Petty Theft

Tonight, my sister called to tell me that she, my two nephews and my nephew's chickieboom were going out to eat near my house, and would I join them...

I know my nephew's been dying to introduce his girlfriend to me - and where I had plans later in the evening, I agreed to sit with them for a half hour or so.

When I arrived at the restaurant, my youngest nephew was showing my sister an itsy-bitsy rolling pin. "Look what I found!"

Found? From my youthful theiving days (a time that I'm not particularly proud of), I understood what "found" meant... It's got it's roots in the ancient, yet still practiced tongue of "Far Fetch-ed Gibbibble," and it is where we get the English word "Pilfered." The litte rolling pin couldn't have cost more than a quarter - but letting my nephew keep it would be so expensive some day I couldn't stand it... Besides - This is not the first time I've caught him 'finding' things. I don't like the idea that he's simply practicing for some future bank heist.

"Hey, Jill," I said, "Since we're standing in this long long line, why don't I take him to return it?"

She agreed, nervously. See, for a long time, my nephew and I didn't get along very well, but lately we've been doing much better - so I thought maybe we could have a little discussion on the way to return the rolling pin...

"So, do you steal a lot?" I asked.

"Sometimes."

"Well, I have to tell you that one of these days - very likely sooner than later, you'll probably get caught... Do you know what tends to happen when you get caught?"

"No," my nephew likely fibbed to me.

"Well, stores generally put you in a back room and call the police. The police usually come - and you might get taken to the station - and everything will be recorded onto your permanent record. Do you want to be a ten-year old with a record?"

"No," my nephew answered.

"Have I lectured you long enough?"

"Yes."

"Ok - then it's important that we bring this back to the store."

We arrive at the craft store. I ask my nephew to tell me where he got the little bitty rolling pin. He shows me a spot on the ground beneath the side walk sale tables. I look around. I can't find where it came from. I take it from him. "I can't find the bin - I guess we'll have to ask the sales lady where it came from."

My nephew followed me sheepishly.

"Hi, Um, my nephew took this, and we'd like to return it - but would you mind telling him what happens to people who take things out of stores without paying for them?"

"Sure," said the saleslady. She then proceeded to tell a tale that was MUCH MORE than I ever asked for. In fact, no child of a single mom who has a crazy dad should ever hear this:

"Well, we call the police. Then the police come and I'm not really sure what happens then - but I will tell you that since you're too young to be put into jail, they'll take your mom instead. Which means you'll have to live with another family. If your mother seems fit by the court, they MAY let her out... Do you want that to happen?"

Oh, PLEASE! Stop, saleslady! I just wanted to stop at the police.

Before we left, my nephew decided to purchase the rolling pin...

Rolling Pin: Ten Cents
Gas spent returning the rolling pin: $1.98
Humiliation telling my sister what happened: Priceless.

A Grief Observed

I know I've been kind of silent about the time after my nephew, Jay died in December. It's been difficult - sometimes a combination of weepy tears and laughter... many times, I just ache - or suddenly feel overcome by a wave of missing him...

But nothing really prepared me for a story my sister, Jill, (Jay's mom) told me the other day.

My eldest nephew, Ian, got inexplicably dizzy the other day. Jill decided to take him to the doctor. Not wanting to miss anything, the Doc ordered an EKG.

My sister watched as they attached all the diodes to my nephew. They determined Ian's problem was not his heart - But soon noticed Jill, who was starring in horror at the image of Ian's beating heart on the monitor.

Previously, Jill hated all things medical. Until Jason came along, she shied away from needles, blood, and of course, any imaging of the innards... After Jason, it was a different story. She watched all sorts of monitors, machines, and procedures with rapt attention. It's just that Jill had only ever seen Jason's malfunctioning heart move - where the valves barely opened, and the heart struggled with every beat to pump oxygen and blood.

She never realized until she watched Ian's healthy heart - just how sick Jason was - nor what a healthy heart was supposed to do.

She burst into tears (as did I when she told me the story) and had to leave the room...

