Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are.

Let me learn from you, love you and bless you before you depart.

Let me not pass you by in the quest for some rare and perfect tomorrow.

Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so.

One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.

and, no, the last picture isn't posted upside down. It was the view directly overhead while lying in bed in chicago!

Some of the funniest moments this weekend came from Marks association with a motorcycle club in Chicago, the Overlords.

I doubt that any of his immediate family fully understood the extent of his involvement or his role in ‘the club’.

Marks biker name was “Baron”; a name given to him “because of his wise counsel, his warrior nobility and his deliberateness and thoroughness in answering the concerns of other members."

Baron–noun 1. a member of the lowest grade of nobility. 2. (in Britain) a. a feudal vassal holding his lands under a direct grant from the king. b. a direct descendant of such a vassal or his equal in the nobility. c. a member of the house of Lords. 3. an important financier or industrialist, especially one with great power in a particular area: an oil baron.

For those of us who primarily saw Mark through the long lens of his childhood and impulsivity of adolescence, this persona of ‘Baron’ was a game changer.

I lost track of the number of guys who shared stories of how Mark mentored them and changed the direction of their lives by his example and ‘hard fought wisdom’; men who considered Mark to be their brother or their best friend; men who tattooed his name, an iron cross (his favorite) and his birth and death dates on their bodies within 12 hours of his death.

Frankly, that’s a level of commitment I can’t fathom.

I don’t think I have one friend who would want to have my name permanently on their bodies, let alone 20, and, conversely, while I have many dear friends, I’m not getting inked up to prove to anyone that I’ll never forget them!

They’ll just have to take my word for it!

Most of the guys also wore the tattoo

FWO FWA

visibly on their bodies – some on their necks, some on forearms or wrists.

As an innocent who had grown up alongside Future Teachers of America and Future Farmers of America, I spent moments distracting myself in the funeral home, trying to figure out what the initials stood for – to no avail.

Finally I screwed up the courage to ask one of them.

It was a club motto he replied, “Fuck With One, Fuck With All”.

There’s a wonderful cache to that, isn’t there?

It's really just an updated version of this sentiment...

Our family crest is now being designed by Art Boy – and it will include Our Lady of Bunco, (a Memorial Day 'family thing'),dice (because life is a crap shoot), the words “Let it Go” AND those initials.

We’re thinking of getting engraved stationary, tee shirts, ball caps and perhaps Trapper Keepers… I’ll let you know when I open my Etsy store selling the items!

Lol…only kidding…

or maybe not!

Painful

I’ve used the phrase several times recently in describing this past weekend and I truly don’t know any better way of saying it: it was exquisitely painful.

There was profound sadness, moments of genuine humor and the gifts of tradition and family gathered for celebration and remembrance.

There was acknowledgment that while our bodies are fragile and transitory, the legacy of how, and who, we love endures.

There were children running around several venues, full of energy and life; there were moments of adults being rendered immobile by grief and tears.

There were huge burly men with tatoos crying unashamedly for the loss of a comrade/a brother in arms and siblings laughing through their tears at memories of a brother who was bigger than life.

There were bikers standing guard at a casket, draped in full leather; old country Greek women in black babushkas; people of every skin tone imaginable, of all ages and from all walks of life; a testimony not only to the multifaceted reality that was Marks life but to the inclusive nature of the network of family and friends his parents have created over 4 decades.

It was a glorious celebration…and Mark would have loved it and been in the thick of it…and he was.

A lifetime of memories...

even if that lifetime was too short.

I was there the day his parents brought him home from the adoption agency...

and I'll be there to celebrate and remember his life as we return him to his Creator.

My boys and I are headed up North to say Goodbye -
to a beloved cousin, nephew and friend.

I'll be away from a computer for the next few days -'cause being with people will be more important than being with technology.

Thanks for all the prayers and condolences -ironically brought to me via technology - I know, I know...some of us struggle to accept all the changes life offers or imposes!

I already know our gang well enough to know there'll be tears

and laughterand love underneath it all.

Mark

We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future.

It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance. ~Marcel Proust
The call came, as these calls always do, out of the blue.

Why does the darkness of night lend itself so well to tears and news of death?

He’s dead.
He’s 36.
He leaves behind a wife and two daughters, 5 and 2.

