It's been a long time since I wrote anything here. I thought I would for Christmas, and then time got away from me. I didn't even have time to post last year's Christmas thoughts. I also thought I would be able to write for the end of the year or New Year's Day, but I didn't. Then the new year started to progress and with that, my wife's and my trip to Italy (Rome, Venice, Florence, Pisa, Pompeii) was coming up (we needed to get ready for that), so by the time we got back from that, I was on an intense working 2 jobs schedule with lack of sleep and sinus crud for a week before rest, recovery, and have to as well as downtime.
Somehow, I made it through, and well... here I am.
As a Parkie, I can say that I definitely need some downtime when the world is just too much. Being alone or being mindless with the TV are good things, even if they aren't productive. I'm sure a lot of you in the early stages, like me (I'm somewhere in 2), are experiencing that now. I'm sure others of you have experienced this. Sometimes we get too tired to sleep, let alone read or function as anything more than "I must get up and refill my drink and get a snack." However, it's at these moments that we have to move and fight back against PD.
Yes, it's at these times we have to stay mobile and active. It's been said by many; exercise to decrease rigidity and disease progression is essential. For this, I'm glad that our local rails to trails (above) is finally finished. Yes, it seemed to be raining a lot last year, but sometimes we just need to push through it (as long as we can take care of ourselves while doing it). Our bodies will appreciate it. I know mine appreciated being walked so much in Italy (my dystonia even cooperated!).
One of the things that I'm contemplating writing is how much the fluctuating dopamine in my brain produces a wave of different emotions and responses. Depression, Anxiety, Anger, and Irritability. Yep. They're the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse of My Brain.
But I don't want to think about that now. I have a chance to write something to start a new year out here, continue to sort out my pictures from Italy (color and black and white - note since it's Italian art, not everyone - i.e. David and Venus, as well as many other artists' subjects - is fully clothed, so view as appropriate!), as well as write for Parkinson's Disease Dot Net, so I think I'm going to go to my mellow place since my wife is home (early, like me) safe and sound. As the snow piles up and the cold comes in, I expect it to be a horrible icy morning tomorrow. I'm hoping the last of my snow days can fight it because the roads were nasty this afternoon.
Home and protected from that is a good thing.
There's something about home that really feels good. It's the feeling of being safe, loved, and belonging where I am. There's something comfortable about the couch, too. Sure, home isn't like being exhilarated in the great outdoors or in some spectacular man-made confines, but it definitely works at the end of a long journey.
All in all, my time in Italy was a great trip, though the comparison of poverty to wealth showcases / priceless art galleries is very sad. When homeless people are passed out and practically living on the steps of ornate churches that are covered in pristine sculptures, paintings, and mosaics, something feels "off." I'm not sure what the answer is, but it was something I noticed. We much preferred Venice and Florence for the art and architecture. Pompeii was also incredible, but I'll elaborate on them later.
We returned home to the cold and respiratory crud, which isn't fun, but as I said, there's something about being home. I like how John Dos Passos expressed it in the U.S.A. Trilogy (written after World War 1):
“U.S.A. is the
slice of a continent. U.S.A. is a group of holding companies, some aggregations
of trade unions, a set of laws bound in calf, a radio network, a chain of
moving picture theatres, a column of stock quotations rubbed out and written in
by a Western Union boy on a blackboard, a public library full of old newspapers
and dog-eared history books with protests scrawled on the margins in pencil.
U.S.A. is the world's greatest river valley fringed with mountains and hills,
U.S.A. is a set of bigmouthed officials with too many bank accounts. U.S.A. is
a lot of men buried in their uniforms in Arlington Cemetery. U.S.A. is the
letters at the end of an address when you are away from home. But mostly U.S.A.
is the speech of the people.”
Yeah, there's something about finding your car at the end of the journey and reflecting on all that is and all that we are because of it. "U.S.A. is a part of my identity, even if I'm seeing the world."
For me, the best part of the journey was being speechless and in tears from the beauty that is the Sistine Chapel (Virtual link here). I had seen God and Adam's hands touch before, but I never saw the totality of an act of discipline, talent, and faith quite like that. For the first 10 of the 15 minutes of our tour, I couldn't figure out where to start, it was just so immense. I'd love to just have an afternoon to sit there and feel the power of Michelangelo's art, but alas... tour schedules limit this. We spent over 2 hours in the Vatican Museum and still didn't see everything.
And yes, I did get to take my Nana to the Vatican. I think she would have liked it.
The lowest part of the trip was "crashing" emotionally at the Colosseum. It's a longer post, but essentially between running late + missing our tour (we rescheduled for a different day), not eating / drinking / sleeping regularly, and being harassed by street vendors, I had enough, and I found myself sitting on a bench with my wife, crying, as I told her she didn't understand how bad the Parkinson's emotional hell ride can be.
