LFMTF Friday - Update

This morning I decided to walk to the office down DesPlaines Avenue....which put me back in familiar LFMTF snippet picture territory...

 Remember this one, just as the leaves were starting to turn...

well they turned and blew far, far away...

There is also the sidewalk that used to be crumbling and in a horrible state of disrepair, that the City of Chicago's crews finally replaced……

and what a fine, fine job they did!!

How about this loving graffiti, one of my favorites, evoking warm and mushy feelings each time I walked past…..

that has now been painted boring, boring, black…..

Speaking of graffiti, I discovered some....newly placed and quite menacing....

possibly marking the turf of a preschool gang?

toy guns go bang bang

wtF?????

I am usually not a swearer.

I don’t allow my young adult children to swear in front of me. (That isn’t to say they don’t – but they certainly know I disapprove.)

And I do recognize that outside of the Pollyanna World that I would like to live in, other people swear.

A lot.

Which led to a conversation in my home last night where those around me wanted to know why I don’t like swearing, and specifically why I am offended by the word F**K?

“It is just a word.”

“When you are angry and say it, it works.”

The question of “Have you ever looked it up in the dictionary?” was also posed.

As of this morning, the answer to that is “Yes, I have.”

Within the definitions of f**k (n), f**k (vb), and f**k up (vi) “usu. considered obscene” or “usu. considered vulgar” is after EVERY definition (TEN times to be exact).

I would say that means, at the very least, in the ENGLISH language, f**k, f**ker, f**k up are obscene and vulgar words.

So from now on when I might be asked “Why do you find it offensive?”

I have decided that I need only to respond…

“Because I do!!

and screw the rest of you

Thank you to ALL the Veterans!

Today it is hard to imagine soldiers coming back from a war and not being greeted by cheering family, friends, streets lined with neighbors, American flags waving and motorcycles escorting them with lights aflashing and horns ahonking.

That is what I thought always happened when soldiers returned home...

until I met Rick.

He was a member of a divorce recovery workshop that I attended thru a local church some five years ago. A safe place where we could share stories of the downfalls of our marriages, get support and hopefully…heal.

He was the oldest person at my table, once very handsome with deep blue eyes,  but surgeries to his lower jaw had left his face misshapened and difficult to look at.

Rick and I became friends and during that friendship he shared  stories of his life...

He graduated high school in 1967 and was drafted into the Marines the very next year. At that tender age he went and fought in Vietnam until 1970.

He told just slivers of the horror, helplessness-at-times and fear of the war, along with the experience of being deep in the jungles and having our government spray the defoliate Agent Orange all over them, how it felt covering his skin, it's distinct smell and the taste…..he never forgot.

But as cruel as the war was, it did not prepare him for the cruelty that he would have to endure upon coming home.

No fanfare, no welcoming home parades, no parties, no nothing.  Even worse many of the young people of that era despised the war and anyone/thing having to do with it.

So he came home to scorn and silence.

His parents, thinking that he would never come back alive, sold his treasured Mustang, bought after saving every cent he ever earned from a job at the local hardware store.

They even gave away his Schwinn bike.

He was told not to talk about the war….to just “get on with life” and so he did.

He met a woman at the local donut shop, fell in love, got married, fathered four children, and worked very hard to support them.

Then he got sick.

Diagnosed with throat cancer directly related to the Agent Orange that had covered him in the jungles of Vietnam and as in the war, he fought like Hell and physically survived surgery after surgery.

Shortly thereafter his wife asked for a divorce after falling in love with another man.

He was financially and emotionally devastated.

Which is what led him to divorce recovery and into my life.

When the workshop ended Rick left Illinois and moved to a small town in Wisconsin to start anew, but within a year of moving there....he died in his sleep.

He was 56...

and alone.

So to Rick, who so valiantly fought in the Vietnam War and then came home and fought for the rest of his life with deeply etched, horrific memories, disrespect from some, that as a representative of  their freedom, he fought so hard for, against Agent Orange-caused-cancer and a devastating end to a marriage he thought would last a lifetime...

from deep in my soul and with much, much fanfare...

