An extensive new research study has found that unhappy people watch more TV while those consider themselves happy spend more time reading and socializing.
If that's true, I must be the happiest girl in the whole U.S.A.
We got winners, we got losers Chain smokers and boozers And we got yuppies, we got bikers We got thirsty hitchhikers And the girls next door dress up like movie stars
Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar
We got cowboys, we got truckers Broken-hearted fools and suckers And we got hustlers, we got fighters Early birds and all-nighters And the veterans talk about their battle scars
Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar
[Chorus:] I love this bar It's my kind of place Just walkin' through the front door Puts a big smile on my face It ain't too far, come as you are Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar
I've seen short skirts, we got high-techs Blue-collar boys and rednecks And we got lovers, lots of lookers And I've even seen dancing girls and hookers And we like to drink our beer from a mason jar
Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar Yes I do
I like my truck (I like my truck) I like my girlfriend (I like my girlfriend) I like to take her out to dinner I like a movie now and then
But I love this bar It's my kind of place Just trollin' around the dance floor Puts a big smile on my face No cover charge, come as you are Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar
We got divorcees and a big bouncer man An old jukebox and a real bad band We got waitresses and we got barflies A dumb-ass and a wise-guy If you get too drunk just sleep out in your car
Reason number 672 why
Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar Play it on out boys Beer-thirty's over Got to take it on home
Hmm, hmm, hmm I love this bar I just love it
I've known and loved a joint or two like that. (Yeah. I have my classy moments.) _____
Have YOU read every blog? (Holy cats, did he put me in some fine company!) _____
1. Publicly admit the Coast Guard team is a formidable competitor (trackback to this post for proof) 2. Watch The Guardian (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0406816/) 3. Have 4 new donations to your team today (use links below), and encourage donations to the Coast Guard team for the rest of the day today.
Dudes, if I had a television and VCR/DVD player, I would. Is it okay if I just watched the clips on IMDB?
Here's my very own challenge! For the first four of my readers who donate $25 or more and join Team Coastie today, I will match each one with $25 of my very own. C'mon! How often can you double the value of your own donation?
Update: My colleague Andrew made a deal -- he donated to Valor-IT, and I matched him here as well at Valor-IT! One down, three to go. (C'mon. Make me spend more money!)
Out of the blue today I got a text message from an old friend who I haven't heard from in at least a couple of years.
This is a girlfriend who I traveled with extensively when we were both showing cats.
Who remained my friend after we both stopped showing.
Whose company I cherished.
Who loved my mom (who always said Cheryl was her favorite of all my friends).
Who I helped move from Gray's Lake, IL to Miami, FL with an ancient and arthritic chocolate Labrador Retriever and a stone deaf blue-eyed white American Shorthair cat -- in the middle of August.
Yeah. That kind of great girlfriend.
Time, distance, a lost cell phone (mine), a couple of moves (hers) and pure laziness on both our parts have found us out of communication... but not out of each other's hearts.
Tonight I have to tell her about this. And this. Geeze! I'm not looking forward to this, even if I am delighted that the doors of communication are back open. Wish me luck. And a BIG box of Kleenex.
I dare ya not to have a tear in your eye and a spirit of generosity in your heart by the time you're done.... And do like Chuck says -- sit on your hands through the whole thing.
It was shocking to learn, “Treasury Secretary Henry M. Paulson Jr. had to gather the chief executives of the nine biggest American banks and cajole them into accepting about $25 billion each in new capital. But having pleaded with the banks to take the money, and putting no government officials on bank boards, the government had little power to tell them how to spend it. Treasury officials also refused to tell banks to reduce their dividends or to increase their lending by any specific amounts.”
I find it incredible that this is happening and no one is calling foul.
Where are all the hotshots who supported Paulson in his psyching us all out by conveying that if we did not follow his plan, we would find ourselves in another Great Depression?
Why aren’t they at the very least denouncing what is now happening? We are keeping alive, in addition to banks, other institutions that have done a terrible job and were greedy.
And...
Everyone is lining up to get their federal handout.
AIG has come back for more and is to receive a total of $150 billion. The three American car companies, General Motors, Chrysler and Ford, have received $25 billion and want another $25 billion of taxpayers’ money.
