Well, for reasons I’m not totally clear on myself, I got the urge to go out and check on some of the bargains in yesterday’s paper. So about noon today, I saddled up the Element and headed out. That was a stupid idea.

I stopped at Staples and picked up a digital frame and that went easily enough. The store was busy but not full. Once I finished there, I went to PetSmart. Again, not too bad. Busy and more crowded than Staples, but not packed. Still, I was feeling a little faint. Normally, I don’t go out in big crowds or traffic alone. Budge almost always goes with me and as long as she’s with me, I do fine . . . sort of.

This would be a good time to tell y’all that I suffer from recurring panic attacks and some pretty nasty claustrophobia, to the point that even crowds can trigger an attack. Right now, I was doing okay. I was looking for a new tank for Comet, our five year old painted turtle. Unfortunately, my mind started getting a little “spinny” so I figured it’d be a bad idea to try getting what I needed right then because I’d ended up spending too much. So I headed for the next stop . . . Best Buy.

Now THAT was a real genius move for a claustrophobic panic attack sufferer. I finally found a parking place after a white knuckle drive of one hundred yards. Walking into the store was like wading through a river. The temperature inside had to be over 90 degrees. Budge wanted a new pen drive so I steeled myself and swam back to computers. I couldn’t go three steps without bumping into someone. I felt like a pinball.

Well, I found the pen drive she wanted and tried to find me a case for my iPod and a few DVDs that Budge mentioned wanting for Christmas. I couldn’t. Too many people. Thought my heart would beat out of my chest. Yep. Full blown panic attack city.

I sucked it up and went to the checkout line. That’s where I almost gave up and fled. Everyone was bellybutton to behind for three laps around the checkout stands. I felt nauseated, lightheaded, and really clammy, but I kept on. It was the longest fifteen minutes of the day. The most excruciating part was the final turn where I was backed into a corner, no air, and no windows. Again, I almost broke and ran, but I finally got through and hustled out to the Element.

I’ve never been so happy to get home in my life. I fixed a bowl of soup tonight rather than go out into traffic again. Budge will be home tomorrow evening and we may go get some shopping done. Until then, no way am I venturing out. I’m going to do my shopping online!

Well, it’s about time for me to turn in. Budge just called from my brother-in-law’s house where she helped put our brand new nephew (born Monday) to bed. I’ve been batching it for the last two days, which is a scary thought, but someone has to take care of the fuzzy babies.

In any event, I wanted to take the time to give thanks to everyone who reads B,B,&GSF . . . all 3 of you 🙂

I’m also thankful for the usual things that too many of us take for granted like family, friends, and freedom. It’s good to be a librarian in this country. I’m thankful for Budge, Mama, my brothers, and the rest of my family. I ate Thanksgiving dinner with Mama and Pa tonight and the crowd around the table has thinned considerably over the last few years, but I’m thankful for the presence of those who I still have with me and I’m thankful for the legacy and love of those who have begun their journey to the great unknown. This old life of mine has endured its share of ups and downs, but taken as a whole . . . well, as the movie says, it’s a wonderful life (not that I’ve had another life to compare it to, but hey.)

So now I and the fuzzies will head off to bed, probably to awaken early enough to ride out and see the insanity at the local shopping centers. I just go for the fun of watching. No sale is good enough for me to brave those hardcore shoppers who have camped out all night. One thing I missed about Budge not being home with me today was we didn’t get to ride by the nearest Best Buy and look at all the fools, um, hardy shoppers camping out in the cold to get one of the two cheap computers on sale 🙂

In any event, the holiday season is upon us and here’s wishing each and every one of you a happy holiday season, whatever holiday you may celebrate. Love y’all, and remember . . . wash your feet :)!

True story from today.

Okay, so I’ve never had an author visit my school, either as a librarian or as a teacher. Now two years ago, we had Mrs. Marion Blumenthal Lazan, a renowned Holocaust survivor, visit the school and speak to our parents and our students, but even though she did publish her memoir, Four Perfect Pebbles, with the assistance of author Lila Perl, Mrs. Lazan does not consider herself an author. She is a repository of memory and, incidentally, one of the most precious ladies I have ever met, but I digress, as usual.

