Archive | April, 2009

On Bronzing Baby Boy Boot-ies…

29 Apr

Just hours before he left us for the Navy, my son talked of how he would miss his steel-toed work boots.  He said he LOVED his steel toed boots.  I told him we should put them in his treasure trunk, but he said “No, you should bronze them.”

booties

And the Question Is….

How much do you think it would cost to bronze size 14.5 boot-ies??

But After the Laugh was Over…

After my son walked out the front door for the last time, I sat down in my back yard and cried.  Then through my tears, I saw his boots sitting haphazardly on the back porch, as they usually did.  I gingerly picked them up, old and beat up as they were, and put them in his room.  I couldn’t stand the thought of them getting wet in the rain.

Now the work boots have been replaced by Military boots, which will hopefully walk him back home to us one day.

On the Eve of Goodbye…

25 Apr

seals-flag

My little boy has now grown up and has made his own decision.  He will ship off to the Naval Station Great Lakes/Recruit Training Command (just north of Chicago) on Monday.  I thought I would be able to compartmentalize my feelings about this, but am now brutally aware that this task is not so easy.  I am feeling quite a bit of trepidation for Monday.  And not to mention the unease of the very dangerous career my son has opted to pursue.

Andrew’s going-away dinner will be tonight, with happiness and sadness mixed into the menu.  He’s my only child that will have moved away.  I am only hoping that he will be safe, and happy, and that he doesn’t become a stranger to me.  Hopefully he has the very good memories of his childhood to take with him.  Hopefully the foundation for success and self-fulfillment and happiness has been laid.

He will no longer be the little boy, but will begin his adventure into manhood.  I guess my job is done.

The Eve of Goodbye is almost as hard as the goodbye itself.

 

P.S. And check out the variety of blogs at condron.us

What Happens When Four Guys Go on a Deep-Sea Fishing Trip For the Weekend??…

21 Apr

Apparently, not much. (Depending on how you look at it…)

 Or at least not for this group of guys.

swordfish

The Plan 

My husband wanted to take my twenty-year-old son to the Texas Gulf on a deep-sea fishing trip before he shipped out to Navy boot camp next week, so this weekend was the last opportunity.  Mind you, the only other time my husband has been deep sea fishing was a disaster – he didn’t catch any of his own, and even let someone else’s catch get away.  But I guess he was really brave to want to do this anyway.

 My husband, his best friend, my son-in-law, and my boy left for Galveston on Saturday at lunchtime, ready to catch a swordfish, or a shark, or whatever manly fish was 80 miles out on the Texas Gulf just waiting to be caught.

 What they didn’t know when they planned the trip was that there was practically a monsoon hovering over the Galveston/Houston area that afternoon.  As they drove down, from the elevated freeway, they saw half-submerged cars in the neighborhoods they drove past.  Yep, Omen Number 1.

 Their Track Record

And maybe I should give you a little background:  Other than finding me, my husband has NEVER, EVER, and I repeat NEVER had good luck.  EVER.  And my son-in-law isn’t much better in the luck department.

 Yep, oh shit.

 What Happened

They arrived in Galveston in the pouring-down rain. “Screw it,” they said.  “We’ll swim anyway.”  And they did – they had the pool to themselves.  But no swim-up bar, which they were really disappointed about.  And as my husband pointed out to me, they didn’t have to worry about lightening striking (a lightning storm was taking place, by the way), because the lightening had the whole ocean, right across the street to strike.  Why would it strike four guys in a swimming pool?  Yep, good logic.

After the swim, since they fortunately didn’t get electrocuted by a lightning strike, they drove around trying to find a restaurant.  As you know, Galveston was ravaged by Hurricane  Ike  last summer, so it’s still trying to get back on its feet commercially.  But apparently it hasn’t succeeded yet, because they had quite a bit of trouble finding someplace they wanted to eat.  (I think they settled for some gourmet restaurant like the Golden Arches).  They gave up and went back to the hotel.  Omen Number 2.