It must be a mistake.

He can’t be dead.

But he is.

My nephew, Mark, was no stranger to struggle.
As an impulsive teenager and young adult, he had gotten lost; involved in drugs and poor decisions that had serious legal consequences.

His family had many nights, during those years, when such a call would not have been unexpected; maybe even welcomed; the relief of knowing that someone you loved was no longer in danger; no longer adrift and making his life, and theirs, a hell.

We had already seen a miracle with Mark.

The love of a good woman; the unconditional love of extended family; his faith known to God alone even as his body was frequently in church worshipping alongside his wife and those who loved him.

All these things, and the strength to face down his own demons, had returned Mark to us and to himself - to become more fully the person God had created him to be: a loving husband; a devoted father who hung the moon in the eyes of his girls; an irreverently funny cousin and nephew; a welder, a cook, an inventor, a motorcycle enthusiast and a loving friend to many.

His absence will leave a hole in our world; a space which will remain unclaimed by any other.

I take comfort in knowing, that however this life-after-death thing works, his uncle and godfather, Tom, was waiting for him ‘on the other side’.

He's not alone.

Neither are we.

Mark Thomas Erickson
June 17, 1974 – March 20, 2011

Episcopal Hymn 669
Hope on then, broken spirit
Hope on, be not afraid.
Fear not the grief’s that plague thee,
and keep thy heart dismayed
Thy God in his great mercy,
will save thee, hold thee fast
and, in his own time, grant thee
the joy of peace at last.


I love you, Marky.

Good to know

You know how every child photographer these days uses darling headbands to decorate the bald little heads of their clients?

Oh come on, it's just a more expensive look than using a wad of tape to stick on a bow like we do in the NICU!

And you have to admit, it's a cute look.

Well, the best part of the Baldrick experience has been learning more about myself...

even if that means discovering I CANNOT rock the look!

But thanks to the dear friend who thought I should try!!!

I always love a good laugh that leads to involuntary peeing!
Who knew the need for Pampers is about the only thing I'd have in common with those cute babies!

I've made the comment several times before, and most of you have heard it already, but I swear it's true!

It's not pretty to live inside my head.It's a wonder any of us in peds can keep our wits about us when you consider what we deal with on a daily basis!

I'm amazed there's room for truth and beautywhen we hear stories like his.

Really...that's the story you're going with?

You couldn't get in to 'your room' at the Ritz - even though you were a registered guest at the Sheraton...so after you finally convince the desk clerk to issue a new room card (after he didn't even bother to check and see if your name corresponded to the guest paying for the room...pssst...Ritz, just bring your check book to the negotiations for the lawsuit!), you kicked in the door because it was chain locked from the inside.

Then, in your drunken stupor, you just happened to fall into bed, find a 9 yr old little girl body there, figure it was a gift from the Pedophilia God and start molesting her?

Really? You're sticking with THAT story?
That's some level of drunk!

And we won't even go into what the hell her parents were doing in the adjacent room that they didn't hear someone kick in a door right next to theirs?

While I don't frequent the Ritz, I don't exactly stay at No Tell-Motels eitheryet I can hear toilets flushing next door, ice machines down the halls and people laughing two rooms over.
A foot coming through a door, chain locks being ripped from the door jam... you can bet your ass I'd hear it!

just sayin'.

I’ve been asked SO many times recently why I chose to have my head shaved -

and, despite all the times I’ve trotted out the 'sound bites' and come up with varying degrees of clever answers, I’m still not sure I know.

So I decided to list some of them:
Caveat: all of my ‘motivations’ are pieces of the truth; none are the complete truth; probably even all added together are not the complete truth.
*After 30+ yrs of working in pediatric healthcare and seeing too many kids die of cancer, it just felt like time to contribute to funding for research aimed at a cure, since, if they’re coming after public servants to strip them of their pensions, can money for curing pediatric cancer be far behind?

*Several people I love have faced cancers in the past 18 months and are currently (or have recently) undergone combinations of chemo, radiation and surgical interventions - with good results so far, although life, and body, altering.

People, I might add, who are dealing with life threatened conditions with more grace, faith and courage than I can imagine or hope to muster up if I were in their shoes.