As I said, never had a bona fide author come to a school where I taught or librarianed. I figured I would attempt to change that this year and so I cast about for who to invite, or rather try to invite. Well, my wife is a huge Twilight fan, my principal is a Twilight mom, and well over half the girls in my school are little rabid Twilight groupies. [Just to throw in a little factoid here, I am relatively certain I could stock less than twenty titles in my library and please over ninety percent of my clientele provided fifteen of the titles were the Bluford High Series from Townsend Press and the other four were the four Twilight novels.] Anyway, with being surrounded by all these Twilight people I figured, “ahh, what the hey, I’ll call and see if Stephanie Meyer will come speak to us.”

Now, I’m not insane or stupid. I do happen to know that she has a MAJOR movie premiere tomorrow night at midnight and personally, I’d love to go to the midnight showing at our local theater just to see who and what shows up. Midnight showings are what my right hand Chris calls “exquisite movie going experiences.” I mean, I attended the midnight showings of all three Lord of the Ring movies and I saw elves, orcs, and at least two Nazgul at each one, and let’s not even talk about the three Star Wars prequels Budge and I scoped out together. Grown men as Darth Vader and Stormtroopers, anyone?

Anyway, so Stephanie Meyer has the movie event of the fall if not the year on Friday, she’s authored the most wildly successful series since another certain seven book series I won’t mention, and she’s rolling with celebrities and possibly even royalty. But hey, Daddy always said, “Son, if you’re going to bother to dream, you might as well dream really big.” I didn’t have anything to lose by calling. So I looked up some contact info on her publisher and gave them a call. As soon as the nice lady on the other end of the phone recovered her composure at my audacious request, she graciously informed me that Ms. Meyer is on sabbatical from the speaking circuit for the foreseeable future. Well, I was bummed but not totally surprised. I hadn’t told anyone else of this flight of fantasy because I wanted it to be a surprise.

So, I was sitting at my desk scratching my head and generally feeling sorry for myself. Looking for a bit of sympathy I leaned back and spoke across the office aisle to our school tech coach and Chris about my failure. At the same time, one of my little Whamsters was cutting out some display pictures right in the path of our conversation. When she heard of my thwarted plan, she turned to me and, putting one hand on her hip, said with that utmost confidence that only a sixth grade can possess, “Well, duh, Mr. Wham, she has a mo-vie coming out Friday and she’s only like the richest writer in the country. She’s not going to come here! We could never afford to get her here!”

Well, I thought, “Out of the mouths of babes springs forth wisdom.” So I asked my ertwhile aide who she would suggest that I call up and try to get to come speak to us. Who did she think the students would appreciate seeing? Again with the hand on hip, again with the el supremeo confidence, this time with an added extra air of authority, she says,

“Well, if it was me, I’d call J.K. Rowling and have her come speak! She’d be great.”

If you go to see Twilight at the midnight showing, don’t forget your garlic and crucifixes (yes, I know her vampires aren’t bothered by those . . . I’m not totally obtuse), but most of all, don’t forget to wash your feet, y’all 🙂

What is a Whamster?

My first year as a librarian, my assistant left less than halfway through first semester with a torn rotator cuff in her shoulder. I was by myself in a midsized middle school and I’d never been in a middle school before. I also had never been a librarian before. I was pretty clueless myself and needing help to do heavy lifting, massive shelving, gathering textbooks. I was learning everything from scratch and generally making it up as I went along. In that fashion, I muddled through fairly well (although some teachers who remember that first year might have a different opinion) until late April. Then it was time for textbooks to be returned. Okay, this was a huge hairy bearish deal. I had to pick up the textbooks from all the teachers, get the textbooks checked in, and, worst of all, get all those books down three flights of stairs to the “dungeon” — our basement textbook storage room. Also, the whole time this was to take place, I still had classes coming in to check out books and do year end research projects. I had NO ideas on how to get it all done alone.

That was about the time a young boy named Tim and a young girl named Summer showed up in the library bored, finished with a test one day, and wanting to help me. They were regulars in the library already and I knew them to be pretty reliable, so I gladly accepted their offer. The rest became the stuff of legends and spawned a continuing tradition. Every spare minute they could find or weasel out of their teachers, they spent in the library helping me. The two of them worked harder than a couple of galley slaves from that scene in “Ben Hur.” I never could possibly have imagined two eighth graders could do all that they did, lots of times without me directly supervising. Still, even though I wasn’t always right over their shoulders, the two of them didn’t mess up a book the first time. They got all sixty-three blue gagillion textbooks checked in, CLEANED out (I didn’t even ask them to do that), sorted, ordered, and put away in the Dungeon in two short weeks. In all that time and during all those unsupervised trips, I never once had a teacher complain to me about their behavior.