I don't understand why the Parkinson's emotional hell ride is as bad as it is. How can someone who doesn't have it understand? At least there's empathy and support to compensate.
All the same, for the state of my blog, I'd rather just focus on things that make me happy, like free breakfast day at work or when Bryce Harper and Manny Machado will "settle" for their contracts.
After the trip, I decided to take an art history class (free through work). It's the first class I took since 2010, and it's my first online class. There's a lot of neat stuff to learn in it, and I want to be able to talk knowledgeably about art when we go to museums (next stop Athens, Greece, in late March). I also don't want my wife to worry that I'll either make her take pictures of me in front of paintings or try to touch a statue or painting. Hence, this seemed like the right class. Besides, learning is a good thing, and I believe we should all engage in lifelong learning as much as possible. Most of us have learned a thing or 2 about our conditions over time. Why not learn something fun, too?!!
As I sit in the online class responding to discussion posts, I find myself missing teaching. Now, I don't miss the grading or any of that stuff that goes with management, but I miss the "being involved in active transmission of learning." Contemplating that, I realized for the first time since I made the decision to not teach that I missed something about teaching. It felt like a void in identity, as if a part of me was "changed." Maybe I can find a way to philosophize at the Pantheon or something, but for now, it just feels like a part of me is missing.
Damn you, Parkinson's!
So yeah, here I sit, contemplating how to take my blog back from the "bots" that invade from foreign medicine or NSFW websites. Yes, as a blogmaster, I see where my traffic comes from (while not posting regularly, much of it was coming from Russia). Hundreds of hits would come out to link to my Parkinson's discussion. I can see what there names are. Mostly, they're just "hands off" type names, but the first one I clicked wasn't. Bad move. I'm not bothering to look at these again!
In the end, I have no idea why these people link to me. There's only 1 post on PD and effects down there, and it's hardly tantalizing to reflect on how PD affects urinary and sexual functions.
I also have no idea why I get inundated with spam from med sellers. Has anyone ever clicked on 1 of those buy medicine sites that they see in a comment list or e-mail? Man...
But yes, here I am in 2019, thinking about how we're almost 1/12 of the way to 2020, thinking about all of the things that I want this year to be, and thinking about how I still appreciate everyone who reads, read, reacts to what I have to say. There's still more to talk about.
Recently, I was up in Harrisburg, and I saw this, so I had to take a picture.
Imagine that! All people are welcome to pray.
While I get and support how all people who are taking part in the sacraments .should have to understand them as something more than "this looks fun" before they engage in them, I believe that church should make us feel good and welcome. This could be wanting to learn the sacraments (or any traditions of any denomination). It could be the act of some Godly and / or spiritual force inspiring us to tell our stories to others (Parkinson's, religious faith, or anything else) so they can be better. It can simply be sharing our talents and emotions with others. In the end, all that matters is we try to adhere to it's teachings and make an effort to make the world better than what we were born into.
We've all been given a fair bit of dystopian politics lately, says he who is watching The Handmaid's Tale right now. Let's just say that it's a step up from Hunger Games' violence, and a step down from 1984's sheer brutality. In writings like these, we're led to believe sex is evil (1984) or it's converted into the Brave New World take. We're led to believe that politics is either run amok PC or conservatism gone fascist. No matter how it ends up, it wants to consume us. Equally, all religion becomes a fascist cult filled with wild fanatics. And yes, we've seen these ideologies played out, thought out, and expressed out. As a result, a person who sees modern times and history has to be able to figure out what politics / theology / human interaction should be on his or her own. Nevertheless, the point of good art / literature is to make the viewer feel and relate to the plight of the characters. It lets us feel the protagonist's struggles while residing inside the reasoning of the antagonist. It provides a call to action and a step toward living for something that means something.
As people with Parkinson's, art in all its forms allows us to see a call to struggle back against our condition. We understand a need to fight for our rights. We absorb the value of life. We are presented with an opportunity to give altruistically of ourselves in some heroic way. What's more, we are able to understand death as a process along a hero's quest.
As people with any life or experience, we are given an opportunity to use it to know the truth of what we see around us. This allows us to feel faith.
As a child,
religion was a tough nut to crack. Sure, I had the “Niocene Creed” to follow
along with so that I could know that “I believe in one God… Jesus… the Holy
Spirit… and one holy Catholic and apostolic church,” but what did that really
mean to who I was as a theological person? For the most part, I never thought
of myself as a child, boy, teenager, or man of faith, though I did feel a
connection to God in a different way, which I see as both religious and
spiritual. However, it represents what I feel is how the church applies to how we can live our lives in God’s way to be better
people. Nevertheless, to come to that revelation, I had to find my way back to
the traditions and less complicated lifestyle that I grew up in to find my
place in faith as a man. To do that, I would need to hear the voices of the
past to make sense of my now.