Why not let them be bought by others in bankruptcy? There are those who say we are bailing out companies in order to prevent massive layoffs. In my view, those layoffs will come sooner or later anyhow because those companies are run by incompetents and no longer able to compete, while foreign companies like Toyota, manufacturing their cars in the U.S., are selling them and not seeking to be bailed out.
It's that time of year again -- Soldiers' Angels need your help in order to be able to provide laptops with voice-control software, Wii game systems and personal GPS devices to disabled military personnel.
My BlogDaddy calls my reaction to the news of the potential siezure of IRAs and 401ks "hysteria," but then he handed me back the reasons for exactly why it's not:
“From where I sit that’s just crazy,” said John Belluardo, president of Stewardship Financial Services Inc. in Tarrytown, New York. “A lot of people contribute to their 401(k)s because of the match of the employer,” he said. Belluardo’s firm does not manage assets directly.
Higher-income employers provide matching funds to employee plans so that they can qualify for tax benefits for their own defined-contribution plans, he said.
“If the tax deferral goes away, the employers have no reason to do the matches, which primarily help people in the lower income brackets,” Belluardo said.
I don't know about you, but my employer matches a whole hell of a lot more than $600 a year, and I certainly don't want to lose that. Neither should you. However...
Under Ghilarducci’s plan, all workers would receive a $600 annual inflation-adjusted subsidy from the U.S. government but would be required to invest 5 percent of their pay into a guaranteed retirement account administered by the Social Security Administration. The money in turn would be invested in special government bonds that would pay 3 percent a year, adjusted for inflation.
In addition, my current contribution to my 401k is strictly voluntary. I certainly don't want the government telling me I have to contribute 5% of my salary to a fund run by those most altruistic folks in DC to manage for my future. Oh, wait. We are already required to fork over a large chunk of our income every year to Social Security... and we all know how well that seems to be working.
$80 BILLION of our own money they're trying to take away, boys and girls. Wrap your head around that one for a while. And remember that it's people in the lower income brackets that'll be hurt the most.
Make this an opt-in program for those folks who don't want to be responsible for their own futures, and I've got no problem with this. But for those of us who choose to steer our own destinies, no thanks. _____
And since I haven't done a Blogthing in a while:
What Your Home Says About You
You come across as very intellectual. People take your wisdom seriously.
Your hygiene is passable, but you may be hiding some dirty secrets.
You are a very domestic person. You enjoy decorating, cooking, and making things homey.
You are not a very nurturing person. You have enough trouble taking care of yourself.
You feel settled in your life. You have enough time to focus on little details.
You are not a very self sufficient person. You depend on others more than you realize.
Your friends see you as accommodating, peaceful, and forgiving.
(I'm thinkin' we might want to be gifting him with a bukkit of his own next time the BlownStar Blodgers get together. We can fill it with Shiner Bock, even.) _____
Much as I love my Boys in Blog, I'm thinking I just may have to attend BlogHer 2009, as I missed the last one held in my own back yard.
Since I won't want to miss a minute of the action, I'm thinking of booking a room. Anyone interested in sharing? _____
I have only one response to this, and that is this. 'Nuff said. _____
For all you guys who ever needed an excuse, memorize this phrase: "alternating intermittent exotropia." (I'm pretty sure that this guy coined that handy medical term.) _____
One more thing you'll have to worry about if you're driving in or around Chicago any time during the next four years:
I don't care what your political affiliation, this is just sour grapes and crappy politics. At a time when the Republican party should be facing the fact that they have serious work to do to regain credibility with their base, there is no place for this junior high back-biting. It does nothing to help their image.
Mr. McCain, it's time to put a halt to this. It's those ribs that should be barbequed; not your former running mate. _____
P.S. -- This is disingenuous and self-serving, but it doesn't work because she smirks her way through the entire interview. Can you say "bitter bitch"?
I've been working on a novel on and off for a couple of years. Either I need to finish the sucker or quit. I need a really big kick in the butt, so here's your chance. Give it up, or keep on going?
Set in the world of cat shows, a mystery, and here I am plopping you right in the middle of the whole darned thing (right in the middle of the 1990's cat show world):
“Oh, Dahling, I had no idea you were this forceful,” Tish murmured in my ear. “Quite luvely, actually. Dottie gave me no clue.”
