The Crab Chronicles

Eclipses and Aloha

I don't want to start off the week with a blog about poo at the top of the page. Not attractive or genteel. And, no matter how amusing I try to be, someone will likely always give me crap. [Pun intended.... LOL]

I so wanted to see the eclipse last night but it wasn't to be. We've had so much rain here the past few days that the clouds overhead completely obscured the sky. There are plenty of videos online, and some of my Facebook friends even got photos of it.

Eclipses always signal big change, if you follow astrology. Here's how Cancers are affected by last night's eclipse, according to Astrology Zone: "The September 27 full moon lunar eclipse in Aries will bring your mind back to the other theme of the month - work and career. This eclipse will be more emotional, but nevertheless, does have the potential to be quite exciting and positive. You will see something end or culminate. The news you get now will let you plan with greater certainty."

I don't really wholeheartedly endorse astrology as a belief system. I'm more just fascinated to see IF anything in it rings true. I am hopeful, though..

******************

I met my friend Bronwyn for lunch yesterday at Hudson Grille, where Michael now works. It was great to see him hosting so well, looking very professional. I got a hug on my way out, too.

It was great to see Bronwyn and catch up. When I had to go to the hospital in May, Bron came over to my house and stayed with Mother, and cared for her, which helped me tremendously. She's the type of friend you can always count on in a crisis, and those folks are rare. She never wants thanks. She let me buy her lunch and give her some books, which is totally inadequate, but I tried.

Bronwyn is an example of the type of dear friend that makes me glad to be here in Atlanta, where friends and family members abound. I can't really imagine living anywhere else.

*****************

Michael and I watched a terrific movie last night, Aloha, the latest movie by Cameron Crowe. I really enjoyed it. I wrote a review of it this morning. I hate that the critics didn't like it and it didn't do well. It should have been lauded. Most films today are so superficial and calculated, and Aloha is, despite some minor flaws, so much better than most of the idiotic films out there. Crowe's films always have great dialogue, too. So go watch Aloha.

Finally, a photo from my cousin Mark Embry, who recently vacationed in Jekyll Island, one of my favorite places. Love Spanish Moss.

Poop Stories

Brace yourself. Here comes a mini-rant.

I love and cherish my friends. I may not talk to all of them often enough, but I care deeply about them. In general, there are usually no "taboo" subjects for discussion, especially with my female friends.

Male friends are a bit more tricky. No matter how platonic the friendship, there is always a miniscule frisson of sexual tension -- unless they are gay.

However, I was talking to a male friend on the phone last night and he mentioned that he had had a bout of diarrhea the other day.

First of all, I hate that word. In my house we say "upset stomach" or one needs to "sit on the potty." If he had said "I had an upset stomach" that would have sufficed. I would've gotten the general idea, without the much more graphic and gross word diarrhea.

Maybe it's my mother's fault.

She took my brother to the doctor once when he was small and the doctor asked about his bowel movements. Mother said "I don't know." The doctor scolded her for not paying more attention to her son's bowel movements. She told him that unless we were having an issue and needed some Pepto, her kids didn't talk about bowel movements with her. We didn't. I don't ever recall discussions about bowel habits.

[Mother's reticence likely came about because my grandmother was constantly dosing Mom and her brothers with Castor oil and other horrible substances that made them run for the potty. Yuck.]

I told my kids right after they came home, unless you are having a problem, I don't want to hear about poop. If you are having a problem, let me know and I will give you some Immodium, or if you're having the opposite issue, perhaps some fresh fruit. Otherwise, keep your poop thoughts to yourself.

When I was a teenager, I was struck dumb with horror when visiting my aunt and uncle, because my aunt said to me one morning "You're looking pale. When have you had a BM?"

No-one had ever asked me that question. I wasn't even sure what a "BM" was. I asked her for clarification. We had a short but embarrassing discussion.

Like the doctor, she thought my mother's parenting - devoid of bowel discussions - was inferior. I disagreed. When I told my mother about the discussion later, she laughed.

One must have a sense of humor about these things.

Now, I am not a prude. I like a good dirty joke as long as it's not horribly tasteless.

However, I don't want to hear about diarrhea.

Ever.

