Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Sun Singing and Officiating

Well, the Sun Singer's Celebration of Life has come and gone and all I can say is.....

"Wow."

Talk about an amazing tribute, a true testament to the man and his family.  The place was packed--and, that's saying a lot, considering the event was held at an exhibition hall, not a funeral home. People stood in line for an hour, just to have a thirty second chance to wish condolences to the family. Since the line was so long, many people had to wait until after the service to finish standing in line. The sheer volume of people was overwhelming.

Was this a man of power & prestige? Of  government or public office? Of fame and fortune?

No.  

This was a humble, generous, gentle, hard-working quiet man who worked in a blue-collar type position who was truly loved & respected by many.  That respect and love filled the room til it almost burst. You could feel it.  It oozed from the people their to pay their respects, it flowed from the people willing to stand up and share their stories, it filled the air like a warm, summer's evening breeze.  (That sounds so cliche, but it's true.  The place was warmed with palpable love.)

A day later, I am still shaking my head in wonder.

Since the Addiverse is all about me, I shall now shift the Sun Singer's celebration to me.  After all, I was the Reverend presiding over the service.

Seriously.  The wife and I walk in to the venue, weasel our way in front of everyone so we can sign the guest book and go help and that's when I see it.....

The placard says "Officiating: Reverend [Addi Warrior Princess]." 
(No, it didn't really say AWP--it said my real name.  We have no time for real names in the Addiverse.)

AND, all the little memorial cards they hand out as you enter the area have my name in them, with the word "Reverend" in front of my name.  All the wife and I could do is look at each other.  I couldn't believe it.  She couldn't believe it.  And, I must say, most of our friends couldn't believe it. Since these were people there that I knew from the late 1980's-the 1990s (and hadn't seen since then), they were pretty shocked by this new development.

No offense, but seeing my name with the word Reverend in front of it is REALLY funny!  I am sure the Sun Singer got a big, big kick out of that.

One guy remained incredulous.  We had worked together in the late 1980's (along with the Sun Singer) and so he had a very different view of me that would not very understandably include the descriptor "reverend." I explained numerous times that it was just a title gleaned from an on-line source, secured so I could marry or civil-union-ize those who couldn't find a church in which to do it such things, but he didn't get it.  He thought I was actually a full-time, seminary-going minister, even after I assured him repeatedly that I was not.

"What denomination did you get ordained?" he asked.

"None, really.  It's not like that."

"What seminary did you go to?"

"I didn't.  It's an on-line thing. You sign up and wa-la--you're a minister. " I thought this would finally clear things up.

"On line seminary school?"  He looked more confused than when we started.  "You mean, like classes and seminars on line?"

"No.  I didn't have to go to school.  I just had to fill out the application."  I tried to explain that this is a free lance gig, secured so I could help people get married or have celebrations such as this.

"But, you're a minister?"

"Well, technically," I answered.

I am sorry to say that I never did ease his confusion.  It dawned on me later that he was a very devout, born-again Christian with a very traditional, fundamental stance.  No wonder he was confused.

I actually had to do a few official-type things, working with the thankfully-funny funeral director.  At one point, she turns to me and says, "You're going to have to make an announcement and tell the people to speed it up. They are going to have to say less."

I must have looked like a deer in the head lights.  She pointed to the microphone and indicated that I was going to have to tell people that they should keep their condolences short and sweet so everyone would get a chance to get through the line.  She suggested I assure those that didn't get through the line that they would have the opportunity to do so after the service.

"I have to say that?"

"Yes," she assured me.

"Can't I just go through the line and tell people?"

"No, you need to do it from the microphone so everyone can hear you."

I gulped.  I looked toward the door and saw that the line went out the exit.  She was right.  These people would never make it to the front of the line, to the family, before the actual service was scheduled to start.
Nobody told me the officiant would get sucky duties like this.

"I have to write this down," I tell her.  "What exactly do you want me to say?"

And, so I wrote it down and approached the mike and said what I had to say.  Incredulously to me, everyone seemed to take it just fine; in fact, some people got out of line and sat down, obviously okay in waiting until after the service.  I had several people tell me what a wonderful announcement that was and that it was appreciated.  Others thanked me for relieving their fear that they wouldn't get a chance to give their condolences and so they were happy to learn they would still have the chance.

Score one for the funeral director.