*There are too few opportunities offered in our culture to do something that is 'noble' or simply ‘right’ which ‘costs’ us nothing…which is also why I donate blood on a regular basis, signed up for the Blood Marrow Donor Registry etc. I don’t ‘grow’ my hair, or ‘make’ bone marrow or blood cells…those are biological processes, instituted by God, which my body does automatically. If they can symbolically, or literally, be used to the service of others than I feel an obligation to give.
*There’s an energy/high to being part of something larger than self; a ‘community’ of people from all walks of life who, for one afternoon, come together to demonstrate in a visible, and fun, way that they’re committed to making a difference; to making life longer and better for future generations.

*There was a sense of gratitude that both of my sons were/are healthy and, even with all the difficulties inherent for them in being raised in a single parent household and having to face, head on, the death of a parent, childhood cancer was not one of the obstacles thrown in our path.

*It appealed to my sense of drama and bold gesture – and challenged me to examine my ideas of beauty and self. I love being older (even if not necessarily wiser) and not being so afraid of what people think of me!

I also have been pleased to discover that I am NOT my hair!

Trusting that I am loved and known intimately by a God who knows the number of hairs on my head, I’m eager to see if they’ll all be given back to me – and in what color!

*I can’t tell you how many times people have told me how brave they think I am… and how much like an imposter it makes me feel to hear it since I know its not true.

The truly brave ones are those children (and adults) who stare death in the face and don’t get a choice about losing their hair.

This was a lark for me; its life and death for them.

There’s a wonderful sense of solidarity in making a statement while raising awareness and money for the eradication of the disease that’s taking too many of them from us too soon.

It's been an adventure that is triggering other changes as well...more on that later.

Rejuvenation

Spent the whole day yesterday poking around antique stores - all within a 50 mile radius of home.

I wasn't even sure some of the buildings would hold up long enough for me to get in and out safely...
I'm a thrill taker - no doubt about it!

I saw shiny things...
and things from "The Shining"...the tag says this is a cast for a dolls head...really?
Looks like a macabre Jack Nicholson chicken head to me!

But the best score of the day (for $1.00) was this catalog from 1953...just in time for updating my spring wardrobe...and you can help me 'cause I'm torn.

I can't decide whether to go with the pastel pink or the siren red...

I think I've ruled out wearing the spider web dress - although the head band is appealing...

I'm toying with the Peter Pan hat and Red Riding Hood cape look instead of the Orientalia style on the bottom left.
I DO think this versatile aqua number would be perfect for those days of testifying in court and going out for cocktails afterwards; just pop on those sleeve puffs and I'd be good to go!

I'd be tempted to go for the dress -bottom right - but I KNOW Mary Ann is going to want this the minute she gets back from the island cruise with the Professor and Gilligan!

And knowing how much I love roses, I definitely will be getting THIS - and I'd better hurry since it's limited stock!

I

If I wasn't afraid of looking like a slut, I'd also go for the black lace number...what do YOU think, too much?And, because a girls foundation is key...I'll definitely be getting a new bra and girdle!

OMG...THIS one brought back memories of my peeps and I in 6th grade, stuffing our bras with Dixie cups filled with cotton...oh yes we did!

Laughing our asses off that if the boys got 'fresh', all we had to do was turn the wrong way and put their eyes out! Now, those were good times!!

And despite the grey weather, so was this!
All that time travel for only a buck!

What a great Saturday!

seeing

I've written about these Cracker Jack prizes before (here) but was playing around with different ways of seeing them last night for Project 365.

These two images reminded me that there's ALWAYS more than one way to see something.

Neither is right; neither is wrong; they're just different.

All photos are accurate. None of them is the truth.
Richard Avedon.

Just out of curiosity: which do YOU prefer?

Onward through the fog...

It was a fitting outing for the last day of the year.

A typical Wisconsin winter day with snow still blanketing the land, left over from an 8 inch lake effect 'flurry' two days before, now melting rapidly with warmer temperatures.

Fog was rising from the low areas, reducing visibility to less than 1/4 mile and frequently no more than a cars length ahead.

The directions were also typically 'Wisconsin': "Stay on K, if you get to P, you've gone too far and it's farther than you think".

What the giver of directions failed to mention, of course, is that P intersects K twice - she meant the second 'P' : a perfect reminder that you can get someone elses general advice for getting there but, ultimately, you have to figure out the journey for yourself!

