The Pain of Another

Anytime you lose a family member, especially when it occurs so suddenly, you have a special right to declare the entire year a disaster. It's easy to get lost in your own hurt when something like this happens and you tend to see everything through you own eyes and your own pain.

The problem with this myopic view is that you block yourself off from others who are suffering too. Not that you want to get into one-upsmanship on who has it worse, but I can't sit here and tell you I've had the worse go of things on the planet. There are certainly thousands upon thousands of families touched by the Tsunami along the rim of the Indian Ocean, several hurricanes in the Gulf, and three devastating earthquakes in Pakistan. The loss of life and living well are unfathomable and the simple enormity of the disasters almost makes it too difficult to grieve. Almost.

In a certain odd sense, Stalin was right for all the wrong reasons when he said a single death is a tragedy but a million deaths is a statistic. Perhaps it is easier to get your arms around one death and mourn a single loss.

Below is a column by a friend of a friend who writes for a newspaper in Mississippi. He is a gifted writer who usually spends his insight on politics and the government operations in his home state. This year he has suffered through the death of his mother, his wife, his best friend and, unfortunately, soon his twin sister. You often hear that God only gives us what we can handle but I would have my doubts by now were I him. But I don’t think he is a man who doubts God and His plan and for that I am in awe.

I would love to tell you the story of what has happened to him and what I only know of on the periphery, but I know I could never tell it as poetically and with the right mix of words and music as he could himself. Instead, without regard to copyright restrictions, I have posted his entire column. Sort of puts my life in perspective:

By Sid Salter
Not all of life's storms come with wind and water.

I don't know a smooth transition by which I can communicate the level of "uncertainty" my daughter and I have confronted in 2005 along with our extended family and the wonderful friends with whom we've been blessed.

So, here's the blunt assessment on what should be the most joyous day of perhaps the most joyless year of our lives.

Alline Salter, my mother, passed away on April 2 after a long, dreadful illness. I miss my mother, as I've missed my father since his death.

Paula Salter, my wife, passed away May 1 after an even longer, even more dreadful illness. I miss my wife — and watching my daughter grieve for her mother and knowing the depth of her pain cuts me in half.

Sheila Salter Klimetz, my twin sister, is dying of a brain tumor in suburban Memphis. Time is likely very short, according to her oncologist and neurosurgeon.

My very first memory on this planet is the sound of my Sheila's breathing and moving in the baby bed we shared until we were toddlers. Watching this unrelenting cancer take my twin from my family is literally like losing a part of me in the process.

Kate and I spent much of this year together either in intensive care units, hospital rooms or in funeral parlors. We closed two estates and in the process disposed of the personal possessions of two women precious to both of us. It hurt.

But in the midst of this uncertainty came a certainty of sorts. Family members carried us, church family members lifted us up and friends fed us, took care of us and stood behind us through it all. Doctors, funeral home operators and other professionals gave us the strength to deal with the realities we've confronted.

I have never been more certain of the love of my beautiful daughter, the concern of my family or the compassion of my friends. The page will turn on the calendar next week. I can't say I'll be sorry to see this year from Hell in the rear view mirror.

But what of the New Year to come? It's the absolute certainty of change — and of memories.

Time To Say Adios To Rick

This is particularly harsh, especially coming so close to the good will and mirth conjured up by Christmas. The holiday season aside, it’s time for the Sacramento Kings to fire head coach Rick Adelman, which makes it all the more harsh because he’s a good coach who deserves better and because the losses piling up in Sacramento are not his fault. Just the same, it needs to be done now and not at the end of the season as has seemed to be the plan all along.

The truth is, the Kings stink and the owners and the players are the stinkees, not Adelman. His teams have won 718 NBA games in 15-plus years, and his winning percentage at better than 60-percent is one of the tops in the League. He’s had players of lesser talent who have won, but never players with lesser heart than this current team. He hasn’t had the support of the players or the team owners all year as he lingers in coaching purgatory as a lame duck in the last year of his contract. If he can’t see the writing on the wall, his players can and they quit him a long time ago.