This post expresses some of that.
Ever
since the time my sister and I were made to go to church, it never seemed to be
a fun thing, let alone a thing that was our decision. Granted, we could opt out
of waking up early on a Sunday and take a “Saturday Night Special” mass if we
felt like sleeping in on Sundays, but there were definitely times that we were
going to march into the back row of the pews and make it happen, whether we
wanted it or not. This involved “stand, kneel, and sit” in time with all of the
congregation’s singing, praying, and lip-synching. Fortunately for us, we were
allowed to hightail out of the church as soon as Communion was over. The
important thing is that we could tell my nana what we learned at church that
day.
Nana,
as she became known to my sister, my cousins, and I, was a strict Irish
Catholic woman who stood authoritatively over our lives. Despite this
description, she was a nice, elderly woman, who loved all of us, but other than
serving as the matriarch of the family and wanting to protect our family’s
souls for all of eternity, I don’t remember too much else about her since hers was a truth that many young kids and teenagers just don't "get."
Nevertheless, I do remember how a huge chunk of her later life was marred by health ailments. Nana had been on
a myriad of different pills, and this was a concern to my mom. When my mom
emotionally tried to express this to her mother, it seemed to be passed off
with a “there, there” approach by her mother. There was nothing that could be
done. From that time to the end of her life, nearly a decade later, it seemed
like Nana did everything she wanted to do on earth. All that was left for her
was to go and be with God.
For
the few things we knew about my nana’s real life, we knew even less about our
grandfather. In one of the biggest family mysteries, she, the devout Catholic,
married a Jewish guy named Manny, whose roots were said to be from Germany,
though with the family tree hidden in the woods, we never learned much about
them or his family, faith, or heritage (at least until later on).
As
for our grandfather, a large part of why we never knew Manny, the soldier in
the picture I have in my bedroom, was because he died of pancreatic issues that advanced into liver cancer when my
mom was eight, and Toot was a worldly 12, leaving middle brother Dave and
youngest brother Steve unaware as well. On that Fourth of July in 1958, his
intense and painful demise became final, and he shuffled off this mortal coil.
Never
choosing to see their marriage any other way, we knew that despite their love,
he slept in a separate twin bed beside my nana. Family members would joke that
every time they pushed the beds together, they had another child. Other than
that, he was just a memory.
At
least he was until 2006 when I took it upon myself to scan old family photos
before they vanished further into black and white blobs. I didn’t know many of
the names of people, but I did know Manny and Nana’s face, which seemed like a
great place to start. As I performed this task, grainy pictures became trips to
Watkins Glen, the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, Ausable Canyon, and the Poconos. A
whole different life took shape as I preserved their wedding and honeymoon
pictures from Waycross, Georgia. What’s more, this woman who seemed so rundown
after years of taking care of her family was receiving messages like “Do you
think you could go for a bunch of ‘good lovin’ with the Great G?!” In addition
to the passion he showed for her, he referred to her as beautiful and gorgeous.
Here, he humanized her in a way that made her seem special and so much more
than the woman with the silver hair and glasses. Yes, this was also the same woman
who sent me a letter when I was considering marrying a gal I was dating in my
early days in the Air Force. Where she talked about what love really meant, I
thought she was being intrusive and stodgy, but instead, she wanted me to have
what they had, which is what God gave her for those two decades of together in
life (though apart during war).
Yes,
here was a man and woman who really loved one another in mind, body, and
spirit.
In later life and coming back to God and theology / spirituality, I like to see the Christianity she taught me in terms of love and togetherness. The copies of those pictures are completely priceless because of it.
++++
When it comes to not being able to connect with religion, I remember when I was stationed in Turkey. I was young, lost, and pretty much alone other than a couple people I befriended. One, I stayed friends with. The other got lost along the way. Such is life. Nevertheless, there on the Turkish / Syrian / Iraqi border, I couldn't make sense of being stuck indefinitely in a post-Gulf War zone, and I couldn't make sense of post-war.
One particular event that stands out to me was when we passed the Syrian border, a guy got on board our bus with an AK-47. Obviously, facing a man with an assault rifle is odd, much odder than hole in the floor bathrooms, which we saw along the 8-hour bus ride across the country. Anyway, while I was waiting to be shot at, he came around and shook everyone's hands before he left.
Of all the things I did there, I did go up in a helicopter to drop bread off at refugee camps. The purpose of much of the mission was assisting the Kurds who went north after the war. Many of them were starving in refugee camps. Seeing people in front of fences waiting for bread was heavy. We went up with the British. I had wanted to see Iraq, and I did. When I walked back as a 19-year old airman, I was with a major and a sergeant of some level. We stepped over a wire as a short cut to where we were going, and... you guessed it.