There were some unexpected bonuses from the gig.  I had several people ask about getting married or civilized, others asking if I had business cards (I do not), one guy "reserve" me for his wedding ("probably in ten or fifteen years").  Even the funeral director asked for a business card, indicating they are always looking for people to officiate funerals.

Guess I should get some business cards.

The wife, always the more stoic and practical one, one-upped the business cards: "You need to set up a fee for service scale." She turned to some friends and told them I don't charge for my services.  "You need to charge for your services."

I suppose she is right.  If this is going to turn into a real side gig, I'm gonna hafta have a plan.  I had not intended this to ever happen, but here I am with people looking for a different way to do things, and I seem to be that different way.

The Universe works in very mysterious ways.

If you want me to officiate your ceremony or celebration, you better call soon.  My calendar is getting mighty full.  Call now and you can still get in the "free" category.  Just don't tell the wife.

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Godspeed, Sun Singer.  With much love to your wife and daughter.
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Friday, March 22, 2013

Oreos in My Cereal

Courtesy warning: if you have experienced a recent loss or anticipate you are going to have a significant loss in your life, or if you in the middle of a end-of-winter-depressive bout, you might want to skip this blog.  I try never to send potential readers scurrying anywhere but to my blog, but in this case I do believe it is appropriate to give you fair warning.

Yesterday morning, a terrible thing happened: a dear friend's husband unexpectedly passed away.  The details of his death aren't particularly necessary for the story, so I'll leave it at he died at home without warning or reason.  Just like that, he was sucked off the planet by whatever force of nature you choose to believe in.

Gone.  Just a shell of where a man used to be.

I am going to call him "The Sun singer" for blogging purposes. Those who knew him understand why.

He was a good man, a loving father, a wonderful dad, a health-conscious athlete with a passion for outdoor activities.  He was "good people," as they say, the kind of guy that would get out of his truck in four lanes of traffic and hold everything up so a family of ducks could cross the four-lane road.  Humble, and hard-working, it's kinda hard to think of anything negative to say about him or his way of being.  We have some pretty funny stories about times we spent with The Sun Singer and his family, some of which I am sure have found their way into a blog or two of old.

If you've never been "there" when someone dies unexpectedly, let me assure you it is a whirlwind of ridiculousness.  There is no time to breath or grasp what is going on or even have a coherent thought--you are just pushed along for the ride.  It's all business, whether you are ready or not.  Do not look for compassion--look for all the answers you are demanded to provide.  Our friend was bombarded with questions--everything from organ "harvesting" to if she wanted to have the services at the church so the church ladies could serve cake.  The funeral home is number one in line in the priority list as they can't "release the body" until they have somewhere to take "it."

Release the body.  Can you imagine? Your husband has dropped dead in your home, he is pronounced dead upon arrival and before you can even gasp, they start talking about funeral homes and "releasing the body."  Although there are no words we can say to The Sun Singer's wife and daughter which convey our recognition of the loss they are experiencing, we know better than to talk about releasing the body and if church ladies should serve cake.

Our system sucks.

Last night, less than 12 hours after The Sun Singer's passing, a gaggle of us gathered in their home, hoping to bring one shred of comfort to The Sun Singer's wife and child, to show support and love, to share jello salads from unknown neighbors.  Between the tears, we had some pretty good laughs and a whole bunch of naughty food, brought to the home by good baking-abled-Samaritans.  From cookies to dips, it was a veritable feast designed to drown sadness & demonstrate support in a tangible manner.

Lest we all roll into a little fetal ball of depression, I want to share two things to brighten things up a wee bit:  (1) I have been asked to lead the "Celebration of Life," which is an incredible honor & the least I can do.  If that doesn't make you at least giggle, you obviously don't know me.  This ordained minister thing is turning into a real gig.  I prefer weddings, but ya gotta take the good with the bad.  I figure it will be just fine as my "job" is to be more of a Master of Ceremonies (the Sun Singer's wife description of what she is looking for from me) than some holy-fied internet minister. This will indeed be a celebration, come hell or high water, I assure you.  (2) We will be eating ice cream and M&Ms at the celebration, as those were his two special treats.  For someone who had over-the-top healthy eating habits, it is fun to learn he had these two vices.  Nothing says celebration like ice cream and M&Ms.