The Maloofs did the same by tinkering away with a good product; adding a piece here and there until all athleticism and chemistry vanished. Who knows how they really feel about Adelman as a coach? They seem far more interested in getting their mugs on MTV and flipping the pockets out of their Armani pants to show the city of Sacramento they don’t have enough money for a new arena. Anaheim beckons and this ownership clan will fit right in with the collagen and silicon crowd down south.

As for the players, they should all be sharpening their writing skills to craft the right letter of apology to Adelman. Without a strong coach who is backed by management, this has become a leaderless team. Surely a professional player can see what the fans see and you’d thing pride alone would give one of these Alpha Males the desire to lead. Mike Bibby was the obvious choice but he didn’t even have the discipline to come into training camp in shape. He muddled through the pre-season and the early games, treating them as nothing more than an aerobics class at the local gym. His shot was off, he was a step too slow, and his defensive play looked about as sharp as white socks with a black suit. Who would follow the lead of a player who cared so little that the gift of being one of the world’s greatest athletes seemed to be a burden and not worth the effort?

This season will mark the end of Peja Stojakovic as a King and it seems the right time to pack up his wide ties and wide pin-stripe suits and ship him off to New York or Philly where they will throw beer cups at him for his lack of effort. Has there ever been a player who runs from rebounds and fears mixing it up in the middle more than Peja? People used to compare Peja to Larry Bird but the truth is he will go down as a timid, spot-up shooter who lost his will when Vlade Divac left the Kings. Any team willing to part with $12 million a year for him as a free agent deserves what they get.

Brad Miller is certainly no leader and I’m not sure if the players really like him anyway. He’s temperamental, slow of foot, short for a center, can’t jump and makes big stiffs like Joe Przybilla and Eddy Curry look like the second coming of Wilt. He can shoot a mid-range jumper, pass well for a center, and have the occasional good game on the boards, but he looks spent this year after watching too many passes fly through the hands of players who don’t have their head in the game.

The Kings are 10-17, have dropped five straight and are 3-9 for the month of December. They have lost nine of 16 games at home this year, which is already more losses in a season at Arco Arena then they have endured since the 1999 season. They have the collective talent to be a better team but there’s just something wrong with the mix. It’s tough to watch the Lakers win with only Kobe and a group of players who would ride the bench for most teams, including the Kings. The Lakers winning puts the spotlight on the obvious: good coaching and leadership make a difference.

There are a number of sports clichés, among them that the coaches get fired because you can’t fire the team. The good people of Anaheim may facilitate the equivalent of a mass firing of the players, but until then, coach Adelman has to go and a caretaker put in his place. This season is shot and next year the Kings will have to start over with new faces and maybe a new hometown. It’s difficult to see a better coach out there, which is further evidence that the ownership doesn’t know what they’re doing. Last year the Maloofs had Maurice Cheeks, Nate McMillan, Larry Brown, Flip Saunders and even Phil Jackson to lure to Sacramento with their inherited money. Who do they have to court at the end of this year?

John McKay, the great football coach at USC and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers was once asked a stupid question by a rookie sports writer from California who was out of league. “What do you think about your team’s execution?” he was asked after losing 33-6 to the Dallas Cowboys in a playoff game. Steam came out of his ears as he searched the room for the weasel who asked such a stupid question. And then the answer, “I’m for it.” After tonight’s lackluster performance by the Kings against the former worst team in the Western Conference Rick Adelman knows exactly what McKay was talking about.

Merry Christmas To All

The Russian Orthodox Christmas isn’t until January 7th but that didn’t stop me from getting a Christmas lecture from a Russian. She asked me what was wrong with my country that we say “happy holidays” and proudly declare there is a decorated “holiday tree” rising above the White House lawn. I tried to explain we were just being sensitive to other religions but that drew an even stronger rebuke.