We were picked up by military police who made us find someone on base who knew us. My supervisor was nonplussed to deal with my dumb ass, and yeah... that was an experience.
Anyway, while in Turkey, I found some officers talking about God and being born again. It turned out that all I had to do was say, "I'm born again," and then I would be. I asked to be sure, and it was. Obviously, I never felt in simpatico with the Good Lord for a few words in a military tent, but yeah. By the time I got back to civilization, God and I became divided, slowly but surely.
For a short time, I went to a church with my roommate. One time, the preacher went off on his usual diatribe of better and more holy than thou with a lecture on how to dress appropriately. The message was that you didn't have to listen to what he recommended. You would just burn in Hell if you went any other direction that he stated people should..
That was it for me for church for a long time.
My roommate lasted a few more weeks, but the preacher gave him bad dreams, so he too stopped. The church decided to save his soul and send people to coax him back. He was too nice to say anything, so I aided his cause one night by playing My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult's "Kooler than Jesus." The guy left and never came back. Normally, my roommate would have said something about it, but it was a means to an end, so the two of us were sympatico.
Nobody is perfect. For those people who think we should be, they just don't get it. We all make mistakes and sin or mess up. Some of us mess up more than others (John Brown), and then we do one thing powerfully, and WHAM! That becomes our legacy. I'm not sure what the vigilante attacks to abolish slavery in the name of God should stand as... radical ideology or St. Augustine's Theory of Just War. Looking at the chances of success and eliminating unnecessary casualties... That said, it did ramp up the decision to do what's right and end slavery.
From the right or the left, as long as we're willing to be open to conversation and discussion, all is good. Historically at that time, nobody was doing that, so Brown threw away the playbook. This led to the decisions and transition of Lincoln from keep America together to Lincoln's 2nd Inaugural Address.
Sure, he's an extreme example, but how many of us / people we know have turned life around to do something better for people? To me, that's where it's at. It can't just be about accept me / worship me and life is good.
From that perspective, I can see that faith is something that should allow us to analyze our past, help with our present, and prevent problems in the future.
I'm not an expert on faith, but I've been contemplating it a lot lately, as I've said, since I was writing an essay about my own set of beliefs for part of a contest (let's just say, it turned out well, though I would have liked about 25,000 more words). I kept feeling pulled into religious chapter / verse expressions, which moved me, but they weren't feeling like me, so I had to write, revise, save for other things, or scrap..
In my search, I did comb through the Book of Job and some interesting chapter / verse. There, I found: Proverbs 22:6 "Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it." THIS made me think of how my nana raised my sister, my cousins, and me in the word of God. People can go different directions, and they may not take on everything, but we tend to take on the most important things.
1 John 4:16 "And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love.Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them." THIS made me think of how love is the best part of every spirituality. I think of this with my gram. She wasn't a brick and mortar person, but she got it the points of religion without calling it that.. That says something.
John 3:16 "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." THIS one has obviously taken on a life of its own, and it has been parodied in wrestling. When I look at it, it makes me think of how we all should make sacrifices to the betterment of all. That said, in its original form, it is more the Easter Christian than the Christmas Christian. Christmas is the birth of potential and love mixed with giving, happiness, and tradition. To me, that's what faith is all about. Nevertheless, I get and feel connected with completing promises and purposes, which is what the empty tomb says (beyond just forgiveness of sins).
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.Love never fails."THIS made me think of my marriage vows, but it also made me think of family gatherings, especially Christmas. When family gets together, all of these things should be present - but that's just me.
Jeremiah 1:5 “Before I formed you in the wombI knew you, before you were bornI set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” THIS one has obviously taken on a life of its own, and it seems to reflect anti-abortion to others more than the hero's quest concept it is a part of. For me, a person who believes in divine intervention, fail safes, and purpose from above, I like to see it in that way. If our purpose comes from God, then it's a mission to fulfill.
Of course, there's always a good Mark 16:18: "They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover." THIS one gets used by the West Virginia snake handler people, but I like to think of it as just a really cool metaphor to say that I'm not taking any crap from anyone. I shall fear no evil because I have a code and a core belief that I follow. Let your teeth and venom show. I am not afraid of you!
Anyway, the point is I like reading quotes and contemplating them. I'm weird like that. I like thinking of new ways to see things, and for that, I am able to feel more connected through the wisdom of people who have come before me.
As I said, those things have made me realize that I'm a Christmas Catholic. I love the happiness of good coming into the world and celebrating traditions with family (I'm sure most theologies have a day like that). While I understand the Good Friday sacrifice, I'm bothered by the gore porn it turns into for some people (like the woman I encountered who explained how the nails destroyed bones to a six-year old; why not just show her a snuff film?). While I get the need for realism, there comes a point where the spectacle outshines the message (Poetics said not to do that, Mel, so stop swinging the hammer).
