And then, you give them a camera and they think they're clever and artisitic

Well, they at least had fun. They are getting cameras for Christmas. There is much room for improvement.

kids are weird...no further comment needed

Santa Claus is a firefighter

Santa Claus came to town on a fire truck. He gave the kids candy canes. They were impressed. We waited a half hour in the cold. Santa was nice. My son loved the old firetruck.

Much can happen in a small town if your former neighbor / friend is a firefighter and if you donated money for your kids' birthday. Wow.

My kids sense of civic connection is strong. The old fire truck is cool. I'd be happy if my kids volunteer and contribute to their community.

Exchange and change

Out with the old.>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

<<<<<<<<< In with the new.

Houses, year, job. All. I wish the new anew. I wish good health and cheer. Comfort and good will. Peace and prosperity. For us all.

Funeral

My grandmother's funeral was today. I saw relatives I have not seen in years and may very well never see again. My grandmother's DNA is manifold. Everywhere was the "chin" we inherited from her. 8 kids, 17 grandkids and at least 20 great-grandkids. Her life spanned 88 years.

My father, her eldest prenuptial pregnancy child, predeceased her by 17 years. The rest of her progeny survive.

I realized today all, I mean all, her female descendants are strong-willed and independent. Somehow, we've all grasped males are there more for comfort, cuddles and indulgence. Like a luxury, in which we in varying degrees partake, but inherently know is not as strong or reliable as we.

My grandmother railed indignantly against my father on the way to his burial. He was useless because he left her, his widowed mother.

My female cousins all are strong. Some of the males are too, but in a blustery, showy way. We females just indulge them. My grandmother unknowingly imparted this to us, we X-chromosomal types.

But we all cried. Some wailed, especially watching her grandsons carry her coffin while they cried. Men crying has always caused me to cry. It is so difficult for them. Maybe that's why they're not as spiritually and emotionally strong as women. Their vulnerability really breaks my heart and clearly that of my female kin. I worry more for my son than my daughter who is so strong and who is so strong-willed. May she ever be, as her great-grandmother whose DNA she lacks but whose spirit she possesses.

Post-mortem blues

Roman Catholics like my grandmother wish to be buried. My grandmother expressly told me after my father died she wished to be buried in a double lot with my grandfather. However, she died in California where her 7th child had power-of-attorney. The 7th child's husband told the 6 other surviving children that my grandmother had been cremated.

Some further investigation revealed my grandmother had not been cremated. Ugh! Calls, emails, faxes, litigation threats...

The 7th child's husband with her permission releases the body. Embalming, flying east, funeral on Friday.

Please, just cremate me. Send me to the universe. Release my atoms. Simple. I hope.

Death comes calling

My 88 year old grandmother died last night in the arms of her seventh child. She had cancer throughout her body and was suffering from Alzheimer's. She died peacefully and quietly. She had a good death.

In the US, we seldom discuss death. We fear it. We recoil from it. We use euphemisms such as "passed away", "departed", and "met the Maker". We avoid the actual thing. The cessation of life. We all know we will die but hope that by not mentioning death, we may somehow postpone death.

My kids went to their first wake at a funeral home when they about were 18 months old for my 90-something neighbor. She loved the kids and enjoyed watching them. We told the kids we were paying our respects to Ms Kate. Since then, the kids have been to half a dozen death rites including their grandfather's two services. They will attend my grandmother's wake but probably not the funeral.

Some people are appalled by our exposing the kids to death rituals. I want my kids to understand that death is a normal, very sad, part of life. I wish them not to fear it or think of it as something more mysterious than it is. It is merely our final destination, not our present or our past. In acknowledging death, I think, we more appreciate our journey, our life. Life.

Death should be discussed openly. We should strive to make it an easy experience for all. Those dying should be treated as lovingly and attentively as those just born. Birth and death are our life's bookends. The miracle of death is as awe-inspiring as the marvel of birth. We should all have a good birth and a good death.

My father had a bad death. Bedridden for over two years. Five years to die from a brain tumor. He was hooked to tubes. He removed from our home because we ran out of health insurance and could not keep him at home any longer. He died the night after we transported him to a Veterans Hospital. No one deserved to linger so long. There is no dignity in such a life. There is no virtue or ease in such death.

My grandmother died in a humane, dignified manner. She knew she was with someone who loved her. She died in her home, in bed. I wish such a death for us all.

