It's mourning again in America

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I was on the verge of posting something I thought was funny this weekend when I wondered about the tastefulness of trying to provoke laughter when so many of my Pittsburgh friends are bereft.

I asked my friend John. He advised me to wait until at least Tuesday before resuming any on-line silliness. “Any sooner than that,” he said, “and you risk looking like a callous jerk.”

I’d hate for even one person to consider me either — and I beg your pardon for appropriating the use of the word hate on a weekend when hate was so emphatically defined.

So in deference to the dead and grieving, I’ll not post any jokes until around noon Tuesday. But if proper mourning time were the issue none of us would ever laugh again. 

Sadly, it seems like it’s always mourning in America.

I’ve been mourning hate-crime victims since as long as I’ve been alive.

My mourning for The Tree of Life slaughter won’t lap the evergreen mourning I feel for the nine murdered worshippers at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston. A godforsaken white supremacist in 2015 murdered them right there in the pews.

And I’ve never seen a single white supremacist that made me, a fellow white, ever feel the least bit supreme.

I’ve been mourning the senseless death of Matthew Shepard for 20 years. Remember him? He was murdered in 1998 by two Wyoming hoodlums who hated him for being gay. His funeral was protested by aberrant church members for whom “God Hates Fags” held more scriptural relevance than “Love Thy Neighbor.”

Shepard was in the news this week. After 20 years without a final resting place, his mortal remains finally found a home in the National Cathedral in Washington DC. His parents said they rejected traditional burial in the hometown cemetery for fear it would attract homophobic vandals whose hatreds extend to beyond the grave.

It would be different if there was any rational evidence that hate crimes modified behavior. But the result of hate crimes always seems to be a strengthening of the identity of those who are victimized simply for being born themselves.

I’ll never understand how one man who disagrees with the things millions and millions of others believe thinks he can change even one mind by killing maybe a dozen or so of us.

For instance, I’m unaware of any mass of homosexuals who decided to become less gay after the Matthew Shepard murder.

Elton John wrote “American Triangle,” an achingly poignant 2001 song about the murder, and in 2009 Shephard became a namesake inspiration for federal hate crime legislation, and gay marriage is now the law of the land.

The two men who killed him? Both were in their early 20s at the time of the murder and have been serving life without parole ever since. 

I wonder what they hate about prison.

Certainly no hate crime has ever led people to become less Black or less Jewish.

Good-hearted and tolerant people will always rally around the persecuted. That’s what happened in Pittsburgh Sunday as 2,000 mourners gathered in the rain to show soulful solidarity.

It’s happened throughout history. 

Christianity didn’t really take off until after its leader was killed in a hate crime that resulted in the forgiveness of all the people who commit hate crimes.

You may have heard of him.

He was some Jew.

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Last Easter Mom nearly choked in church

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On this weekend of deaths and resurrections, I’d like to talk about the one that got away.

Jesus lives!

And so does my Mom!

Last Easter, for the latter the matter seemed in doubt.

It was a moment I’ll never forget. She nearly died the most perfect Christian death. And I was right there rooting for it. Praying, actually.

Many will think me callous, sacrilegious, heartless, blah, blah, blah.

But she’s my 84-year-old mother. I’m her primary caretaker. I’m the one who takes her to the doctor, the beauty salon, and along with Val sees to all her needs, and the one thing this seven-year journey has taught me is to never judge others or myself when it comes to honest emotions in dealing with dementia patients.

I dearly miss the way she was. She’s always reminded me of Carol Burnett and I got my sense of humor from her so it’s fair to say she gave me everything I have.

Since we moved her out here in August, we see her nearly every day. She’s enjoyed the kids’ school plays and performances and sitting by the family fire when it’s snowy and out on the porch when it’s warm.

And in the moment, she’s always very happy.

It’s just in the very next moment, she doesn’t remember a single bit of it.

Just Sunday I took her to her old church in the South Hills where she was for years a joyful fixture in the choir. All her friends were there and went with us to a grand lunch at a lively neighborhood restaurant.

It was wonderful. She is beloved.

And not 30 minutes later she couldn’t recall where we’d been, who we’d seen or what we’d done.

She’s been like that for about five years.

Yet, she’s incredibly fit with a constitution that impresses her doctor.

