Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Vowing to Camouflage

The wife and I took part in one of the best weddings on the planet. Unfortunately, I cannot do it justice trying to blog about it--it's one of those events that "you had to be there." At one point, the wife turned to me and said, "are you writing this stuff down? Because this is unbelievable."

And, she was right.  It was unbelievable.

I didn't blog about it right away because I wasn't sure what to say.  A few days of reflective distance did nothing to help me put words on describing the event.

I was the minister, clad in a camouflage shirt & cowboy boots, as requested.  I had written a standard ceremony, as the bride and groom were all good with that approach.  There was no practice, no rehearsal...heck, they never even read the script.  I looked around and took in the scenery, as it is of great benefit to "play to your audience."  

Well, the event was held in a bar, so that gives you an idea of the venue.  "Keep it simple," I thought to myself.

They had brought in wooden benches, so there was an aisle and "pews."  That seemed traditional enough.

The men were wearing red rifle shell casings as corsages--on their camouflage vests.  "Keep it respectful--these people have access to weapons--don't mess with the hunters," I muttered.

The women were wearing necklaces and earrings made of bullets and their bouquets were fashioned out of blue jean material and bullets.  "Bet you've never seen that before," I mused to myself.

The bride and groom were milling about the bar, drinking and visiting, laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves.  Who has time to worry about the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding?

The crowd was casually clad in jeans, cowboy boots, various forms of camouflage, enjoying a drink or three before the start of the official festivities.

The wife was smitten as there was a little gift shop on the premises, featuring a 70% off sale for polo shirts.  She exclaimed, "These are perfect for work! Can I use your credit card?"

Okay--I realized I needed to keep it simple, respectful, fun, light-hearted--and, short.  Keep it short.

There was a college football game playing on the wide-screen.  I wasn't sure they would turn the TV off for the ceremony (for the record, they did).  As I turned away from the television, I mentioned to the mother of the bride how I had never seen camouflage wedding attire before.  She responded:  "it's not as unusual as you think."

While standing there, contemplating this fact, the groom noted how he & his friends had blown up pumpkins this morning--you know, with guns--in an effort to decorate for Halloween.

The ceremony was held......right under a giant photo of Lambeau Field.  I kid you not.  The only way it could have been more appropriate is if St. Vince had been in the photo.

The bridal party walked down the aisle to Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven."

(By the way, the bridesmaids and groomsmen were all carrying their drinks while walking down the aisle.)

The bride walked down the aisle to a Metallica song, accompanied on one side by her biological dad and the other side by her step-dad.

The kids in the front row were doing "The Wave."

I cannot make this stuff up.  

It was wonderfully surreal, very personalized, oozing with fun.  Thankfully, the wife and MJagger were there, lest no one would ever believe me.

Although it sounds like I'm making fun of this event, I'm really not.  It was very touching and was "them." It made sense.  It fit perfectly.  It was classy in its own way.  The decorations were beautiful.  The jewelry home-made, ready to be sold on ETSY. The antics couldn't have been more appropriate.

I truly enjoyed leading this ceremony.   At one point, I had everyone raise their glasses (yes, everyone was drinking during the ceremony) and toast the bride & groom, as a sign of support and blessing.  I quoted Duck Dynasty.  I noted how this was the first time I had been asked to wear camouflage while serving as a wedding officiant. I emphasized how getting married under a photo of Lambeau Field meant this was a done deal--no getting divorced now.  When the groom's ring wouldn't go on, I employed witty banter. I kept it short and kept 'em laughing, all the while respecting these two fine people.

It went swimmingly.

I'm beginning to really like this minister gig.  As long as I can play to the audience, I can rock the pulpit. Dearly beloved, indeed!

The reception featured bottles of Boone's Farm "wine" (and, I do use that term loosely) on each table, surrounded by center-pieces made of--you guessed it--rifle shell/casings. The groom ripped his shirt sleeves off, leaving him with a camo vest and bare arms.  Dessert featured six different kinds of cake. Most of the people gathered around the bar to watch the college game of the home state.

As we were enjoying the after-ceremony activities, I commented to the wife and MJagger how "today's brides" sure are different than what I traditionally picture when thinking about brides--they don't have rehearsals, they don't get nervous, they have their own vision, they don't do a first dance or a daddy/daughter dance or a dollar dance, they don't seem to worry about much of anything. There are no rules. I wondered if all weddings were like that. The wife said, in a deadpan voice, "maybe it's only the ones that you do."

Smarty pants.

If any bride asks me for advice (and, I highly doubt brides are going to come rushing to me for advice), I am going tell her to make the ceremony fit who she and her groom are, to make it personal, to have fun, to be creative and to just be true to themselves.

