Life

A few minor Christmas detours

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I tend to be a black and white thinker. So I usually go into situations with really low expectations or very high expectations. When I go in with low expectations, I tend to have more of a negative attitude. This has earned me the title of pessimist, which I would argue that I am not. I tend to describe myself as a realist which is false for all practical purposes too because my expectations are not realistic. Most of the times it turns out in between. Some good, some bad. Which is still polar and I am back to thinking black and white again. I tried.

I placed Christmas within the high expectation category which can be disappointing if it is not perfect and what ever is? My daughter and I sang the duet O Holy Night for both Christmas Eve services. That went well. Christmas with the kids went really well the next day. Then Saturday morning we headed across the state to have Christmas at my brother Luke’s house. Expectations were high, I was in a good mood. Well, until we found ourselves on a country back road with the bridge out. There weren’t any detour signs or anything. Plus there was no cell reception at all to navigate or call for directions. We ended up on an icy gravel road that looked inviting to people seeking a place to hide a corpse. That should have been the first indication right there.

Despite sitting several hours in the car, all three kids got along great. Until we pulled into the driveway, that is. Then there was some bickering. We entered the house just in time for lunch despite the 20 minute detour. The kids weren’t terribly interested in helping unload the car. Paul ended up taking Alex’s cell phone away as he didn’t want to help after he unloaded his items. Alex got upset and locked himself in the bathroom. He refused to eat with us. Then it was time to open gifts, but Alex still refused to come out. Who would’ve thought? Then Alex felt too embarassed to come out, but eventually did. My 6 year old niece asked loudly why Alex was so upset over and over when he finally came out. This all happened while my brother Mark opened a gift that was a talking Darth Vader figurine that was bigger then my niece. His new wife exclaimed, “Where the hell are we going to put that?” My mom said that she had another one at home for them that she couldn’t fit in her car.

Other than a few snags, everything went really well. We had a lot of great food and played games all night. Mark got pretty drunk. For the most part everyone got along. No one got any sleep. Then we woke up and made our long journey back home. Only one more Christmas party to go before we can call this season a wrap.

Christmas (pet) lover

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Many, many ages ago when I first met Paul, he performed a quick thinking pet rescue. Christmas time can offer new dangers for pets.

Paul has always been a dog lover. When I met him he had a dog. I have always been a cat lover. When I met him I had two cats. If I didn’t marry him, I may have been destined to be the crazy old cat lady. So we struck up a compromise after marriage, he has one dog and I have one cat. It is a good arrangement and with 3 kids we do not have any more openings for pets or people.

During the Christmas of 1995, Paul and I were in his apartment when across the hall we heard cries for help. There was a desperate pounding on the door of his apartment followed by hysterical screams from the neighbor lady. She was crying and shaking as she grabbed us into her apartment. Her little dog was wrapped in the Christmas tree lights. He was trying to free himself but was becoming more and more tangled in the process. The cord wrapped tightly around his neck.

Everything was happening so fast that I too began to panic. Paul, however, ran back to his apartment to grab his scissors. He held the struggling dog down while he cut the cord that was wrapped around his neck. Time and time again, Paul has acted in situations where most people freeze. This makes me feel safe because I know I can’t seem to control my inaction during those times.

On that winter day, my Christmas lover became a hero in my eyes. Paul the Pet Rescuer. I knew that I had to keep this guy.

 

Thoughts on Making a Murderer

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I feel extremely sad for the Halbach family this year. I am not sure why Netflix released the controversial “documentary” Making a Murderer a week before Christmas. It follows the story of Steven Avery. If you are not familiar with the story, google it. It is a very intriguing story that happened in our state of WI where an innocent man was exonerated for a rape in 1985 due to advances in DNA technology. That was after he spent 18 years in prison. After his wrongful conviction, he filed a civil suit for millions of dollars. But before he collected the money, he was convicted of raping and killing Teresa Halbach with the help of his 16 year old nephew Brendan Dassey. He is back in prison for life.

Back in 2005, during the time of the murder, the media portrayed Steven Avery as a monster. The public was outraged and there was even talk about instituting the death penalty in our state. But this documentary comes from another angle. It tends to portray Steven Avery as the victim. That he may have been set up for a murder he didn’t commit. What really is troubling to me is the media’s ability to sway public opinion in either direction. I have heard some people having the mindset on social media sites that Avery should be freed from prison after watching this documentary. A lot of people have very strong opinions about this without knowing the full picture. I have started to watch the documentary with an open mind.