Even if you're female and you're my best friend for life. Doesn't matter.

I don't care if you lose 10 lbs. in the process, or if you got food poisoning. If you have intestinal issues.... keep me out of it. If you're in my house, have diarrhea, and you need me to call an ambulance.... then OK. Mention it. I will make sure you get to the hospital.

Otherwise, I don't want to hear about it.

Two Movies with Kevin Costner

I love a good sports movie, one that has some surprises. I especially love a good sports movie based on a true story. Michael and I both really enjoyed a movie we watched tonight called McFarland USA, starring Kevin Costner.

 

I don't remember hearing a lot about this movie when it came out. Then again, the last 6 months for me have been pretty stressful and I didn't go to any movies in the theater.

Kevin Costner gives a wonderful performance, but he was really too old to play this part. In some scenes he looks every bit of his 60 years, in others not. Doesn't matter. The script is well-written and the young guys who play the runners all do an excellent job, particularly Carlos Pratts.

I love that McFarland USA is based on a real coach, a man named Jim White who made a huge difference in the lives of his runners.

Kevin Costner is one of the actors that I trust to make watchable movies. There are only a handful of those folks in Hollyweird. Costner has the ability to pick good scripts. I've rarely seen him in a real stinker. (Of course, Dances With Wolves is one of my top ten all-time favorite movies.)

Not all Costner's movies are popular with critics.

Take Black or White, for instance, where he plays a grandfather fighting for custody of his biracial granddaughter. The critics hated the film -- eviscerated it. I read several reviews, dismayed because I thought the premise was interesting. Then I thought well, I am going to rent it anyway, because it's a great idea. It was a mite too long, but it was a good film. It's got a great cast, particularly Octavia Spencer, who was so excellent in The Help. Octavia Spencer rocks it. Her performance is spot-on. Wise, funny, genuine. She should've gotten a Oscar nomination. Jillian Estell, who plays the granddaughter, is also terrific.

One thing I love is seeing kids portrayed on film in a realistic manner, not all cutesy and affected. All the kid actors in both these movies were wonderful.

I will keep an eye out for Costner's movies as long as he keeps acting. I trust him to choose projects that are intelligent and interesting.

And yes, even at his age he's still easy on the eyes...

Feeding a Teenaged Boy

I used to think I knew how to feed a teenage boy. I thought I had it all figured out. After all, my mother had a black belt in feeding teenaged boys.

For my brother's teen years, my mother made mountains of food in the crock pot -- back in the 1970's when crock pots were new and exciting. Spaghetti sauce, chili, beef stew -- these were the holy trinity of crockpot cooking at our house.

For many months, when he was in high school, my brother ate two dinners. His friend Steve's mom served dinner at 5:30 every day. At our house, we ate around 7:30. So Bruce and Steve ate dinner at Steve's house, then came over to our house. Mother just chalked it up to Steve coming from a sadly poor home where they couldn't afford to properly feed a great big teenaged boy.

Then one day, Mother saw Steve's mother at the grocery store and they started talking, and discovered the horrifying truth.

The double dinner dipping stopped.

Bruce had another friend, Jim, and they went to the All You Can Eat buffet at the Pizza Inn, for many months. Then the manager of the Pizza Inn asked them not to return. Ever. Bruce and Jim could sit and eat pizza all afternoon. The place was losing money.

Michael is not a huge guy, like my brother was at 19. Michael is just not.

However, when he likes something, he likes it a lot, and he eats it a lot.

Until he's tired of it.

I try to buy some sort of snack food every week, in case Michael comes in late at night and wants to eat. Pulling out leftovers and heating them in the microwave is way too much trouble, in his world. Popping a piece of toast in the toaster is too much trouble.

Opening the fridge? He can do that but things right in front of him might as well be on the moon. He cannot see them. [Mother says testosterone affects the male's eyesight... I used to think she was joking about that...]

He CAN, however, open the pantry, pull out a box of Little Debbie something or other, and eat. For a while there, it was the Pecan Pinwheel phase.

[Don't judge. He had to eat something and I couldn't stay awake that late at night and serve him like a waitress.]

