Where Do We Get It?

I can remember the day my Uncle Bill taught us how to burp on command.  My cousin, Lorri, and I were the perfect students on that day.  We adored, even idolized, our uncle.  Being the "baby" of the family, he ALMOST felt like he was "one of us."  Big differences:  He could drive us to the store for a pop, he sat at the grown-up table at Thanksgiving and man, oh, man, could he belch!  Rapt novices in the art of gaseous emissions, we were enthralled by the apparent ease with which our hero expelled one enormous burp after another. "Suck in the air and swallow it, then push it out," our Uncle coached, over and over again.  It didn't take long until Lorri and I managed to emit that glorious sound!  Uncle Bill cheered!  We could not have been prouder.  From that day forward, we became prolific belchers.  It is a skill one must hone during one's life and I am delighted to report that, like a fine wine, Lorri and I have perfected the art of the burp through decades of "aging."

Sometimes, when I burp out loud, not caring who hears it (okay, I care, and it's usually when I am home with my family--or not!) or squirt the occasional scoop of mashed potatoes between my teeth, I silently pay homage to those beloved members of my family who taught me to love one another, to help my fellow man and to share the gifts I have been given for good and not evil.  Love you, Mom, Aunt Myrna AND Uncle Bill!!!!

And, Yet, I Don't Ever Want To See That Again

A police officer was shot to death in my town last week.  Gunned down by a punk who didn't have a clue about what he was doing.  "Killed in the line of duty." The kid turned the gun on himself and he died, too.

The town mourned; wow, did we mourn.  This had never before happened in our town.  Sure, we had heard of it happening "there," but the distance from us didn't make it real for most. When this horror of horrors happened in our neighborhood--to one of US, we were in shock and disbelief. "This doesn't happen here."

I immediately reached out to my oldest son to let him know the news, and, I suppose, because when I heard the news, all I could think about was my peace-making, gun-toting, superman of a son, whose visits home have often included "ride alongs" with his buddies on the force. "Have you heard?" "No. Do you know his name?" "Not yet. I will let you know." Shudders on both ends.  Me shutting out an unthinkable scene and him already mourning a brother he doesn't know.

The news broke several hours after and our town knew that Public Safety Officer Eric Zapata, father of three and veteran of the department, had lost his life while performing the duties of his job. We were still in disbelief--this doesn't happen here.  Even as the funeral was being planned and flags were being lowered, I don't think my neighbors fully grasped the reality of Officer Zapata's death.

A memorial service and funeral ceremony fit for one as courageous as Officer Zapata followed, complete with every dignitary and elected official that could be found....most volunteered and many sat on the sidelines, as there are only so many hours in a funeral.  The outpouring of support for this slain officer and his young family was astounding.

When the funeral service concluded, the long journey home for Officer Zapata was only beginning.  My colleagues and I stood along Michigan Avenue as an 1,800 vehicle funeral procession slowly cruised through a 5 mile stretch of our town.  We waited for the first vehicle for an hour...the fire truck bearing an American flag draped casket lead the way. Not a word was spoken, not a hand was raised, only silent and stifled tears were present in each of us.  We didn't look at each other, but kept our gaze fixed on the flag. This must be what it feels like in those other places where terrible things like this happen.

Police and Public Safety cruisers, ambulances and fire trucks from every county in the state somberly rolled by the 5 mile long gathering of mourners. Cruisers from Chicago, Florida, Wisconsin, Ohio and Canada were interspersed in the procession, too.  Kalamazoo folks were thankful, even impressed, that anyone outside of our own people would come to pay their respects. We had no idea how this type of ceremony was typically organized and it amazed me to see so many cars and trucks from so many other places.

Kalamazoo mourned that day. We stood in the wind and the rain, oblivious to its presence, to honor a man who gave his life while serving our community.  We celebrated the life of Officer Eric Zapata en masse with our hands over our hearts, a hard and unfamiliar lump in our throats and an enormous pride in our community as we saw the thousands who stood by our side to honor our fallen servant.  I have felt pride like that only one time before in my life.  A certain peace-making, gun-toting superman son's military graduation came to mind as I ceremoniously stood in the rain with my hand over my heart.

And, yet, I don't ever want to see that again.

Rose-Colored Glasses

My friend, Sue, accidentally left her sunglasses in my car last week after she accompanied me to Cassidy’s choir concert.  I had good intentions to mail them back to her but first had to hop in the car for a trip to Tennessee and my cousin, Mandy’s, wedding.  Cousin Lorri and I hit the road in the morning and, before I knew it, I had traded in my very dark beach shades for the white designer frames Sue left in the console.