Later the thought occurred to me that she had a point. There is nothing wrong with celebrating Christmas without concern for political correctness, because one can’t deny Christmas is a significant day of reverence in the Christian religion, just as many other holidays and celebrations are for other religions. To attempt to make Christmas an inclusive holiday misses the point of December 25 by a wide margin.

Tonight the malls and Main Streets fall silent. The ringing cash registers and the happy cries of children are but ghostly echoes across silent streets. But the Christ born in a manger 2,000 years ago lives; liberating the hearts of sinners and transforming the lives of many. It should come as no surprise that hundreds of millions of people in this country and indeed around the world derive comfort from this fact. In and of itself, the celebration of the birth of Christ should be enough to keep the PC police at bay for at least one day.

But if we want the holiday to be all things to all people – and isn’t that the goal of all social engineers today? – then let’s speak of another miracle of Christmas that’s worth celebrating. Beyond the Christian religion overtones, the day brings families and friends together; sometimes for a rare visit, other times for the last time (if only we knew). It brings so many lasting memories and traditions that Christmas has virtually kept the family at the center of our society, if only for one day.

My earliest memory of Christmas created a family tradition in the old Arno home and continues on into the new Arno home. For 45 years members of my family have opened presents on Christmas Eve for no other reason than Peter, Bill and I were too excited to see what Santa left us and saw no reason why we had to wake our parents to share the booty. Needless to say there were looks of shock on Jeanne and Doug’s faces when I nudged my dad to help me button up my authentic Confederate army uniform (Peter got the Union outfit as my parents always loved him best). The next year, we were told Santa came early – roughly 9 p.m. Later, Santa got a boost as my parents did a little shopping for him and Christmas presents were opened after dinner. Man, could my mom wash the dishes slowly, or what?

I came to view opening presents in the darkness of Christmas Eve as part of the charm. When we were older and taking our time and enjoying the thought that went into each present we passed around to each other, the blinking lights on the tree, the ever present television blaring, and a full stomach became as much a part of our family tradition as anything else. Which isn’t to say any other way is the wrong way, it was only our way of keeping our family together and happy – even if I never got everything I wanted.

Like all good traditions, it’s important to keep them going and when I grew up (yes, I did eventually grow up), I had a family of my own. Mrs. Laz wanted to stick to her tradition of opening presents on Christmas morning and I still wanted my presents on Christmas Eve … errr … I wanted the kids to open their presents on Christmas Eve. Three kids in the house eventually won out and after a few very early mornings for Mr. and Mrs. Claus, it didn’t take much fancy footwork on my part to get Mrs. Laz to agree to the much better post-dinner exchange of presents; with or without Santa.

Of course the joy of giving becomes secondary to spending love and joy with those close to you. It won’t be long before our children begin their Christmas tradition and we, as parents and grandparents, will become loving bystanders to new customs. It won’t be quite the same for us but at least I won’t have to assemble anything.

All of this is to say that I wish all my family and friends a very Merry Christmas with the hope you are surrounded by the biggest gift of all; the family. Keep your traditions close and your families closer. Love each other just a bit more, eat a bit less, and set a place at the table for those who won’t be with us after choosing instead to sit with the one person who got all this started 2000 years ago.

More Crap From Little Kids

(taken from papers written by a class of 8-year-olds)

Grandparents are a lady and a man who have no little children of her own. They like other people's.

A grandfather is a man grandmother.

Grandparents don't have to do anything except be there when we come to see them.

They are so old they shouldn't play hard or run.

It is good if they drive us to the store and have lots of quarters for us.

When they take us for walks, they slow down past things like pretty leaves and caterpillars. They show us and talk to us about the color of the flowers and also why we shouldn't step on "cracks." They don't say, "Hurry up."

Usually grandmothers are fat, but not too fat to tie your shoes.

They wear glasses and funny underwear.