“Oh, Darling, before you arrived today I had no idea you were a man, much less gay, actually,” I simpered back insincerely.
Tish’s head whipped up, he regarded me solemnly for a moment, and then a big grin split his face and I got a glimpse of a gold tooth. “Oh, Sweetheart, Dottie likes you, but does she really know just what you’re made of?”
“Hell, Tish, I don’t know what I’m made of, but I think we’re going to find out together. How does that suit you?”
“Like my favorite Calvin Klein jeans,” he replied.
The last four words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album. If you want to do this again, hit refresh to generate new quotes, because clicking the quotes link again will just give you the same quotes over and over again.
3. Go to Flickr's 'explore the last seven days.' Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover. Put it all together, that's your debut album.
There ya go!
Update:
My bloggity buddy Moonbeam McQueen upped the ante and added two new steps to the meme:
4. Go to Blogger. Click on “Blogs of Note.” Then, click on “Next Blog.” The title of the first English language blog you see is the title of your album’s upcoming, chart busting, #1 (with a bullet) hit song.
One more note -- If you've got strong feelings about this election and you haven't voted yet, get your behind to the polls tomorrow, no matter who your candidate is. And no whinging when the results come in, either -- especially if you didn't vote.
If you live in or near Des Plaines, you know that The Choo Choo is a tradition in town. Seems our wonderful mayor has designs on that particular piece of real estate, and wants tear the building down.
Stop by here and give him a piece of your mind, will ya? Even better, stop by and have a bite to eat. You'll be glad you did! _____
I'm thinking Joanie and Nancy and I should give those guys a run for their money. We could call ourselves the Hell's Belles or some such blather. _____
I've always been better at remembering faces than names. This test confirms it! I got a 100% Recognition Score and a 79% Temporal Memory score (which would probably have been higher if I'd know from the get-go that's what was being measured).
For those of us singletons who'll never bake a cake because we're afraid we'd eat the entire thing, this is just the coolest:
5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE
1 Coffee Mug 4 tablespoons flour (that's plain flour, not self-rising) 4 tablespoons sugar 2 tablespoons baking cocoa 1 egg 3 tablespoons milk 3 tablespoons oil 3 tablespoons chocolate chips(optional) a small splash of vanilla essence
Spray PAM in mug.
In a separate bowl, mix dry ingredients well.
Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla essence, and mix again.
Pour mixture into mug.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts. The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.
EAT! (This can serve 2)
And why is this is the most dangerous cake recipe in the world? Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!
An argument my brother will raise the next time Sainted SIL complains... _____
These are graduate students? I'd expect this from teenagers, but not from grad students. Kellogg is a prestigious school, and I'm sure they're livid about this. _____
Shot hot tea right out my nose when I read this. _____
For all those folks who've picked on Blogger... mu.nu is down again, and Blogger's like a Timex that takes a lickin' and keeps on ticken'.
It must be one of those technowhiz v. technotard (like moi) things. I'd rather use something that is relatively simple and works like a champ than something I had to fiddle with constantly.
Tom Dart has become Chicago's very own Michael Knight. Why? Because one man can (and did) make a difference.
How cool is that? _____
In one very odd harmonic convergence, the last three books I've read (one romance, one murder mystery and, currently, a thriller) have mentioned, if not featured, this group. How weird is that? _____
Giggle of the Day:
see more puppies _____ This place is aptly named... on more than one level! (Can you read the whole thing without laughing? I couldn't.)
We started early Saturday afternoon over a leisurely lunch in the beer garden (where else?) at Jimmy's Restaurant, which is spitting distance from the Depot d'Omnibus. Located right next to another garden spot, Nancy and 'Pup felt right at home.
Next stop? The Baha'i Temple in Wilmette, IL. It's an incredibly lovely building that closely resembles white marble lace. It's beautiful architecture and impeccably-kept grounds make it a "must" for any visit to the Chicago area.
Then we were off to the Chicago Botanic Garden via the Lake Michigan Circle Tour route. Given the late afternoon timing and consideration to 'Pup's arthritis and Nancy's gacked-out knees, we took a tram tour around the gardens to give them an idea of the many different gardens offered and the sheer size of the place. (See pics below.)
