It's the Pickles!

We were young, stupid, and invincible. The advenures we shared could easily make an epic action comedy movie. A lot of details of the following post have been left out intentionally to protect the innocent and unknowing.

It started out as any other Friday night in Jacksonville. Ross was in the back seat and you riding shotgun in the "RockWagon", probably the funkiest smelling Ford Escort station wagon on the road. It had a nice lingering odor of stale pizza and alcohol. We had our cooler filled with ice and beer, both of which we always had plenty of. Funds however always seemed a little tight. We cruised the beach for a while looking for some women to party with. Finding nothing interesting we decided to head over to the Jacksonville to the State Fair.

We were parked on what I remember as a grass embankment next to an off ramp with dozens of other cars. We wandered into the fair half drunk and hungry. Ross decided to head off on his own to find a liquor store and some "entertainment" and we hit the ring toss tent. Looking back on it the goldfish we won and ate didn't really count as sushi but at the time they made nice snacks. Most of the fair itself is a blur. We lost Ross but found a couple of young ladies looking to party and have some fun. We took them back to the Rockwagon for some drinking, a little romance, and a standing ovation from the guys in the truck next to us. Apparently we put on quite the show in that make shift parking lot. We exchanged numbers with the girls and began our search for Ross. It was late, we were drunk and out of money. It made sense to us at the time to drive 6 hours to my credit union to get some cash and continue to enjoy the long weekend. We found Ross staggering towards the car and loaded him into the back seat and headed west, to Pensacola.
After about 5 minutes of driving I pulled over and we decided you would drive because you felt fine and I would take a little nap. Ross was passed out drooling on himself in the backseat. I woke up from my nap and we were pulled over off of the side of the highway and the sun was just coming up. I woke you up and asked how far we had gotten before you pulled over. "Gosh Duke I drove for hours we must be almost there." was your groggy reply. We swapped seats and pulled back out onto the highway. 5 minutes later we passed a sign, Now Leaving Jacksonville City Limits. You hadn't driven more than 10 minutes at most before pulling over.

Once we hit Pensacola the first stop was the ATM at my credit union. The second stop was a liquor store where we picked up rum, vodka, ice and Hawaiian Punch. We mixed it all together in a Styrofoam cooler and drove across the bridge to Pensacola Beach. Ross woke up once we got to the beach and joined us sitting it the sand admiring the sights and enjoying the cool water. We kept dipping plastic cups in the cooler to enjoy our "beach punch" and maintain our buzz. While we were Wading in the surf cooling off this guy comes up and starts complimenting you on your hair and how in shape we all are. That was my queue to bail out and get back to the cooler for another drink. I left you stranded with this guy that wanted to be "special" friends with you. It took him a few minutes to realize that you were straight and not interested in experimenting. You angrily rejoined Ross and I at the cooler and couldnt believe we abandoned you like that. You ranted and raved and drank for a good 15 minutes, then you calmed down and drank more. You and Ross decided that since I owned the car I should be the one to drive so the two of you finished off the contents of the cooler and we loaded ourselves back into the car.

After crossing Pensacola Beach Bridge it occurred to us that in the past 48 hours the only thing we had to eat were a couple of goldfish. We stopped at a Wendy's just past the bridge to sober up some more and have something other than snacks from an aquarium to eat. The Thundercats were all the rage at that time and Wendy's had a kids meal that was the Thundercats meal pack. You ordered one and when the young lady at the register laughingly handed it over you dumped the contents of it out on the counter and ran to the salad bar. Staring in disbelief I watched as you stole a full crock of potato salad and a full crock of pickles and poured them into the Thundercat Meal Pack box. You ran out of there giggling and stuffing handfuls of potato salad into your mouth. Once Ross and I caught up to you at the car you had eaten all of the potato salad and every last pickle wedge. We beat a quick retreat and decided we had worn out our welcome in Pensacola so we set our sights on Jacksonville.

