Life. Sometimes, you have to laugh. Or suffer the consequences.

(please feel free to scroll down the column to find a link to Doug Savage's site for more Savage Chickens.)


>SNERK!!!<

In a very recent interview, I heard Carrie Fischer say that if her "life wasn't funny, it would just be true."

I've been mulling that over and appreciating her words.

 

I'm Thankful for This Experience

Given the historic nature of last week's election, I wanted some time to reflect and digest before recording my memories. Today is my "How I Spent Election Night" Post. If you continue scrolling down, you can follow (in reverse order...) my day on Election Day. I blogged from morning until Ben & Jerry's. I didn't blog about post-poll-closing because I'd left my cell phone at home accidentally, which let me enjoy the evening fully immersed, rather than trying to record as I went (Rick appreciated my full attention for a change). Here are my observations after the fact.

On election night, after the polls closed and we'd gotten our free ice cream, Rick and I went to our favorite sports bar to watch the election returns, expecting that at least one of the TVs would be tuned to a station covering politics. Heh. Boy, were we unprepared. And given our city, I don't know why!! Here's the scenario.

We live in Cleveland Heights, the most liberal and most integrated city in the most liberal (by many accounts) county in the state. Cuyahoga County is reliably "blue". But Cleveland Heights is seriously crunchy granola. It's situated between 2 large universities and 2 small colleges, with 2 huge competing research hospitals flanking one of the universities. Our population tends to be students, faculty, and highly educated folk from all over the world that feed into the hospitals, research spin-offs, and academic world. Which means we also are balanced in a racial manner, too: my immediate neighborhood is interestingly mixed. 2 blocks north is the Hassidic neighborhood. Our own street is only 2 blocks long, yet is almost a tiny sample of the world as if it were on a prepared slide for a massive microscope. I love it.

"Our" bar is called The Winking Lizard. The closest one is practically walking distance from us, only about 2 miles away. The interior has multiple rooms, and each room has multiple TVs. Each room had only one TV dedicated to a sporting event, and the volume was selected to the CNN tv! :-) What? Worry about missing the election returns? I say again, "Heh!" EVERYONE in the bar was engaged with the goings-on, and talking with neighboring tables. It was an emotionally electric atmosphere.

And friendly!!! I have never seen such friendliness before, and this is a very friendly neighborhood! I felt so warm towards my fellow Cleveland Heightsians (or whatever we are...), and it wasn't just because 98% of us were there to cheer on then-Sen. Obama. Everyone was polite, too. No one got vulgar about the opposing ticket, though the opportunity was there. I really feel good about that. I mean, a few snarky comments were made, sure! But nothing foul, nothing that couldn't be said in front of a child or say, your great-grandmother. In fact, all that I heard that was said that night was considerably milder than things already said in the media or on SNL. I don't know if we were acting out of superstitious fear of 'jinxing' the election. All I know is that I appreciated the considerate behavior.

Many people left before the end; whatever the outcome, Wednesday was still a work day, after all. Rick and I stayed to hear the speeches, which beyond what could have been imagined, given the campaigns. We stood there in stunned relief with other bar patrons and workers, sometimes just listening, sometimes smiling at each other, sometimes spontaneously hugging each other.

There were lots of joyful tears.

Out on the street, people were honking horns and yelling cheerfully to each other. Strangers and friends hailing each other from across the street with the good news made it seem like New Year's Eve or some other grand, universal, secular holiday.

I've never experienced anything like it. I think it's unlikely I ever will again.

 

Serious Cause for Thanks

A year ago this month I was recovering from a lumpectomy.

It was my first time participating in NaBloPoMo, and I chose to participate specifically because I thought writing everyday would be a good diversion from whatever I might need diverting from, and perhaps a helpful therapy device.

As a diversion, writing about the experience wasn't always successful. As a form of therapy, I was grateful for the outlet.

