Annuals

Moments after I told Manchion I was going to take my yearbooks home to look through them because I wasn't sure if I could handle it at school, I had my yearbooks out and was looking through them with several of my homeroom students gathered around me.

(It's funny how interested they are in our lives, sometimes. They thirst for knowledge that we're human, maybe? Probably more likely they want to feel included and that we're willing to share who we are with them. I don't know. Go see someone who studies their brains for a living, if you really want to know. I just try to coax them into putting stuff in their brains, I don't study them. I know I'm the one who brought it up. I'm just sayin' is all.)

I think I opted for the public viewing so I'd be less likely to have an emotional reaction.

The yearbooks always arrived in the summer when I was in junior & senior high school. It seems to me it was close to the time school started, but that could just be the result of a faulty memory. My memory is much more faulty than some people would like to believe--or have me believe. I keep having jump-starts lately that let me know this.

After "the event" my senior year, when the Brad-and-Mark entity suddenly became two separate entities, I was pretty much done with Mark Twain High School. I was pretty much done with Center, MO. I was pretty much done with Ralls County. If I had any more being pretty much done left in me, I probably would have been done with Missouri, the midwest, and the Bible belt.

Because the problem could not possibly lie with me, you see, it had to lie with where I lived. To be fair to 18-year-old me, it did partly lie with where I lived--but at the end of the day, when the choice is made, the one making the choice is the one making the choice.

Still, I remember it well. I remember making a countdown calendar in my locker of the days I had left in that school. I remember wanting nothing to do with anyone at that school... but being willing to make allowances for one or two people. I remember never wanting to remember that place, and despairing because I knew it would be impossible to forget.

Turns out, that was almost wasted despair, but we'll come back to that... maybe. I forget my "we'll come back to" items, sometimes.

Anyway, as a part of this seemingly-feeble-but-as-it-turns-out-not-so-feeble attempt at forgetting MTHS and all things associated with it, I didn't have anyone sign my Senior yearbook. It is as writing-free today as it was the day it was put in the box to be shipped to MTHS. So I started with that one. I showed the kids pictures of me in "the trenchcoat", and I showed them pictures of me in different clubs, etc., and I showed them my senior picture.

Mostly they were amazed my hairline was once lower. Seriously.

Because it was the 25th Anniversary Edition, there were pages in color... and I'm in my trenchcoat on one of those pages. Odd how memory fails and the mind makes up stuff--I could have sworn there were several pages of color, but there weren't.

After looking at that yearbook for a few moments, I picked up my Junior yearbook. I love the cover of that yearbook, and I used to know all kinds of stories about it (Kelly could probably still tell you every bit of it, I think)... it seems like some of the items on the cover belonged to me, but for the life of me I'm not sure what would have been mine.

I opened to the Swing Choir/Jazz Band page, and as the kids were laughing at my hair and clothes, I noticed Brad was next to me in the group photo. I pointed him out and said, "There's Brad."

This then led to them asking who Brad was, and since they knew I'd gone to a funeral this week, I told them he was the friend who recently passed away.

Again, they're funny sometimes. You get reactions you don't expect. They actually didn't say anything "typical 7th grade", and for the most part were silent and respectful for a good 15 seconds. Then they went back to talking about my hair and clothes.

Then I stumbled across the last page of the book. It was originally blank, but Brad had signed it. Had I been reading it alone, it might have been hard to maintain. Luckily, I had several students all around me. Being referred to as "best friend in the Universe"... well, what do you say? "Wow," has to do, right?

Anyway, I read faster than all of them, but someone skipped ahead to the shocking "v" word in the text, and I had to close the book and move on to the next one. But here it is:

(Click it to see a larger version of it.)

Let me explain some things, now...

First, I don't know what "Arnold" means. I imagine there's some story there, and I imagine it was something we laughed about a lot... but I can't remember it at all. The rest of the names all ring a bell.

I don't remember the junior high game at Highland, but I do remember cramming a lot of people around lunch tables. And I'm vague on the leech reference, but I'm sure I was gladly paying him Tuesday for a hamburger today.

I forgot it was me who introduced him to Doctor Who (sorry, Chris) and The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. As soon as I read it, I started remembering conversations, but in my head, we both brought those into the friendship.

Parties at Kelly's house: check.

Conversations on TW... means conversations we had while sitting on my car, which I had named TW (for Time Warp, from the song in Rocky Horror). When I drove by their house the other day, that was one thing I thought of: hanging out in that semicircle driveway, talking for hours on end--usually sitting on the hood of my car.

Elbow " ": If you're a Rocky Horror Picture Show freak, you know what goes between the quotes. Rhymes with clucking. It's a move Riff Raff and Magenta do a few times throughout the movie--Brad and I would do that particular move whenever we could convince the DJ at the dance to play my recording of The Time Warp--in addition to the steps prescribed by the lyrics, that is.

I have no idea who Ed Clay is/was/ever shall be. Apparently I knew who he was once, though.

Again, I don't have to explain for RHPS freaks, but "celebrate losing my virginity" has to do with seeing the movie for the first time... (I think that explains it pretty well to the unenlightened, don't you, Brad?)

"Spirit of Light" may have been the convention we never made it to my last year at MTHS--or it may be a convention we didn't make it to at all (everything I find online says SoL conventions were a Chicago "area" thing, and I know the one we were going to was in St. Louis... which doesn't strike me as being in the Chicago "area"). I think I remember Roger and Rick, but maybe those are two other guys I'm thinking of. I'm pretty sure they were the guys we tried to start a sci-fi club with in Hannibal.

There was no graduation party. I didn't go to Kirksville. I did, however, panic.

The pictures on the bottom right-hand side: The top one is Brad's visual interpretation of the blue-and-white checkerboard Van's I had (and I think he ended up getting a pair, too). The bottom one is the T.A.R.D.I.S., which is what Doctor Who uses to get around all of space-time.

So back to that wasted despair...

I went to college and did my best to forget everything MTHS. I came back to Ralls County on occasion, and I survived just fine. But I did manage to forget a lot. Just reading that one page in the yearbook proved that to me.

This isn't about regret (Kelly made it very clear my final 24 hours of regret were over about 48 hours ago, and Lyndsey might come over here with a shovel (or lots of company, which might be better) if she thinks I'm sitting here regretting and digging up more regret). It's about just realizing something I did to myself. It's made most clear when my college friends wonder who the heck this Brad guy was, as he wasn't part of the "back home" cast of characters they're familiar with.

As we fade out of this scene, somebody play the theme song from "The Breakfast Club"...

In other news, and as a reward for reading this far: there's a link to my new photo blog on the link list for STILL: Life. If you're chompin' at the bit to see a new picture of ME every day, that's the place to be!

Name-Calling

I'm back to that apparently-not-as-controversial-as-I-thought issue of what to call the rooms in my house. Poll to the right.

I managed to make it through the day without blaming any bad things that happened to anyone on some pact they made with the devil, so that gives me a leg-up on some people...

If you haven't received your invitation (electronically, people... the days of me sending out actual paper/card-stock invitations are long gone) for my surprise birthday party yet, it's because I haven't gotten around to sending them out.

Yesterday morning (or maybe during the day Tuesday), I got an e-mail from someone over at Central Office saying I should have received an e-mail about the staff development this upcoming Friday. The e-mail explained it would have come from the site we use for signing up for these things, but I would already be signed up, as I'm one of the people running it.

I had never received this e-mail, but didn't think much of it.

Today, I got an e-mail from the principal letting me know he'd received notice I was one of the people who have yet to signed up. I went ahead and signed up, but then e-mailed the author of the first e-mail to say, "I didn't receive an e-mail from the site, so I don't know if I'm listed as one of the people running the show or not."

Because, you see, if I'm to print out attendance sheets from the site or otherwise note attendance on the site, I need to be able to log in as one of the instructors.

Maybe I worded it poorly (I looked later, but couldn't see what I said wrong), but I got the snarkiest e-mail back, pointing out in no uncertain terms this woman had sent me three e-mails about this, and bluh bluh bluh snarky bluh...

I opted to log off and head on home. Where's my cookie?

I'd love to get all irritated about it, but I've mis-read e-mails before and sent replies that I'm ashamed about immediately, and mortified about once I realize it was all a misunderstanding on my part.

But seriously, I was very clear I was talking about not having received the automated e-mail from the system.

Whatever. I copied the woman who handles the communications with the system, and she's fixed it. It's all good.

But now I have to be a teacher leader tomorrow. ::sigh:: I miss the days where I could show up and complain about how I hate these presentations.

Starring Highway 19 as Memory Lane

I made a road trip back home today for Brad’s funeral.

Yes, I know, I said I wasn’t planning on going. It’s a thing with teachers. We really hate missing work, typically—mostly because it’s so much work to miss work, but also mostly because it’s just better to be there. (The two mostlies were intentional. We’re dichotomous about it, see?)

Anyway, I took it as a sign when Brad’s mom asked my brother if I was coming to either the visitation or the funeral. So I got up early this morning to piece together a decent day’s work in an hour, and left for New London at about 7:00.

I posted on the Rep’s remembrance page for Brad that I didn’t “fit” back home—or something like that. However, going home does remind me that part of me belongs there—or at least comes from there.