It's their day.  You can't do it wrong.

I'm also going to tell her that camouflage really does work as a color palette.
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Saturday, October 12, 2013

Time for Brownies

You know it's time to write a blog when you wake up and realize you were dreaming about writing a blog.

Not to depress you, but things are serious in the Addiverse.  Well, not ALL serious--after all, it IS the Addiverse.  There is always a good time to be had somewhere in the Universe. I'm getting ready for yet another wedding ceremony (this time wearing camouflage), a preying mantis was hanging out on our front door (a sure sign of good luck), I successfully survived a semi-technology free weekend while with friends at the Love Loft.  (I got smacked when I reached for my phone to check the weather.  My excuses fell on deaf ears--the wife exclaimed, "If you want to know the weather, look out the window!")  I have a whole pile of brownies in the freezer.  You cannot have a bad day when you know you have a stockpile of brownies in the freezer....even better when you know there is ice cream right beside them.

But, not everything can be peachy.  With that, I speak of my dying client and of Freckles.  Let's start with the dog, as it is the less depressing of the two.  As you know, our elderly canine gets more elderly every day. Forget the deaf and blind nonsense--that's a given. She smells terrible--even worse than usual--she's got all these sores and now she has started biting at people when startled or, I'm guessing, when you touch somewhere she is in pain. She keeps us up into the wee hours with all the licking of her wounds--I'm so tired, I can't even see straight anymore.  (Bandaging the more obvious wounds did no good--she just licks the bandages, which is still licking.)  She can still get around for her morning walk, she still eats like a champ, still asks to go outside (no accidents in the house, knock on wood) and, her brain seems to be working just fine.  I'm taking her to the vet on Monday to see what we can do about possible pain issues.  I have no problem drugging the dog if it gives her quality of life.  (Heck, I have no problem drugging myself if it improves my quality of life.) Even the wife admits I am not exaggerating any more.  Over the past week, she's asked me, "Do you think Freckles is dying?" and "Do you think she's rotting from the inside out?" (I told you she smells really bad.) The wife has always been steadfast about the dog being fine, so this teetering on the topic is disturbing to me.  Freckles is even fighting with me about the eye drops--which is something she has never done.  I'm guessing her eye hurts terribly.  I wish they could just take her eye out and sew her eyelids shut.  I bet it would feel a lot better than having that blind orb.  .

Last night, while I was dreaming about writing a blog, I also dreamed that Freckles' "time" had come and I was at the vet doing what you do at the end of a pet's life.  I've never seen that procedure (only read about it and heard about it from friends), so I'm surprised how detailed the dream was. I woke up and decided I was dreaming about that because Freckles was licking and smelling up the room.

Monday will be telling.  It is what it is.  Maybe it's just more expensive pills and eyeball surgery.  If it's "time," that dog is going to have the best week of her life.  McDonalds every night, peanut butter by the jar, shopping cart rides at local pet stores.

You know the damn dog is gonna live five more years now that I've written this.

As for my dying client, well he's dying.  I know--he's dying, so why am I saying he's dying?  It's because he's arrived at the end.  We went to the oncologist the other day and were left in a room for about an hour. AN HOUR!  Nary a person came near that room, which was super-weird because the doctor is an on-time kind of guy.  The only time he was running behind schedule, they told the entire waiting room. The nurses are usually zipping around, smiles and warmth oozing out of them.  People call out to you and say hi. My client got up and looked around and didn't see anyone.  After about 45 minutes, I started to worry--shit, they are saving us for last.  This is not good.  I could tell that the client also realized something was up, as nothing like this had ever transpired.  Sure enough, we were the last client right before lunch.

When an oncologist comes in and says, "we've got to talk," you know it's not about the weather.  The chemo didn't work, the cancer has grown, it's time for hospice.  This doctor has always said he doesn't prescribe hospice until there are 30 days left, so that means we're looking at 30 days.  The doctor offered a different type of chemo (which I thought sounded absolutely awful) but I don't think my client heard him.  It was my job to get the details.  That's why you take someone with you when you go to the doctor--as the patient, you can't comprehend all this news.  I listened while he cried.  I moved chairs and sat next to him as the doctor talked about options and test results.  He then turned to me and asked me, "What should I do?"

Dear god, do not be asking me questions like that.  I softly responded that he needs to answer that question, make that big decision.  He then grabbed me and started bawling.

I did not cry.  It's my job not to cry. It's my job to listen.  I can cry later.  I knew this was coming and knew what I was getting into.  This is what I am here to do.  It is an honor to do it.  I can cry much later.