My story from last November (which is accessible by clicking on the "November 2007" link in the archives section, just to the right) has a happy ending. The surgery, performed on the 6th, was textbook perfect. The results, which I received on the 9th, showed that my breast was cancer-free. My recovery was rapid; I never needed all the pain-killers provided in the prescription.

For all of these things I am deeply thankful.

I am also thankful for preventative medicine measures such as mammograms. Having said that, I should explain that my mammogram did not find my lump. I found it while in the shower. (Soapy water is the best method of discovery!) In fact, after I found the lump, neither mammogram nor ultrasound could definitively find it, although the lab techs were very able to confirm that it was there.

That was a terribly, profoundly, disgusting moment!! I had to admit to a small amount of relief that someone else was able to find the cause of worry that I had, yet it confirmed for me that I really did have something to worry about!!! The machines told me there was no lump. The humans in charge of the technology agreed (with me, not their tech-toys) that something was there. At least the humans were able to laugh with me and relate with me about the emotional conundrum I faced: "The good news is that we know you're not crying 'wolf', however, the bad news is that you may have something life-endangering growing inside you."

Again, that ended up not to be the case. I DID learn that the greatest benefit of preventative medecine is not always the procedures used, but the contact and reassurances one receives. I felt well-cared-for at each turn. That made a tremendous difference.

I have an obligation and an opportunity to get a mammogram every year. While I still must do my own self-exams, I feel like this clinical reminder is as helpful as anything else. It's as official as doing taxes and renewing license plates and voting. By putting that appointment on the calendar, I am making a commitment to my health.

I check my husband's breasts now and again, too. Breast cancer runs in his family. Never forget that men have breasts, and can be vulnerable to breast cancer! Because breast cancer awareness is not as promoted among men, it tends to be more lethal when it is finally detected, as it often goes undetected until a late stage of growth and has metastasized.

I celebrate my grim and joyful anniversary much as I spent my recovery: snuggling on the couch with my pets. Just for a moment, though. Life marches steadily forward, so I cannot stay here long! I embrace the activities with which I will fill the rest of my day.

I do enjoy this quiet moment as a gift.

 

Thankful Thursday: My Cup Runneth Over

Time for another list. I am well and truly blessed.

I am thankful for:

1.) this glorious day. The sun is shining, the temp is up around 70 degrees F (I've installed a bright yellow button along the right margin that blinks and says "convert me" which you can use if you prefer Celcius!), the sky is brilliant blue, and our autumn leaves are vivid and gorgeous against the cloudless sky;

2.) coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee; and while that is a daily given, I choose not to take it for granted;

3.) the Cleveland Browns, no matter how well or not well they do. They are a part of our city's heritage and football is an important part of our state's legacy! ON THIS DATE, Art Modell announced that he was moving our team -- OUR TEAM!! -- to Baltimore. Tonight we have a football game here at home on national tv. I am thankful that we have our team back with its colors and name and history intact!

4.) a clean kitchen and the tools and skills I use in it. They must be darn good, because my husband goes back for seconds and thirds every time.

Which reminds me, I've been cooking so much that we are out of key staples, and I need to replenish. Finally, I am thankful that I am both free and able to go to the grocery store and buy whatever I need from shelves that are stocked plentifully with a variety of items to suit my needs.

That's plenty for now!

 

Thirty (more or less...) Days of Thanks!!

Every day this month, I am going to try to be mindful about expressing thankfulness about something. I usually have many, many things for which I am thankful, so really, the only challenge ought to be the exercize in mindfulness.

I'm thankful right now for several things, so I'll make a list:

1.) for this opportunity to take the time to slow down and consider my blessings;
2.) for moments of self-editing and grammar-mindfulness (because I almost used a period instead of a semi-colon in that first line);
3.) for how joyful the whole world is, and universally embracing of our President-Elect;
4.) that yesterday's election resulted in a decisive victory, as opposed to a close battle requiring recounts and lawsuits and raw, bitter emotions;
5.) that I am free to write whatever I please in this forum, with no fear of repercussions.