As for the wife and me, we've been flummoxed by this whole ordeal, for many reasons.  First, it just doesn't make sense--it doesn't register. Second, this guy was the picture of health--a young man filled with organic foods and healthy habits. I cannot convey to you how healthy this guy was.  On the way home from visiting the Sun Singer's wife and daughter, the wife said, "See? That's why we should eat what we want and do what we want to do.  You eat all this healthy food and you work out and then get hit by a bus or drop dead. What good did it do you?" Third, we want to help but we don't want to overstep boundaries or impose on need for personal space.  None of us are well versed in this. The invention of texting makes this much easier, as it isn't as intrusive to text as to call.  (Actually, we text to see if we can call.  What a weird world in which we live.)

The Sun Singer and his wife weren't prepared for this (not like anyone ever is)--reminding the wife and me of how important it is to sit down and write all our thoughts down.  We "know" or we think we know but if it's not written down, how do we really know? And, if we know now, will we still know what we know and be able convey what we know at a time such as this?  I think not.  Guess what we'll be doing this this weekend?

I really did have Oreos in my cereal at breakfast this morning.  I poured the cereal into the bowl, crushed up a bunch of Oreos and sprinkled them over the cereal and the drown the concoction in milk.  (Almond milk.  Sigh.  Had we whole milk, I would have used it.) It was orgasmic. I then had ice cream for lunch. I did this because life is short, because I can and in honor of the Sun Singer.  His favorite flavor was vanilla--how was I to say "no" to a bowl of vanilla ice cream?  I couldn't and I didn't.

I plan on having Oreos in my cereal again tomorrow. I can worry about eating something green and leafy later in the day, after the wife and I write down our wishes.  Trust me, I'll have ice cream with dinner, too.  After all, life is short.  Besides, ice cream celebrates the Sun Singer.   I will hold up my spoon and celebrate all the laughs and fun and memories.

The Sun Singer would like that.
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Monday, March 11, 2013

Speaking of Love times F*i*v*e

I try not to babble of love or anything serious like that--I much rather laugh my way through the day than get all sappy or serious or mushy.  I try to preserve at least one shred of dignity and privacy for the wife.  That said, I have come to the conclusion that I must blog about this, privacy be damned.

The wife is--admittedly--addicted to reality TV in general and to OWN channel in particular. (We all have our vices.) The other night, she was watching a show on OWN about the f*i*v*e languages of EL.Oh.Vee.EEE.  (I'm sticking to code for the time being. Sorry about spelling and phonics, but it's the only way to keep the readership honest. I'll call it 5-LoL for blogging purposes.)  It was something about how we as humans have different ways of communicating within a relationship, with most of us having one primary way to "show me the love." I didn't pay much attention to the show as it seemed kinda hokey to me and it smacked of heterosexual-you-can-change-religious flavor.  It was nice enough but I stuck to important things like playing words games on the Internet.

After the show was over, the wife hopped on to her iPad (well, not LITERALLY onto her iPad--that would be damaging) and sought the website about the 5-LoL.  I still wasn't paying much attention but couldn't help but get involved once she started taking the thirty question test--a profile, actually--to determine her "language."  I looked over her shoulder and gave some unsolicited advice--many comments came flying from this peanut gallery.  I thought the choices were kind of dumb--it was like being forced to pick one poison over another.  I hate to admit it, but I became intrigued by this nonsense.  Once she was done, I asked if I could take the test.

She handed me the iPad and let me take a shot.

Imagine our surprise when we both came up with the same language. As we basically have nothing in common except our love of food and travel (okay, that's a bit on the dramatic side, but those who know us realize that we are mighty opposite, living proof that opposites can and do attract), it was refreshing to determine we are speaking the same language.

The thing is....

....our language is in the physical touch category.

I would venture to say that few of our friends would guess this and I KNOW no relation of ours would even believe it.  

I'm giving up a lot of sacred personal space away by saying even a peep more about this.

(Side note: you really should look this stuff up, lest you think envision us frollicking naked on the front lawn, groping each other in a mad fashion. The physical touch isn't half as exciting as this blog would have you think.)

We don't hold hands in public. We don't hug or pat or squeeze. You won't see us walking arm-in-arm at the mall. I barely make eye contact unless it's to roll my eyeballs. Heck, we don't even sit on the same couch in most public settings.   There is not one shred of public display of affection......

We are the anti-PDA.