Just getting on Highway 19 brings back plenty of memories from high school… and once I reach the Junction, I’m taken into junior-high memories. Of course, Center is rife with memory-joggers, but Highway 19 between Center and New London also takes me back to elementary years, as that’s the first stretch of road we’d take when going to Hannibal.

That short span of 19, from the Junction to New London, is my Memory Lane, I’ve decided. First, the streets in Center are too short to be memory lane for me. (I kid, Center-folk.) No, really it’s just driving down that stretch of road makes me remember things like “Steve Webster’s house and Joe Wisner’s house were down that road” and “That’s the road to The Landing” and “What happened to that old filling station that used to be there… or did I already know that was gone and forgot?” And so on.

I remember mom telling me about a house on the way to New London—it was ordered from a catalog. I’m so not making this up. Apparently this happened. It’s a nice-looking house, too. There’s the turn off for Tricia’s house, Aunt Lois’ house, the high school. Debbie’s house was right on the highway. There is the spot where mom told some stalled motorist “This man’s a bus driver,” as Mr. Gibbs pulled up IN HIS SCHOOL BUS…

It hit be about halfway between Center and New London that I need to visit at least a couple of times a year (if not once every two months) just to sort of get “that” back… whatever “that” is. Remembering where I came from, I guess.

I got to New London not long after 10:30. The parking lot for the church was full (thanks for the reminder directions, by the way, Kelly), so I pulled out into a different street than I pulled in on, went to the next intersection, did a U-ey, and parked there on the street.

I got out of the car, looked up, and there was Brad’s house… or the house he lived in when I knew him, anyway. Not only was it that house, but I was facing the windows to his room.

I usually took the street I did the U-ey in whenever I went to his house, but was both distracted by trying to find parking and forgetful of the lay of the land as I hadn’t driven around New London for many years now.

So I took a picture. (After the service, I drove by the front and the other side of the house, to see if it was as I remembered it. I remember standing in that semicircle driveway by my car, discussing different books (I never read Mall World, Brad), what we wanted to create when we were older and had creative control of anything other than our wardrobes, what the plans were for our next geeky outing (Rocky Horror? Sci-Fi Convention? Basketball Statistician Night Out?)…

I had never been to the Christian church there in New London—at least not to my memory. I didn’t recognize Jamie Lemon when I first saw him, as I was too busy taking in the surroundings. A lot of the people from the Rep in St. Louis were there, as they couldn’t make the visitation the night before (it’s a theatre thing). So I really didn’t recognize much of anyone (although some people looked naggingly familiar).

I saw Mary Jo up front by the casket, talking to some people there. Brad’s older sister was standing by, and recognized me as a Riggs (it’s so odd to go somewhere and be recognized as “a Riggs”… I haven’t had that for a while, either). She went to high school with Say. We spoke for a bit, and I kept glancing over at Brad, and as his mother, who just looked like some time had passed, but that’s about it. She seemed to be holding it together very well, considering.

Seeing Brad was tough, of course—having not seen him in person for probably 24.5 years or so (the decimal just SEEMS to make it exact, you see), and seeing him now, like that…

Talking with his mom was like I’d just seen her the day before. We didn’t talk a lot before the service, but she did ask me if I was coming to the grave site, and invited me to a light lunch being served in the church basement afterwards.

I’d met another classmate of Say’s while waiting to talk to Mary Jo. That’s the thing about going back home—you may not know anybody, but they know OF you, and they probably know a sibling of yours, or some ancestor or another—at the very least they know a cousin.

I found a corner to have a seat in, down the row from some people I knew I should recognize (the Rhodes, if anyone from back home is reading this and can’t handle even low-level suspense). Say’s former classmate (Donnie Palmer, for those of you with that suspense issue) sat right in front of me, which helped during those moments I thought I was going to actually bawl out loud. (Is it possible to bawl silently? I think the definition prohibits that. Whatever, I’m keeping it.)

The pastor (Tom Day) did the standard reading of the obituary, then had a seat as Deborah Sharn (I’m thinking she performs around the St. Louis area—she knew Brad, anyway) sang a song called, “Time Heals Everything”. It was a song Brad would request whenever he would come see her sing, and would often sing with her.

A friend and co-worker (perhaps supervisor) named Mark Bernstein got up next to speak about Brad. It was beautiful and summed up a lot of what I’ve already said about Brad (and what’s been said around the world via the internet, it seems). Smart, funny, kind, thoughtful, giving, etc. He really didn’t change much from when we would hang out back in the mid-80s…

There were scripture readings, and Dr. Ken Haller, who shared a house with Brad (I think Brad lived in the third floor… there were Mary Tyler Moore Show references in his remembrance on the Rep site about this). He shared more of the same, lots of laughs. And he sang another favorite of Brad’s, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, and encouraged us to sing along. I didn’t trust myself to sing very loudly.

Unlike the last two near-and-dear-to-me funerals I had attended, I loved the message from the Pastor. While it made me tear up and leak about the eyes several times, it didn’t seem like a “you need to come to church” piece (as Mom’s seemed to be) or a “gee, wonder if this deceased person is in Hell” piece (see blog entry about Lois’ service back in January of ’06).

The part that almost had me running to the door in case I couldn’t hold back a horrible sob was where he said, “You need to forget about what you might have done differently.”

Cheralinn found me after the service. I had not seen her during it, even though it was possible to see everyone in the place. She asked me if I was going to the grave site, I asked her if she was going to be at the lunch thing, and we sobbed at each other a bit.

At first I wasn’t sure about going to the grave site. But then it seemed… right. I’ve realized in the past 48 hours or so how many people from high school think “Mark” when they think of Brad. After 25 years, I think part of me felt maybe I imagined we were that close. So I drove in my second funeral procession going to Grandview Funeral Home (the first one being back in… 1983, (was it…?) for Les Huston).

Walking up to the grave site—or if not the actual site, the site where they were having the grave site part of the service… I’ll happily explain that later, but not until I’ve discussed with Ed, who knows all things grave-site related. Side note: For those who know the story of my helping Ed dress a body one Christmas morning, this is the place where I did that.

Okay, back on track: Walking up to the grave site, the rightness of it really set in. I was once part of the Mark-and-Brad or the Brad-and-Mark (in the next world, Brad and I will have to discuss what it should actually be), and it was right I should be there for this.

After the very short gravesite portion, Cheralinn came over with the person I thought was maybe her husband (I don’t know that I’d looked closely at any facebook pics of him… or if I had, I’m an idiot with no memory, which is also valid). This guy said, “I bet you don’t remember me,” or maybe some other wording, but along that line. I told him I’d remember him with a name, and I was right. It was Kyle Jameson, another MTHS person I had not seen for years.

We all agreed to meet back at the church, and I went over to talk to one of Brad’s current friends. It was awkward, but I felt it was something I needed to do—and forced myself to, despite my voice not wanting to cooperate. In short: who is this crazy person coming over here and talking to me?

It was through the conversation with Kyle and Cheralinn (and later Mary Jo) that I remembered so many things I’d forgotten: Brad and I did basketball stats together (sometimes with Cheralinn, sometimes with Cathy… maybe sometimes with both…); I made up a statisticians “cheer”, and from what Cheralinn repeated, it wasn’t half bad; there’s some story about Bob Gough, 3:00a.m., and a baseball bat I’m still trying to put together in my head.

I reminded them about UNO (and pieced together the whole Mar Kriggs thing had its roots in my video game tag… I was JAK for a long time, but then switched to MAR), and Ad Astra, and the time we got a huge circle of people to do the Time Warp at some dance or another.

Mary Jo had no idea how well-loved Brad was by so many people. She printed off a stack of remembrances, testimonials, tributes, etc., from the internet. She said the stack was several inches tall when printed out.

I learned Mary Jo is not a fan of visitations. She liked the actual funeral service a lot more. As we were winding things down, and everyone was leaving the church, she admitted, “Now comes the hard part.”

I stopped by to visit with Paulette before heading back home, and was glad I did, as always. Now I have to plan a trip back that lasts a whole weekend—or maybe a chunk of Spring Break, if Binx opts out of visiting me—or wants to hang out with me back home.

In other news: Yes, televangelists say crazy stupid things. Let us speak of this no more. I don’t want to hand out publicity to idiots. Instead of speaking of this, donate money to some sort of disaster relief fund for Haiti. I have spoken. Or, really, I have typed.

I Have Nothing to Say, and I am Taking Time to Type it Here...

I'm going to be on the road a bit tomorrow. Hopefully the "heat wave" will clear away a lot of the snow!

I really like a lot of the music we're singing this concert. I look forward to hearing us improve as the weeks pass.

Today I had to explain to a kid what a "Sock Hop" was. Luckily, I didn't know for sure, so I just made it up. I kid. I actually did need confirmation as to the reason behind the "Sock" part of it.

It's cold out there, people. Stay warm.

Back To School

If I have time (and if people harp enough demanding me to write about it since I brought it up), I'll share a summary of an interesting conversation I had with my Seminar class today. It's very funny and touching and beautiful and sad and pathetic to have these conversations with 7th grade students. It reminds me how every time one of them learns about the Holocaust, they come tell me about it as if their having just heard of it means nobody else knew about it until they did.