Michelle Shocked's Christian Music

My partner and I went to see Michelle Shocked on Saturday night. She has a new album recorded at Telluride, Colorado in 2003 in which she "outs" herself as a Christian and sings gospel music. She played some of her Christian music. Most of it is about seeking meaning and joy in her life. At the concert, which was in a Presbyterian church, she was apologetic for being a Christian, I presume, because of the injustices and inequities espoused by some "evangelical" Christians.

Michelle, aka Sister Shocked, attends a predominately African American congregation in South Los Angeles. She says she started attending for the music. Gospel music is powerful and yanks one emotionally in many directions. On Saturday night, Michelle said that while she initially grooved on the upbeat grove, but was put off by "the Jesus crap", where upon one dogmatic man shouted to her that she was in a pulpit, thus missing the point of her soul searching story. She graciously mentioned some Buddhist crap and quoted a poem by Pablo Neruda to show the universality of her search but the "Christian" clearly remained miffed that she dissed Jesus.

In the 1980's, Michelle Shocked was "a skateboard punk-rocker" in New York City. Now she calls herself a Christian skateboard punk rocker. I saw Michelle sing several times in NYC in the 1980s and was there when she sang for fast moving 4 hours at the last night of the old Ritz dance club on 9th Street. She has always been a seeker. As have I.

I have no problem with Christians or evangelical Christians per se. I was raised as Roman Catholic as you can get. I worshipped Jesus. I worshipped God. What always struck me about Jesus was the empathy for the weak, the poor and women he exhibited. He admonished others not to judge others. He spoke of love and kindness and charity. He spoke of damnation and tribulation too. However, I chose not to focus on this. I chose to focus on the humane Jesus. That Jesus remains a hero for me although not a deity.

This was the Jesus to which I believe Michelle Shocked was drawn: the healer and the redeemer. This is not the Jesus of exclusivity or judgement. This is the merciful and forgiving Jesus. An alien creature to those who proclaim to speak with the voice of God. Why would God or god or Jesus or any deity place one human above another? Let those amongst us without sin cast the first stone. No human is without sin.

So, I am glad Michelle Shocked derives benefit from her church and from Jesus as I rejoice for all whose spiritual beliefs espouse compassion, mercy, redemption, fairness and oneness. We are all sinners and we are all saints. We as humans manifest all aspects of humanity. We are not above each other in any spiritual way. Those who say they know the universe's intentions are bigoted, judgemental and lacking in compassion. They are not followers of Christ of any other humane prophet. They condemn. Jesus, of the Gospel, forgives.

If we can forgive, we can forget. We can let go. Thus Michelle sings.

We have returned home

Our floors are finished. We have scrubbed the second floor and are working on the first. We are unpacking again. The Christmans tree is up. The kids are happy to be in their own beds. I am happy to finally be able to settle in.

There is no place like home. I am thankful that I have a permanent home and that I am fortunate to share it with my family.

Indians are from India!

Today in church, a doctor of physics wearing a red turban told the Unitarians about Sikhism. I learned Sikhs are monotheistic but are accepting of all paths to god, or God. They espouse gender equality and tolerance. They believe in active participation in this world and that they are made better people by engaging in community service. (They're somewhat Unitarian; however, they have a holy book and they care about their appearances.)

Dr. Singh (this is the common surname for male Sikhs so his identity is still anonymous) was very learned and very kind. My son was impressed with his turban which he thought was a wig. My son wanted to shake Dr. Singh's hand because he felt it necessary to let Dr Singh know that he knew was an Indian, from India. Dr. Singh said he was honored that my son recognized he was an Indian and that the boy really liked the "wig". Dr. Singh patiently explained what the "wig" really was and how it was wrapped. My son was even more impressed, "it's a lot of work!"

Because my son likes our guest, A., whose last day is today, my son very much wants to let all Indians know he knows they're from India. The other night, we took A. out to dinner at a new age Indian restaurant. We have been going there for a few years and our kids call the owner Ms K. My son ran up to Ms K as he always does and gave her a big hug. He then shouted at Ms K, "YOU'RE AN INDIAN" and then, "FROM INDIA!" In case any of the customers were uncertain about Ms K's authenicity, Ms K graciously acknowledged her ethnicity. She and A. smiled.

I like that my son recognizes similarities and differences in peoples. I like that there is no value or judgement attached to this. For him, it's as interesting and as non-judgemental as recognizing similarities and differences of crayons or of building blocks.