The other day in Publix I grabbed a box of pecan pinwheels and Michael looked horrified. He shook his head slowly like he was talking to a small child, "No Mom, no more pinwheels" he said as he pulled the box from my hand and put it back.

The pecan pinwheel phase was over. I hadn't been informed until I stupidly grabbed the box.

I grabbed a box of Honey Buns.

"I won't eat those," he said, as though talking to a mental patient.

I threw it in the buggy anyway. Honey buns are his default food. He always returns to them.

[This is a kid who will go hours without eating. He will never be fat.]

He is eating a honey bun now.

There are phases. The cereal phase. The instant grits phase. The toast phase.

Sunflower seeds are always popular, and thank goodness they are actually healthy. He loves fresh veggies but he will not prepare them for himself.

Wait, I must mention that during the summer when we had homegrown tomatoes ripening on the kitchen counter he would often grab one and eat it like an apple.

He came home last night at 8:30 and dinner was over and the dishes cleared away. I thought he was out for the evening, as usual. "I just ran down Stone Mountain and I AM STARVING!" he announced.

Less than 3 hours before, he had eaten an entire can of Progresso soup.

"There are no leftovers from dinner. I'm sorry," I said. "There are chicken pot pies in the freezer."

He ate a chicken pot pie. Then he ate a Honey Bun. After I went to bed, he ate a bowl of cereal and a banana, and several Almond Joys.

I have given up on breakfast, even though I have an almost religious conviction that everyone should eat breakfast.

I cooked him a fried egg on toast yesterday morning -- he's always loved fried eggs -- and when I told him to come down and eat, he wailed like he was on the way to the gallows. "NOOOOOOO! Not BREAKFAST! Not AGAIN!"

I listened to that and felt my blood pressure rising.

"All you have to say is thank you, when someone prepares a nice meal for you. That's all," I said, as I passed him on the steps. "I won't be cooking you food any more!"

That was not an idle threat. I am DONE being a short order cook, especially not for someone who may or may not feel like eating.

Now, if he is around at dinner, which is the main meal here, he can eat with us, certainly. I always make enough food. Breakfast and lunch, though, and he's on his own.

He isn't helpless.

We always have food in the house.

He can make himself an omelet. He also makes guacamole, fried rice, sandwiches, and he does great at heating up cans of soup. He will not starve.

In fact, one day he may actually get motivated to learn to cook some more foods.

 

One day, many years from now, I think he will thank me. He will be able to feed himself without having to go out and buy ready-made food. There were men in my dad's generation who never learned how to do anything. One of my uncles could not cook anything, ever, and had to be taught as an adult how to pour a bowl of cereal and add milk. His wife spoiled him rotten.

My father, OTOH, could make omelets, steaks and hamburgers on the grill, barbeque, and spaghetti sauce. He could open cans of stuff and heat stuff on the stove. He was very good at chopping bell peppers. He could cook breakfast sausage. Compared to most men of his generation, he was a gourmet chef.

It's a new day, and a new generation of guys.

Learn to use the crockpot, grasshopper..

Rules for Eating Out

I watch and enjoy Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern but at some point in the program I will have to turn the channel.

I am not a vegetarian or vegan, but every show seems to have a scene designed to make my vegetarian or vegan friends scream and run out of the room, or faint. I don't want to be too graphic, but let me just say, Andrew Zimmern was likely a butcher in another life, and leave it at that.

I like to eat meat I buy in a store that looks nothing whatsoever like the animal. Don't judge. My mother likes to eat meat every day, so becoming a vegetarian would be difficult for me right now. Maybe one day.

I will never go to a restaurant with Andrew Zimmern. I'd love to meet him, but not in a restaurant. He would likely choose the weirdest thing on the menu.

Restaurants are fascinating places.

Over my lifetime, I have learned some lessons in them.

When I was the kid I was such a picky eater, every time the family went to a restaurant it was an ordeal. My food couldn't touch. It couldn't have onions in it. I avoided ketchup and mustard like they were radioactive. My parents were pretty strict about most things but they indulged me a bit when it came to being a picky eater. I learned young that in restaurants I usually enjoyed a plain cheeseburger, french fries, and a coke. That became my standard order, everywhere, for years. Then my standard order became fried chicken. One day my father let me try fried flounder at a seafood place. I loved it. That became my standard seafood order.

