balaaah humbug

*********************************************************************************************************************Your all thinkin it, balaaaaaaah humbugI had hoped to find a littel more ho ho ho but the tank is running on empty.Theres A numb spot were joy should be. Dad asked for Adem and Anvil a few times Im glad he got to know them .
One year my 12th lets say we had what would be are best criss mass surprise.Hints were given 8 wheel drive ,1o,000 lbs at least,red ,the hints kept coming but I had no idea maybe a monster truck .It was dad it was grate it was the perfect criss mass suprize. god bless all and good nite

Christmas with Ray

I must confess to being disappointed with how few memories I have of Christmas with my Father. I wish that I had more. I would like to know what he liked about Christmas. What traditions did he most admire? Did he like eggnog? What types of cookies? Fudge? Did he like trimming the tree? Did he put lights out around the house? What did he think about mid-night mass? I’m guessing he might have had biscuits and gravy on Christmas morning but I don’t know. I don’t have enough memories about him at Christmas. Can you share – please? Tell me a story about Ray at Christmas. Give me this gift.

And for you… two Christmas stories of Ray - from me.

When I was a wee boy. Five, perhaps six. December was upon the land in upstate New York. A new young family in a suburb. Snow fell deeply and hushed the world and delighted the spirits of child and adult alike. The world sprawled out before me new and inviting. Christmas was just a day or so away. I charged into the waist deep snow. Endlessly I played, straining, wading, swimming, floundering, pressing on without restraint. It seemed like it was all day. More than a day - we played my friends and I, in the deep fresh snow. A deep and deserved rest ensued for strained and exhausted muscles.

On Christmas morning my small limbs protested. They would not work again – they pained me so. They had had enough and rest was imperative. How is a boy to make his way to the foot of the Christmas tree? My father lifted me from my bed and into his strong arms and transported me to the base of the Christmas tree. There I encountered presents I cannot recall, but the memory of being carried there will remain till my dying day.

There are just a few other memories, but I share this last one.

I try to teach my children that no amount of frustration, discomfort, anger, or sadness gives one the right to treat another with anything other than respect and love. This is a hard lesson. It doesn’t come to us naturally. It will take decades to sink in.

Some day I may share with them the following story of Ray at Christmas to help them with this lesson. My Father was a gentlemen. A true gentlemen is not inconstant. It is an essential character. It is a principled stance of being in the world. I knew this about my father and still I was reminded again on December 24th 2007. As he moved with certainty and swiftness toward his death he was a gentleman. Although he was in pain and faced the ultimate frustration of death that could not be forestalled any longer, he was sweet and kind to the nurse who aided him. He spoke kindly to him. Please… and thank you, Jin (his nurse). I was so impressed, and yet unsurprised.

And what were the last words I heard my father speak to me? At 11:47pm December 24th 2007, my father awoke. He awoke from a morphine slumber at the edge of death. He awoke as one does after having slept through the alarm. Ahh!! I’m late there is much to be done. I have overslept!

Becky and I were at his side.

He seemed agitated. He wanted to get out of bed. He was dying but he wanted to get out of bed – he was confused, but he motioned to get out of bed. He had not been out of bed for many hours.. days? But up Up UP he arose, in the darkness of night. In an urgency and desperation incomprehensible to us. He arose and we held him by his arms by his sides – and onto his feet out of his bed he came! Standing a last time – standing on his feet – A MAN.

And then, he turned quietly, a gentleman, and to each of us and anyone else near he said “Merry Christmas”. These are the last words my father spoke. In spite of everything his heart was filled with charity and grace and he wished us, the world, Merry Christmas.

And in the morning he was gone.

Daddy, Thank you for holding on until I could see you and say good-bye.

Big Tub

In January of this year just after he had left this world, I dreamed of my father - a lot. I felt him, saw him, I heard his voice calling my name, and I visited with him – talking on a magic cell phone that let me call to the other side. It was comforting, most of the time – except on waking and realizing just how fantastic and removed from my daily existence this dream world of mime really was. And yet…

These dreams did retain a kernel of comfort in them. I was able to visit, to reflect, to be connected to him in some way. One of these dreams that was of particular comfort was the Big Tub.

