Death- the last sleep? No the final Awakening
-Walter Scott

My 87 year old grandmother passed away last night. She has been in an assisted living facility for over ten years, and her health has been rapidly deteriorating over the past two weeks. While it is hard to see someone pass from this life, there is some comfort when you see an end to the suffering. She suffered from Alzheimer’s disease and hadn’t known me for many years. She never knew my children.

It was the first time that I had been present when a person passed away. Working in a hospital with trauma patients I had been around people when they have given their ‘death rattle’, but quickly left the room to allow family members to share the last moments with their loved ones. I was in my grandmother’s room with my mother, her cousin, my sister Kat and Patrick when grandma drew her last breath. I was worried that Patrick would be upset by the process, but he wasn’t. He had been playing with a wheelchair, undoubtedly trying to devise a way to take it apart, but when grandma passed he stopped and sat on the floor, reverent. The whole room had suddenly become very peaceful. Grandma had been taking slow, pained breaths for quite some time, and when they stopped, we all knew without speaking. My mother sat on the bed quietly weeping. Patrick stood and approached her, placing a hand on her knee and quietly saying “It’s okay Grandma. I’m sure she went to heaven.”

I was grateful that I was able to be present when she passed away. It was nice to get a chance to say goodbye, even if she wasn’t able to hear me. Fifteen years ago when her husband Ted passed away, he came in from shoveling snow, sat down and died from a massive myocardial infarction. It was sudden, and I wished that I had been given the chance to see him one more time. Years later I learned that when he was child Ted’s father had also died of a sudden massive heart attack.

As we get ready for funeral arrangements I find myself thinking about all of the things about Marjorie Briggs Mudge that made me laugh. We were never as close to my mother’s family, and did not have many memories to time with them. But the times we did have provided lasting memories. The most important to me is when we traveled to Vancouver to attend the World Fair in 1986. This marked the only time that we ever went on vacation with the Mudges. They were incredibly frugal people, and packed sandwiches and veggies into the park every day. While we were trying foods from all over the world I watched grandpa choke down celery sticks until the last day in the park, when he forsook his packed food in favor of, as he put it, “real food.”

Grandma’s frugality became very apparent at Christmas, a time they spent at our house every year. We would be chastised for ripping the wrapping paper when opening our Christmas presents, and Grandma carefully folded the paper, boxes and even tissue for future use.

Marge also didn’t allow us to waste food. (This is among my all time favorite stories). When Chas was born the Mudges came to stay with us while Mom was in the hospital. For dinner she made frozen fish sticks, which were, along with tomatoes, the bane of our existence. Alley and I choked ours down, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to leave the table until we did. Beckie was a bit more stubborn, and sat there staring at the deep-fried sticks and refusing to eat. Finally Beckie was sent to her room, presumably to go without dinner for the rest of the night and with a good tongue lashing. Ten minutes later Grandma summoned Beckie back to the kitchen with an apology for the things that she said. “I’ve even made you a nice shake.” She told the six year old. Beckie took one swig of the shake and learned that the uneaten fish sticks had been blended up with some sugar and milk. Beckie vomited in the kitchen, for which she was punished again. If you know my sister, please don’t mention this episode. It is still a sensitive story twenty years later.

Grandma also hated losing. When we would play board games she would do anything to win. Once when we were playing Scattergories she had to come up with something that hangs on the wall. The letter was “H”, but Grandma wanted to say “pictures” so she submitted the word “Hictures”. We vetoed the entry and did not award a point. She invented several other strange words.

Thinking of these and other funny stories about Grandma makes me hope that when I pass from this life to the next that people won’t mourn, but remember the fun times they had with me, or at least the positives.

My Addiction

My father first got me hooked when I was just six years old. I have spent the better part of twenty five years trying to beat my addiction. But with each passing year I realize that I will die before I am able to kick the habit. Though my Dad got me started and I am now an adult, he still keeps me stuck in my habit. He’s my pusher, my supplier.

Every time I take a hit, I reach unheard of highs, experiencing the greatest feelings of wonder and amazement. But before the night is over, I usually bottom out, feeling like I am going to cry because of the pain. I struggle to get out of bed to go to work the next day. Each time I vow never to go back, but I know that my promises will be broken within a few days, and I will go back to the well, hoping against hope that the next time the good feelings won’t be lost.

Yes, the Utah Jazz are my addiction, and my father is my pusher, giving me free tickets to games, just to keep me going. But other times I work to support my habit, because I have to pay the cable bill in order to get my fix.