The oncologist kept saying he was sorry.  He shook my hand and told me he was sorry.  I'm sorry, too. There was nothing to say but "thank you."

It was a very quiet ride home.

I am going to visit with him tomorrow--yes, on a Sunday.  Weekends don't matter when you have 30 days to live. We are going to talk about his options and about what hospice "does."  His biggest concern is pain.  I called the nurse yesterday to ask about this--she assured me he won't be in pain.  I will make sure he knows this and I, too will make sure he is not in pain.  Hospice nurses are angels.  He will be in the hands of angels and will not feel pain.

This morning, when I awoke after my blog writing and dog-dying dream, I had a morbid thought--what if they both die on the same day?  I pondered this for a millisecond.....then, I realized I was just being a drama queen, so I stopped such silly thoughts.

I got up and ate some brownies for breakfast.  I felt much better.  Brownies can soothe what ails you.

I did not have ice cream with my brownies, as it seemed wrong to have brownies with ice cream for breakfast.  I can have that for lunch.

If you have a hankerin' to make some brownies, please feel free to send some my way.  I'm going to need brownies.  I'll buy the ice cream if you bring the brownies.  Frosted, plain, powder-sugared, caramel infused, chocolate-chip filled.....a brownie is a brownie is a brownie.  I prefer NOT to have nuts in my brownies but I'll take what I get.  I also prefer you don't put anything weird in my brownies, but if you'd like to do that for my client, who am I to say anything? Heh heh.

Now that you are all somber and depressed, be assured that all really is well in the Addiverse.  Don't be getting all maudlin on me.  Make brownies, not tears.   We have lots of fun things planned for today.  The dog is very much alive.  The weather is warmer than it's supposed to be.  We have our house, our friends, our family, our love, our jobs, our smart phones.  We have access to brownies.  We have more than most.  We have much for which to be grateful. Those are things to celebrate.  So, celebrate with us.  We have so much happiness and life......

....I can always use more brownies, though.  Just sayin'.
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Wednesday, October 02, 2013

Fine Line

A few commercial messages before the meat (or, in my case tofu) of the blog:

Happy 20th Anniversary, LLL peeps!  Since October 1993, we've gathered at least twice a year--sometimes three times a year--for food, friends and fun. These are fine, upstanding women with whom I love to spend time.  We've done everything from kayaking to tye-dying, so we are a well-rounded group of people. We've played video games, card games, board games. We've gathered on college campuses, state parks, private properties. We've eaten more food than should be legal.  Despite the passing of twenty years, I think we look fabulous.

Speaking of aging and looking fabulous....when I mentioned to MJagger about my previous blog (glowing about how me and my friends look spectacular at our ages), she was silent....and, then spoke: "That's why eye sight gets worse with age.  You can't see as well and thus you think you look a lot better than you do."

Ouch!

Remind me not to have younger friends.  On to the main event.

I've always said it's a fine line between staff and client within the mental health field.  Some days the line is even finer.  Today was one of those days.  I was talking to a client about this and that and it turns out I was agreeing with a lot of what he was saying.  We had quite the in depth conversation. I found myself shaking my head in agreement.

The problem is that he has been deemed psychotic.

So, if I think the same thing as he thinks, does that make ME psychotic?

I think not, but only by the thinnest of lines.  Today, the only difference may be that I have keys and a name tag and he does not.

As he was talking, I thought about how in other cultures he would be revered, not labeled as ill.  I considered how he was indeed brought up in a different country and that what he was saying would be accepted without question there.  I thought about some of my friends and how they subscribe to the same tenets of which he was speaking. I thought about how he would have served as a good shaman somewhere across the globe. I recalled how I had written my thesis on the use of shamanism in the realm of art therapy. I thought about how we slap labels on people in the US and that those labels are based on a list of symptoms that really are nothing but subjective descriptors.  I was thoroughly enjoying the conversation and recalled that there really is a fine line between staff and client.....

....then, he started talking about being from another planet (actually, another galaxy), which snapped me back to my own reality.

For the record, I do not--nor have I ever believed--that I am from another planet or galaxy, so score one for the keys and name tag.

Or course, I can't prove that he is NOT from another planet or galaxy and I can't prove that I am not from another planet or galaxy, so I did not argue.  How does one prove such a thing?

So, I let it go.  I left him on his planet and I stayed on mine.  I decided to worry about MJagger thinking my eye sight was in question and that my changing skin might look different than what I was seeing. Me and my cronies, blinded by our own pathetic eye sight.

.....she best be careful, lest me and my blind friends knock her good eye sight and healthy skin right off this planet.

Then we'll see who's psychotic and who's not.