We had an interesting impromptu talk about racism. I'll try to go more in-depth later. I'm up too late as it is.

I just wanted to say the new photoblog is up but you'll have to find it on your own. Also, I don't think I can make it to Brad's visitation or funeral which bums me out, but maybe visiting the grave by myself some weekend would be better, anyway.

It was a hectic and fun-filled day, and I'm beat. Good night, all!

New Photoblog is a GO

You asked for it--or failed to vote against it, anyway. I have pics for every day so far this year. I think I'm going to let kids in my homeroom set up and take pictures of me as well. Give them a feeling of... photographerness... or something.

Look for the new poll tomorrow (or so) about what to call the two rooms in my house I'm currently confused about...

Final Day To Vote!

The poll about whether or not the blog "365 (and some change)Days of ME!" will become a reality ends tonight (1/10/10) at 11:55, if I remember my settings correctly (or the settings I chose for the survey, anyway--I have no clue about my personal settings, although they're usually stuck on "irrataional output only"). The poll is on my blog page, and details are available in this post.

I'm tired and want to go to bed. Unfortunatetly, I'm all wrapped up in this book and will spend some time reading it before I actually sleep. I won't pretend to be planning on getting up for church, despite my need to go this week more than many other previous weeks--my driveway has miles to go before I... back down it. It's a snow thing.

Also, since Dane will be without his computer until I get it to him (hopefully tomorrow after more shoveling), let me point out that today is 1/10/10, and 1 times 10 is 10. That is all.

Don't Get Used To It (Or: Don't Worry, It Will Be Over Soon)

Yeah, this daily writing in the blog thing was NOT a resolution. It's just a symptom of cabin fever. There's only so much to do when you don't want to leave your house.

The driveway needs to be cleared, and I didn't want to go out there in the -1,000,000 temperature to do it, and if I'd paid anyone else to do it, I'd feel cheap paying them anything less than $1000, which I don't have.

I do think a 3-week break would be nice every year around the holidays, however. With all the craziness that goes on from the start of break to January 1, it's nice to have time to just do whatever. I actually CLEANED stuff today. ME! CLEANING! That never happens. Well, seldom happens. I couldn't let it get crazy filthy or anything.

Here's a question for the people who read this--especially those who have been in my house: What should I call the room at the front of the house where the front door is and the room at the back of the house where the television is? I feel like I do most of my living in the back room, so I want to call it the living room. If I do that, however, that leaves little to call the front room other than "the front room". We had a "front room" when I grew up, and I didn't realize until I was way older than just a kid what a strange name that was for a room (like "living room" is any better?)...

So then I could call that room in the front the living room, but that means I call the back room the... family room? It's just me here. Granted, when I have family over (whether it be my biological family or my family in spirit (a.k.a. my friends, for those of you who aren't getting it)), that's the room we tend to congregate in. Still, it feels odd calling it a family room. I guess I could call the front room the "sitting room" as there really isn't much to do there other than sit and maybe play the piano if I ever find a cheap and halfway decent piano bench (and the "halfway decent" makes me laugh, because my piano ain't no work of art--which reminds me, is there a reality show where they refurbish some old crap for fun? I should get on that with this piano). Oo, or maybe I could call it the parlour. What makes a room a parlour?

Okay, I just looked it up. First of all, why do I so often use the British spelling of things? Maybe there was something to that mini-past-life reading I had done back in whatever year that was... '89? '90?

Anyway, maybe I'll call it the parlour after all. And the back room can be the living room.

I'm spending way to much thought on this. Is ANYONE enjoying the view from inside my brain? I think maybe I'll just say "the front room" and "the back room". Or I can call the back room "the cave". Who cares, right?

Anyway, school will start back up soon, and this daily boredom from me will end soon--so don't send people over to cut off my hands or anything!

It Was A Good Day

I didn't expect much out of today. I mean, there's a huge clue to my level of inclination to dissatisfaction when a week ago I was internally bemoaning the fact I overbook my break (meaning I book anything at all, really) when what I really want is just to chill out all alone... but then when I get a chance to chill out alone, I'm thinking it's a huge waste.

I blame the fact I finally got caught up to this season of Smallville. Also Dr. Who regenerated, and it's bumming me out. I have many things to blame that AREN'T ME, so don't rock my boat, people. However, do feel free to vote in the poll on my blog (upper right side, I believe).

Anyway, I've lost my original thought (which is nothing new, much like my poor proofreading skills).

Oh yeah, I didn't expect much today. I wanted to rig up the bathroom nearest to mine with a workable shower (it came with a bath, no shower, but for many reasons, I've grown weary of this). Once I was well into that project, I realized I needed to get the Christmas tree de-Christmasified and taken down (yes, artificial--it's a family tradition... my brother is allergic, I think).

I got the shower done, and just about the time I finished packing the tree into the box, I had company.

So: hooray! I got to play Bananagrams today, which is a crazy fun game for a word freak like me. I recommend it to all word freaks.

Also, I made some sugar cookies and made an insane trip out of the house to the grocery store. This was mostly due to the fact I have very little of substance to eat in my house right now. And I threw out my milk because it was wonky. Not sour. Wonky. That's a freakin' disgusting wonky, not a cute and bearable one. I don't know what was wrong with it, but it tasted like liquid wages of sin.

I finally get back home, my car full of important provisions, and I can't make it back to the garage. I actually get stuck.

Yes, ME! STUCK in snow! The audacity! Or something.

Luckily, I bought a shovel yesterday evening, thinking maybe Cody wouldn't be by to shovel snow today (and I don't know that I would have let him, once I felt how cold it was outside), but I might need my own shovel, and: ta-da! I did.

So I dug myself out. It didn't take long. I'm in until my driveway is cleared, however. Feel free to come visit. (Park on the street.)

Christmas is down, but not out. I mean the decorations are down, but they're not out of the house yet. They're not even out of the front room yet. I want to get some bubble wrap for my mugs and whatnot, and I'm not taking everything out to the shed until the snow is history. I think they'll be plenty safe in the sun room.

I just realized I haven't scheduled my surprise birthday party with people. I hope you guys are marking your calendars... it's on my actual birthday... my place. Time T.B.A., but it will be in the evening (7:00 or so). And DON'T TELL ME ABOUT IT! It's a SURPRISE!

My Epiphany: It's All About Natural Consequences, Baby

Appropriately enough, today I had an epiphany, of sorts...

Over the past 30-odd hours, I've been thinking a lot about Brad and reading about his life after 1985, and reading very funny things he wrote and all of the amazing things he was a part of... and I realized while I'll never not feel awful about the way things went with us, I don't need any more punishment than the natural consequences: I didn't get to be his friend. I'll always have this Brad-shaped hole in my life (I was just commenting on someone's blog today how I often think of Brad when I read something he would have liked or see something he might have laughed about or gotten intrigued by), and it was of my own making. On the other hand, I'm sure Brad picked himself up, dusted himself off, and moved on ages ago. "So enough with the agonizing over what happened 25 years ago," I told myself.

So I hope I get to attend some part of the funeral arrangements, although I've not heard anything more about them at this time. I'm also hoping the weather will cooperate at least a little bit...

Speaking of weather--no school for the rest of the week. Strange. I don't know all the down-and-dirty reasons why it's called. I see people on facebook talking about what they've heard or what they think about it, but from my point of view I think it's not a bad thing--and I don't mean because I don't have to go to work. We have lots of kids who either don't have the sense or don't have the budget (or both) to dress warmly. We have lots of kids who are seeing themselves off to school in the morning. We have a lot of kids in both categories who ride a bus to school. I'd rather not have ANY kid standing out in that cold--properly dressed or not (but especially the not).

I hope each of you in the snowy parts of the world is staying warm, driving safely, and being the best person you know how to be. Actually, I'll go ahead and wish that last one for all of you.

Good-bye, Brad. I'm So Sorry.

A high-school friend sent me a message on facebook this afternoon to let me know Brad Graham had died. Now I'm wracking my brain trying to remember when I first met Brad.

I know it was in P.E.--we were both about equally into sports. I keep thinking that would make it my junior year and his freshman year, but that doesn't seem right. I think my high-school yearbooks are at school (or lost forever due to a fire I can't get enough of remembering), and I could check there--but it really seems like we were friends far longer than that.

Not only were we equally into sports (which is to say very little), but we were equally into all things of the geek: science fiction (with a lot of Doctor Who and Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy emphasis, but not all), books, computers, technology in general...

Not long after first meeting him, I started going over to hang out with him at his home--a total lack of most things geeky was just one of many reasons he never hung out at my home. We edited together our own radio show intro tapes (I bet I could find it in my box of tapes, if I had it in me to go look) with snips and clips of various recordings (including THHGTTG on album). We wrote scripts. Somewhere on a very old--probably no longer readable--giant floppy disk (okay, not GIANT, but huge enough) I have a copy of a movie project we put together when we were in the gifted program together (before I got kicked out for my lack of motivation in the regular classroom, that is). We thought up computer programs and did our best to make them a a reality using the computers available to us at the time.

Brad was the one who organized my friends into buying me my first computer mouse for my birthday my senior year.

We spoke the same geeky language. When I "borrowed" a piece of work to use as my own, he totally called me out on it, but not unkindly so. We worked on the yearbook together. We went to sci-fi conventions together--or went to at least one together. We were supposed to go to one my senior year, but I ended up backing out.