Another Duh

Last night my sister, Jill and nephew, TJ came to hear the tail end of my gig. I haven't seen TJ in awhile, but for his birthday, I sent him this cool clock I found at the Discovery Channel Store. Instead of batteries, it's powered by two liquids - water, and any other beverage or gooky solid of your choice. He's been particularly thrilled with this gift - which makes me extremely happy.

The other day, he decided he needed to show it to my sister's chemistry professor. The professor was so thrilled, he asked where he could get one. "I could have used this in class the other day. This is perfect..."

I asked TJ if he knew what to tell the professor. Yeah, I know where you got it," he gloated...

And without missing a beat, he said, "China..."

Duh.

Early Morning Flashbacks

I've been thinking about my blog friend, HP lately - because she's lost her father (and that's the saddest thing I can think of) - It's got me thinking about the deaths in my family this year, specifically, that of my nephew, Jason (here's the link in case you want to know). I miss him so much. I had a dream about him the other night. He came back... but he was healed of his disease - no trach, no wheelchair, no motors. He walked up to us... And me, in all my practicality said, "Hey - where ya been? Are you hungry?" He nodded. When I woke up, it was bitter sweet. It was nice to see him again, but the ache rekindled.

I was speaking with one of Jay's nurses this morning, and she revealed to me for the first time that she had lost a 10-month old child... and it took years to get to the point where she didn't break down every time someone said something or even did something nice for her... She asked if she thought it would help my sister to talk to her. I didn't know - but I gave her the address and suggested she write a card. Hopefully, my sister will find it comforting to talk to someone who's been through the same thing.

I hope I'm not meddling.

...And Speaking of Chicks

When my oldest nephew was at that tender developmental age of 7, he was nothing but a gas factory. Fartburpfartburpfartbelllllchfart... You get the idea. He'd giggle through saying "Scuse me..." but I could tell it wasn't helping... So I used to tell him, "Hey. Chicks don't dig gassy guys..."

One day, my nephew had enough.

"Aunt Kelly, can you quit it with the 'chicks don't dig' stuff? It's stupid."

Two weeks later - without provocation of any sort on my part, my nephew and I had the following conversation:

"Aunt Kelly, do chicks dig guys who can cook?"

"Oh, yeah! Absolutely!"

"Well do chicks dig guys who listen?"

At this point, I was so enraptured with the thought, I just yelled, "Yes! They LOVE guys who listen!"

"Aunt Kelly? Chicks aren't going to dig me..."

sigh.

Cactus-Wrapped Suger Cube

My 94-year old grandmother died last week. I haven't mentioned it until now for a few reasons: 1) I haven't had this many family deaths in years - and I don't know how else to say it, but it's completely overwhelming. 2) For all the creativity, talent, and generosity my grandmother fostered, she wasn't the nicest person...

A little background: My grandmother was second generation "off the boat." Her parents came to America from Poland - very likely around the turn of the century or shortly thereafter. My great-grandfather (who I've never met) was a cruel man. My grandmother was made to quit school at a young age and go to work. She wasn't allowed to keep any of her earnings. As she tells it, when coming home from work, she deposited all her wages directly into his waiting hand. My grandfather (I never had the chance to meet him either... He had a heart attack in his late forties.) dated my grandmother for several years. One day, he told her it was time... So they eloped to New York City.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds nervously called my great-grandfather. As the story goes, they held the telephone at arms' length and endured the wrath of one who just lost his weekly income. My grandmother, meanwhile, enjoyed living and working in her new situation (my grandfather was a very kind man - just what the doctor ordered... And I find this interesting... Statistically speaking, women tend to marry men like their fathers. I was always very proud of her discernment and courage at a time when cruelty had the potential to extend through generations).

For work, my grandmother wired telephones. My grandfather was a glass blower (he made parts for the hydrogen bomb - and thermos cores...) Eventually, they purchased a farm and settled with their four sons (my grandmother, for yeras, complaned that they couldn't manage to have a girl... Again, statistics show that after a mother gives birth to two children of the same gender, the chance of having a child of the opposite gender drops dramatically).