I don’t blame my Dad. I am sure he didn’t know how much I would be affected. It started out so simple. In the early eighties the Jazz were terrible, and when they lost no one cared. We just enjoyed being there. When they upset Magic and the Lakers we thought it was as good as it would get. But the days of Adrian Dantley and Rickey Greene were just the gateway for me, to get me started, wetting my appetite. Then came two guys, John and Karl, and I was hooked for good. A guy named Sloan and another known as ‘Horney’ sealed my fate.

Each year when they would get bounced from the playoffs I would walk away saying, “Next year. Our time is coming.” I eagerly waited for the pre-season to start. Then in 1997 and again in 98 we had our big chance. Both years I knew that I would fly high in victory, and not experience the painful rebounds. And both years I was devastated. Since then times have been tough. I have been looking for the good stuff, but have been unable to feel the highs that were so regular back in the good old days.

But this year was different. No one was hurt, and it was our turn to make some noise again. They started 12-1 and looked for real. I had finally found the good stuff again. But just like always, the energy I found in the excitement gave way to depressing lows when they hit the skids recently. They start good and when they start to cave in I turn off the TV in disgust, vowing to kick my habit. Why should I go back to them when they make me feel so low? But I already know that I won’t keep my promise. And even when I claim I am not going to watch, I TiVO the event.

My dear wife has tried many interventions, but to no avail.

When my Dad gave me the season opener tickets against the Rockets I took my son. He’s not hooked yet, and might not ever experience the self-torture I expose myself to. I may be lost, but there is hope yet for him.

The Really Nice Monkey King

Once there lived a monkey king. He had all the money he needed. He scratched his butt one day. He had no children and wife. He hated the town of monkeys. They scratched their butts more. They monkeys in town ate bananas and flies. But the king didn’t like it that much. But one day he made a meeting to the castle. Then he said “Town of monkeys! I command you to stop eating bananas and flies. And from now on we will eat grass.” The monkeys sighed and cried a lot. They hate grass or wood bark. They didn’t listen to the king. The king was so angry he made them go to monkey jail. They didn’t like monkey jail that much. They wanted to get out. “But how?” one said. They promised they would eat grass or wood bark for the rest of their lives. The king wanted them to eat bananas, flies, grass and wood bark. They asked to see the king. They went to the king. “All hail monkey king.” Said all of the monkeys. “We’re sorry, monkey king.” The king accepts their apology and let them go.

The end
By Whitney Elizabeth Shirley

Let the Church Ball Begin!

Tonight marked the beginning of another exciting season of church basketball. I haven't picked up a ball in five months, but I went anyway. The final line: 12 minutes played (out of 24), no points on 0-3 shooting (all tip attempts), zero assists, zero blocks, zero steals, 10 rebounds. At least I hit double figures somewhere. We won 63-43. I think I am on to something here. I call it coat tails...

Recent Quotes from the Four-Year-Old Brain of Patrick

“Mama? Is Papa an ass?”

Patrick: Papa? Is our family senior citizens?
Me: No Patrick. Senior citizens are old, like sixty-five.
Patrick: Oh! Is Grandma Pat a senior citizen?
Me: Uh, yeah. I guess.
Patrick: Does Grandma Pat have a Life Alert?
Me: I don’t know. Why?
Patrick: Every senior citizen should have Life Alert.
Me: Well, you’ll have to ask Grandma Pat.

“Fine! You’re not my best friend for forty days and thirty nights!” (Said whenever he is upset at not getting his way.)

“She thinks my tractor’s sexy…” (sung)

Kate: Patrick! Why do you take your shoes off the second you get in the car?
Patrick: Because my socks make my feet all sweaty. It’s like they’re on fire!

Me: Patrick, did you have a good time at the Jazz game tonight?
Patrick: No.
Me: Yes you did. I saw you. You were standing up, looking down at the court and clapping.
Ard: Patrick was looking at the Jazz dancers.
Patrick: (batting his eyes at me) I was.

Patrick: Papa? Who is the goofy gay guy?

Me: Ask your Mom.

Aunt Melissa: Patrick, are you ready to go to Disneyland?

Patrick: Yeah. I just need to find my damn shoes.