It was February of my senior year. I remember that much. I used to have the dates burned in my memory--and my brain can picture a calendar of awful events from February, 1985 that I once actually printed out. (Yes, people, I have always needed to organize things to try to make sense of them--even if the organization makes no sense to others).

I threw away what probably could have been one of the best friendships of my life. Maybe it would have tanked either way. Maybe we would have grown apart as I've grown apart from most of my other friends from those days, only to be brought back together with the advent of facebook--at which point one or both of us would be making that choice of "to friend or not to friend".

But who knows what would have happened. The point is I threw away a friendship. Worse, I'm too much of a coward to even delve into the details. Suffice it to say I "severed all ties" abruptly and just before we were supposed to go to a Doctor Who convention in St. Louis. I wish I could say there was some huge disagreement and we came down on opposing sides. I wish I could say he was trash-talkin' me in front of my peeps. No, it was all me, really. Me, dealing with my own crap... but still all me in the end.

Brad is that friend I would google on occasion--every 5 or 10 years or so--to see how he was doing (one of the first weblogs, credited with coining the term "blogsphere"), but I'm pretty sure was never brave enough to send him an e-mail. I never empty my send folder, so if I could get onto my last two computers, I could check to be sure--I'd at least feel a little better today if I knew I'd sent him an e-mail apologizing for being such an ass back in 1985.

The heart-breaker for me was pulling up his facebook page this afternoon, and seeing that "Add as friend" button. Something like an accusation, something like a really bad April Fool's Day joke, and something like an unsympathetic judge, it glared at me from the screen--accusing, laughing, punishing. And me without my time machine.

My sister-from-another-mister Lyndsey pointed out it might be wise to take the major lesson from this event and apply it to other areas of my life, and she's right.

We're only here for so long. Don't waste your relationships being stubborn or stupid or angry or bitter. And for pity's sake: make amends where you can. Mend fences, build bridges, and other constructiony things.

And make sure to remember to forgive yourself sometimes.

The Story That Got Away

There's a very uninteresting story as to why I'm up at this hour. I'm coming at the day from the wrong side of it--meaning I'm finally going to bed after I finish this bit up...

The up side: No school today. Maybe not the rest of the week, but I'll believe that when I receive the official phone call. The down side of that would be an extension of the school year, but whatever.

Anyway, I've been up for a pretty boring reason that I won't go into here. Suffice it to say I wasn't watching television or hanging on the facebook or any of my normal up-too-late-ed-ness-es.

I'm reading the next installment of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, not written by DNA. I don't know what I think of it yet. (And no, that's not what kept me up yet, either, I was making an attempt at a transition.)

I honestly had something I wanted to get said before I went to bed. Now I don't remember what it was. I hope it wasn't important. (Wrong blog for that, really...)

Really, I'm not trying to write a diary here...

I forgot to put my favorite part of my visit to Omaha: When I said, "I'm a big ol' homeowner," and my aunt Rachel cracked up laughing--and I had to explain to Cheryl what the joke was (Rachel thought I was going to stop before the -ner). Actually, there were lots of favorite parts to that short visit--Binx and his books, Cheryl and her stories of falling down, and so on.

Anyway, back to school tomorrow. Kids on Tuesday. Nobody seems to be voting on my poll over there on the right... well, nobody except for one person, last time I checked. I'm taking pictures, just in case (Jordan took the one yesterday), however.

In a couple of days, it'll be my 43rd Christmas Season down. It's always a bummer putting the stuff away, but the teacher in me (and the part of me that hates waking up to an alarm) just reminds me it means we're headed toward summer break.

I didn't make church this morning. While taking my shower, I realize I'm standing in water. Apparently there was some sort of freezing of the drain water while I was gone. So I spent the morning looking up solutions for that. You'd think this would turn me off of homeownership, but this is one area where my really bad living situation pays off: I'm just glad I'm fixing things on my own place, not one owned by someone else!

1.) Best Christmas Ever: I always say it was the year Santa somehow got to our house early while we were all out at Say's place. Mom and Dad (and maybe Say, even) spotted Rudolph flying way up in the sky, and tried to get us to see the moving red light, but we were too late... Someone (I think Say) suggested maybe Santa had already made it to the house, and sure enough, he had! This was the year I got this haunted house game that I wish I could remember the name of. I loved that game, but apparently not enough to keep it safe for years and years.

2.) Best Christmas Present Ever: Probably my Apple IIC. It was supposed to be a Christmas-Birthday-Christmas-Birthday-Christmas-Birthday present, but my sister Ruth will verify I ended up getting something for one of the subsequent Christmases or birthdays. She even knows what it was I got, I think.

3.) Best Part of This Christmas Season: I'd have to say having the family over for dinner. Sounds sappy, doesn't it? It was that or the game night with friends, but technically that was during Advent, not Christmas. Not that anybody seems to pay attention to the difference between the two...

Okay, so share your three! 1.) Best Christmas Ever, 2.) Best Christmas Present Ever, and 3.) Best Part of This Christmas Season!

Two Days In

Today was a very special day--unless I'm forgetting something, like an overnight stay somewhere since the end of April of last year: I woke up somewhere other than in my new home today... however, it was a nice hotel suite, so I was okay with it.

Compeltely failed to get with most of the Omaha family, but did see Carrie, Binx, Cheryl, and Aunt Rachel--I just need to schedule an actual weekend in Omaha or something--or convince Karen to host a big family get-together (which is my 2nd-favorite plan, the first being having it at my place, but I figure we'd get more of the Omaha crowd if we had it there) sometime over my spring break.

I got to Carrie's closer to 9:00 than 8:45, and Jordan was totally zonked out on the couch--but got together quickly enough when I said we had to go. Binx took my leaving with a nod and a wave, but was in tears over Jordan going. Note to self: spend less on his present next year.

After going to Rachel's for a morning visit of about 45 minutes or so (with Cheryl being there for most of the last 30 of those minutes), Jordan and I headed back to Kansas City. Jordan wasn't sure how it was I managed to stay awake and drive while listening to George Winston's December. I was going to offer to let her listen to any CD she wanted if she'd clean all the soot off all my Christmas CD cases, but then decided against it. It's my soot. I want to clean it.

Dropped Jordan off and saw Leslie and Matt for all of about two minutes--Leslie is under the weather, so she's having a great start to the new year.

Went to Ben & Tricia's from there, and arrived only 15 minutes into the party. Good news: Below-zero temperatures in Omaha (the Wii was in my trunk all night) didn't seem to make the Wii unusable for the party! Hooray!

On the contemplative side of things: You know, I usually feel pretty good about things I can remember from years ago, but when I sit down to think about individual Christmases or New Years or birthdays or whatnot, I start drawing blanks. I know that NYE 1985 (into 1986) I went to Quincy, IL to see the movie CLUE. And I'm pretty sure it was 1989 into 1990 that I spent NYE driving across the state after running lights for a show at the Unicorn. I suppose if I sat down with some time on my hands, I could come up with more. It just seems I don't remember as much as I used to. Maybe I only have so much space, and I'm having to start erasing files to make room for new ones, eh?

Happy 2010!

I don't know if I'd say it's a resolution, but I've brought back "STILL: Life". I'm thinking about starting another photo blog called "365 (and some change) Days of ME!" This one would just have a different picture of me for each day--preferably taken by someone else, but if nobody e-mails me a photo from that day by midnight, I'll use one I took myself... if I decide to do it, that is. With school out I tend to get more ideas than I have time for...

As far as resolutions go, I have things I'd like to do, but won't go so far as to get all resolve-y about them. Maybe eat right, maybe exercise, maybe write more, maybe make it to church more regularly, maybe lots of things.

The holidays were fun, hope everyone else had a good time. I was explaining to a younger person that once you get a certain age, it isn't about the presents so much--or it better not be, if you want to avoid major disappointment! This year (2010) I may go a little crazy with the lights out front. I stayed a bit laid back for this current season.

So, in case I don't get you invited, I'm throwing a surprise birthday party for myself on my birthday. Shh! Don't tell me! It's a surprise. It'll be at my house, and everyone should get there close to the posted time, so someone can go get me (I'll go with them for this) and bring me home for that big "Surprise" moment. Don't you just LOVE surprise parties? Whatever. Mark your calendar.

Well, that's all there is to report. Go check out STILL: Life. The first picture is boring, but I'm in a hotel room in Omaha and hadn't taken any non-people pictures all day (wish I'd gotten the moon rising, but I was driving up I-29 at that time).

I Keep Coming Back To Two Crosses

I've been gone a while... or actually, here a while, but not getting on blogspot for a while.

However, I've been thinking a lot about the Columbine cross controversy from about 10 years back. I guess it's just something that snagged in my brain back when I first heard about it.

So when I have a free moment I google and read and try to get the story. My understanding of the whole thing right now is sketchy, but essentially someone asked a carpenter from Illinois to make 15 crosses for the 13 Columbine victims and the two shooters. I'm sketchy on who did the asking, but this carpenter apparently did this for victims of violence, something he started after his father-in-law and friend were killed.

For a long time I thought it was all his idea, but apparently he was asked. He put the two shooters' names in a different font, to set them apart.