After I grew up, my tastes expanded a great deal. I lived on my own. I traveled. I experienced other cultures. I got less picky, fast.

Skip ahead to Kazakhstan, 2007. I was eating alone in a restaurant and I ordered chicken soup, which I thought was a pretty safe order, having been raised on Campbell's soups. WRONG. I was served a bowl containing what looked like a small chicken carcass that had been hacked to death. Lots of bones, gristle, and unidentifiable objects. [Andrew Zimmern probably would've just said "oooh, CRUNCHY intestines, yummy!"] I just shrugged and picked out what seemed edible.

I realize I have probably blogged about this before, but in the spirit of helping my readers avoid upset stomachs, I am going to talk again about some basic rules for eating out. I've learned these rules the hard way, people. 

Michael has friends who are now off in college, experiencing life on their own, and they should probably read this. [Parents, please forward a link.]

DEE"S RESTAURANT RULES

Health department ratings matter. If your favorite place to eat scores less than 90%, leave, unless you enjoy spending the night in the bathroom. I recently learned a Steak & Shake not far from my house scored a 59. Needless to say, I will not be eating there anytime soon. Restaurants are required to post their ratings where customers can easily see them, so look for them.

TV's or no TV's. If you are eating in a place where there are lots of TVs, the food will likely not be too pricey. It may or may not be good. Probably won't get sushi there. Don't go to such a place on a 3rd date if you want to actually talk to your date. Yeah, BTDT.

Never order gravy. I don't care where you are or what you want to eat. Gravy can contain all sorts of chemicals and/or gruesome stuff like LARD [a/k/a pig fat]. Just avoid the gravy, or stop at CVS on the way home and buy some Pepcid. Your choice.

Don't order fried chicken in a restaurant that doesn't specialize in it. Nine times out of ten you will get tough and/or greasy fried chicken.

If the menu is written in cursive and looks like a wedding invitation, make sure you have plenty of money. It won't be cheap. It might even be in a foreign language. Unless you are fluent in that language, ask for a translation if there isn't one. TRUE STORY: I studied French for two years in high school. Many years later, I am in France, thinking I can order from the menu very competently. I ordered. The waitress repeated my order. I smiled. The waitress - who appeared to struggle with English at first - looked annoyed and finally said quite plainly, "You REALLY want to eat a cow's stomach?" The look of horror on my face caused my brother and his wife to die laughing. I ordered something else, needless to say...

In a seafood restaurant, shrimp are often served with the tail still on. Then you have to pull off the tail, especially if the shrimp are fried. I actually told a waiter once if he'd take the dadgum tails off my shrimp I'd tip him better. He did and I tipped him more generously than usual. If you come to my house to eat shrimp, you won't see tails on the shrimp.

If you go to a place that sells lobster, expect a bib. I was about 10 when I ate my first lobster in a restaurant and I was horrified by the bib the waiter brought. "I'M NOT A BABY I DON'T NEED A BIB!" I said forcefully. Now I would not care. In fact, if I could ever afford to order lobster in a restaurant I'd be tickled. I wouldn't care if the bib was made from a trash bag...

If your server has dirty hands or poor hygiene, tell the manager. When I was a kid, we were in a restaurant somewhere while traveling, likely a Howard Johnson's -- in the days before fast food places were common -- and the waitress had bad BO. It was a hot day. The smell was terrible. I think Mom and Dad debated about whether or not to tell the manager. The waitress looked rough, like she had a bad hangover and would attack us in the parking lot. Don't remember the outcome of that, but people who serve food need to not stink.

It's not so bad now, but there was a period of time when servers [who used to be called waiters or waitresses] would tell you their life story. "Hi, my name is Chad and I'll be your server!" The last time I had to listen to someone like that I just smiled back and said "My name is Dee and I'll be your customer!" The look of confusion on the guy's face was priceless. I was tempted to point to the empty chair beside me and say ["This is my imaginary friend Mr. Winkles and he's hungry!" Didn't want to get hauled off to a rubber room, though...]