They can take their teeth and gums out.

Grandparents don't have to be smart.

They have to answer questions like, "why isn't God married?" and "How come dogs chase cats?"

When they read to us, they don't skip. They don't mind if we ask for the same story over again.

Everybody should try to have a grandmother, especially if you don't have television, because they are the only grown ups who like to spend time with us.

A 6 year old was asked where his grandma lived. ''Oh,'' he said, ''she lives at the airport, and when we want her we just go to get her. Then when we're done having her visit, we take her back to the airport."

Surf's Up

Every now and then San Diego is hit with the southern swell. These photos (courtesy of the San Diego Union) are from the La Jolla Cove. I've only seen it this big two other years; once in 1970 and the other in 1981 (although I only saw them through Skip's photos, courtesy of Skip). I know one or two of you who read this are from San Diego and have moved elsewhere, so enjoy the surf.

Christmas Greetings

If you're getting tired of all the shopping and bumping into people in a hurry, perhaps this will give you reason to laugh.

Great Sign

This is a stolen post fromHenry-Doodle at http://sladed.blogspot.com/. I wish I found it first, but I think it's hilarious.

A Blonde Christmas

A blonde goes to the post office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards. She says to the clerk, "May I have 50 Christmas stamps?" The clerk says, "What denomination?" The blonde says, "Heaven help us. Has it come to this? Give me 6 Catholic, 12 Presbyterian, 10 Lutheran and 22 Baptists."

When the Cow Bells Fall Silent

(Editor's note: I apologize to my fan that it has been so long since my last post.)

When I was struggling through my first adolescence during my high school years, I heard stories of real-life girls my age who were called a tease. Except quite often there was a word and a hyphen placed before the word tease. Many late hours did I scheme to meet such a creature. To no avail and little surprise, I never got the hyphenated girl. Regrettably there is a balance in the universe that dictates that a 16-year-old male with gentlemanly habits well beyond his years and hormones gets approximately the same from the opposite sex.

During my college years while my brothers were burning the midnight oil (and quite nearly my parent’s garage) with hyphenated women of all sorts, I did meet Mrs. Laz who had to beg for a goodnight kiss on our first date. The fact she agreed to a second evening out with me on the basis of a quick peck on the cheek may say more about her than me.

The reason the tease comes up is due to sports. The female tease causes a certain kind of frustration not easily requited in a crowded house with no locks on the doors. A sports tease is worse. It takes the whole body prisoner and doesn’t release it until all hope of being liberated back into normal society has vanished.

My sports tease, my never ending lost romance without any return on investment, is the Sacramento Kings.

Sure, there were moments when the Kings took me to the brink and then left me without as much as a good-bye peck on the cheek and cold shower. They have been able to keep me close and monogamous, sports speaking, by simply promising to give me what I want: a championship. I feel so cheap because I’ve been believing their promises for so long. Like the enabler I am, I continue to wait them out. The waiting may be over and I think I have finally mustered the strength to start talking about a break-up.

The Kings and I had our first real date six or seven years ago. It was a magical eveing – more than a peck on a cheek. I was tempted to take the risk and date the “pretty one” because of a trade for Chris Webber, a free-agent signing of Vlade Divac and the drafting of Jason Williams. Three pretty maids all in a row and they were all mine for the season; or so it seemed.

They were collectively so good looking that I missed key danger signs. Webber was damaged goods from several previous relationships and reluctant to get into another so soon, especially in a cowtown like Sacramento. But his rugged, muscular body and wink in his eye made all his suitors weak in the knees (which, ironically, turned out to be his weakness). Vlade, despite the fact he came aboard at age 50, brought along his skills from previous relationships, including many with much older Europeans. He had the guile of a worldly man and the playfulness of a youngster to keep it interesting. And Jason, flashy, impetuous Jason, came with a swagger and bad-boy attitude, just like those girls smoking out behind the high school gym.