One of the victim's father was angry enough to tear the two crosses down. This carpenter came and took the 13 remaining crosses, but then ended up bringing them back.

I don't know why this story keeps banging around my head. It just does. I'm intrigued. I think the whole thing sums up something that's very wrong with humans, spiritually speaking.

I would like to be able to put this into words sometime. Maybe sometime when I'm not trying to get grad school stuff done, or whatever else is taking up my time.

In other news... Well, if you're on fb, there's no need to share other news. There's no real other news, I guess. Less than two months left in 2009!

Why Must I Be Sad?

I'm not sad. That's a They Might Be Giants Song that was going through my head just now for reasons that I may clear up by the time I get to the end of this rambling post...

Anyway, check out how I don't post here much. Done checking? Cool.

Here's a list of things I haven't written about, but thought about while away from the computer: Evidence shows that my brother Wade is a good big brother (on average--he ain't perfect or nothin'); I have to have a poll on here for people to say it matters to them that I eat right and exercise and try to get healthy, because I'll never do it for myself--but I'll do it for others; vacation is coming to an end and I have little to show about it; my life must be less stressful, because I have fingernails; how do you apologize to people you've hurt horribly when you think an apology is going to pale in comparison to the horribleness that was you on a rage rampage; and more...

But now I'm writing because I couldn't sleep (from 2:30 to about 3:10 there was a concert in my room as I tried to remember lyrics to songs to put myself to sleep--I didn't work) and I was looking at different things I'd written. Since I don't have all my files off the old computer yet, I don't have a lot of stuff available... so I went to the old posts from 2005 and 2006.

Reading through those made that TMBG song start going through my head.

A friend told me, "You'll never be that happy again," and I'm afraid she's right.

At any rate, reading these things did actually cause me to feel better about life--I haven't forgotten how awful things were when I lived in that house and was digging my way out of robbing-Peter-to-pay-Paul-ville, but reading things I wrote while I was there put my part of my brain back in it so the compare/contrast was much easier.

The up side of pizza delivery: I thought more. I think I do my best thinking while driving. There's no TV to drown out my brain. I think I need to start making some "thinking time" part of my day... but what are the odds?

The other thing I have to do is start going to church regularly. I've had some horrible times this summer, and I know it's because I've gotten out of that practice of being in church every week. Get me--I'm actually one of those people who says his life is better if he goes to church each week. When did that happen? But I know it's what's missing.

What's missing from Ch__ch? U R!

Anyway, I think I've reached that special time of the early morning when I can actually fall asleep without a sleep aid. Wish me luck on getting up and getting to the school in the morning--I have furniture-moving I want to do before we go back next week.

Ranting Like A Crazy Person

So I'm on facebook, and this person I knew in high school has posted this as his status:

Is sad to hear that a former student and athlete was killed today in an auto accident today. Good kid. Her dad is a pastor and hopefully she had made a commitment to Christ.

It's like Krakatoa in my head right now. Having heard something VERY similar at my aunt's funeral, I had to tackle myself and hold myself to the floor in order to keep myself from clicking "Comment" and ranting like a crazy person.

At the very least, I want to comment, "Having heard something very similar at my aunt's funeral, I hope God in her infinite wisdom gave you at least enough sense not to say something that pompous and pious and other p-words (along with pthoughtless) to members of her family."

And that is SO the very least. Krakatoa, remember?

So, comment away, folks. Thoughts? I can't type any more, or this may be my most crazy rant ever.

It's 2:40A.M.

It's 2:40 in the morning. It's June 24th. I'm awake. If you're reading this and halfway sane and not going through some health issue or life trauma right now, I imagine you're asleep as I type this--or maybe in another time zone.

This is the first summer in a while where I haven't taught XLT (that's Summer School to you non-NKCSD folks... and NKCSD is North Kansas City School District--for you same folks). Also, my life is so different now, I find myself living it a little differently.

I didn't have cable television for several years. I didn't have decent access to the web (I was a dial-up dude up until the end of November, 2008). I wasn't on facebook when I only had dial-up; everything is SO slow on dial up, which used to be just fine back in the day.

So it's summer vacation time. I watch a lot of television. I spend time on facebook. I surf the net looking for recipes and books and music and information about authors and read about friends and wonder what wonderful things humans will come up with long after I'm gone, and reflect on the things that weren't around when I was 16 that I have trouble imagining living without now.

And yeah, they're just things. Trust me, if Mark Riggs can live without cable for over five years, Mark Riggs can probably live without just about any modern convenience.

Except functioning toilets. Oh, I could live without them, but I'd really really really really rather not.

I'm also spending this summer getting my house put together, and training myself to mean "my house" when I say "my house". Making the first payment helped a lot. I'm pretty much there at this point, but my "Don't get settled in" attitude from... oh, 1985 or so up until this past May... is hard to shake off. And at the same time there's this feeling of, "This is your house! When you put up the pictures, you need to get it right!"

But this isn't what inspired me to write. I saw The Wilders on Saturday night, and it made me wish I was doing something more than what I'm doing. Sometimes I think I might be a huge amount of wasted potential... not that I have a huge amount of potential, but I'm huge, and I have potential, and it's wasted... oh, you get the idea.

And it's not from a lack of projects... I've got a friend who wants me to finish writing something I started several months ago. I've got another thing I want to write. I've got... rhythm...

Wow. That cursor flashed for a while.

I'm realizing I don't really have an excuse right now. Maybe that's why I sat down to type this. I'm a person that has to process thing through communication, I guess (maybe we all are; I don't know). I originally was feeling all philosophical about how I was born in the morning, yet I feel like such a night person, but now I'm thinking I need to take that crack-down attitude I had about working extra jobs to try to get life back on track, and use that to start getting things done I want to do.

Which will admittedly be difficult, because I'm not very good at doing things for myself. That's not to say I'm not a selfish jerk, because I am. I'm saying I'm more apt to DO something for someone else. For me, I'm more apt to let me relax and hang out.

Well, I'm glad you could all be here while I worked that out.

Also: Isn't it strange how I'm a night person, but was born in the morning? Or is that how it's supposed to work?

The Grumpy Old Man And The Other Shoe (A Story For Future Times?)

So I have a house, and I'm all about the "Hooray, house!" and people keep noticing I don't really seem to be all about the "Hooray, house!"

And I figured out this week I've become a grumpy middle-aged man.

So can you imagine what sort of grumpy old man I'll be, should I survive to old-man-dom?

And I live my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. (Well, now I'm more interested in the etymology of that expression, but I'm still waiting for that other shoe to drop, no matter what the origin of the expression.)

So I really am WAY excited to be a homeowner, but that excitement is hidden behind the me that's listening for that other shoe. Or the next shoe.

Life is a infinipede, and there's always another shoe. Or so I have come to believe, apparently.

I guess the wiser man would suggest having a good time until the other shoe drops, and stop waiting for it.

Okay, I'm tired, but I wanted to share those thoughts with the people of the world for no particular reason other than to warn them to stay out of my yard in the future, as I'm likely to yell at them to get out of it if I catch them.

There Are Days...

There are days I think, "This is the day I'm gonna turn my life around! I'm gonna get caught up on everything I need to get done! I'm gonna fix everything wrong in my life that I've been meaning to fix! I'm gonna build the bridges that I've burned over the past however-many years! I'm gonna--I wonder what's on t.v. right now?"

There are days when I'm not sure what day it is, and I'm not sure how upset I should be about it.

There are days when I remember the me of a day several years ago, and that me and this me are like to overhead transparencies lined up over each other, and I can see how different this me is from that me, and it's an odd feeling of surprise, happiness, disappointment, regret, and joy. There's a word for that particular mix of feelings, but there are no vowels in that word, so we can't pronounce it.

There are days when I question whether or not a free public education for all is a good idea. These days are usually non-summer weekdays. I tend to go on to wonder if the culture of "school is bad, and I hate going" would change if it were possible to say, "You're right. Go get a job. Nike needs someone to put together their shoes, I think." I wonder how long it would take for things to turn around if we were also allowed to say a month later to that young'n beggging to come back, "Um... no. Try that Nike thing for a year first. It might grow on you." Or, would the workplace become the babysitter that we used to be before the Golden Era of "A Free Public Education for Everyone Who Knows How to Act Right at Least 75% of the Time and Promise to Show Up With an Attitude to Learn at Least 75% of the Time"? The world will never know... Mostly because I don't think an era would ever have that long of a name, Golden or not.

There are days when I can't believe I'm 42. I feel both 12 and 72 at the same time.

There are days when I see a side of a student I've never seen before and remember that it's important to question everything you believe about a person... especially if they're about 13 or so.

There are days when I wonder if people who make decisions about lunch times really believe kids can eat a healthy meal in 6 minutes.

There are days when I have these moments of clarity that allow me to see all I should be thankful for when I've been nothing but cranky and judgemental, or angry and haughty, or just plain jerky. That's plain jerky, not beef.

There are days when I have all these thoughts I want to put on my blog, but feel I can't express them right... or well... or both.

There are days that I think of "What might have been," ranging from events in my lifetime that relate directly to me, to events before my time that don't relate directly to me... and everything in-between (and around... and over... and beside...)