It was also a perfect metaphor for the year to come - searching for the sacred in unexpected places with limited sight, perception and direction!

We heard about it only by chance; they don't talk about it much, although you'd think a visitation from the Virgin Mary would get more buzz.

OK, it was more than a century ago but still...

Adele Brise, the daughter of Belgium immigrants was reportedly visited by the Virgin Mary three times in October of 1859.

According to the official site of the Shrine of Our Lady of Good Help in New Franken, Wisconsin:

Adele had her first of three apparitions while carrying grain to a mill near Dyckesville on Oct. 9, 1859. On the following Sunday, while walking to Mass in Bay Settlement, the Blessed Mother appeared again. During the third vision, while returning home from church, Adele said Mary identified herself as "the Queen of Heaven" and told her, "Gather the children in this wild country and teach them what they should know for salvation. Teach them their catechism, how to sign themselves with the sign of the cross and how to approach the sacraments. That is what I wish you to do. Go and I will help you."

So the 28-year-old gathered the children and taught them about the faith.

She would travel to farms, sometimes 50 miles away, to teach them.

While Adele was never a vowed religious, she gathered a lay community around her, known as the Sisters of Good Help. Adele, called Sr. Adele, became their leader.

That's her on the far right..and yes there were jokes about someone with such an apparent ocular deformity having 'visions'!

Deep down, we're very shallow people.

The first shrine chapel was built by Adele's father. It measures 10 feet by 12 feet and was located on the spot where Mary appeared to Adele. The altar stands over the site of the reported visions.

The present, and larger, chapel is built OVER the original one and was completed in 1942. (Seems like overkill to me but there's no denying it has different appeal, and better lighting than the crypt, for sure!)

The first miracle:

When the Peshtigo fire of Oct. 8, 1871, threatened the area, people brought their families and farm animals to the grounds of the chapel.

During the night, the faithful, led by Sr. Adele, carried a statue of Mary around the perimeter of the grounds in prayer.

By the morning, a downpour doused the flames.

Outside the perimeter of the chapel grounds, everything was burned; yet the inside of the five-acre perimeter remained unscathed.

To this day, many consider the event a miracle and the procession around the grounds has been repeated every year on Oct. 8.

Fr. Doerfler, the current Rector, said he feels that the popularity of the annual October events is a realization that "we have a real tendency today to think technology will be our salvation. And while technology can help us with many, many things, it cannot save us. And it cannot answer the questions of the deepest longings of the human heart."

Bishop Ricken the current Bishop of Green Bay, appointed a commission to study the apparitions on Jan. 9, 2009. While each of the bishops of Green Bay has supported the shrine as a place of prayer over the years, there was never a formal declaration regarding the apparitions. His decision in December of 2010 was to 'verify' the visitations.

With Bishop Rickens decree on the authenticity of the apparitions of 1859, the Shrine of Our Lady of Good Help becomes the first approved Marian apparition site in North America.

How could we NOT go?

I lost $20.00 in the crypt, my son found it but, not knowing it was mine and fearing he'd be struck dead if he pocketed the money less than 3 feet from where the Virgin Mary had appeared, he put it in the offering box- so I lost it again!

Scattered among all our jokes about Holy Water in what looked like a stock pot with a spigot and expectations that maybe we'd see the Virgin herself, or at least smell roses, there was a deeper desire for a sign that there IS still the possibility of finding the divine in a place as unlikely as a corn field.

Ultimately, maybe it wasn't important that we didn't see Mary on the 31st; maybe it didn't matter that she wasn't there; maybe the point is that WE were!

It was a wonderful mini road trip.

A New Years wish for all of us

May there be peace within.

May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others.

May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content with yourself just the way you are.

Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us."

Winter solstice

"Embrace the darkness", she exhorted.

She had just completed a mini-lecture on winter solstice; it's origins, history and how (WAAAAYY back in the day - 1400-1500's) Christianity combined it's beliefs with established pagan traditions as a way of ensuring it's acceptance by the early Celts and Druids.

It was informative and she was knowledgeable... but I couldn't help but think of an experience I had with GI Joe shortly after the death of his father.

The first Ash Wednesday after his dad died, GI Joe was attending a sermon for kids at the altar about what the imposition of ashes signified and why we did it.

