Kindness

“. . . I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.” 

 - Blanche Dubois 

 From A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams 

 

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve depended on the kindness of friends and family. The character Blanche (so ably played by Vivien Leigh) was, at best, disassociated and, at worst, horribly victimized and uttered that final line on her way to (at the time) mental health care that was often mere barbarism – and probably a lobotomy.

This is 2016. I’ve had the unwelcome front row seat to the two-year decline of my mother. She passed away on October 15 after struggling against malignancies and other ailments. Anyone who knew my mother knows that she was an incredibly private woman – she barely wanted my brother and me to know her health situation. She, of course, did not want others – even close lifelong friends – to know her struggles.

I can happily report that her caregivers were professional, caring, unquestionably competent, and – again, if you knew my mother – remarkably patient. There was no barbarism, no incompetence, no diffidence at all. I really don’t expect any of these fine women and men to read these musings, but to you all, thank you.
 
But back to kindness. I was there when mom passed and the attending nurse, the priest who came to deliver last rights, the nurse from hospice (Mom had refused hospice even her last week alive. That she died five minutes after I signed the authorization papers for hospice just proved that she was going to win that argument as well!), and the funeral directors and parish representatives were kind, compassionate and very professional.

Then came the friends and family. Now, I’m a crier – I think I’ve made that point in prior posts – and tears were not exclusive to my loss – but triggered from the wonderfulness of people. Small things – that friends sent food to the funeral home during the visitation for me and my brother’s family; that so many people sent flowers and made gifts to our designated charity; five former Michigan Glee Club members (I’ve just stepped down as advisor) made a donation so a song would be dedicated to her at the next concert and the current president and director drove to Monroe to express their condolences; that people traveled long distances (and some completely unexpected) to attend the visitation and the funeral; that I received cards in the mail, on my desk, and on my windshield; that two current students sent flowers to my house – you all got tears of appreciation (there are a few flowing as I recount this); and, of course, all the people who were kind to mom during her final months. Over the next month, my brother and I hope personally to let everyone know how appreciative we are – I hope you can read my awful handwriting.

Kindness matters. I remember dad’s funeral 34 years ago and the kind things that people did. I’ll also always remember the goodness that bubbled up from so many people honoring my mother who will remain in my heart.

Thank you.

Mom's obituary:  Link



Vivien Leigh's image from https://www.britannica.com/topic/A-Streetcar-Named-Desire-film-1951 and reported as available in the public domain.

All other photos were taken by me.

Vote or Vomit.

I am embarrassed by the current presidential political campaign. Embarrassed as an American; embarrassed as a world citizen; embarrassed as a human being.

We, the voting public, are only receiving pitches from the candidates alleging the baseness of the other. There is no – none, zero, naught, nothing – that tells us how the hopeful candidate plans to govern. “He disrespects women” “She’s corrupt and only wants power.”

As a kid – kindergarten aged, in fact – I shook hands with Hubert Humphrey. Mr. Humphrey was Lyndon Johnson’s vice president and stumping through Michigan as the Democratic hopeful for the 1968 presidential election. Riverside School, aptly named as it sat near the banks of the Raisin River, was a photo op for some reason during the the 1968 campaign. I really don’t remember Mr. Humphrey, but that he landed in a helicopter was pretty impressive to this 7 year old photo prop.

A fun irony – he was the only person to serve as vice-president whose profession was pharmacist . . . I’m nearing 15 years at U-M’s College of Pharmacy.

I wish I was merely disgusted with this presidential race. I’m saddened. I am sad that out of 300 million citizens we are cursed with a decision to make between two megalomaniacs.

I love my country. I believe that it is the best republic in the history of the world; it is the “shining city on the hill” whose beacon of liberty and freedom is an example to the world. I’m not naïve – we’ve had some awful mistakes during our history and those mistakes forever remain as our original sin. I do, however, laud and celebrate so many accomplishments of the men and women of this great nation.

I had the chance to attend a presidential inauguration. Talk about an opportunity to celebrate our nation, the peaceful transfer of power assured by our Constitution, and to be part of the great American history. The fireworks that evening were stunning and viewed through happy tear filled eyes. I don't think the coming inauguration offers the same inspiration.

Who knows who will win? I almost wish neither. This will be a hard vote to cast.

God Bless America. God Save America.

Image, as awful as it is, from: https://drawception.com/game/8cckshYtRZ/hug-ticket-good-for-one-free-hug/

Sauerbraten and the end of Liberty (A Howard report)

Looking out from the lobby of the State Theater in Ann Arbor gives one a vista westward down Liberty Street. Home to longstanding businesses (Afternoon Delight, Kilwin’s Chocolates) and recent arrivals (Bongz and Thongz, Grange Kitchen and Bar) and lost delights from yester-year (Mr. Flood’s Party, The Pan Tree). A full 10.5 miles of pavement, gravel, businesses, homes and farmland – Liberty goes from “Street” to “Road” as it meanders nearly due west from Ann Arbor’s campus area.