It was a relationship that you knew was bad for you and one your mother would warn you against. But it all felt so good. For the first time, you were in the midst of a winning streak so it was easy to overlook the frayed edges. You could even envision settling down with them and exchanging Championship rings every year.

After a few years, our relationship went down hill. Webber kept the twinkle, Divac the finesse, but Jason stopped calling. For months I’d wait by the phone hoping against hope he’d just say hello or go through the motion of tattooing my name on his spindly arm. No such luck, however. I heard he moved to Canada and then to Memphis and later to south Florida. Someone who once dated him heard he was doing well in Miami but I don’t care anymore. I’ve shed enough tears over him, I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. Besides, there was a new face in town with better pedigree and a far more stable personality. His name was Mike Bibby, and after never knowing where I stood with Jason, Bibby’s steadiness was far more appealing than J-Will’s style.

Now there was more promise with the core of Divac, Webber and Bibby. It felt even better when we traded an under-sized power forward named Corliss for a defensive stalwart name Doug, allowing a young Serbian sharpshooter the chance to play at the three. I never gave a moment’s thought that Doug came with the baggage of a relationship that was embarrassingly clingy.

There were no longer just the three to keep my fantasy going, there was a full five stars to watch. You knew there would be children and grandchildren to bring up with this bunch. And the bench? Oh, the bench could have outplayed nearly all of the others with Bobby and Hedo, and Gerald, and Jon. We called them the “Bench Mob” and between them and the five stars, never had so many white guys outside of Boston caused so many hearts to flutter.

Did you ever have one of those relationships where there were so many good things happening that it just had to be wrong? Twice these guys took me to the brink of the Championship altar and twice they left me there in a tuxedo and a real bow tie, not just the kind you clip on your collar. Suddenly my stars couldn’t perform. These missed the gimmies one year and said they felt it best to wait for another year. The next year they stumbled down the aisle, one with a bum knee the others with that glassed-over look as if they were searching for the church exit and hoping the priest got drunk in the confessional with an altar boy and wouldn’t show up. I knew in my heart it just wasn’t right. They were forever damaged goods and no amount of vases full of flowers or awkward poetry would work anymore (although the chocolates had me for a while).

I admit it, I started over. I said good-bye to all of them except for Peja and Mike and told them to come around every now and again and I might take them out for a drink if I was feeling charitable; no hard feelings, it just didn’t work out between us.

Now there is a new bunch surrounding the remaining two – the two I had only half a heart for, Mike and Peja. There’s a new guy named Shareef who never had a good home and seemed to fail no matter how hard he tried, but he’s so good looking on the outside that you had to take him. There are no plans to make much of an investment in him, though. Another guy just started hanging around named Bonzi. He’s on his best behavior right now, trying to fit in and feel loved and escape his past. I’ve heard about it; the drug use, fights, no heart. It’s easy to tread cautiously with him and not be swept away by a few pretty quotes in the paper and a strong desire to please. Even Corliss came back (unfortunately not Corliss Campbell), and, you know, it’s not too bad having him around as long as you don’t have to think about him that much.

For the past few years there has been a simple country boy named Brad at the arena. One moment you want to love him but there are too many times he chews tobacco and burps whenever you bring him home to your parents. He sometimes puts in a big effort but too often he sulks when things aren’t going his way. I just don’t have anything left for malcontents.

Peja’s become distant, protecting himself from the pain of playing the game. You wish he would just drop the pretty-boy persona and put more heart and energy into our relationship, but I’m learning that you can’t start out expecting to change the man. Poor Mike. He has a faraway look in his eye. I suspect he’s lonely now that all his friends are hanging out in LA, Philly, Detroit and Houston. It seems he’s just going through the motions of our relationship and it’s tough to bear.

I tune them out now. There are times when I know they’re on TV and all I can think of is heading for the bedroom with a bottle of Ambien stolen from my daughter and watching Will and Grace re-runs. Some days I wish I was Will, or even Grace; I don’t think it matters anymore my heart is so beat up.