Well, while they were schlepping carts up and down the halls and toting stacks of books up and down steps, they got noticed a good bit. I called them my library helpers, but one of my ELA Goddesses (we had an all female ELA faculty that year) started calling the two of them “Mr. Wham’s Whamsters” and the name just stuck. They also helped me do inventory and get the shelves straightened up for the next year. Unfortunately, they both were eighth graders, so I lost them after one year. I missed the two of them mightily . . . still do. Tim used to stop by on his bike every now and then to check in a load of books “just for old times’ sake” but then he discovered all young mens’ first love — a car — and I don’t see him so much anymore.

Luckily, the next year, I got Chris as my assistant and Lord knows he was (and is) amazing to say the least. Still, we discovered that textbooks were still a bear for just two people. Then, a few students showed up and just like Tim and Summer, they threw in to help out at a time when I really needed help. I called them “My Whamsters” whenever I sent an email about getting books back and once again, they did yeoman’s work getting the textbooks back and put to bed for the summer.

So a Whamster is someone who has helped me in the library, not as a library helper or as part of a class, but out of the kindness of their hearts and a desire to do something for someone else. I’ve had many Whamsters over the years and I couldn’t get all the things I need done if I didn’t have them. They’ve always shown up, just in time, when the work needed doing.

Well, last year, I missed about six weeks with an ailment and Chris had the library to himself. Just like I was that first year, he was overwhelmed. Now, he hit upon the idea of recruiting Whamsters, which was something I’d never considered. By the time I got back on my feet and back to school, he had a force of about six or seven students running the library like a well-oiled machine. These youngsters changed the announcements on the computer scroll, shelved books, cleaned computers, read shelves . . . they were little junior librarians. I told Chris I should just go on back to bed and let him and the Whamsters run the place.

He didn’t think that was funny.

So this year, he and I actively recruited a group of students for the first time. I sent out “try out” letters and about forty five students took the time to fill out the application packet, answer a short test, and talk to me or Chris for a bit about why they wanted to work in the library. At the mention of “work” about half the applicants fled like scalded cats. The rest stuck around and we selected seventeen of them to be this year’s Whamster Corp.

Looks like we’ve got some great ones in this bunch as well. One tremendously welcome addition was our seven sixth graders. They’ve been extremely enthusiastic about coming in before school and at lunch to help with the library chores. With a little luck, maybe I can hang on to them all three years!

So, my Whamsters are part library helpers and part library mascots. Looking back, I don’t know how I’d have made it without their willing help over the years. My only hope is that I’ve been a good role model for them and that they have good memories of the library. With any luck, maybe the seeds of future librarianism have been planted in one or two of them and they can carry on the Whamster tradition in their libraries. I can only hope . . . and try to keep my feet washed! 🙂

Today is Veterans’ Day.  This day is set aside to honor those who have given their time and their service to protecting and defending their country. Some have given more than that . . . they have given their limbs, their eyes, their peace of mind. Some have given what President Abraham Lincoln called, “The last full measure of devotion,” their very lives. Today our men and women in arms are fighting shooting wars in two countries and those wars are not popular among all people. If you disagree with our country’s reasons for fighting these wars, in fact, if you disagree with anything the government of the United States of America does, that is your right. I have watched several videos on that greatest and most reliable of networks, YouTube.com, where men and women have shown catagorical disdain for this country, our government, our leaders, our flag, and those of us who they term “flag-waving patriots.” Once again, this is their right. I am compelled to remind each and every one of you — Democrat, Republican,  Independent or Other; Gay or Straight; Black, White, Red, Yellow, Tan, or Multicultural; Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Atheist, or Other — ALL of you owe your right and freedom to disagree as well as every other right you have and freedom you enjoy to the men and women of the armed forces past, present, and future.