“I can’t explain it, but her health is excellent,” he said. “She could live another 10 years.”

Hallelujah.

Her father lived to 97.

So, forgive me, but I have morbid impatience for seeing how this all ends.

Especially after last Easter Sunday.

She was with us in church, smiling and sweet as ever, when it came time for holy communion. When it was our turn, I assisted her out of the pew and up to the altar where together three generations knelt for our blessings.

A covenant that symbolizes the Last Supper, the wafer and wine represent the very body and blood of our savior Jesus Christ.

And for an electric moment last Easter we all thought it was going to kill Nana.

My daughters contend it was the wine down the wrong pipe, but I say it was the wafer because it’s what I truly believe (and because, sure, it makes a better story).

Either way, she began choking. Right there at the altar.

She was coughing. Gagging. Turning red.

It was beautiful!

Think about it.

If Mom dies there on the altar, on Easter Sunday, choking on the body and blood of her Savior, could there possibly be a better Christian death?

I don’t think so. I think you’d go right to heaven where Jesus begs your forgiveness and then escorts you to a really nice balcony suite with free HBO and a stack of chips you can use in the casino.

Just like Vegas!

Hell, you couldn’t wish for a better death.

I remember my exact thoughts as I sensed Mom might be choking to death:

Don’t anybody touch her!

My great fear was some church butt-in-ski was going to rush up and give her the Heimlich Maneuver and save her life.

Such heroics would have left me in a terrible quandary: Do I let him or her save my Mom or do I wrestle them to the carpet right there by the pulpit to ensure the life saving does not occur?

It was not to be.

What ever the obstruction, her ever-loving will to live overcame it. The drama was over. She was fine.

Still is.

Praise God.

I continue to spend much of my waking hours tending to her needs and ensuring her comfort. Those efforts include seeing to her spiritual devotions.

That’s why Sunday I’m again looking forward to taking her to Easter service, saying my steadfast prayers about her future and ensuring she gets to partake in the holy communion.

Oh, yes. I’ll see to it she again partakes of the body and the blood.

I’ll do so if I have to drag her bony old ass up there myself!

It’s just what any good son would do.

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Trump dominates August tweets. Of course, he does!

I wonder if having wifi in the Tin Lizzy is boosting my 8days2Amish Twitter output. I thought August was a very fruitful month. Perhaps it’s because I can now post them the instant they pop into my head — I rarely post with smartphone. 

Of course, it’s dominated by Trump.

First day of school today. Yay! To celebrate, I may spend the whole day strolling around the house in my underwear.

Just hope I remember to put the outdoor duds back on when I head out to the afternoon bus stop.

• What did cavemen call houseflies?

• I’m not up to speed on bovine anatomy, but I have to think a rump roast would come from a bum steer.

• I predict this is the week Trump declares he will rename Gulf of Mexico the Gulf of Make America Great Again.

• Doggedness is an admirable quality. Dogged people never quit. I fear I’ve always acted with cattedness.

• I’m still hoping to see reporter ask Trump to name historical women he most admires & hear him say, "Miss Norway, Miss Spain, Miss Brazil…"

• When I promised I'd no longer write about politics, I had no idea Donald Trump was going to be the leading GOP candidate. #Trump2016

• Coaching 9-year-old to say anytime she sees grade school kid picking nose, "There's a farmer in the booger barn!”

• Smart phones are great, sure, but until smart phones have coin return slots where you can find surprise quarters they won't measure up.

• Thinking of spending the day trying to discern which came first: The word "computer" or the word “glitch."

• I’ll bet there are many days each week Dick Cheney wakes up and is stunned to realize he is no longer President of the United States.

• Is the reason the Koch Bros. aren't running for GOP nom. because they can't agree who should be Veep?

• I can only conclude anyone who says puns are the lowest form of humor has never seen an Adam Sandler flick.

• I’m convinced the first thing to go is the inability to resist saying, "The first thing to go . . .”

• Time doesn't fly. It drives a Maserati, drunk, down the Autobahn with a brick strapped to the accelerator.

• Those who obsess over audacious bucket lists go beyond the pail. 

• Forlorn should be spelled fourlorn so we could gauge our level of lorness: Ex. "I was feeling sixlorn so I had a cookie and it made me threelorn.”

• Remember, having a great relationship with the Lord doesn’t mean you can treat the rest of us like crap.