Do I think that Steven Avery killed Teresa Halbach? I honestly don’t know. Was he capable of murder? I think so. Although Avery was innocent of the rape that he was convicted of in 1985, he wasn’t a model citizen. He was a convicted felon by the age of 18 for burglary. In fact, he was convicted of several felonies before his rape conviction that he was exonerated from. At age 20, he was convicted of animal cruelty for the merciless killing of his family cat. If that doesn’t show psychopath potential, I don’t know what does. He also ran a female relative off the road and pointed a gun at her. Her husband was a police deputy. That was not very smart on Avery’s part. Regardless, a 23 year old man spent 18 years of his life locked up for a crime he didn’t commit. At the time of his arrest, he was married with 5 kids. Kids that he never saw grow up.

Do I think that there were some major issues with corruption within the police departments handling this case? Without a doubt. Does it seem odd that there wasn’t blood found at the crime scene? Absolutely. Could Avery have been set up for another crime that he didn’t commit? Maybe. Isn’t is puzzling that the victim’s vehicle was found on his salvage yard property hidden under branches when he could have possibly crushed the car instead? This is where I am going to bring up the point that Avery is shown to have an I.Q. of 70 which would make him on the edge of being intellectually disabled. What really convinced me of Avery’s guilt 10 years ago was the confession from his nephew, Dassey. However, Dassey has a similar I.Q. and his confession seems to be very inconsistent. He didn’t even appear to understand what was going on.

Did Avery kill Teresa Halbach? If he didn’t, then who did?? I find that question to be even more disturbing. Did someone else kill her and the police noticed that she was last seen at Avery’s house which gave them an opportunity to frame him? Seems a little far fetched. Why does Avery’s blood appear to be tampered with?  Nothing about this case makes any sense. This documentary seems to bring up more questions than answers, with no new evidence.

Haze runner

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Another hot and humid day in Wisconsin (for this time of year anyway). There is still no snow, no ice has formed on the lakes, we might break a record high temp from over one hundred years ago today, and there is another thunderstorm in the forecast for tonight.

I decided to get a 6 mile run in this morning before the rain and wind. It was a very foggy morning, so I did run outside with some trepidation. As I run I always look at all of the garbage littering the ditches. I don’t know why marketing people hang out at malls. They should be hanging out at marathons. Runners know their route. I could tell you that Marlboro’s are the cigarette of choice among litter bugs. Also, now this was a very close tie, most litter bugs prefer Busch Light beer followed closely by Bud Light. Now WI, I am very proud that you chose water over soda *eye roll*.

This week, on a road that I run on, the body of a pedestrian was found in a ditch. Apparently the person was walking on the road after dark and was struck by a car. The driver took off after hitting the person who was left to die.

I prefer my findings of garbage. How terrifying!

It was a foggy morning and I didn’t want the same fate.  It makes me terribly sad to hear about this family’s loss the week of Christmas.

 

 

Who the heck is Loretta??

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Who the heck is Loretta? Maybe I should know…

This has been the first year since 2010 that I sent out Christmas cards. Why? Our church updated the directory with family pictures by a professional photographer, so I ordered Christmas picture cards. Plus this will be our last family picture with all of our kids at home since my oldest will be graduating. So why not?

I decided that since I am a “writer” that I would send out a letter with the card. No problem, right? Except that I couldn’t find Christmas stationary paper anywhere. Doesn’t anybody write brag letters anymore? Geez. I finally found some in an office store this past weekend and there were only 5 packs left. You would be proud of my letter as it wasn’t too braggy. I hate those kind of letters as much as the next person. I did mention that I ran my first marathon this past year. I wanted everyone to know when they weren’t around to ask how long it took me to run it. LOL

Now things were getting a bit bad because I sent my cards out yesterday, the week of Christmas. I would usually send out my Christmas cards in July. Of course, I would have all of my gifts wrapped and under the tree by then too. Hey, haven’t you heard of Christmas in July?? I am not usually that much of a procrastinator.

The next thing I needed to do in this process was make a list. Of course all of our close friends and family made the list. I also sent cards to the people that have been sending us cards year after year without reciprocation. Some of them people that I haven’t talked to in a decade.

It was at this point that I decided to dust off the old address book that I had for the last 20 years. Many years ago, I ran out of blank pages and just started adding envelopes with people’s addresses on them to the corresponding letter of their name. I found the address of my maternal grandpa’s girlfriend that he had a couple of months before he passed away. I wonder if she is still alive? I haven’t seen her in over 6 years so I recycled it. Then I found the address of Loretta in Louisiana. Who the heck is Loretta? I don’t even know anyone in Louisiana. Am I starting to forget not only names but people as well?

So I decided to do a little calculating. I have 86 contacts in my address book. Of these 86 contacts, 13 are deceased, 11 have divorced, and 31 I haven’t talked to in over 10 years, 16 contacts stayed the same, and one is of a person that I don’t even seem to know. Do you know what I think? It is time for a new address book! I’ll put that on my Christmas list.

Who the heck is Loretta anyway??