My grandmother was also incredibly creative. She was a master with needlework. She made toys, lace, and clothing for us as long as I can remember. ( I believe she may have been colorblind - because as the years passed, her afghans became crazier and crazier, color-wise. My mother has one that features pastel yellow and green bordered with fluorescent lime... Thankfully, the one she made me is maroon and cream... and I love it.) I believe she was upset that I could never pick up crocheting... Thankfully, my oldest sister did - and she loves it.

Anyway - I've been having a hard time processing all this loss. (My 5-year old nephew died in December... so we lost our oldest and youngest members in three months...) I was having lunch with my pastor last week. He shed some interesting light.

"I hate to say it, Grub (his last name is Groblewski - and everyone as long as I've known him - calls him Grubby), and I feel badly about it - but my grandmother wasn't always the nicest person. She was generous and creative... but not nice. My sister calls her a sugar cube wrapped in a cactus."

"You say she was polish?"

"Yeah."

"Were they from Northern Poland or the south?"

"I don't know."

Now, obviously, "Groblewski" is a Poish name, so he would know something on the topic. He explained that the Prussians came from northern Poland. Their disposition was known to be somewhat cold - and very different from the Slavs of southern Poland.

"So what you're saying is I'm doomed?"

He just laughed. Maybe I'm doomed. I know one thing - I'm not a sugar cube wrapped in a cactus. I'm more likely a cactus wrapped in a sugar cube - or at least that's how I've felt lately...

No Longer a Cingular Girl

I got my new phone tonight. It was relatively painless - I walked into the Verizon store, told him what I wanted... and he told me he could cancel my Cingular Account right there... If I had my account number, which I didn't.

As fate would have it, Cingular had a store two doors down. So I went there. The guy was with two customers who looked like they were signing up. I told him I just needed my account number.. He was processing some computer info, so he looked at me and said, "So why are you leaving us?"

"Cingular doesn't work on my couch at home (or my office, or on the road between work and the office... I silently added)." I looked at the two newbies. "I"m sure it'll work great for you guys!"

They looked at me. "What town do you live in?" (great, I thought) I told them.

They looked at each other.

"What street?"

(Oh phooey!) I didn't want to tell them - but then they guessed! "Uh. Yeah!" I said. It's a known dead spot.

Then they just looked at each other. I *assured* them they'd be just fine and left as quickly as possible.

_____________

Oh. In High school news, I attended my neice's choral ensemble dinner theater the other night. My 16-year old neice did her thing on stage, and it was lovely... Until their choir director sang not one, but FOUR duets with her high school student. What really creeped me out was that she sang FOUR LOVE DUETS with a student. I've never seen anything like it and I'm not over it yet. I actually sent her an e-mail telling her she creeped me out (I was nicer than that about the whole thing. I said something like "You have a very lovely voice - and I'm sure there are adult choirs or bands that would be thrilled to have you...") I just really needed her to know that students should sing at student concerts - and teacher's shouldn't call such creepity-creepy attention to themselves.

(For all you Broadway buffs out there, she sang "All I ask of You" from Phantom of the Opera with a 16-year old kid.

ew.

She merely sent me a note back saying thanks for the note - and she'd keep it in mind for next year.

Family Portrait

I just thought y'all would like to know exactly *how close* my family is... The other day my father called and asked if I'd like to have lunch. I'm always astounded by his last minute invitations (because I rarely make them... because I'm over-busy) - I was even more shocked to find that I was indeed free for lunch. We met at a little diner close to my office. He explained that he was coming from his doctor's office, and what had happened at the visit, and how his bad back was doing.

When we were finished lunch, he hands me a CD. Here. Wanna see the screws in my spine? Knowing my parents don't have a computer, I took the disk. "Uh, sure, Dad. Thanks..."

So, this was two weeks ago. I finally got around to putting it in MY computer. This stuff amazes me, so I thought I'd give you guys a little insider info on my titanium-clad father.