If you disagree with the wars they fight, that is your right, but please — I beg you — please do not allow your distaste for why they fight to discolor your opinion of who they are and the service they give. They did not choose their wars, but they chose to serve and they deserve our respect and honor for that reason if for no other.

My school honored our veterans with a beautiful ceremony earlier today and as part of that ceremony the winners of an essay contest about “Why Veterans Should Be Honored” read their essays before the assemble student body and guests, guests that included several veterans. Many of those present and I were touched by the sincerity and the power of their words. I have obtained their permission to reprint their essays here each in its entirety. The essays are verbatim and uncorrected and I think they are amazing.

The Sacrifice We Should Honor by Rachel L. 7th Grade

“Huge flags billow slowly, their huge folds settling on the air, half-heartedly riding the wind before falling back on the pole that holds them. They stand sentinel over thousands of white crosses, watching over the ones at peace that are below them. But why are they there? The answer lies in the cloth of the red, white, and blue flag. It stands for the freedom the individuals who lie below them won. The ones who are alive know this; the ones who survived the terrible bloodshed understand this well.

‘Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.’ John Kennedy spoke these words that have rung throughout history, stirring emotions in everyone. Soldiers especially take these words to heart. Freedom is what they fight for and they ignore their own safety as they struggle onwards towards the goal of peace and justice for all. Their patriotism is touching and inspiring to all who do not take this freedom we are blessed with for granted.

We should honor these soldiers, and those who survive to come back home. America is built on their blood, sweat, and tears. Without our veterans, America would have collapsed long ago. Veterans are the warriors that have carried the burden of America on their backs.

Although some veterans might not be physically hurt, their minds bear burning scars that haunt them the rest of their lives. Still others are physically wounded, with missing limbs or terrible wounds caused by shrapnel and bullets. They they have to live out their lives, with a disfigurement to remind them of the price they paid to preserve the freedom of the country they live in. We need to take special care of these people who have seen the horrors of war.

Too many people in our country complain about unimportant things, while soldiers overseas are dying to give them that freedom to complain. The very people they fight for often ignore the ones who come home, the veterans. We should honor these men and women who so openly throw themselves in combat to protect our freedom and our lives. Think about it. You never know if the person you see on the street or in a hospital is a veteran that saved your life.”

Why Veterans Should Be Honored by Rachel K., 8th Grade

Veterans are much more than just citizens of America. They are national heroes of America. Veterans sacrifice everything to fight for our freedom and safety. They care so much about us that they are willing to fight for their country.

Veterans should be honored because they sacrifice their lives for us. These soldiers are brave and strong enough to enter territories in which the conditions are beyond our imaginations. The men and women of the army are prepared to die for their country on behalf of freedom.

Veterans should be honored because they are forced to leave their families behind. A family soldier could have died in the war with their family clueless. Some soldiers are afraid that everything will have been changed by the time they make it back. This is one of the most tragic reasons.

We should honor veterans because of the terrifying and heroic experiences they have had. Some soldiers were captured and held captive for over five years. They have suffered major injuries, abuse, starvation, and many have died. These are only a few things that veterans could have suffered from during captivation. Only the bravest people are willing to go through these harsh obstacles for our country.

Veterans cared enough about each citizen in the United States to go to war and try to make peace. Soldiers have embraced their ability to serve and to honor. They work hard enough to try to make our country the best and safest it can be. How would you like to have been a great hero for your country, and not be recognized? Veterans only ask for remembrance, is that so hard to give them?

I hope that every American citizen will honor and appreciate every veteran with the highest and up-most respect that they can offer. These soldiers deserve all of the honor and remembrance that we, as Americans, are able to give.

I appreciate these two young peoples’ sentiments. I’ve known some to say that we shouldn’t fight. I agree that we shouldn’t always fight, but sometimes . . . well sometimes the only way to get people, especially bullies, dictators, and tyrants to listen is to fight. Always, ALWAYS remember that it is not the soldier, sailor, or marine’s decision who, what, when, or where he or she fights. Anytime lives are on the line, disagreement will follow. Some of you might even be interested to know that, even after the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor, the vote to declare war on Japan was not unanimous.

