A tini Jodi bunni

Here's Jodi Lynn Cole, one week old!  She doesn't know this, but she is soooo lucky.  She won the parent lottery!  And she's got some pretty cool grandparents too.  And aunt and uncle.  And cousins. 

Tears of pride!!

Jodi Lynn Cole is 6 days old today.  Where has the time gone?


Her parents would tell you the time has been spent staring at a tiny human person.  Inspecting fingers and toes and lips and ears and hair and a stretched head. 


The rest of the time, they would tell you, has been spent figuring out feeding.  Breastfeeding.  Dad has taken charge with shifting little Jodi sideways on her right, then her left, then standing little Jodi on her head and .... you get the picture.


Speaking of pictures, this blog won't let me post.  I've had the problem for a couple of months now.  No idea what happened.  I am working on it.  Stay tuned.  Believe me, there are pictures!!


Mom is doing great by the way.  Her parents are so proud.  No words.  Tears of pride.

White supremacy: Goodbye and good riddance

White supremacy has shaped the country's history, especially the South.  It continues to plague good people and institutions.  But, dare I say it?  I believe we are witnessing its demise, played out on the world stage in Nevada of all places. 


Who do we have to thank for this?  Cliven Bundy and Sean Hannity.


For whatever reason, Fox News person Sean Hannity has championed this Nevada ranger in his 20-year dispute with the federal government over non-payment of cattle grazing fees.  Sexy.  Problem is, rancher Cliven is a white supremacist.  Not so sexy.


Even before the world became aware of his bias, he did little to gain support from ANYONE, other than like-minded extremists who live to recite the 2nd Amendment and Fox News with their audience of millions.  Mr. Hannity apparently took special interest and practically adopted the rancher - I am told as I do not watch.  Full disclosure.  I have seen clips on Jon Stewart's show and have read about Cliven in the New York Times.  Again, full disclosure of my own bias.


Why do I feel we are closer to the summit and sight of the promise land?  Youth and technology.  Twitter is all over this story and speeding truth about the man to all corners of the world.  And I say youth because it's their world now to craft as they see fit.  And they see with much better moral clarity than their ancestors. 


Way more clarity than Sean Hannity.

Stinkin' Diet Coke

I have given up Diet Coke.  Again.

This time is going to be different.  I've said that before too. 

It's addictive.  I know this because I had withdrawal symptoms.  Symptom really.  A killer headache.  Pounding and stabbing and unrelenting.  The kind that laughs at over the counter pain killers.  I use acetaminophen (Tylenol).  It was no match for that DRINK ME pull of the Diet Coke.  Still, I resisted.

Having survived the headache phase, I have been feeling proud of myself and more confident that I can - really have - beat this addiction.  Until this morning.  I was in-between clients who I visit in their homes.  Too far from my own home, I landed at a McDonalds.  I ordered a sandwich - NO fries, thank you - and a medium soft drink.  I don't realize that I don't need this drink cup until I stand before the soda machine.  It hits me!  Wow.  I don't drink this stuff anymore. 

It was one of those classic Good Mare, Bad Mare moments. 

Good Mare: Look, a water thingie.  You can fill that cup with healthy water.

Bad Mare: But I PAID for a medium drink. 

I learned a valuable lesson today.  McDonald's lemonade is damn good.  And I also learned that if I take this thing one day at a time, I just might win!  Stinkin' Diet Coke.  I still love you so...

Exposed

As you age your capacity for embarrassment thankfully declines.  I learned that lesson yesterday when the door to my port-a-potty was flung wide open for the world to see.... ME! 

Embarrassment shows up between ages three and five, according to Erik Erikson's theory of stages of psychosocial development.  Then it follows you through life, fading as you age.  Erikson didn't say that.  I am saying that.  Personal experience.  Mary's theory of embarrassment.  The more you experience embarrassment, the less you can be embarrassed.  More is less.