And yet, here we are supposedly speaking the language of per*son*al*t.o.u.c.h

I blame society.  (Someone's gotta take the blame.) Remember, it was the previous millennium when we started our lives. Trained well by society, such a language was not an option.  We succumbed to brainwashing for the comfort of others.  I like to think if we were starting off as youngsters in today's world, things would be very different.  But, we are thirty years too old to find out.

Don't feel bad about this.  Instead, give us an authentic Mexican dinner smothered in home-made guacamole and with a little flan or three milk cake for dessert and we will be speaking our speak in a most satisfied, unobtrusive manner.  You pick up the check and we'll be smitten for days.

So, if you go out to dinner with us, know that we speak the language of touch but we're not going to speak to you. We are going to remain very, very quiet.  We will speak to ourselves as we wipe the crumbs off our face.

We speak our language in whispers to each other.

Well, whispers....and food. Did I mention we sure like to talk the language of food? Food is safe.  Food is passionate.  Food won't get you pregnant.

Food is a language we share, loud and clear. Everyone knows we have a passion for food.  Oh, to go out to eat and put our lips on savory morsels!  We shall show our love through our love of food.  Going out to dinner with us is like going on a date.  Oh, be still my taste buds!

Perhaps you should equate us eating a bowl of chips with guacamole to hand holding....a shared piece of tiramisu to a hug.....breakfast for dinner to an arm-in-arm walk.....a dinner at a local chain to a wet kiss.

Makes you wonder to what dinner at an all-you-can-eat Thai buffet would equate, doesn't it?

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:-)







Saturday, March 09, 2013

Taxed by Taxes

I blogged about doing taxes as a civil union-ized couple last year and think the post completely sums up this year's tax preparation endeavors. Sometimes, I get it right the first time and don't have to re-write what was already right in the first place, even a year later.  I invite you to review the most excellent entry from March 2012, with link noted below.

Taxes for the civilized remain challenging--after all, you have to fill out a federal "as-if-married-ghost form" before you can do your Illinois "Civilized-as-if-married" State taxes.  That means I did my federal taxes as single; I did the wife's federal taxes as single; I did a "ghost" federal form as if we're married; and, I did the Illinois state form as if we are married based on our fake federal form.  I think it's more about being pissed off than actual angst.  I keep hearing politicians say that civil unions are the same as being married and I want to say, "no, they are not--do YOU do your taxes like this?"

This year, tax time brought only a few moments of yelling, name calling and confusion. We only talked about getting divorced once, which is a HUGE improvement over last year's effort.

So, grab your calculator, bring along your matrimonial bliss and enjoy a blast from the past. It's worth it.

http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2012/03/to-understand-irony-of-most-recent.html



Saturday, March 02, 2013

Snap, Crackle, Paw-p

Before I talk about Lucy going to the dog chiropractor, I thought I'd share too much information: Today, out of sheer desperation, I made a purchase on a particular website of which you bid.  I did a search, comparison-shopped, considered the shipping costs, scoured the descriptions.  While I didn't want it to come down to this, it became necessary because....

....I am down to my last twelve ultra-purple-box ob tampons.  One dozen.  Twelve lonely applicator-free bundles of love.  Twelve.

(Here is an old photo of me getting tampons in the mail, Lucy intrigued by the whole thing.  You can't have a gad day when tampons come in the mail.)

I thought I could make it until the end of my egg shooting career before running out of these out-of-production tampons of gold, but I was wrong--I'm still shooting those eggs like clockwork.

I'm not sure if that makes me gifted or cursed.  

The prices were quite ranged--the lowest price per box I saw was $9.99 (plus shipping); the highest price per box was $109.00 (free shipping).  Now, I love those tampons but I'm not paying $109 for them. If my math is right, that's $2.75 per tampon.  Most prices were in the $19.99 range, which is "down" from the average price of $41.00 a year ago.

I know, I know--it's ridiculous how much I know about these tampons.

I personally sold a box of them for $41.00 (I provided free shipping) two years ago.  Boy, do I wish I had those back now.

A Book de la Face peep alerted me that these beloved o.b.s were also available via Amazon.  Dang, I have no idea why I didn't think of that, as I'm always looking for something on there--in fact, I was looking at turntables this morning (don't ask, don't try to understand--all I'll say is I have 500 albums of which I can't listen to and it's starting to piss me off) and re-ordered some dog treats.  The prices were comparable on both sites, but somehow buying items on Amazon seems a bit less edgy than a bidding site.  (Thanks for nothing to FB friends who pointed out the "gently used" description on many items for sale on said bidding site.  I am so going to be mad if these tampons are gently used.)