What I’m saying is not every threat to our country is as real, as obvious, in the public mind as the Kaiser’s Germany or Hitler’s Nazis or Tojo’s Japan. No matter the threat, however, our men and women in uniform go to meet it. Each and every one of them swears an oath to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against ALL enemies” They do not have the luxury of deciding who that enemy is. So please take time today to say thank you to veterans you may know because you need to remember, “if you can read this blog, thank a teacher and if you are FREE to read this blog, thank a veteran.”

Wash your feet y’all 🙂

Semper Fidelis

First, I’d like to thank everyone for your kind wishes and prayers. We laid Aunt Betty to rest in a little country church cemetery Tuesday amidst an explosion of fall color and sunshine. She always loved Elvis, so we buried her with her favorite picture of him and played his recording of “How Great Thou Art” at the end of the ceremony. I think she’d have been pleased.

Now to business. I don’t comment much on politics because I am most determinately apolitical. Republican or Democrat, man or woman, North, South, East, or West makes no difference to me. I am apolitical for one reason . . . no one POTUS, Senator, Congressman, or Supreme Court Justice is going to fix what’s wrong with this country by himself or herself.

So, to all you McCain zealots who are weeping, wailing, and gnashing your teeth, GET OVER IT. He lost and he was a lot more gracious in losing than many of his supporters can claim to be. If you are so disgusted with the election results, do what I see so many cute buttons and bumper stickers suggest — move to Canada. Just make sure you stay there. Also, in the spirit of egalatarianism, to all you Obama zealots who are holding parties and dancing in the streets, GET OVER IT. He won and that means exactly nothing. The economy is still in the tank, our boys and girls are still dying across the sea for nothing, and I don’t have one dime more in my pocket today than I did Tuesday morning.

I will bow before the weight and majesty of the history made Tuesday; however, and give my heartfelt congratulations to President-Elect Obama for finally reaching one of those mountaintops that Dr. King spoke of so eloquently so many years ago. When it comes to the ugliness of race relations in America, I view Barack Obama’s election as POTUS by such a healthy and unquestionable margin the same way Sir Winston Churchill viewed what would be called World War II when he heard of the German defeat at El Alamein in North Africa, “Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” The scourge of chattel slavery persisted on these enlightened shores for 246 years and the stain of Jim Crow bled through another 102. While the election of the first man of color to arguably the highest office in the world is an admirable step, one step cannot — will not — erase 348 years of shackles and nooses, blood and bondage, segregation and degradation.

Now, despite the history involved in this election, I can’t help but feel that, once again, I and those I serve in my position as librarian are still not being represented. We have yet to see “our guy (or gal)” mount the podium to give an acceptance speech after winning the Presidency. I firmly believe that I nor any of my descendents, will ever see that day. In order for me to feel like the person in the Oval Office represents me, a poor man or woman would have to get elected and that is never going to happen.

I want a President who knows what it feels like to be hungry because the month outlasted the money. I want a President who knows what it is to sit in the dark and swelter in the Southern summer night heat because Mama had to choose between the light bill and antibiotics for an illness. I want a President who knows deprivation in his or her bones . . . natural-born deprivation. Certainly Senator McCain knew the horrors of deprivation deeper than most of us ever will as he sat in the Hanoi Hilton all those years, and I do not dare make light of his suffering, but the fact remains that he left a silver spoon on the table to enter the military and he picked up that silver spoon as soon as he finally returned to America and even though he was defeated for the Presidency, he’ll still eat his soup with that silver spoon until the day he dies.

Just a casual glance down the list of Presidents will reveal precious little in the way of poverty. Instead, the list reads like a litany of properous farmers, lawyers, and businessmen. Basically, with no disrespect intended to any who hold, have held, or will hold the office of POTUS, I want a President who doesn’t take a pay cut when he or she takes office.

I want a President who, in this technologically advanced 21st Century, still has to use an outhouse when he returns to his Appalachian home. I’d like a President who has two children by two different “baby daddies” and Air Force One is the first plane she’s been able to ride in. I want a President who went to public schools K4-12 preferably somewhere along the I-95 Corridor in South Carolina or on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota then went to a community college for two years to save up for a STATE university. I want a President who knows by experience and not pollsters what it’s like to be a common person.