We’re Gonna Potty, Like It’s Your Birthday

How is it that a child can go from being fully potty trained to completely incontinent in just a few days? Samantha went from being completely housebroken to being a chronic urinator. I don’t get it. She was even waking up dry (something Patrick still can’t do). We have tried everything we could think of. We started with positive reinforcement when she went pee-pee like a big girl. We tried more Draconian measures of threatening to throw away her Dora the Explorer underpants when she defiled them. We’ve even tried jelly bean and bubble gum rewards. It’s getting to be a battle of determination, and Samantha is proving to be a true mule-stubborn Shirley. She’s crapping in her drawers just to exercise her will over us. It really is an act of defiance. When she gets angry she screams and urinates all over as part of her temper tantrum. But we’ll win out. When she does it to me, I simply make her keep the soiled undergarment on. Eventually she’ll get tired of stinking….

A Sprouting Bean

Since I mentioned Lauren’s seizures many people have asked me how she’s been doing. We appreciate the concern. Since that one night she has not had any recurrences. She is still developmentally delayed, and has had a therapist coming out to work with her. Actually the therapist works with us. But Bean is starting to finally learn some words. I was excited when she crawled over, picked up her Cabbage Patch Kid and said “Baby.” I was less than excited when she threw her cup at me and said, “No!”

She is also starting to take a few steps. She crawls so fast that she has no need for walking. But she has shown that she can take steps when she wants to. She just doesn’t want to. We went swimming last night, and she found that the rough concrete around the pool is not comfortable on her shins, so she was crawling by placing her hands on the ground, and then walking on her feet. She looked ridiculous. Kate said that she saw a bit on the Today show about a whole family of people somewhere in Europe who walked that way. But Bean found that this way of crawling doesn’t work when she started to go into the shallow area of the pool. As she descended down the slope her face soon went under the water, while her bum was still in the air. I think the pool is helping her to stand, though. She tries to stand in the water and balance against the currents of the water. I think it will make her leg muscles stronger.

Speaking of swimming pools, check out the following picture. This is from a few years ago when I took Patrick and Whitney swimming at the rec center. Note the strange woman “posing” in the background. We have no idea who she is, but she clearly thinks that she is sexy.

Well I Guess This is Growing Up…

Whitney is finding out how mean little kids can be. A couple of the girls who were friends of hers told her that they don’t like her and don’t want to be friends with her. Later one of them told her “Well, we’re not friends, but those are cute boots.” On another occasion they stole her lunchbox. They also stole her glasses and threw them in the snow.

Though the girls are being mean to her, she is handling it pretty well. Last week she told Kate that she saw one of her classmates, Brittney, crying and that she wanted to call Britney and invite her to be friends. She did so, and the two are now friends. It will be amusing if Whitney and Brittney stay friends as they grow up. Whitney really is a good kid with a huge heart. She’ll always be my sweetheart.

Things to do in Denver When You’re Drunk

Before the NFL regular season started, my brother-in-law Jim got some tickets for a pre-season Broncos game. He used some credit card points to purchase the tickets. Just before Christmas, he received a call from the card company asking if he wanted some free tickets to the season finale against the San Francisco 49ers. Of course he said yes. He told us about his fortunes when he was here for Christmas, and we were jealous. When he went to pick up the tickets, instead of the pair he was expecting, he was given 3 pairs. One pair was for the luxury seats and the other two pair were 24 rows from the field. Jim graciously offered his extra tickets to us, and we didn’t hesitate to accept.

Bright and early Saturday morning I left for Denver with Mac and Melissa (who turned the trip into an early anniversary) and Beth’s husband Scott. We took Mike’s Montero, for which I am grateful. I didn’t want to put over 1000 miles on my new car, nor did I want to be smashed inside of it with three other people. Kate said the trip would be a good chance for me to get to know more about my in laws. She was right. I learned that Mac drives like a grandma. The first leg of our journey from Salt Lake to Rawlins, Wyoming took quite a long time. I also learned that his wife, Melissa drives much faster. She took the wheel for the first leg of the return trip. Each time I looked at the speedometer while she was driving I could see that we were pushing triple digits and she was hunched over the steering wheel muttering something like “It’s okay babies…Momma’s on her way….” It was her first trip away from her kids, and she was in a hurry to get back to them. I haven’t known Scott long, so I had the most to learn about him. I found that Scott has a pea-sized bladder. We weren’t into the trip an hour before we had to stop for a pee break. My kids do better on long trips. Scott also has Barry White, Linda Ronstadt and the 'Grease' soundtrack on his iPod. I’m a little concerned about that. Most importantly I learned that Scott doesn’t like to be touched, and has little experience dealing with drunken people.