Don’t get me wrong, they have their moments. They won three straight in fine fashion after dropping five straight. I’m too jaded now and I’ve learned when a tease is just a tease. I’ve been there before and I just won’t go down that road again.

I have my eyes open on a new bunch in Philly who seem to have a heart if not a lot of wins. There’s a steady bunch in San Antonio and Detroit. They have occasional flash of personality but always in the context of doing what’s best for the others. I think about them a lot, but following the words of JB, “I had a lover, it’s so hard to risk another these days." If only JB was Jon Barry….

Flying the Coop

I am finally getting a chance to visit our "estates" in Virginia again. It's been a long time since I have been back there and it conjures up mixed feelings. On the one hand, I like how DC brings a sense of excitement out of me. On the other, the last time I was there was the day I learned Bill suffered a seizure and Sue told me she was headed to Japan. I remember how frightened she sounded. I told her things would be OK and I would take care of the business. I wanted her to tell Bill to feel comfortable to stay as long as he needed. She told me that she hoped she had a chance to tell him that.

I'm not sure if she knew more than she was telling or it was just a wife's intuition, but she never was able to say another word to him. I know how frustrating that is for me, I wonder how she's dealing with it.

The whole family (what's left of it) saw Sue on Thursday and she's coming by for a visit on Saturday evening. She looks great and seems to be doing well. It's been a big adjustment for her and her kids but they are getting through this together.

All of this is to say I will either have airline time to write more or choose to listen to my IPod (not a free one, mind you) and not write a thing. Not that anyone will notice. By the way, all that talk about getting more comments on the jokes, I barely got any! I got more in a desperate attempt for attention by offering the free IPod. What gives, you occasional readers?

Jewish Catskill Comics

You may remember the old Jewish Catskill comics of Vaudeville days; Shecky Green, Red Buttons, Totie Fields, Milton Berle, Henny Youngman, and others? You've probably heard of them before, but don't you miss their humor? Here's just a sample:

* There was a beautiful young woman knocking on my hotel room door all night! I finally had to let her out.

* A car hit an elderly Jewish man. The paramedic says, "Are you comfortable?" The man says, "I make a good living."

* I just got back from a pleasure trip. I took my mother-in-law to the airport.

* I've been in love with the same woman for 49 years. If my wife ever finds out, she'll kill me!

* What are three words a woman never wants to hear when she's making love? "Honey, I'm home!"

* Someone stole all my credit cards, but I won't be reporting it. The thief spends less than my wife did.

* We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.

* My wife and I went back to the hotel where we spent our wedding night, only this time I stayed in the bathroom and cried.

* She was at the beauty shop for two hours. That was only for the estimate. She got a mudpack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.

* I was just in London - there is a 6-hour time difference. I'm still confused. When I go to dinner, I feel sexy. When I go to bed, I feel hungry.

* The doctor gave a man six months to live. The man couldn't pay his bill, so the doctor gave him another six months.

* The Doctor called Mrs. Cohen saying, "Mrs. Cohen, your check came back." Mrs. Cohen answered, "So did my arthritis!"

* Doctor: "You'll live to be 60!" Patient: "I AM 60!" Doctor: "See! What did I tell you?"

* Patient: "I have a ringing in my ears." Doctor: "Don't answer!"

* A drunk was in front of a judge. The judge says, "You've been brought here for drinking." The drunk says "Okay, let's get started."

* A bum asked a Jewish fellow, "Give me $10 till payday." The Jewish fellow responded, "When's payday?" The bum said, "I don't know! You're the one who's working!"

* Why do Jewish divorces cost so much? They're worth it.

* Why do Jewish men die before their wives? They want to.