Of course, people in Hell want ice water; so as Daddy always said, “Want in one hand and spit in the other and see which one gets full fastest.” (Actually, Daddy didn’t quite put it that way, but it’s a family friendly blog, I hope)

None of those hypothetical people will ever be President, however. The third biggest lie in the world, right after number two’s “I promise I turned that book in already” and number one’s “Iraq has weapons of mass destruction” is “Even YOU can grow up to be President.” No you can’t because if you are reading this blog, you are most likely in the wrong class of people to be President, and in this case, class has little to do with race, religion, or politics. It’s about educational birthrights.

Two books that every person who works with children should read tell the story of those birthrights. The first is Savage Inequalities by Jonathan Kozol and the second is Literacy with an Attitude by Patrick J. Finn. Kozol strips bare the differences in education that students receive based solely on the luck of the draw and in this case, the draw is where they happen to have been born. Meanwhile, Finn, in his book’s preface, powerfully enumerates the reasons for the inequality. Simply put, we live in a dualistic society of the governors and the governed. I’m willing to bet my paycheck for a year that if you are reading this blog, you are not only one of the governed but you are training (notice I didn’t say “teaching”) the next generation of the governed.

Please understand, this isn’t about some conspiracy theory dreamed up by the tinfoil hat crowd where the whole world is “really” ruled by the Illuminati, Tri-Lateral Commission, Skulls&Bones, or the Bilderburgers. This is real life where millions of students are withering on the vine and all the time people are jumping for joy because another rich, impeccably well educated globetrotter has been elected President. The only difference this time is skin color (an important difference, to be sure, but still).

I’ve seen several blogs with “Dear Obama” messages about what their authors want the new President to do. My request is simple and I’d make it of any new President — black, white, pink, or green. Leave the press corp, leave the entourage, leave the glitz and glamour of DC, leave all but a couple of the Secret Service folks and go on the road incognito. Meet some people who aren’t at a rally. Sit in classrooms in schools with holes in the ceilings. Spend a week in some inner city projects talking with crack dealers and gang lords. Go up in the hills and spend some time with people whose way of life hasn’t changed in a hundred years (but, um, you might want to take a few extra Secret Service guys when you make that trip).

The long and the short of it is I’m jaded and cynical when it comes to politicians. I’ve seen so many promises made to get someone elected that were broken as soon as the hand came off the Bible that I don’t know if I’ll ever believe in anyone anymore. I’ve endured Presidents who were Paris Hilton celebrities with IQs to match. Maybe the wind is finally changing. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to play wait and see. My political heart has been broken too many time by people who said they represented me and mine, but who have no idea what it’s like to live in a trailer. Here’s hoping it’s not all hype.

Now take the signs down, put your copy of Wednesday’s newspaper up on eBay for the kids’ college funds, but most of all . . . don’t forget to wash your feel y’all 🙂

This isn’t a library related post if you’d prefer to skip it.

Today was the first day of a nice four day weekend. Budge and I planned to do a little housework, do a little yard work, and do a lot of nothing. That all came to a screeching halt with one phone call today at 3:00. I may have never said this, but I hate telephones and cell phones especially. Of all the inventions ever invented, it is the telephone that allows the wide instantaneous spread of misery better than all others.

I had a splitting headache today, so I was taking a nap when the phone rang. I heard Budge say, “Oh God. We’re on our way.” I sat up blinking to the news that my great-aunt, the woman who had babysat me as an infant until I started kindergarten, was dead. She was 70 years old, my Granny Hughes’ baby sister.

She’d gone “to town” to get some money out of the bank from her Social Security check. On her way back home, as near as we and the police can piece together, she got turned around at a new cloverleaf and instead of going down the on ramp to the highway, she went across the intersection like the layout USED to be and went down the OFF ramp. We’ll never know if she realized her mistake or not.

She got to the bottom of the ramp and shot across three lanes of traffic before a young girl driving an SUV stuck my aunt’s mini-pickup truck at full highway speed and slammed it back into the barrier wall between north and southbound lanes. My aunt, who was always a small woman and sat too near the steering wheel as small elderly ladies often do, was not wearing a seatbelt and the steering column and steering wheel itself crushed her chest as the airbag that was meant to save her life instead detonated into the side of her head with the force of a baseball bat. She was killed on impact. The young girl, blessedly, suffered only a broken leg, but I can only imagine how the mental trauma of this accident that she in no way could have avoided will haunt her the rest of her life.