Being low on fuel and needing something other than alcohol to drink I pulled into a gas station to fill up. The whole time I was pumping gas you were complaining about how you felt like you were going to puke. You promised over and over again that you wouldn’t puke in the car. You headed for the men’s room and jammed finger down your throat with no success. Ross and I stuck you in the back seat and began our way east on I10. Traffic was light and Ross and I kept an eye on you laughing the whole time because you had this line of drool hanging out of your mouth that was atleast 6 inches long. Every time you moved your head it swung like some ectoplasmic pendulum.

I was in the left hand lane coming up quickly on a conversion van that looked like it was straight out of the '70's. I switched lanes to the right and was watching my side view mirror so I could switch back again when your head popped out of the window. You began yelling "It's the pickles Duke, It's the pickles!" and then you puked straight into the open passenger window of the van as I passed it and all down the side of my car.

We've had many adventures, drunken and sober, but none are as memorable as hearing you yell "It's the pickles Duke, It's the pickles!"

It was 2 years ago today that he called us all together into his hospital room. He looked at of us and after a moment he spoke. He told us how proud he was of each of us and of the people we had become. Then, with a strength I didn’t know he still possessed, he told us he was done fighting. He said his decision was to stop all treatments and go into hospice as soon as it could be arranged. It was almost like watching or listening to an over acted drama scene on daytime television, only it was very real. We were all stunned and shocked by the finality of his words. He faced what had to have been the hardest decision concerning his life with awe inspiring strength and courage.

I was supposed to be leaving the next morning for a week long camping trip with my wife and kids. Should I go should I stay? I pulled my mother aside and asked for her thoughts on the matter. We talked briefly about it and agreed that nothing would probably happen for a couple of weeks and that I should just go and relax, try and enjoy part of my summer.

We packed up the camper and headed for Race Point on Cape Cod, one of our favorite places to visit with the kids. Race Point is one of a few shore beaches that you can visit in the U.S and see seals and whales while relaxing in the sand. We quickly setup the camper and armed with a picnic lunch, sunscreen, and fishing equipment, headed for the beach. It was a picture perfect New England beach day. The weather was incredible but the fishing was slow. A very large old seal had setup just out of casting distance from me keeping all the fish away. He stayed and swam around for hours, mocking me from a distance. I observed him several times staring up into the sky watching a kite someone was flying near me. I’m sure that he thought it was some sort of strange bird circling overhead and was just curious about it.

Having had enough of being mocked by the old seal and the heat, we headed back to the campground. I called my mother’s cell phone to check in and see what progress had been made in getting my father moved to hospice. My aunt (his little sister) answered Mom’s phone and filled me in. They were already at the hospice as the hospital had transferred him over about an hour before. While she and I were speaking he passed away.

The next several hours were a blur. I remember throwing my cell phone and pulling over so my wife could drive. I think breaking down camp went quickly but I don’t recall much of it or the drive back to Worcester. They held his body at the hospice until I arrived to say good bye. I stood in shock unable to move or speak as I stared down at him. Nothing I had to say seemed adequate. So I did what I felt was right, I told him I loved him and confessed to breaking his tractor and promised to fix it. The funeral service was nice and I delivered the eulogy. To date that is probably the hardest thing I have ever done.

It’s been a tough two years and it was made easier with the loving support of my family and friends. The pain hasn’t faded, it certainly doesn’t hurt any less today, I just deal with it better. I keep expecting to hear him say “Hello hello hello” as he walks through my door for a visit or to hear him call me by my nickname as he says goodbye on the phone.

I’d give anything to hear him call me Mouse just one more time.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day is quickly approaching and signals the beginning of summer. Most families celebrate the weekend with a cook-out, as does mine. In fact my father used to say it wasn't summer until he burnt a hotdog on the grill. What ever your tradition please take a moment and remember our fallen veterans. Observe the "National Moment of Remembrance" it occurs at 3P.M. on Memorial Day. It's at this time you will hear TAPS being played at National Cemetaries in honor of our fallen heroes. Don't just drive by the voluntary toll booths setup by the various veterans groups selling poppies. Buy one and think of the beautiful poem written by John McCrae in 1915:

In Flanders Fields
-John McCrae, 1915.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

The tradition of selling and wearing poppies can be traced back to Moina Michael. She penned this touching reply to In Flanders Field:

We cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.