A Festivus Miracle

Skip first pointed out in his Blog that this is the season of Festivus, a fictional holiday founded by Frank Costanza (aka Jerry Stiller) from the show Sienfeld. Festivus has to do with feats of strength, a heartfelt airing of grievances, and an aluminum pole. There have been known to be recorded instances of Festivus miracles. One miracle this year is that there is an entire site dedicated to Festivus. Don't ask me how I found it because I don't remember. Anyway, for you Seinfeld fans and especially Festivus followers, here's the link: http://thefestivuspole.com/blog.htm

The Big Fix

Just re-watched an old movie that is a real sleeper. Made in 1978, The Big Fix starred Richard Dreyfus and is a crime-mystery wrapped up in a search for lost 60's social activism. It has great twists and turns with a mix of old memories thrown in for either us old-timers or you kids out there who want to know more about what your parents were up to in the old days (well, not me, I was too young).

F. Murray Abraham and Johnathon Lithgow also star in the movie in very early roles in their careers. Abraham, as an Abbie Hoffman-type character has a great line in the movie about the loss of radicalism in the late-70's: "Do you know why being a revolutionary doesn't work in this country? Being a revolutionary in America is like being a spoil sport at an orgy. All these goodies being passed around and you feel like a shit when you say no."

The movie is only available on VHS but I saw it on one of the thousand movie channels Mrs. Laz allows me to keep.

For My Grandma

Four years ago December 3, my grandmother died at age 97. By anyone’s measure she lived a full and useful life and was greatly loved by four generations of my family. I also loved her dearly.

Following my mother’s death in 1995, my grandmother and I gravitated toward each other, I suspect because I wanted to be near the part of her that was my mother and she wanted the same from me. We talked nearly every week for the rest of her life and I discovered even more in common with her and relished our talks. She especially liked to talk about my mother and often repeated the wonderful deathbed conversation she and my mother had when they closed the books on a lifetime of misunderstanding. Since I liked to talk about my mother too, I was always there to oblige. She buried a husband, three children and countless friends and relatives before she died and each time you thought this would be too much for her, she dug deep to find more strength to carry on. She would just tell me it’s what happens when you live so long. The fact is, she loved life and never wanted to leave.

She had a project going all the time, which I think was partially responsible for her longevity (along with a sip of whiskey more often than she would admit). One year she would plan to paint the house, the next year to put in new carpet, and perhaps the next year it would be new window treatments. She always had something to look forward too.

When her husband died in December 1983 she visited my parents for Christmas. She looked so frail when she arrived, we all believed she wouldn’t last long. It was a bittersweet Christmas as it felt like we would lose both grandparents in the span of a few months. She surprised us all. My aunt bought her a puppy a short while later, believing she would get it back in a few years, but my grandmother stubbornly outlived the dog.

When we would visit, she would show off a ring or a bracelet. She would tell us it was a birthday present from her husband, the same one who had been gone for a decade. She actually went out and picked out the piece of jewelry she suspected he would buy for her, wrapped it up and gave it to herself on her birthday or Christmas, always with a wry smile and telling us "look what Bill bought me."

She also always felt and acted younger than her age. She was an avid bridge player and sharp as a tack so she always kept score (regrettably not allowing me to cheat). She knew what cards you were holding and was the first to tell you if you were leading from your hand or the dummy. When playing with her local bridge club, she complained that the people were just too old; despite the fact most were 10-20 years younger.

Once she told me the reason her husband was bald on the top of his head was because he kept hitting his head on the backboard of their bed (you youngins may have to think about that one for a bit). Never one to care what people thought of her, she also went out and bought what she called “stretchy pants” with stirrups that were meant for teens and proudly had her picture taken in them.

She had a lot of money but you would never know it. She and her best friend, the wife of the founder of K-Mart, used to go shopping every Wednesday. Too often they came back with nothing, complaining they would never spend more than $1 for a good pair of underwear. She actually was so cheap that she had a dual headstone made for her and her husband. Because she got a better deal for each letter, she had the cemetery chisel in her lifespan as 1904 -19_ _, not thinking she would make it into the 21st Century. I used to love to tease her about the fact she would live beyond her expectations and it would cost her more to knock off the 19 part. I’m happy to say she had that problem.