But more on that later.

Sunday morning Jim and Pilu made us a huge breakfast, and then we layered up and headed for Invesco field at mile high. I was worried that I had too many layers on, because the sun was out and it was warm. But later I would be thankful that I had so many articles of clothing. Denver, as I’m sure you know, has had a lot of snow, and most of it was still caked onto the streets and sidewalks. We took the light rail from the Christiansen’s to the stadium, along with thousands of our best friends.

I had never been to an NFL game before that day, and the largest stadium I had ever seen was the Rose Bowl, where as a kid I saw Pink Floyd in concert. I was stunned by the enormity of Invesco. To say that it is huge doesn’t do justice. And it is nice and clean. Our seats were on the visitor’s side, just off the end zone. We were close enough to read the player’s names from their jerseys when they were in the red zone. We were also in the sun for the first half, and I was glad that I had brought my ball cap instead of just a stocking hat.
The first half of the game was disappointing. Though the Broncos were up 13-3 at the half we were frustrated that both trips to the end zone had seen first-and-goals and ended up with only field goals. The only Bronco touchdown was scored by the defense on the turnover. I have to admit I was torn. I wanted the Broncos to win and get into the playoffs, but I also wanted to see 49ers QB Alex Smith do well. The last time I had seen Smith play was when he started his final home game for the University of Utah in Rice/Eccles stadium in Salt Lake. After the Utes throttled BYU (ha-ha!) to complete their undefeated season and lock up a trip to the Fiesta Bowl we helped to carry Smith around the field. So you can understand my dilemma.

Though the game was disappointing in the first half, the excitement in the stands around us made up for it. I had never been to a professional sporting event outside of sheltered Salt Lake City, and I was expecting to see new and wondrous things. I was not disappointed. During the first quarter I discovered that Scott doesn’t like to be touched when the woman sitting behind us started running her hands over his hair. Scott’s hair is cut short, and perfectly coiffed. He politely asked her to stop, and when she didn’t he lightly began slapping her hand away. She kept pestering him about whether or not he was in the military and why he wouldn’t let her touch. It was obvious that she was drunk. When she arrived her friend even commented “I’m glad you made it. You’re usually passed out by now.” The drunk asked me about why he wouldn’t let her touch, and not wanting to make a scene I told her that his wife wouldn’t appreciate it if she saw it on TV, which was true.

I could tell that Scott was getting upset, so I tried to take the heat off of him. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I asked Scott, “Do you want my hat? She won’t want to play with my hair because I don’t have any.” She heard me, and began to play with the hair sticking out from the bottom of my ball cap. When I was in first grade Mrs. VanBlankenstein told me that if someone was annoying you, that you should ignore them. Then when they see that you are not bothered by them, they will get bored and bother someone else. I tried to apply that logic here, to no avail. I let her play with my hair while I attempted to keep track of the game. She then began to play with my ears, rubbing them. I was just waiting for a camera to point at me and have Kate see some woman fondling me. It wouldn’t have gone over well.

She then leaned up and asked “I’ll bet I could make your nipples hard.” Her breath reeked of beer. I tried to think of a stinging comeback while Scott turned red. Before I could think of a retort her hand shot down the front of my shirt and she gave my nip a little squeeze. To add insult to injury her hands were icy cold and leathery. I grabbed her arm and dragged it back out.

I felt those cold hands on the back of my neck and her breath on my ear. “I’m disappointed I didn’t get your nipples hard.” said she. Her hand shot down again, but I was the quicker. I grabbed my shirt collar and twisted it, preventing another unauthorized entry. She kept at it through most of the first half. I was the recipient of half a dozen wet willies.
At one point she leaned over me to get a beer from beer man, and I got a good look at her. She was nasty. That made the violation even worse. I heard her tell the beer man that she was 45. If she admitted to 45 she was at least 50. That made it even worse. She had a stud in her nose. That made it even worse. She was nearly old enough to be my mother, and acting like a fool. Just before half time I looked over to see her about to lick the back of Scott’s neck. She was about an inch away, looking at me. I just shook my head, and she backed off. That would have been the last straw. Scott would have punched her, I am sure of it.

At half time she disappeared, never to return. I am sure she passed out somewhere. Before she left, her girlfriend leaned up and told me that she wanted to talk to my wife and tell her how cool I was because, as she put it I was “putting up with a lot of shit and handling it well.” I told her that I would never forget this game.