 

A bright light on the darkest day

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Almost a century ago, in a very small town, my great-grandparents started a family business. They opened an automotive garage where they sold and fixed cars. They also had one of those old fashioned gas stations with two pumps and a wrecker service. They built a house next door to their business and had 4 children. My great-grandma passed away when I was five and my great-grandpa and great uncle passed away before I was born.

After serving in the military, Aunt Grace and Uncle Harold being single moved back into the family house to help run the family business. Their brother, my grandpa, moved down the road within walking distance. I never remember the siblings ever fighting.

Aunt Grace did all of the finance for the family business with some help from my grandma. Uncle Harold and my grandpa worked as mechanics. Today, on the darkest day of the year, was Uncle Harold’s birthday. But there was nothing dark about Uncle Harold. He was a very quiet, friendly man that loved to laugh.

Every year Aunt Grace would throw Uncle Harold a birthday party. It was always the same year after year. She would set the table with the best fiesta dishware that were stored behind the glass cupboard in the pantry. Everyone had a different colored plate that was used only once a year for this special occasion.  She would serve steak, baked potatoes, and a vegetable with coffee to drink, even for the kids. She had an old fashioned stove that she cooked on. It required her to put little pieces of wood into a fire on the left side of the stove. For dessert, we always had pineapple upside down cake. Afterwards, Aunt Grace made me help her do the dishes and clean up.

I didn’t see Uncle Harold a lot growing up. He was always working in the garage. I wasn’t supposed to go inside the garage much because I liked to wear shorts which Aunt Grace said was not proper attire for a young lady. But sometimes I would sneak in to buy a large glass bottle of soda for a quarter. My aunt and uncle were always up at 6 AM. Uncle Harold would eat breakfast then go to work. He would come in for lunch and they would both take a half an hour nap. Aunt Grace slept on her couch and Uncle Harold slept in his chair. Then Uncle Harold would work until 6 PM which was always the time that supper was ready. Most of the time after supper, Uncle Harold would go out to work until 9 or 10 at night. When he came in, he coughed a lot. Working 13 hour days in an unventilated garage did that to him. He usually worked until noon every Saturday and took Sunday off.

Uncle Harold was a generous man both towards his family and his community. He offered a window washing job to an illiterate man who was having a hard time without job skills providing for his family.  He paid for my college tuition. He never wanted anyone to know the good deeds that he did. Money was a topic that I wasn’t even supposed to talk about.  I don’t think I ever thanked him enough for the sacrifice that he made. He paid for my school from stocks that he inherited from his parents that someone gave them when they couldn’t afford to pay their garage bill.

That year I graduated from college in May, got married in August, and was pregnant in October. I remember driving out that fall Saturday to tell the family our news. I never was able to tell Uncle Harold the news personally as he was with a customer that afternoon. Then a month later, he died unexpectedly.

Every year Uncle Harold would take a week off to go hunting with his friends. It was on that trip that he had a heart attack. When he passed away, there was no one left to carry on the family business. Of the four siblings, my dad was the only child born and he wasn’t interested in continuing the family business. In the meantime, Uncle Harold had listed me as heir of that stock which we cashed in to start yet another family business.

So on the darkest day of the year, I will always remember the bright light that was in Uncle Harold. I am sad that he never met my children. Even now, his memory is starting to dim. I hope that in some way through my thoughts today the memory of him will shine on.

The darkest days of the darkest years

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Isn’t it funny that Christmas comes during the darkest days of the year, the time of the year that we so desperately seek out light. That was all that I wanted those darkest years, to be able to see a ray of light, a glimmer of hope. But all glimmer of light was gone. I had lost my hope. I fell into a time of deep despair. I was angry with God.

Those are the years that I don’t talk about to even the closest of new friends. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. The darkest years happened when I was in middle school. My autistic brother Matt became increasingly violent. So much so that he was not allowed to go to school with other kids. He had to have a teacher come out to our house. When Matt got “kicked out” of school, my mom took my brothers and I out of school too. My parents had us 4 children in less than 5 years, with me being the oldest. I was homeschooled between 8th and 10th grade. While my classmates attended prom and homecoming, I was at home in isolation.

Through the darkest years, my dad totally checked out emotionally and became very depressed. My mom became desperate to find a cure for autism, taking Matt out of state to a hospital that did extreme allergy testing. She thought that if he avoided certain foods and allergens, it would curb some of his violent outbursts. When they came back everything changed for us.

Matt was allergic to everything. My parents got rid of their wood furnace and put purifiers throughout the house. My mom took down her bedroom curtains because they had formaldehyde in them. She used old sheets and blankets as curtains. If the local farmers were spraying their fields with pesticides, she would call them screaming if she didn’t get notified first and Matt would have to wear his charcoal mask. If they did call her to notify us, we had to pack up our car within a half an hour and head up north for a couple of days until things gassed out or it rained. My parents had to park their cars at the bottom of the driveway so exhaust fumes would not come in the house. If my dad snow blowed the driveway, he was not allowed into the house with his snow gear on and had to shower immediately. I wasn’t allowed to wear perfume, hairspray, or nail polish. Those were just a few of the changes that were made in attempts to control Matt’s violent behavior.