Finally, we stashed the rental car in a parking garage and flagged down a taxi to haul us to Rosebud on Rush for an al fresco dinner. After a ton of good pasta, we flagged down another taxi and headed down to Howl at the Moon for a little dueling piano action. Aside from one inconsiderate idiot, the evening was entirely entertaining. (In fact, I'd like to give a shout-out to those Purdue and Ohio State fans who turned bribing the piano player into a highly lucrative blood sport. $200 for one song? Dudes! I'm in awe.)
Anyhow, we're older than we once were, so we eventually headed off to our respective night-nights... with a promise to meet again yesterday and do it all over again. More tomorrow!
This, courtesy of my buddy Sascha, manager of this fine Potbelly establishment. Hearing it playing on the radio when I swung by for my favorite breakfast sandwich was a reminder that the Princess Mom used to call my buddy Hank McAndless "Hanky Panky" with great glee.
Memories of a tall, blonde, mustachioed hottie and of a gleeful Princess Mom = One Very Good Day. _____
One of the things Nancy and I chatted about during her visit here is the possibility of reviving Christina's old 1,000 word story challenges. Rosie has apparently also expressed interest. Since I'm not quite up to a Blog Novella, yet, the idea of 1,000 words based on a trigger sentence or two has a lot of appeal.
Sharpen your pencils, boys and girls. We'll be getting back to you with the details soon. _____
I'm in a bit of a pissy mood because I can't go to Helen this year, so I decided to play some Calvin Ball:
Your result for How good of a Calvinball player are you?...
Your Grade= A+ Good knowledge and excellent strategy!
63% Game_Knowledge and 89% Game_Skill!
Amazing. You are part of the 4.3% of the population that landed in this category.* You know the game and its history well, and you did amazingly well when it came to playing Calvinball strategically.
This suggests that you probably have a natural talent in Calvinball. You have learned that the trick to doing well in Calvinball is not brute strength, but quick wit. With your natural ability you could go far.
You are definitely already talented enough to beat Calvin. A match versus the quick-witted tiger would be close. I'm going to give you the edge, but his superior knowledge of the game might propel him to victory.
And then I got a text message from this Texas pal o'mine. Seem she and her dear hubby are in Chicago for a high school reunion, and I get to take them out on the town tomorrow evening.
If I can't have my Blown-Eyed Blodgers, I'll take a couple of the Blown Star variety!
(I just hope my pals in Helen remember to tip a gallon or two of the Chatham Artillery Battery Acid and Built-In Hangover in my honor.... A real hardship, I know.) _____
Your result for The Supervillain Archetype Test...
The Professional
Cool, Levelheaded, Lethal
The Professional is the most dangerous of all villains. You do what you do better than anyone, because, as a Professional, you have standards.
The Professional is like the Crook in that they both desire money. But the Professional wants more than that. The Professional wants job satisfaction. It isn't sadism really, he just wants to be sure that the job is done, and done well. No hard feelings, it's just business. Professionals prefer to work alone, but will work in groups if given incentive.
The greatest weakness of a Professional is risk. A Professional is business-like, but can't resist a challenge. They often use the word "worthy opponent". People like that are easily baited. And if a Professional is eventually cornered (not easy to do), they might lose it.
Want to know who to blame for the Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac debacle? Just ask LawDog.
Frightening. _____
The Advice Goddess is on a tear about assholes who are clearly not disabled abusing disabled parking.
There's a guy who does just that every day right next to my train station. Tomorrow I get out the camera phone and take a movie of him parking and sauntering off. Then I'm calling the cop shop, which is right across the street. And I'll have the photographic evidence to back up my allegations. I've had it with this jerk.
(And, yes -- the fact that the Princess Mom couldn't go out unless she was in a wheelchair these last couple of months did bring home clearly how necessary those spaces are!) _____
Got a lot of unused vacation time? Read this, and you might want to rethink banking all that time. I've got 129+ hours banked, and I'm going to be making a BIG dent in that real, real soon. _____
Finally, I don't get paid to endorse products. I only do it when I find something that really blows my skirt up. This game, recommended by the Venomous One, was a HUGE hit with TMPAE on the occasion of her third birthday. Even my brother got in on the fun.
BARACK OBAMA:The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!