There are days I bite off more than I can chew, but then manage to chew it anyway, mostly because of the ick factor of someone spitting out something they can't chew.

There are days I go through without a single quote from a Joss Whedon show going through my head. These are extremely rare, however.

There are days when I suddenly think about someone I know who is dead, and I wish more than anything for just another conversation with whichever one I suddenly thought of. Many of these people are relatives... and a few are friends. However, there aren't a lot of days I think to pick up the phone and talk to the living. I think this is poor planning on my part.

There are days I wish we had more hours in the day for sleeping. I'd dig a 30 hour day if I could get 6 more hours of sleep.

There are days where I know where I'm headed when I start a blog entry. This isn't one of them.

Random Quotes From the Book I'm Reading OR Why I'm So Sad Terry Pratchett Has Early Onset Alzheimer's

"The moon was on the way to being full. A gibbous moon, it's called. It's one of the duller phases of the moon and seldom gets illustrated. The full moon and crescent moon get all the publicity."

"Worried though he was, and he was worried to his boots, Rob Anybody grinned. If there's one thing a Feegle likes, it's knowing that wherever you strike, you're going to hit an enemy."

"Learnin' how not to do things is as hard as learning how to do them. Harder, maybe. There'd be a sight more frogs in this world if I didn't know how not to turn people into them."

"Tomorrow, your job is to change the world into a better place. Today, my job is to see that everyone gets there."

"It's an unfair world, child. Be glad you have friends."

All from A Hat Full of Sky, by Terry Pratchett. Some (okay, ALL) of it is better in context, and my favorite speech is WAY too long to type here. Just stop by a book store or library and read the bulk of pages 294 and 295! Better yet, read the whole book! (But you should read The Wee Free Men first...)

It's Not Easy Goin' Green

Here's a horrible thing I noticed about every time I go to the Scronics and get something to eat (which is more often than it should--bad enough I'm getting a Route 44 cherry-vanilla Dr. Pepper, but a grilled cheese sammich, too? yikesikins!), the bag they put the sandwich in is seriously used for the amount of time it takes them to put the sandwich and whatnot in the bag, hand it to me, me to turn the bag upside down to get sandwich and what not out, pull forward about... 6 yards or so to the trash can, and throw it away.

Okay, solution 1 is that I stop buying sammiches at the Scronics. And this will happen (or reduce in amount) when I have my place up north. It's just I'm often-times going somewhere other than Olathe after school (or after the after-school activities), and a quick sammich is the only way to go. But it's not going to happen forever and ever amen until I'm dead. So let's think...

I keep thinking I could save them and do something with them, but what do you do with a kinda-used paper bag from the Scronics. Handy if someone is hyperventilating, I suppose, but beyond that... I mean, there's a slight ick factor because it's been USED... ewwwwww...

Anywho, that's the homework assignment for this post. Spelling doesn't count (for real, check out some of the typos and/or spelling errors on my posts).

Why I Haven't Been To Church Since October

First, that's not true. I've been to church several times since October... at least four, anyway. However, it wasn't my church. It was Dane's church--or Dane's and Ruth's church now.

This is going to be one of those posts where you wonder why I'm sharing so much. So if that makes you uncomfortable, go to STILL: Life and check out my funny picture from several weeks back.

Anyway, I went a little crazy at the end of October. I had just about reached the end of my imaginary rope, that was several miles below the end of my actual rope--I'd been fakin' it that long.

I had so much going on, and I was teetering on the edge of... something you don't want to teeter on the edge of.

So while I was trying to juggle school, grad school, tutoring, directing the children's choirs, paying bills, waiting for grad school loans, robbing Peter, putting off Paul a little longer, and so on and so forth, the last straw landed on that camel's back.

It came in the form of an e-mail from someone at the church (and I think copied to several someones at the church... but I'm not sure and my old computer isn't here right now), and I tried really hard to count to 100 before I hit "Reply all" and started typing.

I got to 0.000013, I think.

Anyway, I sent a Vitriol Special to all parties concerned, and essentially told them to piss off and leave me alone until further notice.

Then my life turned around a little, the a little more... then there was a fire, and that sucked, but then there was more life-turning-around-ed-ness... but by then I was hanging in Olathe, and there ain't no way I'm driving up north of a Sunday when I'm already doing it of a Monday thru Friday.

Anyway, I have to make a decision when I move up north in a few weeks. Do I go back to say "Hey" to the people I made an ass of myself in front of, or do I just find another church and move on with my life.

I know wherever I go, volunteering is off the table for a while. What I feel I need right now is some good hard thought about the Bible and my faith in general, seriously. I would love to help, but my helping hand has too many chunks of flesh bitten out of it right now, I think, and I don't have the time or energy to nurse it back to health.

Selfish, no?

I don't know. Feel free to comment, if there's anyone out there who reads these posts o' mine any more. I know when I go to Dane's (and Ruth's) church, I miss having that.

I don't know. So it goes. All the live-long day.

Random Beautiful Moment

Life is life of late. Probably worse since mid-October or so in some ways, but better since November or so in others. Worse since mid-December is still other ways, but better since early January in others.

So it's life, right?

Anyway, tonight found myself in a beautiful moment, and I thought to share it here with anyone who stumbles across it (or who comes here from my reference to it on facebook).

I took Jordan to a movie tonight. (Last House on the Left, actually... there was much debate in front of the theatre about what to see (I wanted Knowing or Push, she wanted Last House on the Left now or Push now and Last House on the Left with a friend (a boy!) later...

Whatever, the beautiful moment was actually on the way to the theatre.

She brought along a CD. I would love to tell you the name of the band/artist, but I can't. I do know it was track 4 that brought on the beautiful moment.

She said, "Listen to this," and cued up the aforementioned track, then proceeded to sing along with it.

I will fail miserably describing this moment, and let me start ensuring that by first pointing out how badly I'm going to suck at it.

From the instant she started singing, I was in the land of the beautiful moment. It wasn't that her voice was really great or really awful. It was just a combination of things. She was really matching the style of the woman singing, and her voice just sounded so... I don't know... beautiful, really.

I seriously had to fight back a big reaction. I finally asked her if she was going to sing this in a talent show, and she said she couldn't sing without the CD. She turned it down but continued singing, and she did indeed sound like what I'd call the 14-year-old girl singing... not very confident, very exposed in the moment, and so on. (That was probably the peak of the beautiful moment for me, I think.)

She turned the CD back up, and I said I still thought she sounded good, and she just needed to sing with confidence and so on and so forth...

But there was something really beautiful about the whole moment. I wish I could express it better than I've tried here.

From the F to the Y to the I

Just a little ketchup time...

Still staying with Ben & Tricia. Closer to having north-of-the-river digs.

Not a lot else to report right now, I guess.

I've Got News and News

I've given up quantifying/categorizing everything that's happening to me. I'm going to take a neutral approach, I think.

So, it turns out that the second bedroom upstairs (which was closed up during the fire) is full of surprises.

First, in the poor light that has been available to me upstairs to date, it looked like everything was pretty much same as ever... but, now that I have managed to get to the shades/blinds (yes, the room was THAT full of stuff I needed to sort through and file away in "save" and "trash" piles) I see that nothing in there has survived.

Second, I found my Pictionary and Scattegories games. They're not that much worse for wear, so they will be two of the very few things I'll be keeping from that room.

No beds, no love seat, no... well, pretty much no anything that was in there. I'll only save it if it seems just heartless not to keep it--or foolish.

Now I have no bed. So watch this space (and my facebook) for your opportunity to get rid of stuff you were just going to have to pay someone to haul away. When I get a place lined up, I'll make a list of everything I could use, and you--yes, YOU--could have the chance to get rid of your practically new but really worthless junk! Or the old junk, even.

And here's the moment from this whole thing that killed me a little inside: The last thing my mom ever bought for me (a sort of winter vest thingy) is toast--actually it's half of the last thing she ever bought me, but I already knew the shirt was toast.

So it goes.

To quote Death in Terry Pratchett's Hogfather,

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

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Thirty Years Ago This Month

I thought of this a few weeks back while sitting by Ben & Tricia's Christmas tree and just sorta reflecting and whatnot...

I was reminded of it by all the kid-made things they have on their tree.

Thirty years ago this month, Mr. Smith asked his 6th grade class (which included me) to make ornaments for his tree. He wanted us to put our names on them, so when he looked at them years later, he could say, "Oh yes, Mark Riggs, I remember when he was in my class."

I'm pretty sure he didn't use me as an example, but you get the idea. He said something like that and used a kid as an example.

I remember I put one of my 6th grade pictures on my ornament, to help him remember me.

While sitting and staring at Ben & Tricia's tree, I wondered if Mr. Smith still has that ornament (and the one Tricia and the rest of the class made, for that matter). Speaking as a teacher, probably not. Speaking as a packrat, it's possible.

So it remains a holiday mystery.

Pictures From My Burned-Up Bedroom (And Bathroom)

Here are some pics from my stairway, bathroom and bedroom. Enjoy!



This was my first clue that something was wrong... those streaks don't belong!


This wasn't so visible when I to this part of the stairwell--it was pretty dark.


Imagine seeing this with only the light coming through the window (and thinking there should be a shower curtain in front of the window).