As for Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia (the dog whose arm/shoulder have been twitching non-stop; see previous blog), I took her for two rounds of chiropractic care this week.  That, in itself, is probably not as unusual as you might think--after all, people spend obscene amounts of money on their pets.  Unfortunately, I have to drive her out of town (45 minutes one way) to get to the dog chiropractor.  (If any of you have a hankerin' to become a chiropractor, I suggest that you get certified in animal chiropractics. You'll make money hand over fist.)  Lucy loves going places, as long as people are involved.  When she got to the chiropractor, it took everything in me to keep her settled down, as she could see all the people but couldn't "get" to them.  She made these ridiculous noises, as if to say "p-p-p-p-uuuuulllllll-eeeeeezzzzze come here at pet meeeeeeeee." It is rather embarrassing and very loud.  Her tail never stops wagging.  "P-p-p-p-p-ullllleeeeezzzzze! I'm over heer-r-r-r-r-r-r-eeeee!" A ten minute wait seems more like three hours.

Enter the dog chiropractor.  Someone's tail stopped wagging.

BTW, if you've never seen a dog--or a horse--get a chiropractic exam or adjustment, you haven't lived.  Treat yourself: U-TWObe it.  (I refuse to plug web sites whenever possible. Hence, the weird spellings or vague references.)  

Lucy froze like a statue, as if she knew this meant serious business and if she didn't stop her nonsense, her owner's money would be for naught.  The chiropractor did her thing and then added a very non-committal "well, I'm not sure what to think."  Great.

She told me to keep Lucy as quiet as possible and see if things improved.  I envisioned myself trying to keep her from jumping on/off the couch, on/off people, on/off the stairs.  Oh boy.  If that didn't work, I'd have to try and restrain her in some form or fashion.  Even better.  She told me to come back at the end of the week.

On the way home, Lucy settled in and fell asleep.  She has NEVER in her ten years slept while riding in the car.  The wife can confirm this--NEVER.  I took this as a very good sign.  I figured it meant she finally had some relief and was exhausted from all that twitching.

When we got home, she was still twitching.  I felt a bit defeated but figured it would take time for the twitch to cease.  I gave her a massage and hoped for the best. I tried to keep her from jumping on/off anything, which meant I was one busy grrrrl--that dog is on the move, twitching or not.

The next morning, I took a gander and couldn't visibly see the twitch.  I put my hand on her arm and noticed that while she was twitching, it was much less frequent and much less in "strength." Dare I believe this chiropractic thing might be working?

I took her back yesterday, nary a twitch to be found.....in that arm.  Interestingly, her opposite arm had a slight twitch.  Go figure.  This was very intriguing to me.  The dog chiropractor did her thing, Lucy froze into position.  After an exam and adjustment, the dog chiro said, "let her be a dog.  Let's see how she does.  You don't have to come back unless something else comes up."

St. Francis and dog chiropractor, I bow to you: Lucy isn't twitching any more.

Now, it may just be that time was what was needed and the dog chiropractor had nothing to do with the ceasing of the twitches.  It may be something weird that ran its course and is now better. It may be that she had an injury that is now on the mend.  It may be that she has some neurological or other disorder than has come-and-go twitching.  It may be that she will start twitching again.  I don't know.  All I know is for this moment she is not twitching and I swear she looks relieved (as much as a dog can look relieved).

As for Freckles (I have to give her some time in the spot light, too--lest she be crabbier than she already is), I love that she sleeps with her blind eye open.  It's kinda creepy but amusing, none the less.  Here she is, tongue out, blind eye open, sound asleep.  Kinda looks possessed.

Today, we will go for a family car ride so we can enjoy my new tires, contemplate my purchase of tampons and buy a celebratory hamburger via the drive through.  It is time to celebrate the non-twitchy-ness of the moment. Life is short. Dog lives are shorter.  Golden arches for the dogs seems the perfect celebration.  The wife can get her "are-you-sure-there's-not cocaine-in-this-addictive-diet-Coke" and I'll get an ice cream cone.  Lucy will be wide awake and Freckles will be sound asleep once the burger is gone.

Maybe we'll get two burgers.  After all, we're celebrating.