Because she had lived such a long life, I once asked her what she thought was the greatest invention or achievement in her lifetime. Now I would have said Saran Wrap and given a thought to the airplane, computer, or landing on the moon, but she quickly answered “penicillin” because she knew how many lives it saved. Her generation was never about collecting new toys and technological inventions, but about making the life of others more comfortable and better.

Most people who live that long have some slip in mental acuity. She never did. I once asked her why and she told me it was because she read five or six hours every day and it kept her mind sharp. Her mental alertness may have ultimately made her death more frustrating.

She fell one day in late November of 2001 and broke her hip. Five days later she died from being in the hospital, hooked up to tubes and well-aware of what was happening around her. She didn’t fear death, but as with all things in her life, I think she wanted a say in how she died. I doubt she was ready to go that day and was probably pretty ticked-off that she wasn’t home baking pies. My relatives never told me she was in the hospital and I never had a chance to tell her good-bye or say how much I loved her and what she meant to me. Alice Brosier, if you’re looking over my shoulder today, I want you to know I love you so much and miss you every day.

First Chistmas Joke of the Season

(In honor of Kellen who only wants humor on the blog).

Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates.

"In honor of this holy season," Saint Peter said, "you must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven."

The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. "It represents a candle," he said. "You may pass through the pearly gates," Saint Peter said.

The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, "They're bells." Saint Peter said, "you may pass through the pearly gates."

The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women's panties.

St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, "And just what do those symbolize?"

The man replied, "They're Carols".

Anyone Out There?

Okay, so I have this need to feel appreciated. And noticed. Well, and to be honest, to have praise heaped on me. Call me needy, but just call.

I have been asking anyone who will listen (thus narrowing the field) why I don't get many comments on my posts. The answers range from "you write too long," to "nobody wants to hear your right-wing drivel," to "have you told anyone about your Blog?" and my favorite, "your posts are so complex and well-written that people are too intimidated to comment." Okay, so the last one was mine.

Mark Twain always said, "if you can't get a compliment, buy yourself one." So here goes: If I can get 10 people to indicate they have read any of this Blog recently by writing a simple "hello" in the comment section, you will all win a new IPod!

So please, if you want a new IPod and for me to be your new best friend, just type h.e.l.l.o. so I know you're still out there. I'm beggin' 'ya.

Mars/Venus From The Eyes of Kids

HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY? (written by kids)

(1) You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming. -- Alan, age 10

(2) No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you're stuck with. -- Kristen, age 10

WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?

(1) Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then. -- Camille, age 10

(2) No age is good to get married at. You got to be a fool to get married. -- Freddie, age 6 (very wise for his age)

HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?

(1) You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids. -- Derrick, age 8

WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?

(1) Both don't want any more kids. -- Lori, age 8

WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?

(1) Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough. -- Lynnette, age 8 (isn't she a treasure?)

(2) On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date. -- Martin, age 10 (Mrs. Laz never learned that one).

WHAT WOULD YOU DO ON A FIRST DATE THAT WAS TURNING SOUR?

(1) I'd run home and play dead. The next day I would call all the newspapers and make sure they wrote about me in all the dead columns. -- Craig, age 9

WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?

(1) When they're rich. -- Pam, age 7

(2) The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with that. -- Curt, age 7

(3 ) The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do. -- Howard, age 8

IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?

(1 ) I don't know which is better, but I'll tell you one thing. I'm never going to have sex with my wife. I don't want to be all grossed out. -- Theodore, age 8

(2 ) It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them. -- Anita, age 9 (bless you child)

HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T GET MARRIED?

(1 ) There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there? -! - Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 Favorite is.....

HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?

(1 ) Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a truck. -- Ricky, age 10