Death and Dying

I'm reminded this morning that my parents were right about so many things. One thing I think my dad got perfectly correct is about cemeteries. My folks taught us all that when you die, the spark of life that is your soul goes to Heaven (we hope!) and what's left behind is useless. They don't believe in spending a ton of money on a funeral. They don't visit cemeteries and pray over the graves of lost loved ones. The celebrate the life that person led, and share stories of the good times.

I think this is the Irish in them talking. Wakes are all about telling stories about the person who passed. At a wake, there's generally more laughing, than crying.

I have a friend whose lost a mother and a nephew over the past two months. First things first, her family did NOT put the fun in dysfunctional. They are a soap opera in the making. Just one step shy of the Jerry Springer Show. I've heard so many anecdotes over the past ten years, that I wouldn't even know where to start. But one story that sticks in my mind occurs to me today because it's playing out again with the latest death of her nephew.

One side of the divorced couple wants a big funeral, expensive coffin and to share the expenses over everyone. The other side wants to cremate their loved one, and skip all the fuss. Both sides of the family are at each other's throats.

To me, that is the saddest part of this tragedy. Bad enough to lose a 30 year old relative. Worse to have the family all fighting when they should be supporting each other through the grieving process.

When did funerals get so expensive? When did coffins start costing as much as cars? How did we ever get convinced that we had to buy a carved monument--or it means we didn't love the person being buried?

I've told my kids I want to be cremated. And their directions are to get together, dig a hole, dump in my ashes and plant a tree on me. Hire a bagpiper to play "Amazing Grace". That's all the memorial I want when I die. Don't buy a plot. If you didn't buy me real estate while I was living, don't think about it when I'm dead. Don't come by and visit 'me' at a cemetery. I'm not going to be there. I might be haunting you, but I won't hang around a graveyard, that's just creepy.

My father's father was a caretaker of a cemetery for a few years. I'm sure my dad had to help mow and weed the area during his childhood. After spending a lot of time in a cemetery, he doesn't think there's anything worth going back to see. And I happen to agree with him.

When I drive by a National Cemetery with its regulation crosses and ranks upon ranks of graves, it always makes me cry. Such a loss of life. Fallen heroes.

When I go by a regular cemetery and see all the angel statues and elaborate tombstones, I don't necessarily think good thoughts. Sometimes I wonder if the buried person would celebrate the opulence or be dismayed at the expense? And the double tombstones with one person buried and the other side blank, just waiting, really make my skin crawl.

When I go, I want everyone to get along. I don't want my death to start a family feud. Throw a party. Tell embarrassing stories about me. Celebrate the impact I had on your life--if I had any at all. But don't feel like you need to spend a lot of money, or memorialize my passing. All the monument I need is the family I leave behind. Think good thoughts of me, and that will be sufficient.

--Sandee Wagner

Ask your neighbors... State Farm

Insurance is a topic that is sure to make my voice get screechier and raise my blood pressure. Basically, we're betting bad things will happen to us, and the insurance company is betting they won't. I'm pretty good at statistics, so I know the law of large numbers and how insurance works. I've actually worked for a few years in that industry, so I know it's peopled by hard working, well intentioned folks.

I have kept most of my insurance with a company that specializes in military families. It's always been a good value, they understand the needs of my family, and the claims get paid quickly and efficiently. In the face of no competitor with similar low rates, I've never been tempted to change to another company. Until recently.

I realized as I watched TV that the State Farm ads were getting to me. Making me rethink my insurance... but why? Why would I notice a competitive company after more than 25 years with another company??

The spokesman in the commercials has world class dimples. I can't think of any other reason why I'd believe this guy. When he grins, and he does, these great dimples appear. How can you not believe someone with dimples?? Isn't that the sign of an honest, forthright, smiling person?

I am such an idiot. When I realized that's all I was reacting to, I could have kicked myself. Now, don't get me wrong, I didn't switch over my insurance, but I was thinking about making a call... until I realized what the issue was. Eye candy on the commercials.

Nothing about Dennis Haysbert's excellent bass voice saying I'm in good hands makes me want to change my insurance. No amount of Dean Winters in the "Mayhem" commercials makes me want to switch over to Allstate. Hardly any of the entertaining Flo's antics compels me to pick up the phone and switch my allegiance to Progressive.

So why does the cute guy for State Farm make an impact? SafeAuto has a cute guy. 'Justin Case' shows up in billboards and on TV for SafeAuto. He doesn't phase me in the least.

Only the State Farm guy. It's gotta be the dimples. Can a guy with world class dimples lie to me?