But it was when I set my laundry basket on this surface in the near-pitch-blackness that I put everything together and figured out something was very, very wrong!

The rest of this I'm going to try to put together in another post. It'll be captionless, but will go up more quickly!

The Short Version: Fire At My Place

Ruth and I just spent a couple of days getting Dane moved from Jefferson City to Jefferson Place Apartments in Olathe. This is enough stress for me, in my opinion, but apparently my opinion doesn't count.

So, I'm driving down the street to my place tonight, and I notice the porch light is off. As a residual reaction from more stressful financial days, I first wonder if I didn't pay the electric bill.

As I walk in the front door, I smell the past tense of a fire. The place wasn't filled with smoke (the downstairs lights worked fine). I thought maybe a piece of paper got on a heating vent and that's what I was smelling. I checked the living room, the dining room, and then went into the kitchen.

When I tried the kitchen light, it didn't work. At this point I thought maybe a breaker blew and that's the former-fire-like smell I was picking up. I decided to go ahead and get the other laundry basket out of the car and take it upstairs.

As I'm going upstairs, I realize the lights are off upstairs (the upstairs everything is connected to the porch light--and apparently the kitchen and dining room lights... maybe. I was just thinking how I should maybe go down the the basement and check on that breaker when I notice it looks like water or something had been running down the wall by the stairs.

So my new theory was that a branch or something landed on the roof, water got in (I wasn't sure if it had rained or what while I was gone), and that caused some electrical issue, and that's why I smelled the past tense of fire and the lights weren't all working.

I decide to go on upstairs, with the theory in my head that there's a hole in the roof. I can tell by the light coming in the bathroom window that there's something odd about the shower. I have a shower curtain hanging up in front of the window in the shower--as the window isn't opaque at all.

I'm starting to wonder if a huge chunk of the roof is gone, but that doesn't seem right, as it's freezing cold outside and not so much inside... but I still think I was sticking with this theory.

I walk into the bedroom and set the clothes basket on the bed. I can do this in the dark because I've done it so many times before.

The bed CRUNCHED.

Based on my previous theory, my first thought was there were a bunch of dead leaves on my bed.

I reached down and touched the bed, and whatever I touched fell away as I touched it.

Insert a moment of insanity here. The sad thing is, if we were to ever travel back in time, it would be too dark to make out my facial expression.

I try to use my cell phone to get some light. I can't see anything at first, but then realize the bed has been burned to a crisp.

Seriously: burned to a crisp.

My first instinct is to reach down to where the space heater is, and touch the buttons--to feel if they're on or off. Of course, I can't remember which is which, so I then hold the phone up to the buttons to actually see.

I can't really make anything out with such little light, so I go downstairs for a flashlight.

On my way down, I call Tricia. I figure they're not TOO far asleep at this point, as I'd left there not long ago--and I figure I'd be staying there if it turns out I'm not dreaming the whole bed-is-a-pile-of-ashes thing.

While talking to Tricia, I go back up with the flashlight. I hope I get pictures of this, because I'm not sure I can describe it. I guess it's a fire miracle, as the house is still standing, and the roof isn't burned up.

It looks like my bed just burned up, melting stuff around it, but not catching anything else on fire. Books that were less than a foot from the bed look more heat-damaged than anything else.

Oh, and I think I figured out where the fire started--but I'm not trained in that sort of thing, so I could be wrong. Tricia was adamant that I call the fire department, and I wasn't sure how to reach them--I mean, 911 is for emergencies. Turns out there's a non-emergency number in the phone book.

They send a couple of guys over to check things out. I explain my theory, but they're all weirded out by the fact only the bed is burned (and a patch of carpet by the bed). Everything else was damaged by the heat more than the first, it appears.

So they say they have to call in the arson specialist!

Well, I am a teacher. So arson isn't out of the question, right?

One guy goes and checks the breaker box, and a breaker had been tripped, so they think it was something electrical--but the arson specialist will still have to check things out tomorrow (or today, many hours from now).

So let's focus on the positive: The downstairs is pretty much unscathed. (Febreeze gets out past-tense-fire smell, right?)

I wasn't in the bed when this whole thing happened.

My new laptop was downstairs at the time.

The first probably ran out of oxygen, and nothing too upsetting was totally destroyed (although the book I was reading is now a pile of ashes--I'd left it on the bed... along with another book, actually. Oh yeah, positive...)

So that's what I'm dealing with right now. I'm going to work tomorrow, as I have a full week, and I'm not sure what good I'd be standing in my charred upstairs. I don't know. Maybe I won't go to school tomorrow--well, if I don't, I'll still have to go in to set up plans, etc., but you know what I mean.

Check it out: The first year in years that I haven't done the fire-hazard-y tree and house-lights--and here I am without a bed, and maybe without a place to live for a while! What's up with that.

Remember to pray for my friend who is having a little surgery on that tumorness tomorrow!

On A Lighter Note: Snow

A beautiful thing:

Middle school kids are too cool for a lot of things... but they aren't too cool to stare wistfully out a window when a heavy snow is falling. Probably they're dreaming of a snow day, but I think they also get caught up in the sheer beauty and peacefulness of it. Or maybe I'm displacing. Whatever, it's a beautiful thing.

First, The Heavy Stuff

As I was driving to Ben & Tricia's on Sunday, I noticed the Perkins on Santa Fe had it's gigantic flag at half mast. At first I thought maybe somebody important had died that day--or some big thing happened. As it's after Thanksgiving and before Epiphany, I have holiday music going in my car 24/7, and am pretty much out of the news loop... so it was possible I'd missed something big from Saturday.

Then I remembered it was December, and thought maybe it could be for the anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor... which was immediately followed by an embarrassing debate about the date of that event. Basically, I always think it's December 11th, for several reasons, the least of which not being that 11th and 7th rhyme.

Anyway, I somehow found the right synapse that was grounded in solid memory, and remembered it was a 1-digit day, not a 2-digit day.

This then led me to think about Uncle Bud, who died at Iwo Jima (I know I've mentioned this elsewhere in this lengthy (and often typographical-error-filled) blog). I was just struck by the notion that 67 years ago, he was... 16, I think. He might have had some inkling that this was going to be a big deal, and he was a young man approaching 18, and the odds were he'd be going off to war...

That then led me to think, "And some number of days later, he was dead."

Which is just a sort of simple thought that my mind finds mind-blowing at times.

So I spent the past couple of days googling different things. First, he's on the internet. How odd is it that you can find my dead uncle on the internet. Not his photo, or his diary or anything. Just his name.

And some other information, it turns out.

I knew the story of his death--at least the one related to mom and the rest of the family by a man who came to see them after the war (or maybe after he was discharged, as I remember Mom saying he had been missing at least a limb or four). He said he was there at the time. Uncle Bud was medical (Pharmacist's Mate, 3rd Class), and didn't have a weapon. When everyone around him was down, he did the country boy thing and threw rocks. And he died.

Less that 1,200 days after Pearl Harbor was bombed. Less than 40 months later.

But, guess what: He's in a book, even! At least, his name is. I have yet to see a copy of the book... maybe there's a picture, but I doubt it. And he's mentioned in a obituary from 2004... and that makes me wish I'd thought to look around on the internet five years or so ago--I could maybe have found someone who knew him while he was overseas.

For a long time, whenever I'd think of Uncle Bud, I'd dream about going to visit Iwo Jima, for reasons I'm not sure I understand.

I probably won't, but it's okay: I found pictures. It looks a lot different than I imagined. I figured it'd all be in black and white. Everything else was back then. As Calvin's father explained in one strip, things used to be in black and white, and then one day everything was in color...

Anyway, that was the first heavy thing. Just a depressing subject to start off a heavy post.

The other thing is a prayer request. I have a friend with what amounts to a brain tumor (or tumors). I'm not going to post a lot here, as I haven't spoken with her about giving names, etc., but you can just say, "Mark's friend with the brain tumor or tumors". God will know who you mean.

They're going to remove some of it (them) on Monday, and they'll know more at that time. Apparently an operation to remove all of it (them) isn't an option, and they need to find out how to treat it (them).

So, a long Iwo Jima obsession posting, followed by a prayer request. I'm here to keep y'all entertained... both of you!

So This Is The Fast Lane...

I finally have a high-speed internet connection at home. I don't know what to do with myself.

I don't know that I've mentioned it on here, since I haven't had a lot of time for much of anything else since this began, but I've been taking online grad school classes since late August/early September.

This has meant staying at school late to use their connection or going to Ben & Tricia's to use theirs. I got so tired of hanging out in their kitchen doing school work instead of hanging out with them, that one week I just put everything off for a day--and that was a fun Monday night rush to get everything in on time!

Anyway, life has been crazy, and most of it not... bad. Here's the strange psychological thing (with an empahsis on the PSYCHO): My body seems to be having a strange reaction to not being stressed out about money. When I think about it, I've been stressed out about money on some level since... well, really since I was about 18 or so. This stress has had time to grow up and go to college. It could be taking grad school classes of its own!

Anyway, things are strange. I find myself uninterested in putting up the holiday cheer--which is very odd, because it has gotten me through a lot of cruddy years. There have been years I haven't bothered, but not for a while now.