Benefits

Last night's Sean Kennedy benefit was a great deal of fun to be a part of. My neice, Kylene, organized it, after learning her friend's 7-year old son has lymphoma. I'm very proud of her. It was a great undertaking. She organized a bake sale, full lineup of entertainment, made and sold t-shirts,
gave radio/newspaper interviews, and collected donations from the community. She said about 85 people showed up (less than she hoped), yet she made more money than she hoped - and raised about $2400 for this sweet little boy. (That should relieve the family to no end - as their insurance only covers about 80% of his $2500/MONTH medicine bills). Way to go, Kylene!

Sean's white blood cell count was high enough for him and his family to attend the show... So we invited him to join us on stage... He joined us in a song we taught (See 18 Wheels... below) - then surprised us by leading the crowd in singing I'm Proud To Be An American. He and his brother remained onstage and hummed along as I sang Dylan's Forever Young... It was more than cute.

I'm happy to report that Sean's prognosis is very good - it's just a long road to recovery for this fearless little guy.

After the benefit, Dave and I joined my parents, my brother and neice at a restaurant. Kylene was thrilled that she raised the $ she did. It must be nice to provide some relief for Sean's family. My brother, where equally thrilled to help, was exhausted. He had one thing to ask of his daughter, "Now that the holidays are over, and the benefit is over, can we please, please, please relax a little?" My neice looked at him and answered, "Sure, Dad... Unless something else tragic happens... Someone else may need our help."

The Spirit Gets So Big - When the Body Gets So Small

My 5-year old nephew, Jason, died in his sleep on Friday night. He finished his battle with a rare disease called cytochrome c-oxidase deficiency disorder. I'll give you the rarediseases.org definition:

Cytochrome C Oxidase Deficiency is a very rare inherited metabolic disorder characterized by deficiency of the enzyme cytochrome C oxidase (COX), or Complex IV, an essential enzyme that is active in the subcellular structures that help to regulate energy production (mitochondria). Deficiency of COX may be limited (localized) to the tissues of the skeletal muscles or may affect several tissues, such as the heart, kidney, liver, brain, and/or connective tissue (fibroblasts); in other cases, the COX deficiency may be generalized (systemic).

Jason's case was systemic... Which is too much for a little body to handle.
If you'll notice, I said Jason finished his battle. I don't think he lost it. His cardiologist has been telling us for the last two years that his heart was so bad, it was unusual that he was still alive. I think the last two years were grace, and if anything, Jason stayed with us as long as he could.

It's not that it's not hard - I just think Jay simply finished. Believe me, I've cried many times over this - and discussed things with friends covering everything from "Aren't you mad at God?" to "How long will he live?"

No. I'm not mad at God. First off, I know there are no guarantees in life, but there are a few guarantees in death... Jason, for the first time in his life, is whole - healed, and able to use his arms and legs as he sees fit... Second of all, Jason was such a joy to be around. He was funny, intuitive, and for all the ways his condition wracked his body, his brain was perfectly functional. I'm grateful for that.

I'm even grateful for his little
rebellions (which were pretty funny. Just a few weeks ago, Jason got in trouble at school once for driving his wheelchair too fast down the halls).

I hope you enjoy the photos - they're all of Jason and the things that happened to us on our adventures together. Of particular note is the day Cinderella kissed him. He was so thrilled, he wouldn't let me wash the lipstick print off his face. I asked, "Jason, how is it that you always wipe MY kisses off, but you want to keep Cinderella's?" He just giggled slyly and shyly and sped away.

One of my favorite singers, Jan Krist, wrote a song I think encapsulates how I feel about "Speedy" (what I called him after several wheel-chair drag race events). In it, she writes, "The spirit gets so big when the body gets so small..." Jason, though small in size, was such a giant. He taught us - specifically my sister - just how much we could handle. He taught us honesty - and how to ask for help. He was the reason my sister was able to leave an addicted husband, and I feel was responsible for bringing my family closer together. (Even though, at times, the things I taught him upset his mom - namely his repeated exclamations of "My Bones!" every time Jill hit a pothole while driving...)

