The Sunday After Thanksgiving

This morning a long-time member of our church passed away. 

At church.

She suffered for many years from a long list of physical ailments.  Cancer, diabetes, various amputations as a result of infection.  How many times did I hear her requesting prayer on my dad's voice mail?  Most recently, she had broken her foot and there was an issue with pooling blood around the wound.  I'm not going to go into long detail, but one of the men in the church and I were asked to help her to a waiting vehicle as service was wrapping up.  She'd been sick in the bathroom for a good part of the service, feeling nauseous, she said.

As we walked alongside her, supporting her as she leaned on her walker, it was obvious she was in terrible pain and quickly she began to sink.  We called for a chair as we reached the front doors, but she was already gone.  I held her head and looked into her eyes as the life we know flowed from her body.  I called 911 and a nurse and former EMT in the church started CPR.  The ambulance arrived, but there was little to be done.  Her husband watched as they worked on her, laying halfway out the front doors of the church.

One of the last services Catherine Claggett was in, she testified about meeting a perfect stranger in a gas station in Oklahoma and praying for that person's need.  She had a crackling voice that would slowly turn to an echoing boom as she would exhort and call our church to gratefulness or greater service.  Her life was one of constant pain and seemingly unlimited suffering on this earth, yet she never lost sight of her eternal goal.

Tonight, she doesn't need the walker or giant, orthopedic shoes any longer.  I'm grateful for her... and not a little humbled to have been by the side of a saint passing from this world to the next.  I have to admit there weren't a million things running through my mind.  I did manage to keep from taking pictures (purely tacky) and I learned a valuable lesson about calling 911 from a county address (always stay on the line even if they say they're on the way... a physical address, detailed driving instructions & a cell number don't always guarantee delivery of emergency services).  As the pastor mentioned later, I was proud of the health-care professionals we have at our church who were able to assess and give assistance.  When the police arrived first, they simply looked over the situation and said, "Keep going."

I was also struck by the thought of the spouse.  What do you as a husband of 42 years say at that moment in time?  What do you think?  How does it feel?  One of the guys in the church rode with him as he drove to the hospital.  Some of us and his family came to the ER.  But then he went home.  Alone.  I went home to Suzi to tell her I loved her again.  And again. 

May God extend His Amazing Grace to each of us when that time comes.  

We'll need it.

I Bought a Gun

A few years ago, I started whining about my 2nd Amendment rights and how I wasn't upholding my end of the Constitutional bargain.  I was a little taken aback when Suzi agreed with me.  Now, don't go all NRA-Crazy on us.  I'm not some "check yer weapons at tha' door" type.  I do believe that gun ownership is an option that we as Americans have built into the accessory list that comes with our citizenship.  You know, floor mats, alloy wheels, pursuits of happiness and such.  When Suzi's dad immigrated to America just as the Iron Curtain came crashing down, one of his early purchases was a small revolver.  Why?  Because it was something his previous government prohibited.  In this era of "enhanced pat-downs," we, as Americans, take for granted the freedoms we hold in comparison to the rest of the world.

OK, so now I'll reach under my soapbox and pull out my gun 'cause I know some of ya'll out there wanna  see it.  I had always expected to buy something tactical, with a laser and a Surefire light-up-your-world cannon attached.  Something black and spec-ops.  I figured on a 9mm for ease of access and relatively inexpensive ammo.  But when my "buyer" called one Saturday morning and said he'd found something I might like, I had no idea I'd fall for a Cold War relic.

Relic.  That's a strong term.  "It's got wood grips!" was my first thought.  This is NOT what I had in mind.  But after I hefted its all-steel frame and felt the satisfying whump of its decently balanced recoil, I was sold.
Just like that, at 36 years old, after a late night transaction in a remote, dimly lit, Taco Bell parking lot, my first gun was Hungarian Hi-Power clone: the FEG PJK-9HP.  The seller even threw in a couple of boxes of ammo.  And that, I think, has been the most interesting part of this whole exercise.  I was amazed at how cheap and how easy it is to pick up a gun.  I simply put the word out that I was interested and scoped a few shops.  When dealing with individuals, there's no government intervention.  It's like shopping for an extra Snoopy sippy cup at a garage sale.  If it looks clean, take it home.
Since then, I've picked up a few extra mags off Gunbroker and a paddle holster from Target Masters.  I've read a year's worth of Guns & Ammo and gone out a few times to a range near us to blown stuff up.  All that's made me the same guy I was pre-gun; I now just know some range etiquette and the difference between a .22LR and a .22Magnum.
There are folks on both coasts and quite a few through the middle of this great country who shake their heads and think, "What pitiful stuff... a waste."  But I'm not carrying the piece to the Mall or keeping it hidden 'neath my pillow in case some black-hat traipses through the door with nefarious deeds in mind.  It is what it is: an intricate example of mechanics, an interesting sidelight on a Saturday afternoon, another piece of gear... That makes a very loud boom and pretty little groups at 25 yards.
Anybody wanna throw some lead downrange this weekend?