That said, I completely understand Easter Christians of any denomination. The tomb is empty, and we are forgiven, while the promise is fulfilled (as I said). For kids, this is portrayed with the symbolism of new life (eggs, bunnies, and flowers), which is everywhere. I also understand the existential Christ wrestling with the Devil's temptations and the Easter Saturday "What now?" people. It makes perfect sense to feel our faith is being tested or that we could have done something different that day.
I get people who feel compelled to fulfill a purpose from God. That's me, and I think that's a lot of you, too. That promise can be anything, big or small. Nevertheless, it's probably not about someone being the Son / Daughter of God (I tend to worry about that purpose and the one that demands mass suicide to ride on a comet). However, I do believe we are called to learn for a purpose.
As I wrote in that essay that (in large part) deals with divine intervention: On September 28, 2016, I
woke up and told my wife that if I did indeed have Parkinson’s, I would educate
and advocate for the cause. That day was always meant to be. It was God’s plan.
That’s why he had me learn how to teach, to love, to be a part of a larger
family, to be a writer, to speak confidently, to be enthusiastic about
learning, and to inhale the wondrous beauty of life, in England and in America.
Accepting those responsibilities and accepting that opportunity cemented my
beliefs.
In an explanation of the essay, I wrote:
Some beliefs are quoted to us chapter verse.
Other times, our truths are personal “mysteries” only we experience. I can’t
make someone believe what happened at that Churchtown cemetery, while driving
out of Fallon, wishing on a star at Letchworth, or waking up to choose
Parkinson’s advocacy. However, something happened in all of those moments, and
my beliefs define it as my outlook changed forever because of what I
experienced.
If my faith was accepting a book or finding a seat in a pew, it would be really
simple to say that I joined a team and I accept it all as is. That’s not this
story.
This story is about how these last two years of my life have tested my faith,
family, meaning, future, and hope. I write this smiling. Somehow, having
Parkinson’s defined and tested me. Parkinson’s begged me to curse God, but I
didn’t. It tortured me with symptoms on top of symptoms. It showed me how I
could lose everything. Still, I went on smiling. I can’t believe that a God who
let me wish on a star and come up with a win would be the same God who would
leave me to the wolves. There has to be a reason.
My belief comes back to helping others make sense of their struggles in the
same way I make sense of mine. It is compelling our friends and family to aid
in this journey. We can either see life as pain and suffering or we can see it
as opportunity, love, strength, and a chance to succeed and be there for the
"celebration."
If we give our most precious gifts to the world, our beliefs will transfer to
another soul. If we utilize the special gifts that other people give us, we
will find our way through any rough patch. If we see the act of giving and
receiving gifts as more than just exchanging objects, then Christmas is every
day.
That's why I like Christmas. Things happen. A man arrives and does a lot of stuff. Sure, he's the son of God, but in the end, he can either accept that or have any earthly thing he wishes. In the meantime, he uses his brain and body to make things happen. I'm all for human responsibility in our own upkeep. Yes, there's humanism and there's Christian humanism, but I'd like to think we can all agree that we should be doing something more than just praying (though prayer doesn't hurt).
For that, I don't get people waiting or trying to accelerate the Rapture. I don't get theology / philosophy / theology that focuses on conformity or else. To be "down," we need to live a life that is in line with that choice if we want it to apply to us. I believe we can do that with or without any holy book. In fact, I believe many books are divinely inspired without the seal of brick and mortar religion approval.
I'm happy with what you choose to believe that doesn't lecture me or hurt others. It may not be me, but so be it.
As I said, at the end of the day, I just can't picture an omnipotent being sitting around and demanding our love and attention 24/7 under threat of eternal torture. What's more, I'm not sure I'd want to end up in a place that is a reward for that.
Think about it like this; the death row murderer who accepts God with 2 minutes to go hasn't earned near as much (if any) preferential treatment as someone who lived a kind and giving life. That's just me, and at the end of the day, I base my beliefs on what I've learned of theology, philosophy, psychology, history, human nature, and life - not what I learned from "some exclusive all correct single book." The religion I'm baptized into may be "stand, kneel, sit, pray, sing softly / lip-synch," but it takes more than that to live out what I see as a good life.
The same is true for just praying. Praying is important, and I do it, but is it more right to just pray X number of times a day as opposed to doing things?
Nevertheless, that brick and mortar religion my nana gave me is in my DNA, and I was baptized into it. It is now as much a part of me as my lungs and heart. Besides, as a nun once told me, you're either a Catholic or a wayward Catholic after baptism.
In the end, yep, organized religion can be scary, but buildings that open their doors to keep people safe and able to find spiritual / emotional / physical refuge are a good thing and a start to a better world. We need more open tables for people to celebrate our Christmases and holidays with.