Although he was stoic (as you’d expect) – there is no doubt that the final months of Ray’s life were uncomfortable. Painful even. Yes, I know from hearing his voice and seeing his face at times… the pain was intense. But it was more than this. It was the very natural struggle that we feel.. right down deep in the core of our biology.. the struggle for life. My Dad’s life force was strong. Despite being at peace with leaving this world, he fought on… as he also loved this world and the people in it. He was not going to let go early. And frankly this reminds me of how he would engage tasks that needed doing. He would put his shoulder into it and keep at it until it was done or he was done, one or the other. Mostly the former. And after a hard day’s work… I remember as a child that he LOVED a very very Hot bath. Sometimes I would go and chat with him while he steamed away in a bath, skin all red and “aaaahing“.

He also loved the outdoors.

So imagine if you will the comfort I felt when in deep slumber I saw him… my dead father. There he was in the dappled light, beneath a sprawling old oak, in a Big Tub - an old-fashioned white claw foot tub, in a steaming bath of hot water, looking out over a pasture of fresh spring grass and flowers. I took that in and in a moment – knew without a doubt that my father was at peace. So much better than the months or weeks that proceeded his departing this world.

It was some sort of vision of heaven. I saw the other side once when I was a child – I nearly died. The doctors had written me off. I saw something while I was there - almost dead. What matters is not so much what I saw, but what I felt. It was peaceful beyond words and I read that on my Dad’s face in my dream as he surveyed the sun bathed pasture around his steamy hot bath. I’m glad he is having a nice hot bath.. he deserves it.

Big Love

I have so many posts inside of me… some will never get out.. others percolate and keep reminding me that maybe I should find the time to put the words to ‘paper’. Big Love is one of those. When I flip through my iPhoto library and see the above picture it reminds me of my as yet un published Big Love post. And I think the time is apropos. This is kinda complicated… please forgive the length.

So Big Love means at least two things to me in relation to my Father. First, he had a Big Love, for this world, for its people, and especially for his family, near and extended. It was a quality that I admired and still cherish as a legacy that I hope to keep manifesting and passing on to others. Most notably - my children. I can tell you he was so pleased and proud when several years ago I explained that his grandchildren had given all their saved allowance (that was on the brink of buying a most cherished game they had been saving for – for months… ) to a Katrina victim, without a moments hesitation. I can see this quality in my brother Adem and my sister Reachle too. And I saw it in the quiet, steady, humble, and determined service of Clarence and Marie Boeckmann.

Once when I was a young man. My heart began to hurt me and I saw a doctor about it who took X-rays and examined me. He put the X-Ray on the wall and stood back beside me and said “Robert, you have a big heart.” I had two immediate thoughts: Gosh, what kinda condition am I suffering from? And once he assured me that my heart was healthy… just unusually large, I thought… 'I bet I get that from my Dad.' Turned out I only had a chest wall strain.. but I learned that my heart is large.. as my father’s no doubt was too.

So when I see this picture of him (here with a little girl in Guatemala) spreading his love around the world… and the joy (click on the photo to read that joy) that so obviously filled his heart in doing so, I am impressed, inspired, and proud. And I long to feel the warmth of his big love. I must content myself with the memories of it and the promise of it growing in the hearts of others who will share it in big ways when it comes to fruition in their souls.

But the picture also adds complexity to the Big Love idea… the second meaning of Big Love here for me goes something like this. My Father was great at making you feel special and appreciated when you were in his presence. Trouble is, for all the lionizing of him Adem and Reachle and I have done… well we didn’t feel his presence enough.

He (and his ex-wife / our mother) made some decisions when he was a young man that left us out of his presence for much of the year. We missed him, we longed for him. We hoped that we would see him more. Feel his Big Love in the immediate moment of his presence. It was not so apparent when we were apart. We could be assured of it in some abstract sense. But it did not feel the same.. this carried on – past our childhoods into young adulthood. And yet we were waiting. We were thinking that at some point we would get our due. Rightly or wrongly we thought this time might be in his retirement. But he found a new love in the Church at about this time, and well frankly we were a bit jealous and bitter. When he had the freedom to visit us and the grandchildren, he chose to have fellowship with his church family. When he could have spread his Big Love in Central America, or other service activities. I can still tell you I am still a bit Angry that when I invited my Dad to visit at spring break and go skiing with me and his grandchildren… he chose to go skiing with his church group instead. And yet.

There is another sense of Big Love that comes to mind here. It is the Big Love that parents must exercise with their children. That love that comes when a child pursues something that truly quickens them – that brings them joy and inspires them. And you feel that love, you exercise that love - by accepting and supporting that, in spite of how it may be unsatisfying – even contrary to your own wishes.