Toward the western end of Liberty, is the southern-most field of my farm . . . a field dramatically rising some 60 feet higher than street level and, this year, planted in soy beans. Only about a half mile exists of Liberty past the farm – dead ending at the foot of Dancer (what a great name for a road!). The road used to extend about a mile further to Gunther, but a lost bridge in between didn’t warrant replacing. Large cement pylons prevent western travel past Dancer Road. Yes, it is the end of Liberty (only figuratively, we hope).

About four miles east of Liberty’s end, is Howard’s home (regular readers know that my friend Howard is over 90, has spent his entire life in Ann Arbor, was a local businessman, lost his wife, and is an unmatched source of Ann Arbor history). Tonight, after a few dozen attempts over the last several months, I found him at home. He was there with son Brent and Brent’s friend Melanie. They had just finished dinner (pork chops, garden veggies – “you should have come earlier!”) and the four of us chatted for about a half hour. Howard was looking pretty darn good (perhaps I should say remarkably good for being on the far side of 90!). Brent and Mel were delightfully chatty and we enjoyed catching up. The only point of history was a review of Washtenaw County’s various German restaurants and their ability to deliver a decent sauerbraten.

“_____________ used to have a great one, but now it’s burnt meat with gravy,” fussed Howard. He then carefully lauded and dissected restaurants currently in business and closed as “recently” as the late 1950s for their sauerbraten. Additional fussing included the quality of four or five various menu items. How I enjoy these sessions!

His health is pretty good for the plus side of 90 and he still has his weekly outings with friends whose tenures extend beyond 50 years. He did agree to an outing or two with me to some former haunts (I have to buy, but he’ll leave the tip). I’m already looking forward to our adventures!

Fun with fiction

“Well, that was about as satisfying as a failed nose pick.”

Uncle Roland had a talent for saying what no sane person should say. He was particularly good at inventing similes that – while possibly turning your stomach – made perfect sense. He could create figurative wonders out of excrement, various bodily sera and mucus, flatulence, and any number of disfiguring diseases (think leprosy).

The object of tonight’s Rolandism was the dinner served at the 23rd Annual Adelbert B. Adriaansen Memorial Banquet. The dinner was awful.

In 1957, Adelbert had come one shy of setting the all-time high school football record for most extra points kicked in a game. He had 23 in Wibbleboro High’s shellacking of poor Watersmeet High School (team of 13 total players). Wibbleboro’s Flying Dutchmen defeated the Watersmeet Nimrods 185 – 3. Adriaasen was the closest thing Wibbleboro ever had to a legitimate hero.

The actual record is documented as belonging to Nelson Stuit – kicker for Muskegon High School. He split the uprights on 24 of 30 attempts when Muskegon battled Hastings High School to a 216 – 0 drubbing on September 28, 1912.

Adriaansen worked as a high tension wire serviceman after graduating from Wibbleboro in 1958. For 34 years, he happily dangled from the highest of highs and, even as a supervisor, would scale the tall steel towers. He loved his job. Unusual cold fronts in the summer of 1992 kept daytime temperatures in Michigan often in the upper 50s. Couple the cooler temperatures with tower elevations often approaching 180 feet, any wind would make the work more difficult and certainly more dangerous.

Well, as much as we’d like, we can’t blame weather on Adriaansen’s death. Adelbert was inspecting the refitting of several towers on a sparkling June day when a freakish train of events resulted in his death. He never was very compliant with his physician’s directives – and having turned 50 a couple years back, he kept postponing his (as he put it) “look under the hood.” In truth, Adelbert thought it more than freakish that people would submit to colonoscopies. “That ain’t right,” was his mantra.

Adriaansen’s wife, Marti (with an “i” just ask her) – the Wibbleboro’s 1957 homecoming queen and mother to 5 Adriaansen children – finally insisted that Adelbert submit to the inhuman procedure. She didn’t know he went to work the day when he should have been prepping. He decided he could swing the towers while taking the “goddam drink.”

The first hour went fine. Unfortunately, Adelbert didn’t anticipate the urgency of the prep and found himself 50 yards in the air when having to, well, you know.

His aerial accident sadly served as an electrical conduit from a 500-kV line. He never knew what hit him. Of course, Uncle Roland had some line about boiled butts and ignited intestines that I’ve happily forgotten.