I picture Jason in Heaven, healed, running around and discussing things with whomever might be interested in hearing about video games, Willie the Whale, and his endless list of female admirers.

But I am so sad - I'm horribly sad, and I'd give anything to spend another evening with him, but I guess I'm feeling that his spirit is so big that I couldn't possibly forget.

My other favorite singer, Bruce Cockburn wrote a song called Closer To The Light - It was his homage to a musician who died unexpectedly, and in it, he expresses a lot of what I'm feeling now:

Death's no stranger - no stranger than the life I lead
Still I cry, and I begged to get you back again.

Gone from mystery unto mystery - Gone from daylight into night
Another step deeper into darkness - Closer to the light.

A Sockaholic's Minimalist Saturday

I only had one plan this weekend. I had to be in my office for just a few hours... After that, I was as free as a non-avian-flu-possessed bird.

Once in awhile – it’s good to have no plans (I haven't done this in ages)...

I worked on Saturday for a couple of hours – just to get something off my plate that had been on my plate for a long long time… So long, in fact, that I was beginning to feel like that little kid who’s mom wouldn’t give him anything else to eat until he finished what was on his plate… Months later, the when the mother was receiving impassioned cell phone messages from her child’s guidance counselor regarding the possible anorexia issue the school suspected, and the old food on the plate had transformed into the child’s winning science project, the mom wondered if the blue ribbon was worth it. However, getting MY project out the door was a victory even sweeter – because my client knew I was finishing on a Saturday and felt a little bad about it.

I am a hero!

Then I went sock shopping. Don’t laugh. I had – until Saturday – a drawer full of single unmatched trouser socks. That morning, upon digging for two unmatched black socks that I could wear with boots, I snapped. So I threw them all out, went to Kohls, and found a sock sale. (Can you hear the harps playing and the angels singing?) It's so nice to have matched socks on... Who’dve thought sock shopping could be so satisfying?

On Saturday night, I went to my sister’s house to paint little wooden ornaments with my nephews. I don’t get along particularly well with the 9-year old – but I’ve been making a concerted effort to find something we have in common and try to be together doing things we both like. He gets himself into so much trouble, we all feel like he needs some positive attention. I was excited to learn that Taylor liked to paint (hey! Me too!). My sister asked us to paint these three little wooden embellishments to hang in her bathroom – a lighthouse, an anchor and a sailboat. She said she didn’t care what color we made them – just as long as they had blue in them.

I painted the lighthouse. Jason, five, wanted the sailboat. Taylor simply HAD to paint the anchor. One thing about Taylor – he’s the most linear thinker I’ve ever known. The child has no abstract thought capabilities. For example, when he was learning to ride his bicycle, someone asked, “Wow! Are you going to ride with your brother now?” He answered, “No. There’s only one seat.” Duh! He spent a lot of time pondering how both the building and the actual room you sat in to watch a move could be called a theater…. I considered telling him to think of the building as the Cineplex and the room as the actual projection room, but I refrained.

Taylor picked up the anchor and said, “This needs to be painted rust. Anchors have rust. He then amazed me by mixing brown and red together to make rust. “This is a very rich color,” he commented. I asked how he knew that was a rich color. He told me it was just rich – because it was deep and brown. I must say I’m impressed. I told him it was a very mature thing for him to say... Then, remembering what my sister wanted, I asked him to use a little blue. He did – as little as he possibly could – in the middle of the anchor. I held it up for my sister to see. I just shrugged.

Jason, on the other hand, was getting bored. He dabbed green, blue and purple on the buttons of his snowman ornament… He then moved to the sailboat, where he painted a bit of the sail. He dipped his finger in red paint. He looked at me and slowly moved his hand towards his nose. He may have been silently asking permission to paint his nose because, minutes earlier, I had changed seats with Taylor. He was more interested in painting Jason than his rusty anchor… (My job as aunt is to prevent chaos.)

