch it. And it occurred to me... Dad and Dwarika have gone on ahead to get things ready for Mom.

Daddy's Little Girl

Like most girls, I have always thought that my Dad is some kind of super-human, god-like creation whose main task on this earth was to make sure that the sun revolved around his little princess. Do not mis-understand me, my father was not an overly affectionate man, nor did he ever dote on me. But my Dad was always teetering on that slim line between man and God in my eyes.

In the past few days, I have had some time to reflect upon this and I have come to the conclusion that I wasn't far off in my assessment of his greatness. I had to help my brother make the decision to put my Dad into hospice a couple of days ago. And while this is the kind of decision daughters and sons have to do all the time, for me this means allowing the one truly great man I have ever encountered to slip away from us all.

My sister never married because she always said our Dad set the bar too high, and that no mere mortal man would ever be good enough. (I think she may have set her standards a bit on the high side.) And in a lot of ways, I agree with her. Now I love my husband, and he is a good man. But when one goes in search of a husband, one is looking at qualities that fit that bill, not for the god-like qualities my father has. And you are thinking, "every little girl feels that way about her daddy." And you are probably right.

I have been struggling with writing his obituary the last few days. I write in starts and fits. I don't know where to draw the line. Because the truth is that what I want to say about him is probably not obit material... though I need to say it. And while as his daughter, I will remember his singular wit, his smile, his enthusiasm and charm... there are millions of people in the world who have been the recipients of his good work.

My Dad was born in Queens New York to parents who emigrated from Belarus. Since his very first job out of college, editing the newsletters for the rural extension office in Delaware, my Dad has been helping the people of the world feed themselves. Those little newsletters would help farmers get more food out of every acre, or help them keep their cows healthier. He taught hundreds of students at Michigan State University about raising animals and crops, how to care for the land and get it to cooperate in being productive. He taught there for 56 years. He worked for the Extension Service there, filming television shows that could disseminate practical advice to Farmers and their wives.

He built Agricultural Universities in countries all over the world so that the farmers in those places could learn about ways to grow enough food to feed their nations. Nigeria, Jamaica, Saudi Arabia, Nepal, Kenya, Indonesia, Costa Rica, Chile, El Salvador. Malaysia, Pakistan... dreaming to help countries become self-sufficient... consulting with those governments, as a development worker and advisor. He worked for the Ford Foundation, UNICEF, the World Health Organization, the World Bank, USAID, and many other development minded groups as a consultant, critic, advisor and representative. He was the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization Representative to Nepal, India and Bhutan. He helped India become self-sufficient. Whether you agree with the dietary changes that have taken place or not, India can feed itself.

After my folks moved to Tucson he continued to teach his classes online. For years he made a huge pot of soup and took it across town to his church by 7am every Monday and Friday morning. This was to feed the dozens of homeless people who came to their church twice a week for a shower, clean clothes and a hot meal. This church where one could actually find sanctuary... from the border patrols or the INS, where they are serious about No More Deaths, where my family has supported the Showers Program for over a decade.

There is a sick kind of irony in watching someone who has helped to feed millions, slowly waste away in a hospice bed. I know that the kind and gentle women who are so gently caring for him have no idea who he is or what he has done for the world. So I sit and hold his hand and tell him: "You did good... you helped so very many people... you did a good job... rest now.... you don't have to do any more... you did a good job... thank you for helping so many people... I love you Daddy... you did good..."

Sports Nerd?

I am a sports junkie. I love to watch American football. I also love to watch tennis, world cup soccer, le Tour d'France, and ice skating (amongst other things). But there are some oddities to why I love to watch these sports. I hated American football when I was growing up - I didn't understand the game and it just seemed silly to me. That was before a booking agent named Angel Gomez took the time to teach me the rules, and I grew to appreciate the simple pleasures of watching dozens of grown men run around in Lycra spandex pants.

My Dad has been a huge tennis player since I was a child. When I was growing up, if he was in the country he would pack a tuna salad sandwich and an apple for lunch in a brown paper bag. He ate this lunch at his desk because he would be playing tennis every day during his lunch hour. Every day, and sometimes on Saturdays. If he was travelling, he had a special bag made which could hold the numerous racquets he would be carrying depending on his destinations. There used to be a real science to what kind of gut was used to string these racquets, depending on the surface upon which one would be playing, the humidity and the altitude. I wanted to be a professional tennis player like those girls my Dad admired playing in the major tournaments on television. Unfortunately, due to a childhood injury, I could never master the serve toss.

I love to watch le Tour d'France because I get to see many of the parts of Europe that I love. And, again it is grown men wearing Lycra spandex, only this time they are shorts. Ice skating can be tremendously aesthetic. The combination of music, athleticism and artistry amaze me. I get dizzy on a merry-go-round. How can they spin around like that and not just fall over when they are done? I do okay on skates - I can go backward pretty well, but I cannot fathom how these skaters can jump up in the air, spin around a bunch of times, land on a sheet of ice and not end up in a heap on the ice. And sometimes, the men wear - guess what - yes Lycra spandex!

World cup soccer is a lot of fun - a combination of geography and high level soccer with a lot of drama thrown in just for fun. (And I don't mind the lack of Lycra spandex becuase sometimes they run around and tear their shirts off after they score.) Okay so here is the really strange part of all this... even raising four boys, I usually end up watching sports by myself. None of the boys in my family really like to watch sports. Danny used to watch with me occasionally, but I am pretty sure that was just because he loves me and knew I wanted someone to watch with me. Every once in a while Larry will sit with me for a bit while I am watching something, but his is just being kind.

So this weekend I have been in sports heaven - US Figure Skating Championships, the Australian Open Tennis Tournament and the Football championships. I will be unavailable for a lot of February as I plan to watch as much of the Winter Olympics as I can. So this all begs the question... what I really don't understand is.... what kind of nerd am I? Is there such a thing as a sports nerd?

New Years Resolutions

Yesterday, while enjoying a cheese souffle, fresh asparagus and chocolate fondue with my best buds, Mejdu and Brooke, the question of New Years Resolutions was posed. The idea apparently came from the lovely Bradley that one should choose one word to describe what one wants to accomplish in the upcoming year. At first I said "Perseverance", but then after thinking about it and some discussion I changed to "Flourish". After sleeping on the idea, I have decided that this year I want to be "Combobulated". Along with that concept, it would be nice to wake up one morning and feel like I am "in sorts" and "in whack". (As opposed to discombobulated, out of sorts or out of whack.) I know I may be asking a lot, but that is going to be my goal for 2010, to be combobulated.