If you take photos of your food and post same on Facebook, be prepared for me to give you a hard time. I am not into "food porn." I hate that term. Unless you are a professional food stylist, there's a 99% chance the artful mound of precious local ingredients that cost you $29.95 will be the subject of my mocking derision because it will look ridiculous. It's what I call "foo foo" food.

 

I guess I've gotten old and cranky. About 75% of the time when I go to a restaurant, the food I get is not as good as I could make it at home. So I don't eat out a lot. I tend to just order something exotic and interesting, like fried pickles or spinach salad with gorgonzola crumbles.

[Just FYI, I never thought I'd like gorgonzola because the word sounds like a skin disease, but I do, actually...]

 

I've never worked in a restaurant, but I told Michael after he got his new job the other day, it's great experience to work in a restaurant. You can ALWAYS find a job. Learn as much as you can. Work hard. If you go off to college for your final 2 years, you can find a job in Athens, or wherever. It's a portable skill. Restaurants are everywhere.

[He has already learned a valuable life lesson. They asked him today to write the specials on the chalkboard and he misspelled "tilapia." Spelling matters, Dude...]

Bon Appetit!

below, at a restaurant a few years ago with Alesia's then-boyfriend

Birth Stories

I read Pioneer Woman's latest birth story and frankly thought wow, glad I have kids and I never had to give birth. I would probably start screaming for an epidural right after conception; possibly even beforehand...

Then again, I had to have a tooth pulled about 6 months ago and when I found out that getting laughing gas would prolong the whole miserable experience and cost more I said FORGET IT. Give me a shot of Novocaine [or whatever] and yank that thing out -- while I squeeze the nurse's hand into a bloody pulp.

That's as close as I can get to a birth story.

No, wait - when I got my pacemaker it was an ordeal. I was in put into "twilight sleep" which was horrible. I wasn't asleep for most of it, just groggy and scared. I was aware of everything, including being strapped to the table and having my face covered. For someone who has occasional bouts of claustrophobia, it was a nightmare. I still don't like to even think about it.

So God knew what he was doing when we skipped the whole pregnancy and birth deal and opted for Plan B, adoption.

Adoptive parents are like veterans. We talk about being "paper pregnant" - which is a unique experience. Gathering up the 7,000 pieces of paper necessary for an international adoption is not easy. Everything is scrutinized - our physical health, mental health, financial records, family dynamics, marital history. (All the stuff which my mother would say is "nobody's business.")

Still, I suppose it's better than being in a room with feet in the stirrups, my hoo-ha exposed to everyone who walks by. Mother says nobody can be shy after going through THAT.

 

A few years back I was at our neighborhood pool chatting with a friend of mine and somehow, I soon found myself in a  circle of women. The birth stories started. This is not uncommon. Giving birth is probably one of the few really terrible and simultaneously wonderful things anyone can possibly do. Still, I felt left out. I told a story about adopting my daughter -- I don't remember what -- and everyone just stared at me like I was from Mars. There was a very awkward silence. Then they went right back to the birth stories. Followed by the nursing stories. Followed by the what-my-toddler-did stories.

I fervently wished for just one other adoptive parent to swim over and stand by my side in solidarity -- not anyone did though.

There are some things only other adoptive parents will possibly understand.

 

My daughter called the other day and asked me to send her birth certificate, Russian passport, and Certificate of Citizenship to her. She also wanted "the paper you said you'd show me when I was older." After I hung up, I felt really angry and sad and puzzled, and just upset, in general.

I don't begrudge my daughter any of it. She needs to see everything. She needs to process what happened to her in Russia. Being taken away from one's family and put into an orphanage is a terrible and life-changing thing, and she will deal with the after-effects for the rest of her life. Institutions are terrible places for children.

I sent her everything, including a copy of her parents' marriage certificate, and the transcript of the hearing where her birthmom had her parental rights terminated -- with English translations, of course.

I had very carefully gone over everything with Alesia when she was about 16 but she had no memory of that. None. Her brain dumps painful memories.

If I could talk to other adoptive parents right now, I would say this: don't hide anything. Don't sugar-coat anything. Whether you adopted a baby or a toddler or a teenager, it doesn't matter. The stories surrounding the birth family are critical to our kids. They have to process some very painful things, and there's not much we can do.

