Grandpa's Legacy

It occurred to me last week that, had he lived, my grandfather would be celebrating his 100th birthday this month. I'm sorry he didn't make it. I can picture the party that would have been thrown, the family that would have gathered 'round, the smile he would have worn.

I'm not good with all the details of my grandfather's life – my dad is the go-to guy for that – but I can hit the highlights. Grandpa was born in 1913, the youngest of nine children. When he was five years old, his father was killed in an industrial accident. When he was twelve, he went to work in a grocery store. His family had no money. And this was before the Great Depression.

As a young man, my grandfather worked to support himself and his mother (his siblings having grown and moved on) while at the same time putting himself through college. When school was done, he embarked on a career. He got married. He continued to work hard. Very hard. He was bright and tenacious and successful. He developed products, held patents, and eventually became President of his company. He made money. He gave away money. And he invested money. He invested wisely.

I don't know how much money my grandfather made. And it's not important. What is important is how he lived. Though he probably could have afforded one, he didn't live in a large, lavish home. For nearly all of the years I knew him, he and my grandmother resided in a comfortable town-house. But Grandpa did like cars, and he traded in his old model every two years for something new. Usually a Buick. In the early 1970s, he bought some land and built a cabin in the north woods of Michigan. Forty acres of forest with a creek running through it and a pond for fishing. There were deer and ferns and blueberries and bird-feeders. The grandkids loved it. I think Grandpa loved it most when we were there.

Others might have known my grandfather as a determined student, a brilliant engineer, or a tough businessman, but I knew him as a man who liked to make people smile. At least, I know he liked to make his grandkids smile. Every year at Christmas, he would strap on a white-washcloth beard and don his Grandpa-Santa hat and dole out presents. He had a real pinball machine in his basement, and I'm guessing Gramps didn't buy it solely for himself. Occasionally, on a Saturday afternoon, he and I would go out, just the two of us. Grandpa liked to shop at K-Mart. And he'd always spring for a pack of gum or a 45 record I had my eye on.

I think of my grandfather often. Even more so now that my oldest is heading off to college, because above all the other things he valued in his life, my grandfather valued education – his own and that of his children, his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren, and the students at his alma mater. He invested in this education, emotionally and financially. And this is his legacy; not just the man he made of himself, but all the men and women he helped make of so many of the rest of us.

His expectations were high, his love was great, his gifts were generous. And I would not be where and who I am today without him.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa.

Am I okay with it? Yes and No.

My nearly-18-year-old wants to join the military.

This is not a new development.

Son #1 has been fascinated with all things Army/Navy/Air Force/Marine since he was just a little guy. As a mom, I can't say it was my first choice of childhood interests, but I still bought him mite-sized camo outfits for Halloween, and let him wear his army pants to school. It made him happy. And I figured this, too, would pass.

But "There Goes a Tank" videos were eventually replaced with war movies and episodes of "Carrier," plastic green soldiers were supplanted by aircraft models and paint fumes, and now the sky above my son's bed looks like this:

The official declaration of intent has been a long time coming, but I think Son-1's fate was actually sealed back in 2008 when he shook hands with an A-10 pilot at a Blue Angels air show.

On Friday, we had family meetings with officers from the Air Force and Navy ROTC programs at the University my son will attend in the fall. I'm still not crazy about the idea of a career in the Service. But I told him he'd have my blessing if he received a college degree - first. So he will.

When people ask me if I'm okay with it, with having a son join the military, I answer honestly: "Yes and no."

Yes, because Son-1 has agreed to get a year or two of college behind him before he makes any commitments, and will finish his degree before he is commissioned. Yes, because I believe that serving our country is an honorable profession. And, Yes, because this is what he really wants.

However, there are things I'm not okay with. I'm not okay with him killing people (though I know that's sometimes part of the job, and that sometimes the taking of one life means the saving of another - or of many others - which makes the whole thing an issue I have yet to, and may never, resolve). And, No, I'm not okay with him being regularly placed in harm's way. I am also very concerned about the mental health repercussions of combat suffered by so many of our veterans: PTSD, substance abuse, depression, suicide. As a mother and a human being, this stuff scares the shit out of me.