JOHN MC CAIN: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road... ZZZZZzzzzzzzzz
SARAH PALIN: BECAUSE, PRAISE JESUS, I WAS GONNA SHOOT HIS SORRY LIBERAL ASS OFF FOR BLOCKING MY VIEW OF RUSSIA!
HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.
GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?
COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.
BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of crossing?
AL GORE: I invented the chicken.
JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.
DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.
OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmers Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.
DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.
JERRY FALWELL: Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth? That's why they call it the other side. Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay, too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like the other side. That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.
GRANDPA: In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart warming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.
ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never crash.
ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one? _____
And since Jihadgene is holding his usual Friday "Let's Dance!" party, I'll see him a Chubby Checker and raise him a Laura Petrie:
... have I been for the last couple of days? Rejoining the living.
Night before last, I hit one of my favorite late night watering holes and met this reporter from Amsterdam who looks a lot like this guy, but with better hair and accent. Yes, I stayed out WAY too late. And, no, I didn't pinch myself. If that was a dream, I still don't want to wake up.
Anyhow...
Last night I spent texting back and forth with this Cubs baseball fanatic, trying to keep him from committing hari kari over last night's game. Geeze.
This is the eulogy I gave yesterday for the Princess Mom. They are the most difficult words I have ever spoken:
Today, Chico’s stores and resale shops across the country are draped in black, mourning the loss of their best and most loyal customer. The rest of us are here to celebrate the life of Barbara Morlock.
Many people have made the mistake of taking my mother for an uptight Boston matron. Aside from the accent, nothing could be farther from the truth.
Oh, the trappings were there. From her training at Kathleen Dell Secretarial School, Mom learned the importance of a well-turned-out appearance. Dresses were tailored. Shoes matched handbag, handbag matched wallet, and wallet matched belt. Even her blue jeans, which she didn’t start wearing until well into her forties, were dry cleaned and always showed a sharply pressed crease.
It was formidable armor. If you were lucky, as many of those of us here today were, then you got to see the charming, complex, fiercely loyal, generous and loving heart beneath.
You might also get to see her go to a Halloween party dressed as the Maidenform woman, or see her teach a group of giggling teenage girls to do the twist by employing a dish towel and a good deal of hip action. If you were – ahem – lucky enough to get in the car with her behind the wheel, you’d be treated to a hair-raising experience of driving slow in the fast lane, highly inventive use of invective and frequent employment of the single digit salute. If you happened to play golf or bridge or Scrabble with her, you quickly found she was a lousy loser and an even worse winner.
Born in Belmont, Massachusetts, Mom grew up with a talented, demanding and sharp-tongued mother and an incorrigible scamp of a father. Both were stamped firmly on her character.
From her mother, Mom learned how to stretch a dollar until it squeaked in protest, exquisite taste in dress and decorating style on a budget, and how to run a household like a drill sergeant. She did not, however, learn her cooking skills from Nana, who didn’t have the patience to share her kitchen with anyone. That came later.
From my grandfather, Mom learned many pithy sayings, most of which are politically incorrect and/or not repeatable in church, and that sometimes you just need to cut loose and have fun.
She met my father, who had been two years ahead of her at Belmont High School, when he was home on leave from the Army Air Corps. He had previously dated her younger sister Edith (who obviously didn’t share my mother’s good taste and common sense), and was a great favorite of my grandmother’s. It was a love match from the start, and they exchanged letter after humor-filled letter while he was in the service.
When Dad got out of the service, he proposed to Mom, and, even though he had no full time job and was attending Northeastern University through the GI Bill, Mom accepted.
They made a deal that Mom would help support Dad while he was in University, and that she would become a housewife and mother as soon as he graduated and got a full-time job. It was, I think, one of the happiest times of their lives. Daddy worked part time as a short order cook and studied hard, and Mom worked in a wool broker’s office as a secretary. Mom bought herself a Betty Crocker cookbook and experimented on my father nightly with ever increasing success. They had a tiny little apartment that was a place of pride, and a big old beater of a car that wouldn’t start unless you got it rolling downhill first. Dad pushed and Mom drove. That would be the pattern of their many years together.
Daddy’s work as a chemical engineer took them from Boston to Cleveland to Chicago. For someone born and bred in New England, and New Englanders are notoriously resistant to change, Mom pulled up roots and set down new ones again with remarkable resilience. At the center of each new move was locating a church home and new friends. Always friends.