A lot of adoptive parents who adopt babies can say to them "Your birthmom simply couldn't parent you, and felt you would be better off in another family." In many cases, the birthmoms are teenagers, or very poor, or they simply aren't equipped for parenthood.

In the cases of my kids, though, who remember their birthmoms, they have to deal with the fact that they were with a birthmom for 6-8 years and the mom chose alcohol and partying instead of parenting. A judge had to remove my daughter from a cold, dirty home with no food, when she was so malnourished and sick she had to be hospitalized. A home where she was left alone for hours with no food, age 6 or younger. A home where neglect stunted her brain development. Michael's birthmom was the same story.

These are not pretty stories. They are tragic stories.

We were talking the other day, Michael and I, about a family he used to babysit for. The oldest child is now old enough to sit for her siblings. "In Georgia, the law is you have to be 12 to be left without supervision," I told him. "I was left alone when I was much younger than that and I was OK," he replied. "Yes, but you shouldn't have been left alone," I replied quietly.

 

So I don't feel bad about being kind of a coward about physical pain. I have shouldered emotional burdens most of the neighborhood ladies cannot fathom. I have had to deal with my own sadness and fear for my kids' mental and emotional health after being treated so badly by their birthmoms. Bandaging emotional boo-boos that result from severe neglect and abuse is very different from what a typical mom experiences. [I took both my kids to a therapist but with limited success..]

I have almost stopped reading accounts by other adoptive parents of teenagers who go off the rails despite all the love and care we give them. Sometimes love and good intentions simply cannot make up for the early trauma. Very often, even for kids adopted as babies, the teen years are anxiety-producing nightmares. Our kids have to figure out their identity in the context of abandonment, which is very difficult. As parents, there's little we can do.

Alesia has gone through a period of rebellion, and I hope and pray she is getting her life back on track.

Michael has had some ups and downs the past couple of years; it hasn't all been smooth sailing. He's going to start college classes in a few weeks, though, and he just got a new job as a Host at a local restaurant.

They are both finding their way.

I cannot eliminate the feelings of sadness and abandonment they will always grapple with, no matter how much I envelop them with love. It simply isn't possible. I cannot wave a magic wand and go back in time and give birth to them. I wish.

Truthfully, I've done about all I can do, in a physical sense. I wish I had done some things differently, but hindsight is 20/20, of course.

Here's how I stay sane.

I remember this: my kids have been given something most of their peers in the orphanage didn't get: a chance at a good life. They have a mom, Granny, and uncle who love them fiercely and devotedly. We don't have a lot of money or material riches but those things are ephemeral. My kids were born in far-away places to women they will likely never see again, but they were re-born here, with me as their Mom, and I will never stop loving them or fighting for them to have decent lives.

 

Anniversary

It was March of 2005, a lovely day, and I was driving from a doctor's appointment back to work, when I heard on the radio that a man named Brian Nichols had escaped from the Fulton County Courthouse after killing several people, and that he was on the loose here in the Atlanta metro area.

Ten years ago. I had adopted my daughter the year before and I was still getting used to being a mom. Alesia was in the 7th grade at the middle school. I called the school, terrified. The school was on lockdown.

I had been to the Fulton County courthouse many times. I had seen Judge Barnes in action. I had probably seen the other folks who died, too. It all hit too close to home. It felt like a violation of what had always seemed to me such a safe place, a courthouse.

The rest of the day was very tense. One of the lawyers I worked with at Home Depot was married to a Fulton County judge, and his wife almost encountered Nichols in the parking garage across from the courthouse.

The scariest thing for me about that day was the feeling that it wasn't about me any more. For twenty years I'd lived on my own, but now I had a little girl to think of, and a murderer was loose. He had been spotted in the Duluth area and that was literally 20 minutes up the road from my condo. I didn't get much sleep that night. I knew I would do whatever it took to protect her, though.

Nichols holed up with a woman he took captive at an apartment complex, and the next day surrendered.

Ten years later, the woman -- who was responsible for his capture, Ashley Smith -- has a completely different life, as reported by The Killer and The Captive: 10 years later Brian Nichols' hostage recalls ordeal. She was from Augusta [my hometown] and battling a meth addiction that had cost her custody of her little girl. She has turned her life around, which is good.

