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.

Sharing A Post

I think I like this post.

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...

No Good News: My 200th Post

I was saving this post. I was hoping I'd get those pictures off that stupid zip drive, or come to some decision about how to get STILL: Life back up and running, or maybe not talk about it at all but instead type about how August 20th would have been Patsy's 78th birthday...

But instead I'm going to talk about Mark Ratliff.

Mark Ratliff was (at one time, anyway) one of the three Mark's in my small elementary school class. (The word "small" in that sentence can be interpreted to be modifying "school", "class", or "both" with no real misinterpretation.)

I don't know what year he moved in, and I don't remember what year he moved away. I know we talked about it when I saw him here in Kansas City a few years later... but my memory fails me.

And now he's not around to clarify.

Mark had a car accident early Wednesday morning, and didn't survive it.

Mark and I didn't always (or usually) get along as kids (he's one of the few non-family-member physical fights I had as a kid), and I remember thinking his father seemed to be a really nice guy. I also remember when his father died, and how I realized you could still feel bad for someone you didn't usually get along with.

I was enjoying an evening out one night a few years ago when Mark walked up to me and said he bet I didn't know who he was. I didn't. When he told me, I say "no way" a lot (with another word between the "no" and the "way", as I recall), and he had to show me his driver's license to prove it. I may have even written about it here. I haven't taken a moment to check.

At any rate, I remember thinking at a date shortly after that (for we talked/e-mailed after that, and I made it to at least one party at his place) how he'd turned out to be a lot like his father (in the fact that he seemed to be a really nice guy). I even shared this thought with Mark at least once.

I last saw Mark... sometime within the past year. I was out one night, he came up to me and we chatted a bit. He introduced me to a friend. Just normal stuff.

The big plan was to get together with Tricia and have dinner. He really wanted to see her again, and really wanted to see... well, lots of people from his late elementary school years. We just never got the schedules to mesh, and I was busy, he was busy, life is busy. Busy, busy, busy. And so on.

As I mentioned, Mark and I got in a physical fight once. I'm trying to think if I've been in more than two (non-family ones, anyway). If it was only two, I can now say that neither person I've fought is no longer with us. It's very strange to say that. It's very strange to think of former classmates being gone.

And people do it every day. This life thing... what a pip.

Anyway, the fight was such a strange event. I can't tell the story without my confused-face on, as I never understood it. We were at the ball diamond, watching a game. Maybe we'd had a game before, but I don't think so.

Mark came up to me and told me he wanted to fight. We were in 6th or 7th grade at the time (or, between 6th and 7th... maybe 5th and 6th). I replied that I wasn't really interested in fighting, and I'm sure the face I'm making now is the face I made then...

That is to say: confused-face.

But he pressed on, saying, "Come on! I want to fight!"

And I kept saying I didn't want to (and continued to be confused (as I do even today) about what this was all about).

Finally, Wade (who was nearby) egged me into fighting him, and so we went over past the 4-H building and fought.

I kept punching at his face, and he kept turning his head, so I punched his ear. I don't remember if he hit me or not.

Again, I spent this whole time confused as to what in the world this was all about.

Anyway, Mark had tubes in his ears (or that one, at least), and he could only take so many of these hits without being in a lot of pain.

I remember walking away, very confused about the whole thing... and not feeling good about my part in it... and worrying that his dad would think I'm not such a great kid, since I got in a fight with his... and then going back to wondering what the heck the whole thing was about.

I asked Mark about this when we were hanging out here in K.C., but he didn't have a real answer to it, except to point out he was a bit of a... um... we'll go with squirrel and call it done. Yes, he pointed out he was a bit of a squirrel at that age.

Also, he once told Patsy to "go suck an egg".

Another fun story. She was our baseball coach. We had 9 players at that game. I don't remember where we were, but I know it was an away game.

I don't know what my mom said to prompt it, but he loudly snarled at her, "go suck an egg" (a very popular expression among us kids that year... and maybe the one before and the one after). Mom yelled, "Ump, do I have to have 9 players on the field?"

The umpire replied in the negative, and Mark spent the game on the bench.

Again, as an adult, a very nice man. What you'd call a good person. Would probably give you the shirt off his back if he thought you could use it.

Anyway, Mark's gone. Door closed for now.

So, readers, what does this all mean? How am I feeling?

Numb, as is my way. It's fun how I get to sorta carve through the numb to get answers about what are simple questions for many people.

Mostly, the me that thinks more than feels is just irritated at the ways of life. Time must pass, we must move on, etc., and part of me rebels at these concepts.

Mark had nieces and nephews, friends and other family... and this is just... irritating.

When I get to plan my own universe, I'm SO doing it differently... that's all I'm saying.

And my heart aches for my own loss, his family's loss, the loss of close friends... and the loss of Mark, Tricia, and I, never getting to have that dinner and accompanying walk down memory lane.

In answer to Andy's comment to my last post, when we were spreading the ashes of Patsy (she who refused to go suck an egg), what I mostly felt was that change sucks... and that's not a feeling, it's a thought. But the farm was all different, and the post office was long gone... and the ball diamond was all different, too. So the feeling was (and is now) a huge sense of loss, and not just for me or my youth or my history, but for... all the loss in the world, I guess.

Loss, in general, sucks.

But, if the book "Tuck Everlasting" teaches us anything, it's that life has a cycle, and the cycle has a purpose.

And Mark, I'm glad I got to know you as an adult.