I normally pack everything meticulously. Somehow, the mini-mac's mouse didn't get put in the "mac bag" along with everything else related to the Mac. Only two boxes remain to be opened from my time in Raleigh.
Trucking out in the heat for the shed this morning, I chose the easy one. The one marked "Phones & OC Toys." In the top was a bag of ducks. Anyone who knows me and the big tub that bathes me knows I like rubber duckies that float. As I was pulling out little duckies, all yellow, two with inner tubes around them, I said to myself, "I need a big duck boat or something to hold all these duckies." The next thing that came out was the Big Mother Duck, whose rear end holds all the other duckies, including a mysterious one that plays music, lights up, and appears to have a fan in its - well, under its tail.
Under the ducks was Jean Marie's Obituary. I read it. Again.
Having been with the family for six months, I've not yet been able to wrap my brain around my darling friend's death. I am grateful to her that she had decided I would be staying. She knew I would. To deal with all the matters of death and the cumbersome paperwork that accompanies it. It was bizarre how much needed doing. Even in her letter to me she stated, "I knew the time was right, because you are there. I know you'll see to the children." Sneaky ol' Bitch. She waited until I arrived on the 28th of October and slipped away 3 nights later to commit suicide.
I can't imagine how the two teenagers must feel, these 8 months later. They don't talk about it much. Neither do I.
I loved that woman with an incredible passion and celebrated her life with her every chance we got in the 25 years we knew one another. We had an unusual and close relationship. On occasion, it had to be determined who was the bigger Bitch. We had a Bitch Scale. Now, I'm the biggest Bitch by default. That is not nearly as much fun as the game. Yet the missing and mourning have still not set in. I expect it one day soon, hopefully not while I'm driving down the highway in what used to be the family's car, Blackberry.
But today, while hunting mouses and telephones, I found the last official story written about her. Her Obituary. I wrote it. Her Brother, Bruce, helped me edit it. The children and her husband, Jim, added their notes to her. It was and is a beautiful Obit. I still can't believe it was written for our Jean Marie.
If I could talk to her today, I'd tell her what a Bitch she was. Checking out early without notice. But, I accept that she could no longer bear her pains, look forward to her dreams, nor accept the reality that was crumbling around her. Her suicide was incredulously painful for her family and for her close friends. Yet I will always support her right to choose her own path. I miss her. Tears came when I wrote those last three words. It's tough to see the keyboard now, even with my new glasses.
I would not trade for anything the experience of being with her family for six months. It was hard and creepy and unfathomable at times. It was hilarious and eccentric and frequently wonderfully goofy. I cannot believe she would have wanted to miss her after-party.
On Tuesday, the Senate health committee voted 12-11 in favor of a two-page amendment that would require all Members and their staffs to enroll in any newly passed government-run health plan.
If our Congress forces the touted health care reform package on the American people, then Congress should have to accept the same level of health care for themselves and their families. To do any less would be the height of hypocrisy.
Congressman John Fleming ( a Louisiana physician) has proposed an amendment to the Health Care Bill that would require congressmen and senators to take the same health care plan they force on us. Under currently proposed legislation they arecuriously exempt.
Congressman Fleming is encouraging people to go to his Website and Sign his petition (very simple - just email). You can do just that at: fleming.house.gov
It takes less than a minute to sign up for the measure to require our congressmen and senators to drink at the same trough! Three cheers for Congressman John Fleming of Louisiana!
If you, as an American Taxpayer, believe that Congress should eat what it cooks, please urge others in your circle to weigh in on this matter. It may be the first time that Congress & The Senate would be forced to eat where and what they poop.
On Tuesday, the Senate health committee voted 12-11 in favor of a two-page amendment that would require all Members and their staffs to enroll in any newly passed government-run health plan.
If our Congress forces the touted health care reform package on the American people, then Congress should have to accept the same level of health care for themselves and their families. To do any less would be the height of hypocrisy.
Congressman John Fleming ( a Louisiana physician) has proposed an amendment to the Health Care Bill that would require congressmen and senators to take the same health care plan they force on us. Under currently proposed legislation they are curiously exempt.
Congressman Fleming is encouraging people to go to his Website and Sign his petition (very simple - just email). You can do just that at: fleming.house.gov
It takes less than a minute to sign up for the measure to require our congressmen and senators to drink at the same trough! Three cheers for Congressman John Fleming of Louisiana!
If you, as an American Taxpayer, believe that Congress should eat what it cooks, please urge others in your circle to weigh in on this matter. It may be the first time that Congress & The Senate would be forced to eat where and what they poop.
The kind that puts you in the mood for music, contemplation and the nurturing act of seeking warm fuzzies.
It’s ironic and delightfully appropriate that this “issue” of the Daily Ohm appeared today. It speaks of slowing down and enjoying the moment. For in that moment lays the essence of a thing. If you have not savored it, you have not experienced it.