Anniversaries are tough to deal with sometimes.

I was reminded of this case when I saw a post on Facebook of a trailer for a new film called Captive.

 

Looks like a very powerful film.

Funny how much life can change in a decade. Now my daughter is grown and gone, and I have a son still at home.

I rarely ever go to courthouses any more.

Those murders rocked Atlanta. For months afterward, the name Brian Nichols and the names of his victims were all over the news. Ashley Smith was seen as a victim, a collaborator, or a heroine, depending on what account you read.

Life is a precious thing and none of us know when it's going to end. I've seen posts on Facebook in the past few days about 2 of my high school classmates who died. One was a death from cancer, the other a massive heart attack just last night. There are no guarantees.

I hope and pray when it's my time I will not be afraid, and my family will find comfort in knowing I am still around, just unseen.

I don't know what else to say about this. I have a feeling some big changes are fixing to manifest in my life and in my kids' lives. I just hope the coming days remind me of my faith and we will keep rocking along, without fear or regret..

Honoring Them on September 11

 

We like to say the world is now a scary place,

like before, it was tranquil. No.

The world was always filled with war -

we just hadn’t ever died in terror,

on our own shores.

 

I believe those that died still fill our space, unseen.

Knowing peace, and what the living cannot embrace.

Nations – just lines on a map –

Religion – just ways to deal –

Politics – an elaborate trap –

Living love is the only way to heal.

 

The tribute we must pay is simple.

Not toiling in shadows --

Not bent over screens --

Not nursing grudges --

 

Embracing each other in sunlight –

mining laughter

diligently, these simple ideas sing –

 

The dead whisper to us in sighs of the trees –

Only love powers healing.

Fall in love with life, with each other, and be free.

 

 

College Man

Momentous day yesterday. It was a long time coming, and took hours and hours of work to get it all put together, but finally....

Michael is registered for college! YAY! He couldn't go to the full semester of classes because we were late getting all his registration stuff turned in. He was very ambivalent about college until just recently. Once he realized so many of his friends were headed off to college, it made the idea more attractive to him.

Michael finally went over to Georgia Perimeter College and got registered for the Fall half-semester. Most of the classes were full, so he had little choice in what to take, but he got Public Speaking and Art Appreciation. He's not thrilled about the art class but I told him it's basically looking at History and Culture as expressed in art -- I went online and read the course catalog description. Plus there will likely be a lot of girls in there. He calmed down considerably after I said that. He will be in class on Mondays and Wednesdays from 10 - 3:45. Each class is 2 hours and 45 minutes. Both classes are at the Dunwoody campus, which is really nice. It's only about 20 minutes from the house.

 

I also saw that his Art professor is a Georgia State professor. The two schools have merged. So I am hopeful that he can just transition right into Georgia State when he finishes his basic classes. He can take MARTA down to the Georgia State campus.

 

He is majoring in Psychology, at the moment. We were hoping he could go ahead and take Psych 101 but it was full. Maybe next semester. I told him that's not set in stone. He can change his mind while he's taking his basic required classes.

 

However, I am fine if he sticks with Psychology. He would make a fine school counselor, for example.

 

He starts October 12 and finishes up November 24th.

 

This "half semester" deal is strange but I am just glad he can go, get his feet wet, get an understanding of what college is like.

 

He has gone over to the Kennesaw State stadium at the moment for a job interview. I am hoping he gets it. It's for event staff at events like symphony concerts and college soccer games. He's already used to doing crowd control because he's a lifeguard, and the CPR certification is an asset, I'm sure. I just pray, always, that they don't look at him and see only his disability, that they see HIM...

 

Twenty Questions With Dan Roper

I became of aware of Dan Roper the first time I saw an issue of the magazine he publishes, Georgia Backroads. My mother’s cousin Frank sent us a gift subscription. The magazine focuses on little-known stories in Georgia history. For a history buff like myself, it’s always a pleasure to read the latest issue.  The photos are always compelling too; sort of like time travel.

Frank knew that I had researched my grandfather Bob Hasty’s major league baseball career and written a screenplay based on the story of the scandal that ended it. He urged me to write a story for the magazine. I pitched the idea to Dan via an email a couple of years ago, and Dan agreed it was a fascinating story.