"She then conceived of an idea to wear red poppies on Memorial day in honor of those who died serving the nation during war. She was the first to wear one, and sold poppies to her friends and co-workers with the money going to benefit servicemen in need. Later a Madam Guerin from France was visiting the United States and learned of this new custom started by Ms.Michael and when she returned to France, made artificial red poppies to raise money for war orphaned children and widowed women. This tradition spread to other countries. In 1921, the Franco-American Children's League sold poppies nationally to benefit war orphans of France and Belgium. The League disbanded a year later and Madam Guerin approached the VFW for help. Shortly before Memorial Day in 1922 the VFW became the first veterans' organization to nationally sell poppies. Two years later their "Buddy" Poppy program was selling artificial poppies made by disabled veterans. In 1948 the US Post Office honored Ms Michael for her role in founding the National Poppy movement by issuing a red 3 cent postage stamp with her likeness on it." - http://www.usmemorialday.org


It is the VETERAN,
not the preacher,
who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the VETERAN,
not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the VETERAN,
not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the VETERAN,
not the campus organizer,
who has given us freedom to assemble.

It is the VETERAN,
not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the VETERAN,
not the politician,
Who has given us the right to vote.


It is the
VETERAN who salutes the Flag,
who serves under the Flag,
and who is buried under the flag.

To my fellow VETERANS, Thank you for the sacrifices you have made so that we may live free and proud.

New Year

Push publish, must remember to push publish this time. I took the time to write a long post reflecting on the meaning of Christmas and the traditions of the holiday season. Touching on some of the traditions and anxieties shared this time of year. I forgot to push the publish button so there it sits in my drafts folder, mocking me with its hollyberries, gingerbread and candy cane smirkiness. Well, now on to a new beginning, a new year of hope and prosperity.

This past year had been tough and is best left behind. Not forgotten, but left in the past were it belongs. Respectfully remembered and referenced as needed but not with joy or happiness. Sure, there were moments of laughter and bliss but overshadowed by the fall of the economy and my loss of employment.

The new year is starting off rocky with the unavoidable loss of my house. I have no idea how long this process will take. I'm in unchartered territory. I've been open and honest with the mortgage company about my employment status from the start. I asked for a reduced payment and my arrears attached to the end of the note until I can get back on my feet. I've asked for help and been denied. I received the first notice the mortgage company has turned everything over to a lawyer for foreclosure proceedings. I received this lovely news on December 24th. Merry Christmas we don’t want to help you, good luck.

My wife and I will be all right, we have a pop-up camper and plenty of family and friends with big yards. The kids and the dog enjoy camping out. I like cooking on the grill and relaxing by a campfire. Even during New England winters. So it's time to pick myself up, dust myself off, and move on. But it makes me wonder, what happened to the bail out money and mortgage relief efforts? Were they real? Did they ever exist?

I approach this new year with an open heart, a clear mind, and a strong resolve to improve my life. I remain hopeful and do have a lot to look forward to this year. We have our health and one another and a strong foundation to rebuild on. We have a family member turning 90 in the spring, my wife graduating with her Masters Degree in May, and countless new adventures around each corner with the kids.

It is said that these defining moments help build and strengthen character. No thank you, I've had enough. I am often told that I am quite a character and have repeatedly displayed the depth of my emotional and physical strength. To the drama and frustration I say "No More!" Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I have this big furry friend hanging out with me who listens patiently and wants nothing in return except the occasional belly rub and taken for long walks.

It's snowing lightly outside so I'm grabbing the leash and hitting the woods with my furry buddy for a couple of hours. I think life would be more fun if we approached it the way my dog does. Get up, take a moment to stretch really good then treat everything as if it were some new exciting adventure.

Now off with you, go have an adventure and hug someone today.