I doubt that anyone is any slower than I with the exception of my own mother. But I’ve always been this way. Not methodically, or out of a conscious effort to be slow. More of a slowness for the unrushed quality it brings to what I am doing and what I feel.
I’ve been so far behind in any semblance of letter writing that, looking at the downpour and the timely arrival of the precepts of the Daily Ohm, I decided to take a day away from the rest of the world. Sitting in my Man Chair, with one of those arched “lap tables,” I wrote. To loved ones whose Birthdays have since slipped by. To those I felt needed to hear an I Love You or a Thank You from me.
In years gone by, I always wrote letters by hand. The envelopes were painted. The flaps bore wax seals in golden glitter that now won’t go through the new machines they have at the Post Office.
In the old house in Murrells Inlet, an entire side of my enclosed porch was reserved for talking on the phone and writing letters.Coffee made, I’d pick a mug from the 150 or so that hung around the kitchen. My selection was for whom I wanted to share my morning and a note. Porch side, I’d Zen into the natural beauty of hundred year oaks dripping moss, with the orange light across the marsh and inlet, on out to sea. It was a place I came to more mornings than not. And there was the Great Writing Table, which bore the pens and paints and stickers for writing a letter. On that glassed-in porch, on those mornings that coffee cups and loved ones communed with me, letter-writing was very much alive and well in the southern Carolinas.
That porch is gone from my life now, and I cannot see across the broad marsh, watching shrimp boats head out to sea. But on this morning I declared not to enter the world of other people. I would languish the day writing letters and notes. In the small desk behind me in OceanCity, the drawers still hold the papers, cards, seals and colored pens that for decades have been used by me to write. It’s more constrained, but it’s doable if you spread it all out just right.
That is all I did today, listening to the rain and Steve Gorn’s “At Ease.” The music and the drizzle seemed to know one another.
As this piece of an Ohm finishes, it proclaims the value of an unrushed, unfettered soak to cleanse the day in peace.
I am fortunate enough to have the Man Tub. Its breadth is nearly four feet. The length a comfortable, almost shameful six feet, six inches. The 20 inch depth allows mountains of bubbles and the dozen duckies that join me. One does not rush the Man Tub. Its purpose lies in hours, not minutes. Fading light filtering through Plantation louvers, and tall vanilla candles left over from a niece’s wedding, the Man Tub is an island. If only there was room to grow a palm tree in there.
The rain and promise of bubbling serenity have born a dozen pieces to post. All written by hand, in my signature pink ink. Kind of a shame that few people can read my writing. The envelopes aren’t painted, but the stamps of love and the seal honoring my family heritage adorn them. My envelopes are a thing of beauty, if I say so myself, which I do.
It continues to be the perfect of rainy days. I am saturated in both its simplicity, power and humble welcome. Thus I pen this homage to a showery Thursday on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
If only to myself, I’ve proven that letter-writing isn’t dead quite yet.
Nor is the luxury of mounds of bubbles shared with ducks in a candlelit room with cocktails.
This is as close as I’m willing to get to a Rainy Day frenzy.
Uncle Ricky
Frederick Clifford Cropper
Daily Ohm for Today shown below:
October 15, 2009 Enjoying a Snail's Pace Doing Things Slowly
Life can often feel like it’s zipping by in fast forward. We feel obliged to accelerate our own speed along with it, until our productivity turns into frenzied accomplishment. We find ourselves cramming as much activity as possible into the shortest periods of time. We disregard our natural rhythms because it seems we have to just to keep up. In truth, rushing never gets you anywhere but on to the next activity or goal.
Slowing down allows you to not only savor your experiences, but also it allows you to fully focus your attention and energy on the task at hand. Moving at a slower place lets you get things done more efficiently, while rushing diminishes the quality of your work and your relationships. Slowing down also lets you be more mindful, deliberate, and fully present. When we slow down, we are giving ourselves the opportunity to reacquaint ourselves to our natural rhythms. We let go of the “fast forward” stress, and allow our bodies to remain centered and grounded. Slowing down is inherent to fully savoring anything in life. Rushing to take a bath can feel like an uncomfortable dunk in hot water, while taking a slow hot bath can be luxuriant and relaxing. A student cramming for a test will often feel tired and unsure, whereas someone who really absorbs the information will be more confident and relaxed. Cooking, eating, reading, and writing can become pleasurable when done slowly. ! Slowing down lets you become more absorbed in whatever it is you are doing. The food you eat tastes better, and the stories you read become more alive.
Slowing down allows you to disconnect from the frenzied pace buzzing around you so you can begin moving at your own pace. The moments we choose to live in fast forward motion then become a conscious choice rather than an involuntary action. Learning to slow down in our fast-moving world can take practice, but if you slow down long enough to try it, you may surprise yourself with how natural and organic living at this pace can be.
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