For all of you people doing good things in life, keep on keepin' on!
First and foremost, happy 4th of July to all my American friends. Happy Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way out, You Ungrateful Colonials Day to my British friends, and Happy Super Bowl Sunday in July Day (AKA Rah Rah America Kicks Butt Day) to all of you who see this day that way (which really is what it is).
One of the things that my family thinks about on this day is the fact that on this day in 1958, 60 years ago, my grandfather Manny died of liver cancer. We didn't know much about him other than how he was the guy in the military uniform in this picture. In a lot of ways, that was better than knowing the painful last days of his life. There's no reason to relive them other than they were, so I'm not including them here.
That said, today, I found myself thinking about him, as this was the day of his death. Not many members of my family are dutiful cemetery visitors. As I talked about before, I went to visit my gram's grave after a visit from her spirit earlier this year (you can read about that HERE). However, I plan to go for his birthday on the first Sunday of August, when I'll also see his wife's (my nana) grave (it's been over 20 years on that).
My nana was always a strict Irish Catholic, so it was hard to think of her marrying a Jewish guy, knowing how important Catholic instruction was to her regarding our upbringing (it was said that he would have converted for her). Unfortunately, we caught her at the end of her life, so we never got to see her as younger and in love. For this, it was a shock to read his missives of love on the back of their honeymoon photos (you can see them all HERE).
Anyway, this day isn't about that for all of you, but to me, Manny is my heritage, even if I've never met him. You can see more of him HERE, if you're into old photos and the like. If not, you can skip ahead to the 4th of July stuff.
If you're into songs that reflect America, HERE is an old post of mine. They're not patriotic (think Billy Joel's "Piano Man), but when it comes to the "National Anthem," I prefer Jose Feliciano... especially to Fergie.
For most Americans, you're probably out picnicing and having fun with your fireworks (ours are getting rained out as we speak - the thunder and lightning have come and gone), or you are swimming (we already did, and that was great for a 95° day, though it did feel like Caddy Day in Caddyshack), then I hope you had a great day.
Maybe you're watching the Mel Gibson pretend to be American for the right to kick British butt in The Patriot (great movie by the way). Oh yeah, a really young Heath Ledger was in that, too. I'd recommend it if you're into war movies and all.
Then, there's the best ever 4th of July moment, Lou Gehrig's speech. Who wouldn't want to be Gary Cooper getting a chance to act this out? By the way, if this isn't the best emotional black and white movie, then it has to be It's a Wonderful Life. Yeah, Pride of the Yankees is that good (especially since he wasn't part of the Steinbrenner Yankees, who made that team the Evil Empire).
So if we know today, Independence Day, for anything, it's probably these several things...
1) Lou Gehrig's speech and the greatest baseball season ever, which I wrote about last year HERE.
2) Thomas Jefferson and John Adams' shared death day.
5) Stephen Hiller, Russell Casse, Thomas Whitmore, and David Levinson saved the world in Independence Day,a gem of a movie from 1996.
Thus, I give you my 20 most important thoughts on that movie now.
1) Yes, kids, there was a time that Will Smith universally mattered. Of course, the last mass appeal movie he was in was Hitch in 2005. I liked the movie Concussion, but unless you're into an ESPN feature as a movie, then you might not. He was also great for a bit part in Anchorman 2, which is one of the funniest movies of all time. However, from his days as the Fresh Prince to Independence Day to Men in Black to the great beyond, he really doesn't have a niche to fill. He goes from awesome comedic action to serious action to serious movies. Then, he gets known for his kids, and well... he was more fun giving Carlton the biz. Nowhere is he better though than in this movie (though I respect his work in Fresh Prince for making him a part of our generation). Who wouldn't want to be this smack talking, handsome hero who gets to save the world?
2) It seems that 2005 was a good year for last good movies as it was the year Tom Cruise gave us the solid, scary War of the Worlds. You'd have to go back to Jerry McGuire a decade earlier to find a movie he starred in that I can watch again and again (let alone watch). There is his bit part in Tropic Thunder, which is a film that people either love or hate. Let's just say that they were trying to be offensive to almost everyone and succeeded admirably. Only Good Luck Chuck brings that much ire to a movie (in my wife's opinion).
3) Bill Pullman's President Whitmore returns him to the foray that he is best at - losing the girl. While losing Meg Ryan to Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle is OK (after all, they're both nice guys, but Tom Hanks? All of us would bow honorably to him... provided he doesn't have Da Vinci Code hair). At least he won the day with his bullet dodging Singles performance of losing Bridget Fonda to grunge rockin' Matt Dillon. The only good movie he gets the girl is Space Balls. I mean, he's a nice guy, and you'd want your daughter dating his younger self, but he's not box office smolder (then again, I'm not either).