“Go ahead,” I told Jason. He proceeded to smear paint on his nose, cheeks, forehead, and chin. “You look like a warrior.” (a warrior who’d just been shot, I silently added) He just smiled (I’m waiting for my sister to e-mail the photo – stand by. It’s worth seeing.)

I hadn’t had an easy day like this in months. I didn’t butt heads with Taylor – and we had a pretty good time. I think I’ll plan on not making any plans more often.

The Birds! The Birds!

This is the last of my calendar paintings.

Dave got the remote control last evening (he was in his glory)... We'd just finished two days of long gigs (both fun - both outside. I'm sunburned, can you believe it? We sang at the base of a mountain at a ski resort. The resort was giving people "scenic lift rides" - and I'm told they heard us singing all the way up and down the mountain. That's cool.)

Anyway, we were tired. After the gig, Dave brought pizza over to my house and watched the second half of the depressing Eagles game. I was painting, so I couldn't say anything about what he watched next. The History Channel. The Plague. When that cheery bit of broadcast was over, I was still busy painting, so I never changed the channel. As I added the last bits of color to the birds, The History Channel charted the possible path of the Avian Flu. According to the HC, we're doomed.

So the Eagles are dying on the field, the sick chickens in China are going to kill the nations - but I still like this painting.

To Acquire Cat - Or Not To Acquire Cat

An acquaintance of mine wants me to assume responsibility for a cat she’s recently taken in… It’s just possible that I’m way too busy to add another thing to my life – namely – a cat with feline leukemia. This is not to say I won’t kitty sit for the poor feline while her foster feline mom is on vacation.

The cat was to arrive last night. I had to postpone. My sister called. Jason (my nephew – see “Hardcore”for more details) had to go into the hospital overnight for an early morning bronchoscopy. (No idea if I spelled that right – but to make a long word understandable, the doctors need to clean out his lungs.) I agreed to stay with him.

I’m still a little upset. At 2 AM, they decided to wake him from deep slumber to insert an IV. Nurse I looked for veins for almost an hour. It went like this – tourniquet goes on lower left arm, just above wrist. She uses this powerful light to hold up to his little 5-year old arm to see the outline of the veins (remember when we stuck flashlights into our mouths at campfires? Our cheeks glowed? The technology is exactly the same. The light glowed - and the veins showed up as dark purple creeks flowing up and down Jay’s arm)

The only trouble is – Jason’s veins are tiny, tiny, tiny.

Light off, tourniquet off. Re-tie tourniquet to left leg, below knee. Search left ankle for veins… Move tourniquet down. Add light, feel around foot for deep vein. No dice.

Right arm. Tourniquet. Found what may be a good one, despite my request to keep the IV on his non-dominant arm.

Meanwhile, Jason, fully understanding what is about to take place, is voicing all the protest his tired little body can muster. “Owie! I want Mommy!” Then he’d fall asleep until the tourniquet was retied. This breaks my heart.

Ok. So the first needle prick is unsuccessful. Instant bruise. We’re all unhappy. Repeat process until a vein is suspected in his left foot. No dice. I’m annoyed because all the nurses can say is “Sometimes we don’t get them in right away…” All Jason can say is “Owie, I want Mommy.”

I was relieved when the three nurses decided to get more experienced help. A MedEvac guy named Chris comes and begins the search for veins again. He managed to find an acceptable one in Jay’s right arm. At least it wasn’t in his hand. I hate it when Jay can’t use his hand due to IV.

At first, he didn’t believe he got the needle where it should be, but he was able to draw a blood sample, and flood the vein with saline – which is, apparently, the sure sign of a successful stick. Jason was exhausted.

As Chris left, and my stomach churned, I told Jay he was very, very brave. He asked me if he could watch Shreck. (we both love Shreck). Until he calmed down, we passed the time by quoting movie lines and singing “Hey now, you’re a rock star…” I may have fallen asleep before he did…

I wonder what the cat was up to last night.