I thank and salute you today.

and always

Party Reflecting

With Anna’s High School Graduation Party (Yes, HIGH SCHOOL graduation – the adage “Better Late than NEVER!” comes to mind) done and over with, as in life, I learned a few things…

First, I had way, way, WAY too much food…

That fashion trends ALWAYS come back in style hence Aunt Vicky’s knowing-her-it-is-an-ORIGINAL-moccasin-from-the-1950’s/60’s and Alayne’s new “in style” 2009 one…

How much my brother-in-law (Anna’s Uncle/Godfather) resembles a Mario Brother…

That when you miss one summer of not having the Ladybugs at your house for a week long Camp Ladybug, they grow tall and even more beautiful without you even knowing it…

That Anna (a leftie) can throw a football like nobody’s business (maybe after yesterday’s failed attempt at playing in a NFL game, she could give Chicago Bear's QB Cutler some tips!)...

That some people just can’t help horsing around in front of a camera...

 

I also have to consider why, oh WHY do we take these dumb "traditional" photos???

And, lastly and most importantly, that when you are young your friends are very important…

but those friends that are still in your life after 30 years of marriage, parenting, divorce, sickness and health...

are worth more than all possible wealth

ps - thanks to all (especially keith) who helped in small and large ways to make the party a success.

would not of been as nice without you i confess

“I could use some douche.”

Well…I asked, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by her answer.

I have been watching this mid to late-twenties woman who has taken up residence on the Jackson Street bridge during the evening rush to my commuter train.

She was once very pretty, blonde/brown hair, beautiful eyes and a nice smile.

“Once” being the key word.

Her hair is now ragged, her eyes deep and hollow and that smile, when her lips part, the teeth that are left are ghastly….just nubs, brown and pitted.

Occasionally I have seen her with a couple of men, walking away from her usual begging spot, headed to I don’t know where.

The guys, not your business suit types.

So, I think about her.

A lot.

Probably because she isn’t the “norm” of whom I have seen on the streets of Chicago panhandling for money.

She could be my daughter.

Last week I found her sitting at the west end of the bridge, huddled behind her sign and I squatted down to her level and said “I recognize that you are dealing with some addiction issues and I want to pray for you, what is your name?”

She wouldn’t give up her name, but she did say “You could pray for my daughter, her name is Nicole.”

So, I have been praying for Nicole and her nameless mom.

Monday of this week my walk to the train took me past her again and as I did, I just said “Praying for Nicole.”

Tuesday morning, I again thought about her and decided I was going to stop and talk with her that night.

I wondered where she slept, who were those guys I have seen her with, and I wanted to let her know that I was not willing to give her money, but I could help her out with small necessities, even items such as feminine “products”….which led to her request for douche.  I was thinking more in the lines of tampons, Kotex, etc., but whatever.

So I stopped, told her that I would not give her money, that I did not have much money myself, but what might she need (douche, jeans and tops), I also inquired where she slept and who those men were that I saw her with?

One of them is her boyfriend and the others are his friends and in her words “They are good guys.”

They all sleep at a seedy, transient hotel somewhere nearby.

“Could you go and pay for a night at the hotel?” she asked.

My response “No. I told you I don’t have much money.” and I followed that up with “I will see what I can do about clothes and douche and I am still praying for your daughter, you and your addiction.”

“I do not have an addiction.” she stated.

With a shocked look, I replied “You are not addicted to drugs?”

“No, I am not.” She replied defensively thru her crack pitted teeth.

This weekend I will go thru clothes at home to see what she might be able to use and I will continue to pray for her and Nicole (who she told me is in the process of being adopted.)

But after that…..I will leave her and her non-addiction alone.

It is in the hands of the Big Guy.

she was as high as the sky

A Happy Birthday Shout Out....

to my “baby” girl….who just yesterday (okay, maybe like 17 years ago or so) was not allowed to cross the threshold of her bedroom door at night, so she would set up camp at the line…….

Happy 19th Anna Mae, my bug-a-boo, you push me “to that line” some of the time - but I would not trade you for all the world’s gold!

boy are you getting old

Dealing with Stress Marvelously!!

But wondering just HOW MANY halloween-leftover-miniature-brought-into-the-office-obviously-by-Satan-this-morning candy bars can I eat??

soon won't see my feet