It was very hard that year at Christmas. My mom said that Matt was allergic to Christmas trees, even the fake ones. It was at that time that we no longer had a Christmas tree in the house. No decorations. No lights. Nothing. Even my grandma was instructed not to put up a Christmas tree. Instead she put little bows on the wall in the shape of a Christmas tree. It was horrible. Matt had meltdown, after meltdown, after meltdown. Day after day he attacked me. He kicked me, punched me, scratched me, hit me. Ironically, taking away all of the things away from Matt (and the rest of us) did nothing to tame his aggression. It seemed to hurt us more than it helped us.

But how could I be angry at my mom for trying everything she could think of trying? How could I be mad at my brother who wasn’t bright enough to read or write? I fell deeper and deeper into despair like a small flower buried under the cold deep snow.

One last Christmas of magic

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I remember one Christmas where my dad played the part of hero. But was he really?

Christmas at my parents house is kind of a blur now. I remember having two or three Christmas trees before it got to the point that my parents didn’t celebrate with a tree in the house anymore. One year I got 2 Cabbage Patch dolls, that was memorable. Another year Luke took a little earring box that I had and put a couple of pennies in it under the tree. I opened it before Christmas and wrapped it back up again. My mom found out and I got in trouble for that. But the most memorable Christmas was the one that my dad played the hero. I don’t think that my brothers will remember ever celebrating Christmas in my parents house. I will have to ask them.

It was Christmas Eve when our dad was a hero to us. My younger brothers and I had our Christmas program at church that evening. My dad stayed home. After we did the Christmas program at church, we received a bag of goodies which consisted of an apple, an orange, and peanuts. We came home that evening to find that my parents bought us an Atari gaming system. My dad had it all hooked up when we got home and was playing on it. He let us play on it too. We thought that it was really cool. Wow!

We thought that my dad was really cool to surprise us with it. But was he really? He didn’t come to our concert and watch us perform. Through  adult eyes, I don’t think that was very cool. He didn’t play the part of hero very often in our eyes, so I will give him that little small moment. On that one magical evening, he was a hero to us. It was the best and last  Christmas memory at my parents house.

Handing over the Christmas baton

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After decades of Christmas perfection, little tremors needled away at our  family tree structure creating (gulp) change. The Thanksgiving after Paul and I got married, Uncle Harold passed away. A few years after that my grandpa passed away. My brothers grew up and moved away, with the exception of my autistic brother Matt. I started to have children of my own. Grandma struggled more and more as she aged with doing all of the cooking, cleaning, and decorating involved in having a family Christmas party. We tried to help her as much as we could. Then one year it all ended. My grandma had open heart surgery the summer that I had my third child. It was at this time that my grandma handed the Thanksgiving and Christmas baton to me.

At the time, we were having my in-laws over every Christmas Eve. Year after year it was pretty much the same. My in-laws would show up 2 to 3 hours late. The table would be set. The food would be cold. The kids would eat supper at bedtime. The kids were tired and hungry which made them very crabby. They would cry and have meltdowns. This upset my mother-in-law which resulted in an argument between her and my husband over her being late. At this point, Paul’s stepdad and I would look at each other across the table with a knowing look that said “here we go again”. One of two things either happened. Paul’s mother would disown him and take off for awhile. Or Paul’s mom would scream at my husband and he would kick her out of the house. Eventually she would come back in both scenarios, the gifts were opened, and the kids would go to bed.

After receiving the Christmas baton, Paul and I did what most reasonable people do. We combined our families to make one big happy family Christmas. Insert thoughts of the National Lampoon’s Christmas here. It did go pretty good for quite awhile. Whoever showed up, showed up. We ate at 1:00 PM. If you were late, there were leftovers. Things went pretty well, although after awhile it seemed that my mom and mother-in-law started an unspoken “best grandma” competition. My mom won that one hands down because she could afford nicer gifts and spent more time with the kids. Then my in-laws started to find excuses not to come for Christmas. Either someone was sick, or my personal favorite was that Paul’s stepdad scheduled a colonoscopy the day after Christmas. Priceless.

Oh family, you bring laughter and tears but we love you anyway.

Then a couple of years ago, Luke and his family bought a house that was bigger than mine. I handed him the Christmas baton. All problems solved.

Tomorrow I’ll get this write

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Do you ever have one of those days when you have a lot to say but your words look like indecipherable hieroglyphs? The words clash. I sound like the one person playing a different tune in the orchestra. 

This is crap, I say. I’ll just delete this blog and walk away. I’m going to bed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get this write.