 The Night’s Sleep (Or Lack Of)

 Well, although the hotel was four-star, the room itself was only 300 feet.  Pretty small for three big guys.  Actually, VERY small.  And it was to get even smaller, for what my husband didn’t know about his best friend of 35 years was that he has terrible, horrible sleep apnea.  His snoring could probably be heard down the hall.  Then after he’d stop breathing for a number of seconds, he’d have to wake himself up with a horrible, loud, choking sound.  At which point he’d “wake up” and start the snoring all over again. 

 Between the snoring and the choking, and the constant farting (remember, four guys by themselves in a hotel room – YUK!), they didn’t get much sleep.  Omen Number 3.

 The Fishing Trip

 They had called the charter fishing company four times the night before, just to keep updated on the status of the weather.  It was supposed to clear the next day, and yes, the trip was still on.  Leaving at 7:30.  They’d even driven to the pier the night before (as they went on their quest for a restaurant) to make sure they knew how to get there.  7:30.

 Well, at 7:15 AM, my husband called the charter fishing company to make sure – 7:30.  (Of course, my son-in-law suggested he call earlier, but he knew what he was doing).

 He was told the boat had already left at 7:00.   CRAP!  Omen Number 4.

So instead of going 80 miles out for 12 hours, and deep sea fishing, they were only going to go 10 miles out for four hours, and go not-so-deep sea fishing.   CRAP!

fish

However, what they all failed to realize was that none of them were used to being in a boat, and certainly not in the seven-foot tall waves that pummeled them, leftover from the storm the night before. 

You know what that means!  Yep, they all got sick.  GREEN, GREEN, GREEN.  Apparently, their main mission switched from reeling in the biggest fish they could find, to trying to make sure they didn’t barf all over their boat shoes.  (Just kidding – no one had boat shoes).

Of course, the best friend, and my son – the almost Navy Seal trainee – blamed it on the bad coffee (who ever heard of getting sick from bad coffee?????).  Whatever.

But, I told them, maybe they were saved from being eaten by a Great White.   (Think Positive)

 The Catch (Or Lack Of)

And because of the choppy waters, only a total of twelve fish were caught that day by all of the fishermen.

But at least they felt better that they hadn’t gone 80 miles out for 12 hours.  They were more than happy to get back to dry land.

 The Next Night

Well, they thought they’d console themselves with some beer and pool.  What they didn’t count on was that there hadn’t been very many pool parlors on the island in the first place, and now after the Hurricane, there were even fewer.

They drove around in circles, tracking down the pool halls, even going on  a wild goose chase once because apparently a local who gave them directions thought it would be funny to send them driving around and around the island looking for a pool hall that wasn’t there.

Finally, they did find a few, only to realize that the bartenders, compliant as they are with the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission wouldn’t let my son (who is only 20 years and 102 days old) stay in the bar.  Under Age.  Omen Number 6.

They finally asked a cashier in the Mexican restaurant they went to if she knew of a bar.  Yep, she knew of a bar around the corner where the Mexican locals hung out, but they really wouldn’t want to go there.

Uh-oh.  I guess it sounded like a dare to them, because that’s where they headed.  

 The Real Dive

What a place – a real, real authentic place.  A ghetto place.  It even had a chubby Hispanic midget as a cocktail waitress.  And as my son pointed out – all the women were REALLY, REALLY FAT!

 But….the bartender didn’t ask for ID. So….. it was perfect!

The Rewards

So there you have it – a not-so-perfect trip to the beach.  But these are the things good stories are made of, and good memories.

My boy got the joy of some great “guy” time  (even though it was a little screwed up since there wasn’t a woman along to make sure everything went as it should). 

And I got a big bag of empanadas, and the joy of being able to tease my almost-Navy-Seal son about the sea legs he is supposed to have, but apparently doesn’t.

 So, as far as I can tell…….It was a great trip!