The memorial dinner – despite its inauspicious origins – does a fair amount of good in our community. Everyone pays $25 to attend and there is a cash bar. The caterer (Waleed’s Deli and Liquor Emporium) donates much of the meal and the Moose bartenders (the International Order of the Moose has the largest venue in our town) all split their tips with the dinner’s annual cause. In the past, the fire department got equipment, the library built new study carrels, and (most frequently) the town has enjoyed a stellar Independence Day fireworks celebration.

Which brings us to this year’s cause.

Wibbleboro was founded by three families – Dutch immigrants who decided to venture west rather than stay in what is today New York. Quite a bit of western Michigan was founded by Dutch immigrants and “Van” is a far more common prefix to surnames than “Mc” or “Abu”. These three families were part of big resettlement coming from New York destined to found towns like Wibbleboro and what is now Michigan’s town of Holland – known for its annual tulip festival and other ethnic celebrations.

The Adriaansen, the Van Schorel, and the Van Leeuwenhoeck families founded Wibbleboro and their DNA has remained dominant in the county. Why they didn’t join the other immigrant families who founded other settlements remains speculation (though few among the townspeople are loath to offer their narratives).

Nonetheless, the de facto trustees of the annual Adelbert B. Adriaansen dinner voted (4-3) to upgrade the kitchen at the International Order of the Moose believing that community gatherings would all benefit from having better facilities. Four of the trustees are Moose members.

“Maybe next year’s dinner won’t taste like a puke sandwich dipped in horse spit,” opined Roland.



Some resources:

http://www.maxpreps.com/news/btn1o1QxYkuYYbouFp6YDg/top-13-unbreakable-high-school-football-records-that-have-actually-been-broken.htm

There is an argument that Stuit doesn’t hold the record: The record is purported to be 27 extra points. Ten years before Stuit booted his 24 extra points, a player listed only as "Kelting" (newspapers weren't real good about using first names of high school players back in 1902) kicked 27 extra points in Moline's 172-0 win over Galva. The record is listed with the Illinois High School Association.

http://www.americanwx.com/bb/index.php/topic/39392-1992-michigans-year-without-a-summer/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transmission_tower

Happy 90th!

After too long, I got to visit with Howard tonight. There had been several drive-by attempts over the last few months, but I spotted lights in the kitchen and was rewarded with a gruff, “Come in” when I knocked.

He looked good. Walking with confidence and clearly had been busy – the dining room table was leaved out to its full length and set with a high-end set of linens and china. I asked what was going on, “Yesterday, I had the whole family here – Friday, I have my friends coming.” He went on, “Friday is when I turn 90.” I told him he didn’t look a day over 89; he laughed while he cussed me and told me to make a drink.

“I had too much to drink yesterday,” Howard admitted fully without shame, but with the wonderful flat tone that visits everyone the day following too much. His entire family came to celebrate – 29 adults and 9 great-grandchildren. He spoke of his love for his great-grandchildren – one in particular. When she was born, two and a half months premature, she fit in the palm of his hand. She’s seven now – having some troubles in school and having vision challenges. “She’s my sweetheart.”

After hearing about the menu and all the fun the party brought, Howard got very candid about life and death. “Life is a gift – if you don’t appreciate it every day, you don’t deserve it.”

Among the musings came a funny and poignant story about a friend of his who was under hospice care. “Andy” had a brain tumor that had labored him with nine surgeries (according to Howard, he had a brass plate on his skull that was removed when access was required). Howard recounted how he would take Andy downtown Ann Arbor weekly and they’d visit three bars each time – sharing one beer between them at each spot.

At what Howard knew was close to the end of Andy’s life, Andy invited Howard and his friend “Beth” to a wine tasting at his house. Howard met him years prior while Andy was lying across a supermarket aisle arranging wine bottles. “Get the hell out of my way,” Howard recalled saying.

“Walk around dammit,” replied his soon to be best friend Andy.

The wine tasting involved three bottles – all masked in paper bags. “Can you believe it? I liked the $1.98 wine the best,” reported Howard. A little note: Howard is a significant collector and aficionado of wine – the good stuff.

Howard choked up a bit – he added that the hospice nurse had predicted that Andy wouldn’t live through the night. Howard and Beth assured her that they would stay and take care of him.

It wasn’t long after the wine tasting that Andy announced that he needed to go to bed. Howard and Beth helped him into bed and were saying goodnight when Andy – embarrassed – admitted that he needed to use the restroom. With Howard supporting one arm and Beth supporting the other, they walked him to the loo and stood him before the stool.

“I can’t pull it out.”

Howard immediately said he’d hold Andy up and told Beth to help him. She did, he went, and back to bed they took him.

Andy then said his last words: “Beth, I’ve been waiting 20 years to have you fondle me and wouldn’t you know, I’m too sick to do anything about it.” He passed away during the night.

Howard and I laughed and laughed until his eyes filled with tears missing his friend.




Photo reported to be in the public domain and available here:  Link