My aunt was a widow with one daughter who is four years my senior. I was always viewed more as a brother and a son than a nephew. Therefore, it fell to me to take my cousin to the hospital to first positively identify her mother’s body and then to say goodbye to the only remaining relative in her immediate family. I don’t know how many of you have had the experience of standing in a morgue. Shows like CSI and its offspring don’t really portray the utter hopelessness, the complete lack of warmth in a holding room when you see a loved one, vibrant and smiling just a few hours before, wrapped in a sheet to hide body trauma lying cold, grey and lifeless on the stainless steel table. I don’t know how many of you have had to listen to or maybe even utter that most heartrending of cries, “Why?!” The question for which even Christ on the Cross received no answer.

The last seven hours have been a whirlwind of phone calls to other elderly aunts and uncles as well as to their children, cousins barely remembered from long ago play times on the “home place”. The phone, that demon with a bell or a ringtone, never ceased its macabre music for long at a time. I was able to see my cousin safely to her home where I left her in the care of a trusted family friend. When I spoke to Sis last, she was slipping into the blessed bliss of a tranquilizer and that for the best. She bore up well under the shock of the day, but as any doctor will tell you, the pain of an amputation is always least when it happens. The next day will reveal the beginning of the agony.

Then I had to turn my attention to Mother who has now lost three of the dearest people to her in less than six months. Then there is Granny, my aunt’s sister, whose growing dementia keeps her from understanding that the sister she held closest in love has been taken away. How do you explain to one in her second childhood that one of the most important members of her first childhood won’t be by to sit on the couch and watch Family Feud while eating forbidden ice cream with her anymore?

I keep returning to the theme of poverty and its effects and this is another example. I am by far the best educated member of my family. I’m the only one on Mother’s immediate side with a Master’s degree (or even a BA, for that matter) and one of just a bare handful who finished high school. The family’s perception of me is one of dependence. In times like this, for whatever reason, the family turns to me for guidance and advice as if having a limp piece of paper on the wall somehow has given me better insight into how this off-kilter world runs. In times of death or crisis, I am asked for answers that I do not have, but I must provide some measure of comfort. It is expected.

Also, a fact that many, even those like Cathy-Jo, who are closest to me may not know, is that I am an ordained minister. I’ve never been to seminary, but I do have my ordination and license to preach and perform the offices of the church from two separate ordaining bodies. I am the minister of my family. Even though they attend a myriad of different houses of worship, my late grandfather was the one who was called upon for ministry to the family and with his passing, that responsiblility has fallen to me. I confess that since his passing, I have been in a crisis of faith the likes of which I have never experience nor even imagined, but which is very real nonetheless.

For now though, I must push aside my questions and my agony of uncertainty to take up an agony of a different type. I must do what I feel unable to do and provide my family with comfort and direction over the next few days. Tomorrow, Sis and I will meet to make final arrangements at the funeral home where the last two years have seen me all to frequently a visitor. She has no one else to help her and so I must, even if I feel I cannot.

I have tears of my own to shed for this beloved lady who has been taken from us so abruptly, but just as I could not grieve for my grandfather until I had seen my mother through the crisis, so to must I bear up grief again and somehow shepherd Sis through this unbearable time. It never ceases to amaze me how people are capable of doing what they cannot do when it must be done.

So Tuesday, while the rest of the country watches television and huddles in tense expectation for an election that, regardless of its outcome, will be historic; as many of my colleagues make their way to the annual education technology conference, I will be, once again, standing before an open grave attempting to provide a channel of peace that I myself do not feel because it must be done.

I ask two boons of you all. First, remember my huddled and bewildered family in you thoughts, but second and more important, take a moment tonight or tomorrow at the latest to call some family member or friend whom you have not seen in a while or with whom you have some petty disagreement. Make things right as much as it is in your power to do. Don’t let another sun set without clearing air or reconnecting with a loved one. I do not say this as fearmongering, but from my heart . . . you never know what conversation, hug, or argument you have with someone will be the last. Keep that in mind, my friends and acquaintances in the blogosphere and believe me when I say I hope that it will be a long time before any of you receive one of those calls.

I hope you will all forgive my ramblings. It has proven to be a long and trying day. Tonight, I’ll let each of you decide on your own if you want to wash your feet or not.