--Sandee Wagner

Pitter Patter of Little Feet

For the past week, I've had my darling DIL and her two children (2.5 & 11 mos) here for a short visit. They are moving to MN. She and the kids cleared out before the packers and my son stayed behind to handle the moving truck load. It gave her a little break from the stress, and it kept the kids from being trapped with nothing but boxes to chew on.

We enjoyed the visit--at least I know I did.

It was fun to have little ones around the house. My DIL spent the first hour here following the baby around and putting stuff up high, out of reach.

It was especially fun to see and hear my grandson running around. When they talked about the 'pitter, patter of little feet', I guess I never put it together. Now that I think about it, when my kids were little, we always had carpeting.

I have travertine floors. When granson #2 got going, his little feet slapped on that stone and echoed through the great room. It was such a joyful sound!

Kids require a great deal of attention. I'm glad that the young have babies--I think you need stamina to keep up with children. My DIL is so patient, and such a good momma. Those kids are bright, engaging and healthy. They know they're loved. It's a delight to be around them.

We got to go to the zoo yesterday and see the animals. Little shouts of "what happened?", "what is that?" and "what's that noise?" filled the air. As he ran around from habitat to cage to lookout, we wheeled his little sister behind and tried to answer all those queries. So much learning going on in one little package.

Kids are a treasure. If you've got 'em, be sure and tell them that you love them. They grow up so soon and your empty nest won't have that pitter patter.

--Sandee Wagner

Flexible? Yes? No.

My husband spent years in the military, so we moved a lot. For years, I've considered myself to be really flexible. Willing to embrace change. Apparently, those days are over.

DH took a temporary assignment earlier this year. It was supposed to run from March through September. About six weeks into the gig, the company told him that they wanted to make him permanent. What would it take to get him to make the move and join the team? He said a permanent job offer and move so his family (me) could join him.

So, since the end of April, we've been expecting a job offer in writing. This week, we finally got it.

I really did not realize how stressful the 'not knowing' could be. I think I am flexible enough to deal with anything--when it's a reality. But the mental game of 'what if's' is exhausting. I could not be more done with the uncertainty and inability to make plans for my future.

It is one thing to embrace change when you're given something to go on, it's another thing to be taunted with change and never actually have anything to glom onto.

I'm ready for my life to go on. If we're moving, I want to move. If we're not, I want to quit thinking about it.

DH is so laid back and calm. It makes me feel even worse when I get crazy worrying about things. Because that's the reality--I'm a worrier. I fret. I agonize. In my mind, I filter through all the possibilities and try to come up with plans for each eventuality. Then I feel like I can face the future unflinching.

Five months of 'not knowing' is enough to shake anyone's foundations. Even someone as flexible as me.

Is the transfer going through? Yes. Will we move? Yes. When? We don't know. Yet another dose of 'not knowing' that I have to swallow...

--Sandee Wagner

Quite a Day

Yesterday, I had one of those days that years from now, I'll be able to laugh about. But right now? Not so much.

Over the weekend, I loaned my husband's truck to my daughter and SIL who are having some car troubles. Told them to keep it as long as they need it. Which might be forever.

This morning, I went into the garage and my car wouldn't start. Clicking noise. Could be the battery--relatively cheap and easy to fix--or the starter. Not as cheap or easy. I called a few people to see if there was any way to tell and the consensus was, put it on the battery charger and if it charges up, it's not the starter. So I plugged up the battery charger and put it on the vehicle.

Then looked at my husband's Mustang and wondered if I could get it started. We still had places to go and things to see. The Mustang started right up and I let it idle and warm up for quite a while. Then we loaded the carseats and babies in the back and set off to have lunch. Then we were on our way to the zoo. All of which is within about a six mile radius of my house.

We got to the restaurant and ate lunch. Then loaded back up into the Mustang and it wouldn't start. So I called roadside assistance. They have one hour to get to you when you pay for this service. They asked me if I needed a jump start or a tow. I told them I had no idea--I'm not a car person, but we could start with a jump.

Forty minutes later, a young man drives up in a locksmith's car. He has one of those portable jump start things and hooks it up. We try and try and can't get the car to start. He apologizes, shakes his head and says I'll have to call back and get a tow truck. "You can't ask them to send me a tow?" "Nope, you've got to call them back."

So I do, and that hour? It starts all over again. In the course of my second call to roadside assistance, I tell them that I have three passengers, two of which are babies and can they speed it up? The young man falls all over himself to find someone who can get there quickly. But he informs me that state law prohibits commercial tow truck drivers from taking kids. There's a height requirement... like an amusement park ride. Okay. So we call my DIL's parents and they ride to the rescue.