When Dad moved from his job as Director of Research at U.S. Steel’s lab in Cleveland to a consulting position at Commercial Testing & Engineering, a sea change in our home life occurred. At U.S. Steel, Dad had been home for dinner every night. At CT&E, he frequently traveled five days a week, and Mom became captain of the home ship.
Five day a week she was a single mother, and on weekends a devoted wife. They taught us at an early age that it was just as important for Mom and Dad to take their own vacations every once in a while as it was to go on family vacations. Life together wasn’t always perfect, and yes, they sometimes fought.
It couldn’t have been easy for Mom to be stuck at home with three small and demanding children, and sometimes Dad was too tired to hear about home woes. Mom’s method of getting his attention was to write him a letter setting out her arguments, placing it on his pillow and then taking herself out to the movies, usually with an emphatic slam of the front door. She told me years down the road that she and Daddy never discussed those letters, but his behavior always changed to show that he’d paid attention. After he died, she found every single one of those letters tucked in the back of his armoire.
Married almost 40 years to the man she’s always called the love of her life, she taught us that marriage isn’t always perfect, but if you value it, you work at it.
While she wasn’t a huggy, kissy mother, she was an involved mother – room mother, den mother, picture lady, she also helped start up and run our elementary school’s library. She was cheerleader for choir concerts, band concerts and school theatrical productions. Her extraordinary organization skills were utilized as a wedding coordinator for her children – five times over. She was a shoulder to cry on when we hurt and was a Paladin when she felt we’d been wronged. She was a Samurai with a wooden spoon when we misbehaved. Drill sergeant. Ace nurse. The ballast that held the family boat not only afloat, but sailing steadily through life’s rough waters.
My mother was a person of great personal faith, which she demonstrated through action all her life. She never preached; she just did.
At church, Mom was a tireless worker behind the scenes. She taught Sunday school and vacation bible school. She supported bake sales and plant sales and any type of fundraisers. At every church we attended, she found and joined a ladies’ Circle – and was usually selected to lead devotions. She became a Sacristan, preparing endless bits of bread and tiny plastic cups full of Welch’s purple grape juice for communion at more than one church. She and Daddy were generous donors – their gifts to the various churches they attended included hand bells, computer systems and a baby grand piano.
Mom and Dad also quietly provided financial assistance to family and friends in need. I have a number of cousins who can thank both my parents for tuition assistance for their college educations, something Mom continued long after Daddy’s death.
In the greater community, Mom was also an active worker. Ironically, when I was in high school, she volunteered to drive cancer patients for treatment. She put in many, many hours with the Weed Ladies here in Naperville, and she and Dad were strong supporters of the Naperville Heritage Society. Never one to be afraid to get her hands dirty, she and Dad also donated their time and talents to a local homeless shelter.
Mom was invited to join and became an active member of the newly formed Chaplaincy committee at Edwards Hospital in Naperville, helping to train and gain accreditation for the program. It was a service of which she was extremely proud. Additionally, she and other women from her church took over organizing and running the clothing center at the Salvation Army center in Chicago, and did so for many years. Directly as a result of her work, many needy families received clean new clothing and new hope.
Another source of great satisfaction for Mom was joining PEO, which supports higher education for women by providing college scholarships. (And it was a great source of disappointment for her that neither my sister nor I would agree to attend Cottey College, PEO’s greatest philanthropic effort.) She served many positions in PEO, most frequently as chaplain. Though Daddy frequently teased her that her white PEO ceremonial robes were truthfully KKK robes, he understood and supported the fulfillment she got from her PEO sisterhood.
My family home has, thanks to Mom, always been a place filled with friends. Far from her early Betty Crocker bumblings, Mom became an outstanding cook and hostess. In fact, rather than entertaining business clients and colleagues in restaurants, Daddy much preferred to entertain at home. He’d outline elaborate menus and Mom would produce bountiful spreads of fabulous food. When we moved to Naperville, they joined a gourmet group, and Mom’s skills increased anew. If you’ve ever had a place at her table, you’ll agree that Mom was a culinary genius and made being a hostess look effortless.