4) The girl who plays Bill Pullman's daughter is Mae "The Duff" Whitman. She was pretty good in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, which is a good movie, but a better book.
5) If you're going to lose your wife, it's probably best to lose her to an alien attack, so the situation can help you want to kick E.T.'s butt off the planet, Hulkamania style. I'd be willing to kick E.T.'s butt in Trump's Space Force. Really. Who wouldn't?
7) Randy Quaid's Russell Casse proves that existence precedes essence (the key to existentialism) as he abandons being an alcoholic with post-traumatic stress from alien abductions long enough to fly a fighter jet and kick E.T.'s butt. When his weapons jammed, he had the presence of mind to fly straight at the alien ship's big gun to commit to the utilitarian course by martyring himself to save the world (thus dying a hero). Too cool!
8) All of those Roswell references before Roswell got big. By the way, this movie made me want to see Roswell when I drove cross country in 1998.
9) The whole Vivica A. Fox stripper with a heart of gold thing, where she's wonderful enough inside that Will Smith still wants to make her his bride. He may not get to fly on the space shuttle due to prejudicial thoughts, but at least she feels that she makes good money to feed her family.
10) If you're a stripper with a heart of gold and you're trying to escape from a fireball, then your dog will never die if you also have a post-toddler cute kid son with a backward baseball hat. 11) Stephen Hawking would agree that aliens coming to see us isn't a good thing. “Such advanced aliens would perhaps become nomads, looking to conquer and colonize whatever planets they could reach,” he said. “Who knows what the limits would be?” “Meeting an advanced civilization could be like Native Americans encountering Columbus. That didn’t turn out so well.” 12) Thus, it seems only too obvious that the stereotypical ditzy wannabe blonde with the dark hair, who is carrying a sign to welcome the aliens will be the first to go.
13) Independence Day marketed itself as having the test audiences go crazy when the White House blew up. That said, taking out NYC, too, made for some hella good special effects. 14) Does Harvey Fierstein's character have a purpose as anything other a stereotypical gay / Jewish man in a role that really doesn't do anything? How was that not left on the cutting room floor? Let's just say that this character wouldn't float in 2018. 15) Robert Loggia and James Rebhorn were meant to be generals. They play their parts perfectly. 16) In a movie with limited characters in different parts of the country, it's only obvious that they'll manage to connect with one another despite moving across time and space in a way that wouldn't even be possible if they went via wormhole.
17) Soon after Independence Day, another movie began its classic experience with New Mexico's Very Large Array and R.E.M.'s "It's the End of the World as We Know It." That movie was Contact, and it's one of the greatest movies every according to Chateau Glass's inhabitants. Truth be told, I watch that much more than Star Wars.
18) All of those environmental references aren't just political ideology placement. They actually reflect how in the book, the aliens die due to an environment that they can't inhabit. Go figure. They're still ideology I can get with, but ideology nonetheless. 19) I really like the modern twist on viruses with a computer enemy. That works really well within the context of the movie's at the time modern take. 20) Independence Day was the first movie I saw after coming back to America in 1996. I actually walked 1.5-2 hours each way in the heat to see the movie. It still holds up well. While it's not perfect (hokey scenes like the magical reunion at the end and some other ideology stuff placed in for "message" to the youth effect), the movie is a solid 9/10. For a 22-year old movie based on special effects and a now dated period of time to hold up that well puts it in one of my favorite movies of all time.
I hope your holiday included a little bit or a lot of bit of it!
February 13th is my grandmother’s (Gram) birthday.
I’m not sure if I’d remember it if it weren’t in a group of days that includes my mom's birthday (the 11th), Lincoln's birthday (the 12th), and Valentine's Day (the 14th), but every
year, I always make a note of wishing her a happy birthday so that I can reflect on her life and how much she meant to me while I was a kid growing up.
On the other hand, I couldn’t tell you my
other grandmother’s (Nana) birthday. It's not that I didn't feel close to her. I did feel that she cared about me, but it was just done with a strict Irish Catholic overseeing. Here, I do think she did and does her best to ensure that I don't drift from religion and that type of meaning in life. Perhaps she's the impetus to the need to go to church or to do things with church-related groups, which I do. On that note, I did go to church for the first time in ages to get my ashen cross for Lent this year. I'm sure she had something to do with that, especially my decision to follow the priest's homily to give up the hardness in my heart and to love while doing kind deeds and everyday sacrifices.
This year, I started to have this feeling
about a week before her birthday that I really needed to go to my Gram's grave to visit her. There
was something in me that wanted to tell her how things were in my life since the last time that I really saw her, especially
regarding how much she’d like my wife Heather, my nephew Dylan, my sister’s
husband Matt, and his kids CJ and Val, who have joined the family since her passing. Another part of me wanted to talk to her
about how surprised she would be at how much everything changed since she
passed (November 1994). Finally, a large part of me wanted to tell her how much
I missed her. In that moment of overwhelming need to visit her, I found myself overcome with emotion, which signaled me I definitely needed to be there.