They bring her a car, she transfers the babies and their carseats into the SUV and head home. I wait with my husband's Mustang for the tow truck. For two hours. Finally, it gets hooked up and delivered to my driveway. That's right. I didn't have it towed to a mechanic, I had it brought home. Because who knows if my husband will want to work on it and fix it himself or not? That might have been a mistake. I might need to get it towed to a mechanic. Live and learn.

This morning, I'm going into the garage to see if my car will start. If it does, all is right with my world. If it does not, I'm having it towed to a mechanic. I know for a FACT that I don't want to work on it myself.

The question is, will this be a good day, or not? I'll let you know in a minute.

--Sandee Wagner

Slogging Through

I'm a voracious reader. I read a lot. When I find an author I enjoy, I tend to find all their books (in or out of print) and read them in order of publication. I kind of like to see their writing grow and progress. When you come across an author who's been writing for years, finding all their books is a little more problematic than an author who's only written a few books.

I find that I love an author's 'voice'. That personal style they use when they write. It's fascinating that some authors have the ability to really use a different distinctive voice when they cross genres.

For example, I came across Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden books. Loved the character, his Quixotic need to help women, the magical setup, all of it. So I read them all in order. Then while waiting for the next Harry Dresden book, I bought Butcher's Furies books. They don't read like his other books at all. Of course, one is set in current magic filled Chicago and has a hard bitten private investigator/wizard for hire. The other is a pure fantasy that takes place in another reality. I read two books into the Furies series and then let it go. It doesn't 'catch me' like the Harry Dresden books do. I'm not sure why.

Another example is Patricia Briggs, who has written both a very interesting werewolf, the Alpha and Omega, and a great shapeshifter named Mercy Thompson who interacts with the wolves and vampires she's introduced. Both of these series are unique and interesting. And, although they crossover to a certain extent, they both stand alone. On the basis of my love for these two series, I picked up a pure fantasy series she wrote a few years ago. These two books are called Raven's Shadow and Raven's Strike. I am trying to drag myself through the first of these two books.

I can't really put my finger on WHY I'm slogging through them. Just because I love the author now, doesn't mean that I'll like their previous work, or their cross genre work. But I like fantasies. Why wouldn't I like a fantasy written by an author that I love?

I'm beginning to think that reading these books makes me impatient for the story I'm not reading. I like the new series so much that I really want to read the next installment in that character's life--not this other, new character.

But good writing is worth slogging through...right?

--Sandee Wagner

Ghost Stories

One of my dear friends and critique partners writes ghost stories. She has often had to give me 'fair warning' so that I know not to read her stuff after dark. I'm that big of a baby. She blogs a scary short story every week at Scary Mondays.

This week, she has a guest post by a writer friend who shared a personal experience at a haunted hotel in New Orleans. Although the story is very laid back, it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Ghost children? Running around the hotel in New Orleans hiding people's stuff? Yikes!!

I'm a huge weenie. I don't watch scary movies. The few times I have, I've had nightmares for two weeks. Once, my son made me watch a scary movie that he loved and he was SURE I would love too. I stayed awake all night, never could go to sleep.

I don't read horror books although I like a good thriller. I won't read a 'woman in jeopardy' book because I spend way too much time alone to think stalking a woman is entertaining. But fiction is fiction. Most ghost stories aren't fiction to the people who tell them. It actually happened.

Lynn tells some whoppers on Scary Mondays, but she also will tell you quite deadpan about meeting the ghost on her front porch. What? Did you have an exorcist out? No, she called a Native American medicine man who smudged the house with smoke and prayed. Then he told her that the ghost she had met was not a bad guy. If she tried to communicate with him, though, she'd be opening herself to the bad spirit.

So, she lives happily in this house, where doors slam in her face and the ghost gets all exercised whenever they try to paint or change things inside. I could not live that way. I don't think it matters whether you are a believer or not. If there were physical shows of presence when no one was around, you'd have to find an explanation or move out.

I fall firmly into the "move out" category. If I ever walked through a house that gave me a bad feeling or creepy vibe, we didn't move in to begin with. I listen to those feelings. That's not to say that I always buy new homes, but I am not afraid to ask if anyone has been killed or died in a home. If a house has been the scene of a violent crime, I really don't feel the need to live there--some deals aren't worth the money.

I can remember telling ghost stories around the campfire when I was a child. I'd lay awake for hours in my tent hearing noises and imagining bad things happening. I'm suggestible that way. So, I avoid the ghost mansions. I don't stay in the haunted hotels. I don't take the ghost tours or walk through graveyards at dusk. Some people love that stuff--Lynn lives for it. Me, not so much.

--Sandee Wagner