I'm wearing a holiday shirt, and the television is playing all the holiday cheer KUDL has to offer, but when I think about decorating, I'm sorta "eh..." about it. We shall see. Maybe it'll just hit me one day in mid-December, and I'll slide around on the roof of the porch getting my lights up.

Beyond getting money caught up and my life in some sort of order, not a lot is going on. Now that I'm all high-speed-internet-y, I'm doing lots of things I haven't been able to bother with before. I'm on Facebook; I'm sending video instead of e-mail. I'm all science-fiction-y, without the fiction!

For Thanksgiving, Ruth, Jordan, and I went to Jefferson City to hang out with Dane. Ruth made a great meal. Jordan and I drove to Wal-Mart (it isn't a holiday without a trip to the evil empire, eh?). On the way, we contemplated how we were going to break in if they weren't open. She got a little too thrilled with the idea for me to be comfortable. I mean, I just casually mentioned driving Ruth's car through the front doors, and all of a sudden she's all "well, I have a hoodie, but we need sunglasses..."

Kids today!

Well, I hope anyone who stumbles across this had a great Thanksgiving, and a great holiday season. I'll try to post again before then. If I set up my old web site, I'll have my Christmas card there. If not, I'll have to post a link here.

I guess I have to post a link here either way, eh?

My 205th Post (In Which I Express My Consideration Of The Decision To Not Decorate For Christmas This Year)

I'm thinking about not decorating for Christmas this year. Any strong objections out there? Anyone reading this? Maybe I'll put up a poll about it.

There are tons of reasons. I don't know that any of them is any good. But the basic thing is, "I kinda don't feel like it."

I'm Not Dead

Only sleeping.

I kid.

Lots of cool things I could post here, but I have to get to online grad school class stuff.

Miss y'all lots! Wish I was there!

Until

Martha visits every Monday, and just stays until noon.

The previous sentence may not mean anything to you, but if you learned how to memorize the planets from closest to the sun out to the furthest (normally, anyway) the way I did, you know what I'm talking about.

Hint: Until recently, the period at the end of the sentence stood for "Pluto". I guess it still could, since it's not an actual word... but then we'd have to find a purpose for that comma (or get rid of it).

And, before you post a comment asking about "and", that's the asteroid belt.

The reason that I'm telling you all this is because I didn't want to use the name of that planet for the title of this post for the very reason of the subject of this post. That makes a sort of sense, but maybe not yet.

I took all of my classes up to the computer lab on Friday to play "Multiflyer", a game that helps with memorization of multiplication facts.

See, somewhere back in the past 30-some-odd years or so, it was decided that it was not necessary to memorize multiplication facts. It's still not the fashion to have students memorize them.

Which would be all well and good if it was not necessary to memorize multiplication facts. However, doing simple fraction operations without knowing your multiplication facts is like reading Shakespeare without a good grasp on the early-modern version of our language.

That is to say: Start, stop to look up something, start again, go back a bit to remember what was going on, pass the initial problem point, stop to look up some other something, start again, go back a bit to remember what was going on...

And so on.

Thankfully, a study (or a study of studies) came out earlier this year that said it actually IS important for kids to memorize these things for basically the reason I just stated (but they didn't use the analogy of reading Shakespeare). See, if you're using that sort of "short-term" memory space to actually work out what 6 times 7 is (or using that space to walk yourself through punching those four calculator buttons, I suppose... or look it up on a table, even), you don't have as much available space for actually processing the new math skill you're supposed to be learning.

Okay, vent over. This was supposed to be a funny post.

So there we are in the computer lab, playing Multiflyer. The "story" of the game is that you are flying a missing from Earth to the moon, to Mars, to an asteroid, to Jupiter... and so on (with a couple of space stations in there), but to make the trip, you have to get the right numbers entered before your energy runs out. For each short jump, you have to enter one or two more numbers than the jump before.

The kids seem to enjoy it, and I raised the stake by offering a reward for the high score each hour (the faster you answer, the better your score). So these kids were really into it, announcing when they were at each new location, so other kids would know how far ahead they were, etc.

So I'd hear, "I'm on Mars!" and "I'm on Jupiter!" and "I'm on the asteroid!" and "I'm on the first space station!"

And of course, they were also saying, "I'm on Uranus!"

Middle-school child I am at heart, I had to suppress and giggle every time. And it always got worse. I know some of them pieced it together pretty quickly, and would make near-innocent remarks about the planet--and I'm sure they thought they were sly, because they got away with it.

Not because I didn't want to tell them to stop, but because I was afraid I'd start laughing if I started talking.

So: Crotchety Old Man?

Or Goofy Old Middle-Schooler?

Regarding Mark

So if you haven't read the previous post, this one might not make a lot of sense.

I have found myself over the past few days wanting to talk to somone about Frank and about everything related to this, and I just keep... not doing it.

I'm finding I don't want to talk to people in my old age.

Crotchety.

Old.

Man.

Regarding Frank

So I'm a boy in the chorus again. The first rehearsal was Tuesday night.

I took a year off to regroup and use every free minute to deliver pizza, but now that gas is E.D.A.A.L.B.P.G., it's cheaper to not be pizza delivery guy.

Anyway, I'm at rehearsal, and someone's in MY spot... or what WAS my spot before I had to take a year off to try to get things on track, anyway (there's another story about my taking a year off something that ALSO ends with someone else taking my spot, but I'll hold off on that tale until I'm less bitter about it). Also, as I had to re-audition, I'd been moved from an upper bass to a lower bass.

So I wasn't sure where to sit.

Which was somewhat upsetting, because my chorus buddy (and that was his actual role my first season--the person who introduces me to the whole group and makes me feel welcome and all that) Frank had always sat beside me, and he can sight read much better than I can (which is pretty much not at all0.

Frank hadn't arrived yet, and I was trying to figure out just how many seats to move down from my regular spot. Kevin walked up and said "hey", and I explained that I was trying to figure out where to sit now, and when Frank got there I was going to ask him where I should sit (and hoped it would be within hearing-range of him, since our section doesn't split THAT much, and I could still listen to him for most of the notes).

I should explain at this point that Frank and I occasionally exchanged e-mails (he was the one who e-mailed me to tell me I got my first solo the year I broke my leg and nearly died), but Frank was mainly just a chorus-buddy with whom I could sit next to and joke, and general enjoy the rehearsal period--and also the performances, as he stood right next to me... back when we were both upper basses, anyway.

Anyway, my last e-mail to or from Frank was probably long before I took the year off.

Still, sitting next to or near Frank and catching up with him were two of the three or four events I was really looking forward to this particular Tuesday night.

So, back to the present (of the story, anyway): Kevin looked at me and said, "Isn't he the one who passed away?"

Well, now, what do you do with that?

Some part of my mind had the firm believe that SOMEONE would have told me.

And another part of my mind remembered that I've been without a working e-mail account at least once over the past few months.

Kevin said he wasn't sure whether it was Frank or not (he doesn't know a lot of people in the chorus, and he's not in my section, so he wasn't sure of the name, etc.). He asked me if Frank had been in the chorus since it had started, and I said he had.

And Kevin said, "Well, whoever this was, he'd been in the chorus since the beginning."

That narrowed it down to maybe two or three people... and to just one if he meant "Done every concert since the beginning."

I told Kevin I had to go find Tom (because Tom knew everybody in the chorus, and if this was Frank we were talking about, he'd know).

I found Tom, sat down next to him, and said, "I have to ask you a question that may lead to a very uncomfortable conversation."

Which is a great way to get someone's attention, by the way.

I continued with, "Where's Frank?"

And then there's one of those moments that lasts forever because the stupid brain--even if it sometimes can't figure out how to plan ahead or plan a budget or anything useful--suddenly does all sorts of processing, the side-effect of which is everything slowing down.

I immediately knew it was Frank who died, just from the look on Tom's face.

Three years later, Tom asked, "Didn't you get the e-mail?"

And I replied that I needed to step outside for a bit.

Luckily, my car wasn't too far away, and I could sit in it and do a sort of primal scream thing, and then make it back to rehearsal.

Tom had told me to find him during the break and he'd tell me the details, but yes, Frank was no longer with us.

As far as shock-and-sudden=pain impact goes, this is one of the top five worst deaths I've ever been "close" to.

So it was fun learning new songs (especially the one we sing in memoriam of those who have gone on), thinking of how Frank always made us little holiday pins to wear for the first act of the concert, thinking how I missed EVERYTHING except for stopping by his grave and saying how sorry I am that I didn't even know he'd been ill...

Yeah, good times.

I caught up with Tom for the story. It's a fun one.

Short version: Frank needed a heart transplant. Frank didn't have insurance that would cover his meds. Meds would cost thousands of dollars (or at least a thousand dollars) a month for the rest of his life. The policy in such a case is: No heart for you.

Seriously.

The outrages continue, the next part involving his funeral service and the Catholic church, but I won't delve into that here.

In the end all that matters is Frank being alive came down to a policy decision, and because I was out of the loop for a year (and maybe because I didn't have working e-mail for part of June), I didn't even know he'd died.

And no complaining posts that this is turning into guesswhoisdeadnow.blogspot.com, because I've already thought that.

So I need to find out where Frank is buried and go pay my respects. Maybe I'll take a keyboard and this concert's music and he can help me through teaching myself these songs...