I will save some thanks for another day.

Hmm. Perhaps I ought to add that I am grateful also for this challenge in mindfulness!!

 

Just heard the most compelling question!

It was quite possibly the most compelling question of my entire existence:

"When is Tron 2 coming out?"

I may never sleep again.

 

Glad to be inside! (Thankful Thursday)

Rick brought in the last blooming gladiolus after digging all the glad bulbs. There *was* frost this morning, after all.

I'm very thankful for my husband's thoughtfulness. He never stops making me smile.

 

Ever wonder what the view's like from the *outside* of the stewpot?

This Canadian folk-rock singer-songwriter (no, his last name isn't also hyphenated), Luke Doucet (see?) has a great song. It sums up what a lot of people globe-wise have been expressing about our humble election: what happens on our election day will affect them, so it'd be cool (useful, even!!) to be an American for a bit.

If you click THIS LINK, you'll see lyrics.

If you click THIS LINK, you'll hear a story about Canadian patriotism encapsulated by song, yes, but stick with it and you'll hear Luke Doucet's song, "I Wish I Was American". Don't worry, it's less than 5 minutes total, and the bit about Canadian patriotism is all to set up the song.

The song itself has a poignant message but rousing tune. Very catchy.

Makes you think. Know anyone who's not using their vote? Someone overseas (or over the border, at least) would really like to use it.

If you don't vote after hearing that, there's something very wrong with your sense of civic duty and American Pride. Let your conscience tell you who to vote for, but for the sake of all that is baseball, hot dogs, and apple pie, VOTE.

 

Thankful Thursdays: I'm Thankful for My Sense of Humor

This. Is Such. A. Hoot.

Little back story. Too many relationships have been ended over knitted articles that were received with less than the enthusiasm the knitter felt ought to have been lavished on the article by the recipient.

Example. "Oh, Sweetie, I saw how you were a little chilly a few months ago on that hay ride, so I knitted you this sweater. I hope you like it???" >thrusts sweater hopefully, batting eyelashes< "Erm... Sure, purple argyle is just... >deep exhalation< well, I-I-I I think I've got a t-shirt it'll go with, lemme try it on..."

Nevermind that the hayride was prob'ly in October, and the sweater may have taken until April to complete.

The knitter obviously didn't bother to check for color likes/dislikes when she started knitting a sweater for her boyfriend, so it's unlikely that she did anything about fit, either. The poor sweater gets tossed in the back of the closet, never to see the light of day again, the knitter begins a downward spiral of resentment which cues the deathknell for the relationship, which (plainly) was on rocky footing to begin with, as evidenced by their poor communication skills.

It's a common story. Lots of knitting books and blogs address the phenomenon; The AntiCraft has a great pattern called the Curse Your Boyfriend Sweater, which helps you expedite the end of a relationship deliberately via sweater-gift; in Debbie Stoller's Stitch 'N Bitch Nation (2004, Workman Publishing), she features a sweater/knitted goods-as-gift contract. It's on page 120 under the heading Pre-Knitual Agreement. (Go ahead and chuckle. I can't help how clever it is. ALL her books are like that.)

Here's a story via song that's just about 180 degrees from the curse. What happens when you've been found knitting for someone else???

Warning: old-school Country Western-style music ahead. If you object, replace the performers in your imagination with the Blues Brothers. That might be even funnier.





Part of what I love about it is that these women could easily be drag queens. Except they're so understated (not enough rhinestone, not enough boa feather) it's clear they're really women underneath all that makeup and hair.

"Maybe I just need a new project" is the best breakup line. EVER!!!

 

Thankful Thursdays: Brad Meltzer and the Superman House

Superman was "born" in Cleveland.

Most people think he was a native of Krypton, but they're wrong.