Some People Only Dream of Angels…We Held One In Our Arms.

14 Apr

Matthew Paul

Today my grandson would have been nine years old.  It’s hard to believe it’s been nine years.  Two days after her seventeenth birthday,  my daughter gave birth to her first baby – a stillborn.  A horrible thing for any mother to go through, but especially a teenage girl. 

She hadn’t felt the baby move in two days, and the sugary intake of orange juice didn’t wake him up.  We went to the hospital, and the sonogram we saw on the huge monitor of the huge machine confirmed everyone’s worst fears.  There was a baby, but no heartbeat.  Everything was still and silent.  No kicks, no flutters.  Only stillness, and dread, and despair.

My daughter still had to go through labor.  How tragic to go through the extreme pain only to be rewarded with the stillness that comes from babies who aren’t breathing;  those that don’t ever gaze into your eyes and know you’re their mom.  There was no excited expectation that night;  only sorrow and dread for the day ahead.

When he was finally born, he weighed almost five pounds.  I was the first to take him.  We wrapped Matthew in a blanket, just like a living baby, and held him in the hospital all day.  Rocking him, and cooing at him, and wishing he were breathing and crying.  Wishing he were full of life and not death.  We took pictures, and named him, and baptized him.  Giving him all the honor and respect that we would have had he survived the journey of birth.  Some might find this morbid, but we found it necessary.

When he wasn’t being held, his swaddled form was placed in a hospital bassinet filled with ice under the blankets.  So we would be able to keep his small form there with us just a little bit longer.  So that he could physically stay in our presence just a little bit more.   But later that evening, it was finally time to say goodbye.

We gave the funeral home things we wanted to be buried with him.  Things that would normally accompany a new baby into the crib at home;  instead finding their way into a tiny casket, which would be carried into the church two days later by his parents.

He was buried in the Garden of Angels section of the cemetery, with the other babies that had gone on to be cherubs.   We said poems and prayers.  And we again said goodbye.

His mother had a small box filled with keepsakes, not needing them to remember, just to keep as she would if he had survived.  But this would be the only thing she had left of him.  That box, and her memories.  For a long, long time she visited his grave every day.

The Gifts

The way our family understood life and death changed on that day.  We then understood that as long as there wasn’t death, anything was possible.  Anything was fixable.  Anything could be dealt with.  Anything was better than the alternative.  We later survived many terrible times with the understanding that Matthew gave us.  We learned a lot during that terrible weekend.  And that was the weekend we started being a  true  family.  Anything was possible;  anything was fixable.  As long as there was life, and not death.   

Thank you, Matthew, for the gifts you brought to us that day – April 14, 2000.  Happy Birthday!

And Who Thought a Grand Slam Just Happened in Baseball??…

10 Apr

The Joke (Depending on How You Look at It)

The subject of my novel came up at the dinner table the other night, and when I said to my daughter, “Yes, I’m publishing it,”  she said that she knew I would someday, and I said, “No, it’s being published right now.”  Well, you would have thought  I’d told her I was destined to be the next Stephenie Meyer – she bubbled over with so grand-slam

much excitement I thought she was going to hyperventilate.  She exclaimed, “Yeah! Mom, you found a publisher!” 

And then I honestly, but proudly, told her, “No, I’m publishing it myself.  I’m self publishing,” and I stood just a little bit taller, in defiance.  

 I’ve never seen an expression change so quickly – she stopped in mid giggle, in mid smile – changed the expression to one of bland pity – and just said “Oh.”  Apparently she thought it was too patronizing to be happy for me self -publishing a book.  Like, “oops, I shouldn’t have said anything – how embarrassing .”

And I’d just gotten over the vanity of thinking I had to be published by a traditional publisher!   Sucker-punched by my own child – the one I gave birth to, painfully I might add.

Who said knock-out punches and Grand Slams only happened in the sports world??