And so turning that around – as children sometimes do in the twilight years of their parent’s lives. I have tried to feel a Big Love toward how my father prioritized his church life and other aspects of his life ahead of my needs. That somehow takes the resentment, anger, and bitterness I can sometimes recall or even feel now.. and transforms it. It becomes a support for someone and something bigger than myself and that feels better – grander than being jealous and resentful for something that cannot be changed now anyway. I’m glad he had those priorities and that it helped him face his mortality with grace, dignity, and with a quiet rapture I read on his face and felt in my heart.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year

I want to wish everyone a wonderful Christmas and a happy new year.

Uncle Paul

Redneck Resort

Madden Hole was a natural swimming hole located deep in the woods a number of miles from our home in Marche; a rather long hike to say the least. We would often frequent this “hole” on a regular basis in the summer just to cool off and have fun. Madden Hole was also a good place to camp and fish.
It was late one summer afternoon, after all of our chores were done that the four of us, Ray, Joe, Mark (adopted brother and neighbor) and I stepped out onto the gravely road in front of our home to begin the several mile hike to our beloved Redneck Resort locally known to our polish community as “Madden Hole.” However, today’s march to Madden Hole was more than just for a swim. Ray had proposed (a week or so earlier) we go on a two day camping trip with Madden Hole as our destination. We all were excited about his idea until he mentioned that we would just take the bare essentials for cooking food along with some fishing equipment. We would survive by catching or gathering our meals from the forest or fish from the waters of Madden hole.
So off we went, taking and jabbering about the upcoming two days. The question of food was a hot topic but Ray assured us we would not starve. Running along side and at time racing ahead were our two dogs, Curly and Michael. These two dogs were strays that over different times in the past appeared at our home. Their names somehow magically became part of their characters as each was adopted and became part of our childhood.
The march to the site traversed three long gravelly and rocky roads each ending with the other and each reaching out in a totally new direction. The eye of the late afternoon sun soon was glaring down on us. Our T-shirts displayed a cool dampness as if having been soaked in water as a result of our sweat pouring out like rain. The longer we walked the less we talked due to the dying heat of the summer day. The previous excitement expressed in the beginning had now gone up in flames in the heat of the long trek to Madden Hole. Each of us was lost in our imaginations looking ahead and immersed in the cool waters of Madden Hole. Finally, we reached the grassy trail that cut of the main road and led deep into the forest to Madden Hole. This old wagon trial lay like a snake through the thick woods trailing off into the distance before us. With the heavy foliage of the surrounding trees now providing shade, our excitement and chatter perked like water that reaches a boiling point as we began our final journey to this ole swimming hole.
We had just gone just a short distance when young a rabbit just ahead of us kicks up his heals in a rapid race to safety. Curly and Michael, the dogs, give chase and soon disappear into the wooded environment ahead with their bellowing howls echoing throughout the trees. It was not long before their baying became infrequent and sporadic indicating their loss of the rabbit. Soon both dogs were back with their tongues hanging out and panting for each breath, each having lost interest in a rabbit deep in a hole.
It was a welcome relief for all to see the ole trail finally ending at a large rivulet flooded with water from a storm of the previous week. The loud nosy water poured and splashed it way down the creek over or around the many large rock and boulders that refused to give up their position. We stopped for a minute to remove our shoes and socks and began wading in the knee deep waters. Ray began scooping up and throwing water balls at who ever was the closest to him. Thus began an all out war between all of us with water being the only weapon. It was truly moments of fun and laughter as we all welcomed the many exploding balls of water that seem to come from out of no where giving instant relief from the heat of the day. Suddenly realizing that the sun was now sinking towards the edge of our visible world, we quickly climbed once more into our shoes and made a mad rush for the camp site about two hundred yards away.
(to be continued)

Debris and Other Routes to Grief... (warning this is sad)

Well a casual observer may conclude that I am a bit of a pack rat or even a bit untidy, and there may be a bit of truth to that. However a deeper truth is that I have the heart of a poet, and I understand that things can transform into symbols, and that symbols can possess the magic to transport, to carry significant weights for the soul, and to connect across time and space. And so it is not by accident or coincidence or the lack of a trash can that I reach into my sock drawer this week and reveal that my hand was drawn to a scrap of history that takes me to a place I've been leaning towards in my mind all month. Several places...

One is standing in front of MD Anderson Cancer Clinic in numbed and relieved shock on Christmas morning talking to my kids on my cell phone saying that Grandpa is feeling better now and I will be home soon.