Superman was born in a modest house in the Glenville neighborhood of the eastside of Cleveland, on a summer night in 1932. He wasn't born to bold Kryptonian Jor-El and Lara-El, nor even rural WASPish Jonathan and Martha Kent. He was born to a shy, inner-city Jewish kid named Jerry Siegel, on the night his father was either gunned down (according to one side of the family) or died of a heart attack as a result of being robbed at gunpoint (according to the other side).

I love my city. But this guy Brad Meltzer, an author of novels and comic books (which makes him cool "squared" mathematically, in my estimation), has made me feel very queasy-embarrassed about one way Cleveland has tragically fallen short.

Superman, the comic book, in its early form as produced by Action Comics, was written and drawn by Jerry Siegel and his neighborhood pal Joe Schuster. And Superman, the icon, has stayed relatively true to its original form. He's died a few times, but if you're going to be a legitimate comic book character, you'll do that more than once. In fact, you're going to die, be resurrected, have your history ret-conned, have your side-kick turn on you, meet yourself in a parallel universe, be drawn for several issues as a zombie or as a very small child with very small children superhero friends, have ridiculous animals assigned as your pets (or worse, peers), I mean the list is longer than Superman ought to have lived, and he's (given the number of lives he's lived) probably older than the United States by now. Just because that's mathematically impossible doesn't make it a feasible plot for a comic book...

What is sad, though, what has me so queasy and the issue which Meltzer has been shining the light on, is that the Siegel house is still there.

No one has built a Rite Aid on the site. Yet.

In fact, there's a family that lives there. By all accounts, they are remarkably friendly!! They know the history of the house. They've taken great pains to paint the house Superman red and blue. You can't miss the house on the street, it's said.

People visit them all the time, in fact, and they throw open their door, glad to invite them in to take a look at the house where Superman was born, to see the very room in which Jerry Siegel first conceived of the idea of The Man of Steel. They do this with a smile. Always with a smile.

The exterior may exhibit Superman, but the interior exhibits downtrodden, foreclosed Cleveland. I'll let this video speak for it.



Want to help??? Please do. You see the need. Click HERE.

I was first made aware of this "Save the Superman House" movement by Rick, and lately other people are taking up the cry. I'm glad to hear that. It would be a shame to let this landmark simply crumble into dust.

Here in Cleveland people come to visit the placque in front of the Heisman house (in Ohio City) and the Christmas Story house (in Tremont) and President Garfield's tomb (Lakeview Cemetery), and dozens of other important landmarks. Our friend Mike leads bike tours to show at least half a dozen interesting former auto manufacturing sites of long-past models (White, Studebaker, Peerless, others) that still exist, though in different capacities from their original uses. It's fascinating! It's all part of history. It's all part of what makes this city remarkable, and part of why I really love it.

People clearly want to see the place where Superman was born. It'd be a shame to deny them. It would certainly be sad to lose a cultural icon simply because of apathy.

The source of my queasy embarrasment is that the City of Cleveland is doing nothing to help save this landmark. They have been given opportunities. So it's falling to ordinary people. That's sad, really, because Cleveland does a good job of responding to needs of urgent natures; it's clear Superman's Birthplace isn't as urgent to the City of Cleveland as it is to potential visitors. Hence, it was the brainchild of an outsider, a non-Clevelander, Brad Meltzer, that sparked this movement.

I am deeply thankful on this Thankful Thursday that Brad Meltzer has taken up this great quest to save The Superman House.

It's Comic Book History. It's Jews-In-America History. It's Cultural History. It's Pop-Culture History. It's Movie History. It's Cleveland History.

It's OUR History.

 

Thankful Thursdays

"God is on my side."

My Uncle Don wrote that in his gratitude journal. Aunt Arlene shared this with me in an email I received today. Today is his wake; tomorrow will be his funeral.

Many bloggers have adopted a "Thankful Thursdays" habit in their writings. I believe that, in Uncle Don's honor, it's time for me to take up that yoke. I sure am thankful to be his great-neice.

I don't know what sort of sides he was envisioning that God and he were taking up, or who was on the other side. But Uncle Don wasn't someone I'd want to have as an adversary.