SUZI: Shopping with a Tired Baby

I bought a shirt not long ago...nothing fancy but one I needed to work as a layer.  Cooper was with me when I bought it.  He was pretty much done with all things pertaining to shopping by the time I was trying it on, so I somehow didn't notice that the hem along the back wasn't straight across.  Once I was home I discovered that it curved across the bottom in a half-moon shape.  It's not like this was some accident; the shirt was designed that way.  This perhaps wouldn't be a big deal, but for some reason it really bothered me.  It was an odd length because of the curve. 

I had already worn the shirt a couple of time, telling myself the whole time that I really wasn't bothered by the hem.  But I was.  So, I decided to take matters into my own hands and fix it so it would go straight across like I had imagined my layering shirt to be.  This should have been a quick fix.  I'm not a master seamstress, but I certainly have sewn enough things that this little project would be a no-brainer.  Right.  I have found that anytime I think no-brainer about a project, I should be prepared for some sort of impending doom. 

I cut the shirt straight across (no problem yet) and proceeded to sew (no problem yet).  Once I put the shirt on to eye my successful fix, I realized that the material was all stretched out in a weird way where I had just sewn it.  It was all fluttery across the bottom (problems begin).  And the seam where the new stitches were kind of flipped out.  The material was all wompy-jawed.  Clearly it was not meant to be cut and re-hemmed.   

Hmmmm...not at all what I had in mind.  And I had used Cooper's nap time to "fix" the shirt, so now I was running out of time.  I decided the only thing to do was to take my stitches out and see what I could do with it.  Upon doing so, I ripped a hole in the shirt.  Yeah.  Then I proceeded to cut just above my seam line to get rid of the wompy jawed part with the hole.  I figured I could at least wear the shirt to sleep in if nothing else.  

Except now, as I sit here wearing the shirt, the seamless bottom edge is rolling up on its own accord making the shirt shorter than I want, and it is driving me crazy.

Moral of the story?  Don't go shopping with a tired baby.

7 Months Old!

Two Things Thursday

I suppose it's still Thursday in Hawaii... so here we go...

Firstly:

A couple of blogs we keep track of are doing some amazing stuff.  When she's not snarkily sharing the latest crisis in her family of six, Kristen over at RageAgainsttheMinivan hosts a regular series called What I Want You to Know.  It's a forum for her readers to share things in their lives that others may not know, care to ask about or understand.  Topics have ranged from autism to homeschooling to the death of a child.  I highly recommend Kristen's blog anyway, but this just adds a whole 'nother wonderful layer to it.

I'm also dropping in on RoJo's Story Year.  Robert's an amazing talent in all things visual and an MK to boot.  Somehow we're connected through a ton of folks, but have only briefly met once.  Writing nearly every day in 2010, he's challenging, brutally honest and transparent in a way that leaves me a bit slack-jawed...

Secondarily:

Cooper hit the 7th month mark this week... He's crawling like nuts, pulling himself up on anything that'll stand still (and some things that won't) and is desperate to chew on every cord in the county.  What is it with babies and electrical cords?  He can't get enough of them and it doesn't matter how many times we redirect or distract him, given a bit of downtime, he'll make a quick turn and head off like lightning!  Some of you aren't on Facebook (stay strong!) and so I've posted some clips to our website to keep you entertained on those long winter nights that are sure to be right around the corner.

Bullets & Waffles

This is not a commentary on mass consumerism... it's a simple portrait of what one encounters checking out at (*cough*) Wal-Mart.  Shoe inserts, ammo, a food processor and what seems to be THREE cartons of Edy's.  Seems the list was a bit eclectic this evening.

This just can't end well #104

You are now free to move around the tarmac... as long as you're followed by a contingent of firefighting apparatus.