Then I chickened out and didn’t write it.

I finally realized that I could tell the story in a way that honors my grandfather and clears up some old misconceptions, and I think I’ve accomplished that now.

Dan was a big help in editing my article down to the essential elements. Sometimes when I write about subjects very close to my heart it’s hard to retain any objectivity and that’s where a great editor is really valuable.

So where can you buy Georgia Backroads? As a general rule, the magazine can be found at Barnes & Noble, Publix, Food Lion, Wal-Mart, and some CVS stores. I called my local CVS today and they have in copies of the magazine. [You can see more here about the Autumn 2015 issue, and my article, Season of Ashes.]

Dan used to be an attorney and now he gets to edit and write a magazine, and so I knew he would be a great guy to interview here. He is a historian as well as a writer and editor. “He was awarded the Magazine Association of Georgia’s Best Series award for his “Vanishing Georgia” articles and the United Daughters of the Confederacy’s Jefferson Davis Medal. He is a past director of the Rome History Museum.”  [Northwest Georgia News]

What is your full name?  Daniel Mack Roper

Where would you live, if you could live anywhere in the world?  I was born and raised in Miami, Florida, and from my earliest memories wanted to live in Georgia.  So this is the place for me.

What is your favorite movie and why?  I have lots of favorite movies. A few that come to mind:  “Mister Roberts,” “Doctor Zhivago,” “Nothing but the Truth,” the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, and the modern “Sherlock Holmes” movies.

What was your least-favorite subject in school when you were a kid?  Either physics or that part of English that concentrated on diagramming sentences.

What was your nickname when you were a kid?  I didn’t have a nickname as a child, but I’ve had a lot in college and afterwards.

Do you believe in God? Yes.  “Now unto Him that is able to keep us from falling and to present us faultless before His throne with exceeding glory; to the only wise God our Savior, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, now and ever.  Amen.”  Jude 25.

What sound or noise do you love?  The call of owls is the first thing that comes to mind.  In this part of Georgia, that mainly means barred owls and screech owls.

If you could do anything other than what you do, as a profession, what would it be?  This is my first and only choice.  

If heaven exists, what do you think it is like?  The best thing I can think of is that heaven (as described in the Book of Revelation) will be a new earth, free of sin, corruption, pollution, decay and pain.  That sounds pretty good to me!  And if it’s better than that, Wow!

Do you have siblings? Yes.  Four sisters and a brother.

What is your favorite memory of childhood [something specific]? Loving to read.

If you had to choose between one week traveling around the USA by car, or one week traveling around Europe on a train, which would you choose and why?  USA by car.  Knowing a place – its flora, fauna, people and history – adds a lot to my experience in traveling.  I get more out of visiting a new place tucked in an area that I know that I do in visiting a place that is totally unfamiliar.

What inspires you?  Creation, music, writing, poetry.

Which holiday do you prefer, Christmas or July 4th?  I like both equally.  Thanksgiving is my favorite, though.

What project or idea are you most passionate about, right now?  I’m always working on stories; usually, the story I’m working on gets all my attention.

Do you know how to cook? A few things.

What is your favorite thing to cook/eat?  When backpacking, almost anything and everything tastes good; so water and something simple like Spanish rice or my wife’s homemade bread and honey become the finest fare imaginable. 

If you could go on vacation anywhere in the world, for 2-4 weeks, all expenses paid, where would you go and why?  I’d either choose the concentration camps of Poland and Germany [please see comments below for correction] plus Normandy or the islands of Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima in the Pacific.  World War II history has been an interest when I was young, and much of my reading (and some of my writing) has involved these places.  As for the concentration camps, that’s the saddest, most compelling chapter of human history that I’m familiar with.

Who do you love the most in the world?  My wife and children.

What question has nobody ever asked you, but you wanted to answer?  In teaching through the years, I’ve often told classes that I had two regrets in life.  The first, I tell them, is that I didn’t thru-hike the Appalachian Trail when I was in college and had the time.  Nobody followed up and asked me what the second regret was, so I’ve never told anybody (except my family).  The second regret is that I didn’t become a Christian until late in my college years.