He was a veteran of WWII, where he served in Europe. They often refer to the two major divisions of attention as "theaters", as in "the European theater" and "the Pacific theater", but I just can't imagine taking a bag of popcorn to sit and watch THOSE goings-on. Anyway, he was Over There from 1943-1946. They didn't decorate the 'theaters', but they tended to decorate the service-people: Uncle Don was awarded the Purple Heart and two Bronze Stars.

He ended up getting terribly, severely wounded during his service. On his cot in the triage he heard the medics say that he was too far gone, nothing more could be done for him. Amazingly, another voice, a voice he thought he recognized but just couldn't place, said, "Hold on a minute! I know that kid! He's a good kid. He's from my town! See what you can do for him, huh?"

He never found the source of the voice to thank him.

Fast forward years later to a teen-aged girl, sneaking into her uncle's bedroom. He'd've been out, oh, goodness knew where, but my mom was visiting her grandparents and curiosity took over. She just had to listen to those records again! My mom told me time and again how she would sneak into her Uncle Don's or her Uncle Frank's room to listen to their records -- they had all the good Big Band sounds -- whenever her parents took her to visit her grandparents and her uncles weren't around.

I kind of like that mischievous vision of my mom. I relate to the hero-worship of elder relatives who seem so cool.

As long as we're on that fast-forward button, leave it on til we hit the early 70s. That'll be my childhood.

Uncle Don was my Grandpa Kopsell's brother. I remember watching the two of them together when I was just a very little girl -- boy, they simply fascinated me! I tell you, they were giants!

They weren't just big for being tall (and they were very tall!! -- and lanky, so they seemed even taller), they spoke tall. The words that came out of their mouths were bigger than the words from other people. Uncle Don threw words left and right, like he was sowing fields, and he wanted to make sure it was a full crop. His words were ALL CAPS, and very colorful, and they came at you. It was like being wrapped up in the comics page when you were in the presence of Uncle Don's words, it was that bright and exciting. Grandpa sat back and pondered a bit before speaking, but whoo boy; you were glad you were there when he finally opened his mouth. It was something worth hearing when he spoke; and when he spoke it was with Title Caps and generally he used boldface. It was exciting when he spoke too; merely to be in the presence of these titans was awesome. I don't remember a word they said, but I know every bit was earth-shatteringly important. At least, it was on that day.

It was around that time that I first read the word 'bombastic'. I didn't know what the word meant, but I did know that Uncle Don had been a soldier in World War II, and I certainly knew that the word 'bomb' was in that word. I knew that they used bombs in the war (and in many wars), and it seemed like a likely word for a soldier. Plus, it rhymed with 'fantastic'. What could be a better word for my dear Uncle Don?

This was all in the mind of a little girl still too young for Kindergarten.

Now, I'd never shared that story with anyone before this week. I've known for quite some time now what 'bombastic' really means, though I often have to look it up to be sure (it never feels right to me). I finally shared this story with my cousin Sheila (Uncle Don's daughter), and they may be telling this story at the funeral on Friday. I had to provide a definition of 'bombastic' to accompany the story, and I think that's really wonderful, because it's just one of those words that most people use to describe a character flaw when it really should be a strength.

I'm so thankful Uncle Don was a part of my life. I'm so thankful that sad partings sometimes bring family closer together, even if only for a time. I am tremendously grateful for my cherished memories and the family I do have still. I'm thankful for my faith that feeds my hope of reunion. I'm thankful for the visit Rick and I made the last time we were in Illinois, and for the warm welcome we were given by Uncle Don and Aunt Arlene when we just showed up (well, we called ahead, but not by much).

And so, I dedicate my first Thankful Thursday to the memory of my Great-Uncle Donald H. Kopsell. I'm thankful, finally, that you reminded me that God, however we call upon God, is on ALL our sides, and when we get to that Other Side, we'll have a far better, deeper, more complete understanding of sides and of God.