Fall was in full “bloom” on the trip.  While meteorologists had called “the peak” a week earlier, our trip south revealed brilliance in the trees I can only describe as stunning. It was distracting at times as we rounded corners and cut into the hills of Kentucky, all the while being dazzled by nature’s glorious slide show.  I am sure Lorri thought I was exaggerating at how beautiful I found our surroundings.  It wasn’t until I took the glasses off during a shady stretch of highway that I realized the lenses were rose-colored. Really?  Rose-colored glasses?  So 1960-something, right? I put the glasses back on and was aware that the colored lenses were altering my view of the world.  Yes, colors were brighter, the sky was clearer and a color of blue I don’t think I have ever seen before.  Cool glasses.

A weekend with family members, some of whom hadn’t seen each other for 15 years or more, ensued. A lovely wedding, delicious time with some of my favorite relatives, introductions to some cousins I had never met and, so much food, we thought we’d burst, consumed most of the weekend. 

Sue’s glasses were tucked inside my purse for the entire weekend.  I put them on at least 100 times, both literally and figuratively.  No hatchets were buried; in fact, with so much water under the bridge, it didn’t seem the least bit necessary.  These clichés passed through my mind a dozen times over the weekend, while I half expected the other shoe to drop.  Everyone seemed so genuinely happy and yet we had only begun to scratch the surface of the enormous span of time we had been apart as a family.  It felt okay to leave despite the lack of depth to our conversations, so we did just that. 

Promises to keep in touch and preliminary plans for future gatherings were made before we exchanged hugs, loaded up our cars and hit the road for our respective trails home.  

The leaves on the trees had faded even more over the 4 days of our stay, so I slipped Sue’s rose-colored sunglasses back on my face.  What a beautiful drive.

Facebook is So 2010

Some time over the past two years, I joined the throngs of other middle-aged moms across the world and created my own facebook account.  "This facebook thing is really going to allow me to keep up with my adult children who are venturing out all across the country," I said to myself and to my peers, most of whom were (obviously) mildly suspicious of this move on my part.  I rejected the squinted eye gaze and occasional "isn't that just for kids?" comment and launched into full facebook mode, uploading my profile pic, filling in all the necessary information about which TV shows I like and reducing to a single sentence the one value upon which I have based my existence (favorite quote). Once a legitimate face-booker, I instantly searched for my children and requested them to "friend me."  Next, came all the other relatives, who, amazingly, were already on facebook.  Even MY mom had a facebook account....I was, apparently, the last to know how facebook had already established itself into our lives as common and ordinary. Surely, now that I was on fb, I would be able to see what the big kids were up to, "Like" their activities, comment on their photos and, occasionally, brag about their achievements to the many members of my extended family who seemingly came out of the woodwork.  Yes, I could do all those things, and before you knew it, friend requests started showing up in My notifications.  50 friends, 60, 70, whoa! How is anybody supposed to keep up with all of these friends?!

Several of my "new" friends started sending me invitations to play FarmVille...holy crap!  Before I knew it, my plantation was producing enough food to feed a small country, I had an entire herd of cows, some of which glowed in the dark, my chickens laid eggs by the dozens, the ducks needed to be plucked, neighbors were leaving me yard signs which, understandably, needed to be reciprocated, bats swirled among my fields, the trees needed to be harvested, every neighbor in the countryside had crops for me to fertilize, and I Was Exhausted!  I'll never forget the day I inadvertently neglected my eggplants and they all withered and died...the shame. I have only admitted the following to one other person because I knew she would understand:  Before I quit FarmVille, I harvested every eggplant, sold off every last chicken and cow and barn and tractor, and planted a yard sign in my neighbors' yards saying goodbye.  Sheesh! 

Since that day nearly a year ago, I have stood quietly by as various posters aired laundry that was not only filthy but some of it would make your hair curl.  Sure, I can hide those folks, too, and I did.  But, then I was out of the loop...friends would send me notes:  "What's going on with So-and-So?! Can you believe what he/she said?!" "I don't know," I would reply. Quite frankly, I didn't want to know.  It felt so invasive to be privy to people's personal anguish, out in the very public facebook world. The more people put out there, the more I withdrew.

So, today, I have 366 friends, most of which I have hidden on my wall.  I don't play games, I don't post my kids' achievements, I don't "Like" many status updates and I haven't looked at 362 of my friends' Walls in months.  I do, however, stalk the pages of my original 3 reasons for joining Facebook in the first place.

So, while I have your attention here, I want to let you know that this "Here's The Scoop" is going to become my version of what I wanted facebook to be, only better.  I will post family updates from time to time, from my personal experiences and from those I glean during my stalking adventures. Two promises:  I am going to blog only when I feel I have something relevant to say, even if nobody else ever reads it and this blog will be a completely positive reflection of a day in the life of a family.