• Silent letters drive me pcrazy!

• Pope asks us to embrace divorced Catholics. Aren't embraces what started all the trouble in the first place?

• How to punish Keith Richards for saying "Sgt. Pepper" sucks? Only one option: He must marry Yoko.

• Grammarians understand it's possible for a stationery store to be based in a mobile home.

• Stones classic #ExileOnMainStreet turns 43 this year. Time to change iconic song title to "Shake Your Replaced Hips.

• I’m going to stand in dimly lit room, extend video cam & spin ‘til I’m dizzy. Then I’ll post & boast I spent 2 mins in eye of a tornado.

• If you're livin' in New Orleans and yer nickname ain't "Fats" then you just ain't livin' right.

• I’ve discovered new way to make junk science even more suspect: depending on the nacho and the setting, 5-second rule is now the 1-min rule

• Thought of way to ensure real face time with Trump: Tell his people sketches of how he'll look on Rushmore ready and he needs to choose most flattering perspective.

• We will eliminate hunger when the world operates on the same humble principle as, "Need a penny? Take a penny/ Have a penny? Leave a penny”

• Many dads accused of being helicopter parents, always hovering. Me, I'm more of a sidecar parent, just along for the ride.

• I think I'm like most writers in that I encourage ones who are less accomplished than I and disdain those who are more.

• Getting out of bed makes me feel like WWI soldier being ordered to vault from trench into No Man’s Land certain to face heroic annihilation.

• I wonder if Hell has Congeniality contests and how long it'll be before Bill Cosby is eligible.

• Can you imagine how pharmaceutical stocks would have risen if the doctors had been prescribing Ritalin when the #3Stooges were lads?

• I’m in a crusade to get national OBGYN organizations to start calling postpartum depression by a fun new name: "Stork Raving Mad!”

• My mind's been wandering so long I'm surprised it's not appeared on someone's milk carton.

• How come the words work and fork don't rhyme, but beer and mirror do?

• Given surplus of one and deficit of the other, I imagine when Jesus comes back he'll turn California wine into water.

• Being unwittingly charged merely for seeking tech answers is a fee-ASK-o.

• I’m still mystified why more transgender people don't congregate in a Wisconsin town named Sheboygan.

• Every time I see a picture of Gloria Allred in the news I think her name should be Gloria Allmakeup.

• I’m like most dads in that I'm not without my faults. I make mistakes. I screw up. I'm a flawther.

• We live in an age where people display more affection for devices that play music than for the music devices play.

• Your typical pessimist suffers from pre-traumatic stress disorder.

• At some point this week, I hope to come up with a theory about why a gun isn't called a bang.

• What’s going to happen to America when Trump announces he'll pay bail for anyone who's passionate about helping him deport illegals? 

• I know the lie diminishes me, but I can't help running into rooms and saying, "Did you hear? Dick Cheney's gonna be on #DWTS!”

• The quest has ended in disappointment since the dawn of man, but every decent herb factory has at least one thyme machine.

• I wonder how much the bucket lists of people who own bucket factories differ from the rest of ours.

• Fashion experts who work to ensure ample bosoms fit snugly in frilly brassieres are rack-contours.

• If I ever get another pet I'm gonna name him Peeve so I can say, "Here comes my pet Peeve.”

• I understand if I pray for riches, I'll get nothing and if I pray for wisdom, I'll need nothing. I can't help. Still praying for riches

• If laughter is truly best medicine then how come the pharmaceutical conglomerates haven't found a way to gouge us for watching “#Seinfeld?"

• Getting more and more difficult to convince wife I'm obsessively following Ashley Madison news because I'm passionate about internet security.

• Because of the lasting damage the candidate is doing to the GOP brand, I must conclude Bill Clinton knows nothing about politics after he advised Trump running for president was a good idea.

• We hear lots about Jesus as the Son of God. I wonder about Uncle Jesus. Wouldn't it have been cool to say Jesus was your Uncle?

• Something tells me he admires Trump's moxie, but thinks the needs the guidance of an old Washington hand. Yes, he thinks America is ready for Trump/Cheney

 • It had a handsome leading man, an earnest sidekick and international intrigue, but there was something about Ohio Five-O that never caught on. Oh, and Ohio Five-O had scenic corn locales.

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