New Year’s Eve usually found our house filled with neighbors and friends, groaning boards of food and a bar full of generous cocktails. Keith, Heidi and I would sit at the top of the stairs and listen to the happy hum of congenial conversations and occasional raucous laughter. The nights almost always concluded with friend Marcia Cortese banging out “Onward Christian Soldiers” in march time on the upright piano in the living room, with all the guests singing lustily out of tune, Mom’s voice the loudest and most off-key of all.
New Year’s morning would find all the revelers back in our kitchen in pajamas, robes and slippers scarfing up the leftovers from the night before and slurping mimosas and Bloody Marys, rehashing the fun of the night before and extending the party until well past noon.
Not only was the house filled with Mom and Dad’s friends, it was filled with their children’s friends, as well. Mom provided a listening board and source of good advice to many, and always kept their confidences. She provided homemade goodies and homespun wisdom in equal measure. It is a source of pride to my brother, sister and me that our home was the desirable place for friends to congregate and our mom was the cool mom every kid in the neighborhood admired and trusted.
Mom and Dad provided a safe to land when we needed it. At one time or another, Keith, Heidi and I, and later Keith’s son Chris, moved home to regain our feet, financially and emotionally. She’d fill us up with good food and loads of encouragement, then she’d give us a gentle shove out the door when she felt we were ready to test our wings again. We all tested her patience, but never her faith in us. We might stumble, but she was always there with a steady hand to help us up again.
When Daddy retired, Mom made it know that she’d gotten along very well over the years with her own friends and interests, and that Daddy had better make a few friends and get a few interests of his own. Unbeknownst to Dad, she marshaled one of his friends into getting Dad into Kiwanis and out of her hair on a regular basis. It was, I think, the making of their wonderful, though too short, retirement years together.
In Florida, Mom and Dad indulged their shared passion of golf, and joined the Palm Aire Country Club, where they made many new friends. Again, they found a new church where both were active, and more new friends.
It could have been a crushing blow for Mom when Dad was diagnosed with leukemia, but Mom shouldered the burden and stood by Daddy as his rock. She never wavered in her love and devotion to him, and their generosity to others came back a hundred-fold in the support they received from family, friends and church.
After his death, she plunged right back into life, socializing, doing good works and taking care of others. She took joy where she could find it.
She also pursued the love of travel and friendships she’d developed from the business trips Dad had taken her on over the years. She overcame her fear of sailing and became an inveterate cruise enthusiast. Over the years, Mom traveled across the country, through Europe, Mexico and the Caribbean, making friends easily everywhere she went.
Then cancer came a-calling upon our family again, and it was a scary, scary time. After it was discovered that her lung cancer was inoperable, Mom said she didn’t want any more treatment. Doctors said she had six months to a year at most to live. When she recovered from the surgery here in Illinois, she went back down to Florida and, remarkably, found an oncologist who talked her into chemo and radiation therapy. Our scrappy mom was once again in full fighting fettle, and beat cancer she did for over five years.
And surrounded by family she was, when cancer made its final call. These past few months have not been easy, but not one of her children would take a moment of it back. As she slipped in and out of reality, you’d occasionally still see flashes of her great spirit.
As she and I were chatting one day recently, she asked me what I thought would happen after she died. I said, “I don’t know, Mom. What do you think will happen?”
She said, “I don’t know, but I hope I get to meet my Lord. It’s my dearest wish.”
I said, “I think you’ve got that one pretty well sewn up, and I think you’ll find a lot of people you miss waiting for you there.”
Cancer is a terrible disease, and, while you hope for the best, sometimes you know that best that you want is simply not possible. I recently read a passage in Debbie Macomber’s book, Someday Soon, that touched a deep chord:
“With faith the size of an avocado pit, I expected God to heal Michael. He did, of course, but not in the way I anticipated. Michael’s free of illness now. It took me a long time to understand that.”
I found great comfort in that sentiment, and I do believe that Mom is now healed, whole and with her Lord and Savior… and with all the other good souls, including my father, who have gone before her.
Finally, if you knew my mother, you knew of her deep and abiding love of music of all kinds. In another of our recent chats, I asked Mom what her favorite song was, and I think it’s appropriate to say farewell to her with some of its words. The song is a tune from the 1930’s called “Auf Wiedersehen, My Dear”:
I know my heart won’t beat again
Until the day we meet again.
Sweetheart, goodbye, auf wiedersehen.
Auf wiedersehen, my dear.