Another is sitting there at his side Christmas morning as his breaths spaced further and further apart, thinking of how he was getting closer to his God and marveling at how his face looked like a saint in an El Greco painting. Stroking that fine and noble forehead and clasping his hand that finally was releasing its firm grip that I recognized across the whole broad sweep of my life.

Or earlier when I knew the end was near. Standing in the school yard in the flat but bright light of a December afternoon. The last week of school before vacation. Waiting for the school bell and to pick up the kids. Standing there I called him at his hotel in Huston where he was staying for treatment - to say hi, to offer encouragement to check in, to say I'd mailed a package.

He answered. In pain. In fear. In quiet desperation. In a room alone far from home with only my voice. He didn't have the strength to be brave for me. My knees buckled imperceptibly - matching the sinking feeling in my gut, I measured the tone of my voice and did not let him understand that I appreciated the fear and pain in his voice. I knew before the doctors told him that it was over. I had been buoyed by Dad and Becky's optimism occasionally throughout the preceding months. I had ignored the statistics that said 95% mortality in the first 18 months, despite teaching statistics and knowing better. I had listened when he said come and visit after Christmas when we get back to Arkansas. But in a moment I knew better.

And the bell was ringing now and laughing and oblivious children were streaming out of the school... and mine would be swirling about in the torrent in moments. Compose compose. Grapple with the world spinning apart and yet swirling tight to the hearth of home all in the same moment. "Hey kiddos how was school today? Are you excited about Christmas vacation? Grandpa says "Hi" "

Every time I've passed the school this week - the last week before Christmas break - I think of standing there in the faintest of snow falls as the sound of my father's voice faltered in my ear and sent a chill through me deeper than any December ever has. I can't escape it. I'm not sure I want to. I drove past tonight and balled like a baby.

So many of these December memories are now over taking me. Like waves that do not relent - marching out of a darkened night sea and I feel that soon I'll be trying to catch my breath and I won't succeed.

It took me until July of this year to clear my desk of a lot of what collected there last November and December. I filed some away. Threw out a few things. But there is more debris I'm sure - things I know of things I will discover - a receipt for a taxi from the airport to the hospital. A mint. A napkin from the hospital cafeteria... A scrap of paper with one of many itineraries that may or may not have got me there on time. Broken wood from the barn he made by hand. A scar on my hand from the fishing knife he gave me as a boy.

A certain quality of my children's generosity or sense of justice. Some of the things I strain to teach them. These symbols will keep pulling me to a place of reflection and appreciation. Perhaps when I least expect it, but I trust always when I most need it.

now thats a big fish paul

1111111111111111111111111111111111
This is Brice Green he crewed for me this halibut season . I have all four boys home now that Adems back from collage. He had a blast and is ready for more in about a month.Anvil has stepped up his schooling and is interested in sports and is learning the guitar. Atlas is still goin a 100 miles an hour likes to dance and fight a little kongfu once in a while ( hes got a lot a Ray in him )Archer is 5 month now and after a slow start is growing like a weed(17 lb I think) and doin all the things that make a person smile.
I still am pretty mad about the whole dad die in thing, just sucks the could of beens keep kickin my but.

Happy Holidays!

Well guys....it's that time of year.
I'm finding it harder and harder now that Christmas is around the corner.
Dad would have gotten a kick out of my Thanksgiving excursions though...and I smiled a lot knowing as such.

I ended up driving to Eureka, OR with my boyfriend and spending it with his family. On the way back, we drove through an Animal WildLife Safari (yes, in OREGON...Winston to be exact) and had a blast watching the giraffe walk by our car and being stared down by a Rhino (like Jurassic Park...."Don't move...he'll know we're in the car"). I know Dad was laughing his butt off up there at us. (I'm not even going to mention the humping Elk or the crazy ostrich).

I also made an apple pie, from scratch, with memories of making them with Dad. (The secret is cream of tarter....shuuuush) It turned out damn tasty and I know he would have been proud of the 'awe' and silence as people dug in. You know it's good when everybody stops talking and concentrates on not losing a single crumb. lol

So...yeah....
I find myself wanting to yell & scream at work now, though, to drown out the Christmas music that started pumping through the speakers the day after Thanksgiving. It's just too soon.

How was everyone else's Thanksgiving? Any fun stories to share? :)


*Please forgive my absense in posting etc...I have extrememly minimal net connection and mostly get to check my email at work or at the library. I read the blog on a regular basis...I just tend to get all teary and blubbery when I attempt to write. It's a bit embarrassing in public places. lol