The Reality

The reality is that it took me way too long to get over the vanity of thinking that my book wasn’t a great, marketable book just because I wasn’t going through the traditional publisher route.  Today’s reality is that an author must do most of the marketing work themselves anyway, so why not self publish?  The goal is to get the book out there, and that’s just what I’m doing.  Hopefully it will be ready in the next few weeks!   (But thanks, daughter, for reinforcing my belief in my own book – it just got a little stronger!)

 

P.S. And check out the variety of blogs at condron.us

Riddle: What Do An Army Drill Sergeant & A Mail Clerk Have In Common??…

9 Apr

OK – I know what you’re thinking.  There’s not much that an Army Drill Sergeant and a Mail Clerk have in common.  Or so normal people would think.  However…..

The Bermuda Triangle of the Army World

My daughter had cried and cried.  Her husband sent her yet another letter from Army boot camp asking why she hadn’t written, and whether she still loved him.  She was frantically writing a reply and wondering where her FEDEX package filled with the pictures of all the kids and the artwork had gone.  (It had cost  lots of $$$$ that she really didn’t have to spare, just to get it there the next day so he’d have something to open).  And she mailed a letter the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that.  They’d somehow ended up in the bootcamp black hole that sucked up love letters and pictures of the kids, and made recruits wonder if their families still loved them.

My daughter cried and cried, the tears staining the paper and making drip marks on the ink that contained her sadness and frustration.  She’d even convinced herself it was a conspiracy, just to keep her husband from getting her letters.  For some unknown reason, they were really trying to punish him.

The Fix

Well, she asked me to help her call the number at the Army Base – the number that you were supposed to call if you had any questions.  A burly-voiced man answered and I told him who I was.  He said he’d just spoken with the recruit’s mother, and she’d asked the same questions.  Where was the mail??

He assured me that he’d distributed all the mail that had come in (like a good mail clerk would, I thought), and he remembered giving mail to our soldier boy.  Remembered that he’d gotten mail from me, and our boy’s mother, and his dad.  But……what about the FEDEX package?  He said, “Hold on.  I’ll go get him, and ask him what he’s gotten.”

Wow, I thought.  A mail clerk who could just go get a recruit and ask him about the mail.  Pretty efficient.

And then we were disconnected.  Oh well, we’ll just call right back!

And we did!  My daughter talked to him, and had him ask her husband about her mail.  No, he didn’t get it.  Then she made the Mail Clerk promise to tell him that she really did love him, and had sent him gobs and gobs of letters.  He said he would tell our boy how madly in love with him she was.

 

04-08-09-21

The Consequences

Well, a few days later, my daughter got a letter from her husband.  He’d finaly gotten some of her mail (although still not the expensive FEDEX package).  But her husband said he’d then gotten “smoked.”  The efficient Mail Clerk we’d been talking to was not a mail clerk at all, but her husband’s Drill Sergeant (the one and only), and he hadn’t been particularly pleased that three females had made three different phone calls to see why their sweet soldier boy hadn’t gotten his mail.  Well, you know what that means.

Yep, our boy was required to do 500 pushups that day!!  But the funny thing was – he was happy.  Happy that his wife had cared enough to cry, and call his drill sergeant asking about her mail.  And making him promise to tell her husband how much she loved him.  He smiled through each one of those 500 push ups.  It was worth it.

The Surprise

At the end of the day, after all 500 pushups were done, and arms were sore, and it was time for bed, the drill sergeant called our boy into his office and told him that he’d never, ever seen anyone do 500 pushups with a dumb smile plastered across his face the whole time.  That positive attitude was worth a bonus – he was promoted to barrack supervisor.

And the real surprise was that instead of getting  him into trouble, his wife – my daughter- had done something that really, really helped him. 

I congratulated her for her good job, but just told her not to do it again!  (His biceps might not be able to take much more!)

And I’m sure the saga will continue…

 

 

P.S. And check out the variety of blogs at condron.us

 

 

 

 

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