Think about universally shared embarrassing moments.  Tripping in front of others.  Bodily noises.  Your parents during your teen years.  Being picked last for a team.  Spilling a drink on yourself in a restaurant.  Zipper down.  Food in teeth.  Food on face. 

In Mary's theory we get over ourselves as we age.   Zipper down?  That's funny now.  Tripping?  Check first for injury.  It's so much harder to be embarrassed because of the gigantic number of embarrassing situations we already have survived.  Even situations that are not so universally shared, such as what happened to me yesterday.    

I was minding to my own business in a port-a-potty when the door opened, exposing me to the woman who opened the door and a few poor souls waiting in line at a park in Fort Worth.  The woman and I screamed at the same time.  A couple of seconds of public exposure at most.  First there's the frozen I can't believe what I am seeing moment, then immediate action.  Shut the door!

My daughter investigated the situation and reported that the port-a-potty door latch malfunctioned.  She explained that it needed to be jammed hard into lock position.  Otherwise, it gave the appearance inside of being locked while it showed unlocked on the outside.  Setting up the perfect storm.  Really, what could be more embarrassing than pants down sitting on the pot for all to see?

So why am I not embarrassed?  Why do I think it's funny?  Because it is.  Simple as that.  I just hope that poor woman who opened the door thinks so too.  In time, she will. 

Countdown to liftoff

It's that time now.  My daughter Jenny and her husband, Michael, are soon to be parents.  More precise: they are about to present ME with my third grandchild. 

So soon that when she calls now and I see her beautiful face on my phone, my heart jumps.  I have packed a bag, ready to race the three hours (or less) to her hospital in Cedar Park just outside of Austin.  Her sister Andrea and I both are going.  We think of ourselves as first responders. Our goal is to be heading south on I35W within 30 minutes of getting the call. 

Who would have known it just gets more exciting with each birth?  Other grandparents.

Brilliant snoop

This is part of a series of essays about the time I spent with my 89-year-old father in November 2013.  My father is in late stage dementia.  At the time, he still was living at the home he shared with Shirley, 86, his wife of 65 years. 

Frank had a front row seat to all the action that horrible Saturday morning in November.  From his vantage, he was almost a participant.


The front row was his short couch in the tiny living room of a one-bedroom apartment.  The action was provided by multiple first responders preparing Shirley to be taken to the hospital.


On the periphery of this scene was a young woman who had watched all unfold.  She had heard Shirley on the phone with a nurse saying, "I should call 9-1-1?"  This young woman was one of Frank's in-home caregivers.  She described the event of the morning as follows:

Shirley had chest pain so she called a nurses' phone service.  Acting on their advice to get herself to the hospital ASAP, Shirley alerted the caregiver and then called 9-1-1.  Within minutes, the apartment became filled with bodies, all eyes on Shirley.

Frank watched with delight.  He loves people and he loves action.  He had no understanding that his beloved Shirley was in peril.  And worse, she would be taken from him for the next several weeks.  He saw young people who occasionally would smile in his direction.  This action beat playing a fourth game of dominoes with the caregiver.

It was agreed that family members would meet the ambulance at the hospital.  The caregiver was at the end of her shift and had another assignment.  Frank is not allowed to be left home alone.  So, the first responders offered him a lift.  Only in Missoula.

Frank was first to be put into the ambulance.  Passenger seat up front.  His escort belted him in and told him to sit tight, they would be back with Shirley.  The medic barely set foot back inside the apartment when the emergency vehicle's siren goes off.   Frank.

He returns to the vehicle, switches off the siren and asks Frank not to touch any buttons.  Frank is told to sit tight, almost done inside, and the medic returns once again to the apartment.

And once again, the siren goes off. 

I would give every cent I have to have been there and witness this display of inquisitiveness.  Or was it meddlesomeness.  Either way, it makes you cheer for Frank!  Flashes of curiosity and spontaneity and snoopiness all exposed in this one brilliant act. 
Make that two brilliant acts.