Maybe, hopefully, four years from now, there will be peace on the planet. Maybe borders won't need defending, innocent people won't be getting slaughtered by their country's rulers, and terrorists will have found something more constructive to do.

Because, even though he might not love it, I wouldn't mind it if this little guy had to find a desk job.

The Unbuyables

"Uh, yes, Pat, I'd like to buy a vowel."

A vowel? Unless you live in the magical world of "The Wheel," money can't actually purchase a letter of the alphabet. And throughout history it's been generally understood that money can't buy beauty, happiness, love or time, either. (Though, admittedly, there are those who will argue that it can -- if you have enough of it -- get you a nose-job, your own tropical island, a "companion," and early retirement. Which is almost the same thing, right?)

Over the past few days, I've been thinking a lot about the Unbuyables. The things we wish we could pick up at the store or order from Amazon but can't. And, no, I'm not talking about big-ticket items like world peace or healing for the sick. Those are miracles. Same supplier, I guess, but different division.

I was actually thinking more of the kind of stuff you'd find in some freakishly-wonderful "Personal Care" aisle. Stuff that you have an actual need for. Stuff you can really use. And I started wondering what people would buy, if they could, and how they would use it.

Patience is something a harried dad might pick up to help him deal with an unruly toddler. Self-confidence might be just the thing for a woman on her way to a job interview. Wisdom would come in handy for someone wrestling with a tough decision. And luck and skill, in a combo-pack, would be way better than Gatorade and energy bars for a high school athlete headed to a game. Hopefully, if someone purchased a little bit of love or happiness, they would share it. But what would a person do with beauty?

So, what Unbuyable would you buy? And what would you do with it?

Today, I think I would pick up a few extra hours. Because I could really use a nap.

It's just a little bottle of hair color

I was at Target when the doors opened this morning at eight o'clock. Having missed Hair Night in December, my gray roots were (and have been for the past week) visible from space and I was desperate for a bottle of L'Oreal.

** Let the record show that I would rather make an appointment with the wonderful woman who does hair for us girls, but I'm smack-dab in the middle of the post-Christmas cash crunch. And I had a coupon for Preference.

After paying the $100 Target cover charge (because, honestly, all I needed was the hair dye and a gallon of Skim, but they put the milk all the way in the back and by the time I got to the checkout lane I had a cart full of other necessary crap), I was bundling back up against the single-digit temps outside and thinking it would have been cheaper for me to make the damn hair appointment, when in front of me walked two sweet little old ladies who were leaving the snack-bar. And I froze for just a second.

Judging from the size and stoop and overall wrinkleage of the smaller one, I'd have to guess she was in her eighties. But what stopped me in my tracks wasn't her spry gait or her lively chatter. No, what brought me to a halt was the fact that her hair was the exact same shade of Dark Mahogany Brown that I'd just purchased.

Now, Friends, I'm not suggesting that there is a right time to let yourself go gray, nor do I think you even have to. Hair color is a personal decision and I make no judgments. I'm just hoping that, when the time is right, someone dear to me will gently steer me in the direction of the "lighter shades."

Trust me; I will thank them for it.

A Little Red

The Red is gone. 

I packed up the holiday paraphernalia yesterday and the house is looking mighty bland. It's fine, of course. It's wearing the outfit I had chosen for everyday living. Soft greens, warm browns, golden yellows. Nothing too jumpy or splashy or flashy. Just calm, neutral, down-to-business colors.

And I find myself feeling like my house.

The bright crimson of Christmas had me in the mood to throw parties, cook fancy meals, crank up the tunes and sing out loud. The subdued hues of everyday remind me that Regular Life isn't as exciting as The Holidays, but it's also a lot less exhausting. 

I love Party Mode. Who doesn't? But after more than a month of that, I'm happy to get back in my sweats, curl up in my cushy chair in the living room, and enjoy some peace and quiet. Which is what I am doing right now. Hubby is out running an errand. Kid 1 is in the basement playing video games. Kid 2 is in the family room doing homework and watching football and basketball. Kid 3 is upstairs reading. Ah, serenity.