We were left to watch the second half unmolested (literally) but we did see a fight between Broncos fans just in front of us. The Broncos scored late in the 4th quarter to send the game into overtime, where they lost on a 49ers field goal. We had a good time, and even though they lost it was great to be there and yell with the crowd “In-Com-Plete!” when the 49ers dropped a pass. The Broncos loss meant that they are out of the post season, but that wasn’t the greatest loss. The next morning as we were headed home Kate called to tell us that Darrent Williams, cornerback for the Broncos, who we had seen play the night before had been shot and killed outside a party for Kenyon Martin. The details are at http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=2716385 It is strange to think that I had just seen him the night before he was killed. It’s a real tragedy.

But our sports excursion didn’t end with the Broncos loss. We left Invesco field and walked directly over to the Pepsi Center to see the Denver Nuggets host the Dallas Mavericks. Jim and Pilu already had tickets, so Scott and I had them pick us up a couple and tagged along. Mac and Melissa split off from us at this point. They had “other business” to attend to.

Our seats were in the upper bowl, and I was shocked how small the Pepsi Center looked in comparison to the Delta Center (er, I mean Energy Solutions Arena). But the reason it looked so small to me was that I had just come from the 74,000 seat Invesco. Of course a 20,000 seat arena would look small. As soon as we were seated Scott and I began stripping down. We each took off about ten layers of clothing just to keep from sweating to death and I was regretting the extra pair of socks I had on. But the layers had been handy at the football game, as the temperature dropped after the sun disappeared at half time. And when it was getting cold I didn’t have my ‘girlfriend’ to keep me warm. I can’t believe I just said that.

Anyway, the basketball game was good fun. I have always wanted to see a game at another arena. Again I was torn. I wanted to root root root for the home team, but the home team is in the same division as my Jazz, so I needed them to lose, to help my team. Another reason I struggled to cheer for the Nuggets can be better explained if you see my blog post from 12/16/06. The Mavericks were playing without Dirk Nowitzki, but it didn’t matter. Dallas is just too good, and beat the Nuggets despite an impressive night from Allen Iverson. I guess Scott and I are bad luck for Denver professional teams. I wanted to stay an extra night just to see an Avalanche game and test my theory.

Since I had been wearing a ball cap all day I didn’t want to take it off because of ‘hat hair’, so I left it on. It has a Jazz logo on it, which earned me many dirty looks from the Nuggets’ faithful, including a snide comment from the guy who sold me my overpriced cheese steak sandwich.

We left the Pepsi Center and walked to old downtown Denver to get some dessert from the Cheesecake Factory. I love that place. If you go, try the chocolate raspberry truffle. It is so choice. On our way there we saw a guy and his date both slip and go down while crossing the street. It is not nice to laugh at others’ injuries, but it was too funny not to.
There was a long wait at the Cheesecake factory, so by the time we were done it was nearly midnight, and we filed out into the street to watch the firework show. It was a really impressive display.

We packed into a light rail train to get back to Jim and Pilu’s house. It was like a sardine can. The smell was a combination of several kinds of alcohol, stale perfume and just a hint of vomit. It was not altogether unpleasant. There were several college age kids singing oldies songs together in the middle of the car. On one end of the car, just behind the operator, one guy was yelling at the guy sitting across from him. “Shut up! You don’t know me. You can’t say that! Say that one more time and I’m going to pound your ass! Say it! Come on!” I was sure the argument was going to come to blows and was disappointed that it did not. On the other end of the car, two young ladies, who were pouring our of their blouses were sitting in between a dirty old man, fondling him and trying to get a picture of the two of them kissing him on the cheeks at the same time. (The cheeks on his face, by the way). He was soaking it in. It was a vile scene. During one of the stops, Scott and I had to step off the train to allow an elderly woman off. Just before I stepped back on the train I looked down to see a man helping his friend, who was unable to walk. The man being assisted had sharted. If you don’t know what a shart is, go to www.urban.dictionary.com and look it up. But this guy had more than just sharted. The whole back of his pants was covered. The guy helping him must have been a true friend. At another stop, we looked over to see that the eastbound train had also pulled into the station. The eastbound train was empty except for a trio of young men, none of which appeared to be over 18. The three boys had a giant bottle of tequila, which they held up in salute when they realized that we were looking at them.

I am eternally grateful to Jim and Pilu for giving us the football tickets. I think that they are just great people. Because they gave us those tickets I was able to get away and have a great short trip and experience things that you just don’t get to have in Salt Lake…