I'm not sure what the last non-Alzheimer's memory I have of her is. By the time I came home in November 1990 to show her my Air Force uniform, dressed in it when I picked her up, she didn't know who I was. By that time, she was scared of a lot of things. She had old memories of my dad, but eventually, she lost all of them to Alzheimer's (I wrote about that HERE).
In
this feeling of needing to see her, I wasn’t sleeping or hallucinating, let alone daydreaming, but instead, it
felt like I was receiving a sensation / request that I had to fulfill. I've never had a moment like this before, so I'm not really sure how to describe the train of thought I experienced. All I can say is that I really needed to do this, so nothing, not traffic, other obligations, or a car in need of body work, was going to keep me from going to visit her.
I drove over to the cemetery on
Tuesday to pay my respects before I went to teach class. When I arrived, it was drizzling
slightly, so I drove extra slow down the Churchtown graveyard path looking for the elusive "Glass" on the grave belonging to her and Dan (the grandfather I never knew as he died before my dad was 2) before I arrived
at her resting place. When I got out, I saw a Christmas wreath and the dates of her
life. Somehow, I knew what the year of her birth was before I got there, but I really didn’t know. To be honest, a part of me thought maybe she was born in the early 1920s, but I was wrong.
February
13th, 1918: her 100th birthday.
As
I stood there crying, I found myself laughing at how she must have been calling
for me, the grandson who came over weekly during his childhood to play Star
Wars, build forts, and watch television like Different Strokes, The Facts of Life, and Saturday Night Live when Buckwheat died (she wasn’t sure if it was
real since they played it pretty straight other than Eddie Murphy doing his
over the top imitation). And there I was, plastic flowers in hand to give her a colorful bouquet that would survive the Amish Country Pennsylvania winter, crying my eyes out because on days like this, I could really handle making a pillow and blanket fort in her house instead of facing the world.
In the days I knew her, she did fill it in puzzles and
chain-smoked, while always being there for me with a place to go, love, and
weekly presents of baseball cards or Star Wars figures. In the middle to late
1980s, as I said, her Alzheimer’s disease kicked in and devastated her and hurt our family as well. Now, we sit wondering if the bomb that went off inside of her is hereditary for those of us who have descended from her position on the family tree (as we wonder how far back these medical concerns go).
Gone were the days
of listening to Mel Tillis and taking me to the local movie theater to see
movies that I wonder if she actually could tolerate (such is being a supportive
and loving grandparent). I prefer not to think of those days.
In the same way, I don't think much of who she was growing up or during the days of my dad growing up other than remembering she was a single mother at age 16. To this, she had a warning to my dad that carried over to me (if you're going to do something that could have you end up being a dad, be sure it's with someone that you love enough to be with if that situation occurs). Knowing how her life effectively stopped in many ways, long before it ever began, the world of being a single mom with family helping raise children from the 1940s to 1960s and living life beyond that as a housekeeper at the Hassler Home, I think that's fair advice.
Anyway,
when I came home from work, I bought some Valentine’s brownies, and my wife and
I celebrated her birthday because it’s what she would have wanted. Somehow, it felt to me
that she knew how to get in touch with the world by finding me in that vision. After all, I'm the person who won’t
allow certain parts of the past to “die that third death,” thus assuring that people live on
infinitely through words, deeds, and images. While her former apartment is now so changed it's hard to see it as anything other than the address she lived at since the building is completely different, I don't mind as much as losing memories of her image in Florida or her dream to go to Hawaii, which my parents fulfilled.
More importantly than going down Memory Lane, Heather reflected how she’s my
guardian angel, here for me in my time of Parkinson’s as she has some clue of
what it means to have a neurological condition that can devastate everything. I
have to say that there’s something comforting and reassuring in knowing that I have a whole lot of someones looking over my shoulder, no matter what side of the grade said person is on.
For
that reason and others, while I find myself skeptical to certain experiences, I
truly do believe in life after death and divine intervention. I believe in fate, and I believe in ghosts. I believe in Heavenly-directed paths to where we're meant to be. I also believe in the evil side of the coin. That said, while experiencing the blind in my bedroom fly up at 2:00AM, the first night we moved in the house in 2009, plus other incidents of casual appearance that happened here may seem spooky, not all incidents of haunting and appearance are meant to be scary. Like the image of my wife's mother appearing as a butterfly at her sister's wedding or our great niece Ava appearing cheerfully to her sister Lydia, the other side isn't always about monster movies.
Sometimes it's just about checking in and showing some love.