But as I settled in moments ago, I caught - out of the corner of my eye - a tiny flash of red. Up high. In a place I hadn't looked as I was packing. Sitting on top of the grandfather clock is an elf. Just a little guy. But in this world of sage and cream and tan and bland, he (in his festive attire) reminds me that I need to keep a little Red in my life. A little splash. A little flash. 

And I've decided to leave him up there during these bleak mid-winter months. So I don't forget to connect with dear friends, try a new recipe, and sing out loud every once in a while.

Time and Tide

It took me two hours last night to write ONE paragraph. But, damn, it was a good one.

And I wanted to tell someone.

So here I am.

Yes, yes, I obviously dropped the ball on the whole blogging thing. But I haven't stopped writing. In fact, in the last 5 months, I've done lots of writing. I've drafted some incredible emails, and penned a few fantastic thank-you notes. I re-wrote a chapter in Book 2, and put Book 1 on a strict diet (which I am happy to report has resulted in a 30% weight loss, so far). I also started dozens of blog posts. Most of them never got any farther than the germ stage, though a few made it to scraps of paper that traveled around in my pockets until they were reduced to pulp in the wash.

So what happened? How come only a handful reached the Drafts folder, and none achieved the victory of the Publish button?

Reason #1: Time.

I don't know about yours, but mine is limited. And I seem to run out of it quite often. And as a writer, you'd think writing would come quickly and easily for me, but it does not (see: the 2-hour paragraph). And if I've only got an hour to write, I have to decide where that hour will be best spent. Which brings us to...

Reason #2: Product.

What do I most want people to be reading: my books or my rantings about loose shopping carts in parking lots, dogs that eat flash drives, and a gun culture that begins with Super Soakers and Nerf Blasters then proceeds right into Laser Tag, Cub Scout Shooting Ranges and Full-Combat-Gear Paintball?

Sure I've got other things to say, but most of the time, I just want to work on my book! (Ask my husband and kids if they've ever heard me say that before. Eyes will roll like you've never seen.) And since all those publishing people are always saying, Write the best book you can. That's what I'm going to do.

But I'll try to write a little faster. And I'll try to remember to empty my pockets before I toss my pants in the machine. There might be something in there worth blogging about.

Uni-tasking. Because multi-tasking leads to bourbon.

Time for a Mid-Year's Resolution: No more multi-tasking.

I read on the Internet (when I was supposed to be downloading registration forms for high school soccer) that when people are multi-tasking, they usually aren't doing two things at once. Most of the time they are task-switching -- stopping one activity to take up another. And it's not as efficient or effective as doing things one at time, to completion.

So from now on, I'm gonna be all about uni-tasking. If I go down to the basement to get a jar of Ragu from the pantry, I'm not going to throw in a load of laundry while I'm down there. 'Cuz if I stop to throw in a load of laundry, then I'm gonna have to unload Sweaty Soccer Boy's backpack. And that backpack is going to stink, so I'm gonna start hunting down the Febreze. And while I'm doing that, the hamburger browning on the stove is going to burn. And then I'm just gonna be pissed. And I'll want to skip dinner altogether and drink Bourbon Slushies all night.

So... Here's to Uni-tasking!!

And the first task on the list is... Make more Bourbon Slushies.

Hey, I know what my track record with resolutions is like. And if yours is the same, here's the recipe for Suz's Bourbon Slushies. (Try to say that after you've had a few and let me know how that turns out.)

2 liters ginger ale

1 liter bourbon

12 oz frozen limeade concentrate, thawed

12 oz frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed

Mix all ingredients in a plastic 1 gallon+ pail. Freeze for 24 hours, stirring occasionally. Serve with maraschino cherries (and a little cherry juice) and an extra splash of ginger ale (if it's too icy to sip).

 

Enjoy!

Bourbon makes almost everything better.
Bacon fixes the rest.