The Rector giving the lesson was a woman he'd known for years, one of my best friends.

Right after she got through the explanation - that it's a way for us to remember that God formed us from dust of the earth and to it, we will return - GI Joe stood up and started to walk away.

When Susie asked him where he was going, my 5 yr old replied "Thanks, but I just saw my father put dead in the ground; I don't really need another reminder".

I understand today is the day when daylight is at it's shortest since our planet is in its furthest rotation away from the sun. I appreciate that 'the ancients' (why do I feel uncomfortably like I could fit into that category!) feared that the failing light would never return unless they intervened with anxious vigil and antic celebration.

Did you know the Mesopotamians are believed to have been the first to have engaged in a 12 day festival designed to help the god, Murdak, "tame the monsters of chaos" for 1 more year.

To which I say, "Nice try, but it didn't work!"

I've seen several monsters of chaos in the past few weeks and, not only have they not been tamed, they're still going strong!

We have all kinds of wonderful ways to ward off the darkness this time of year and many of them work, at least, temporarily.

When I was a child, confusing, scary and hurtful things happened when the lights went out.

I have worked VERY hard to overcome a lingering fear of the dark and have succeeded all too well, according to family and friends - many of whom ask for a miners helmet when they enter my house since it's generally so dimly lit.

(Can you say overcompensation?)

I don't think there's a single person working in the ER who isn't painfully aware that there are forces of darkness at work in the world.

And, for all the beautiful ways we try to fool ourselves and keep it at bay, it's still there.

The darkness that lives within human beings makes itself known in both blatant and insidious ways.

So, for now, I'll continue to combat the darkness with the only means that I've found to be effective.

I don't understand 'solstice worshippers'.

Do some folks really need a whole day to recognize, honor or celebrate the darkness?

"Embrace the darkness."

Thanks, but I've seen children beaten to death by people who supposedly 'loved' them.

I don't need another reminder.

Parents: MIA

Two recent events have left me wondering where all the grownups went?

A recent class action lawsuit was filed by a mom claiming that McDonald's was encouraging her children to eat lousy food "by luring them in with toys in the Happy Meal".

I don't mean to enter into the whole sodium- laden, fat- saturated, artery-clogging debate that is fast food in our country.

Been there, ate that, licked my fingers afterward to get all the salt...and I think the toys are darling.

IF however, you're of a different mind and don't want your children to start down that path, what happened to saying NO?

What happened to telling your kids you don't want them to eat there and driving on by?

And, if there's not another restaurant in a 25 mile area, and your children are seeing stars from impending starvation, how about ordering them the carrots, apple slices and milk to go along with a plain hamburger?

Or just buy them a yogurt.

You DO have choices.

How is it McDonald's fault that you have no spine?

How 'bout actually being in charge and being a parent.

Likewise, our ER was clogged this week with 15 kids who had been maced at their school during what amounted to a food fight.

Again, leaving beside the issue of whether resorting to chemical restraint was really necessary by the Security folks with boots on the ground, I can tell you that if the adult behavior in our ER was anything like what Security at the school dealt with, then the kids are lucky the nunchucks didn't come out.

Instead of the parents reading their kids the riot act, using this as 'a teachable moment' and a lesson in guilt by association and the stupidity of getting caught up in mob rule, the parents wasted no time in congregating together in the hallway, leaving all their kids unsupervised, shifting the blame and bitching about how the school didn't notify them soon enough!

Hello, someone must have called you; you're here in the ER within 15 minutes of your kids being brought in... and if you'd stay off your damn cell phones long enough to actually talk to the doctors, you'd know that not one of the darlings has anything close to potentially life threatening injuries.

But our society, being what it is, rewards this Lord of the Flies scenario with TV cameras, 15 seconds of fame and new scrubs to wear home.

Why?, you ask.

Because they couldn't possibly wear the same clothes home in case, God forbid, they have a molecule of irritant remaining on them.

How 'bout you go home and get a change of clothes for them?

How 'bout you make them wear their clothes home and if their skin gets irritated, maybe the discomfort will drive the lesson home and, maybe next time, they won't act the fool.

Obviously, tough love is NOT in the current parenting lexicon.

It's a shame it's not.

No holiday cheer tonight

At the start of my mothers recognizable journey with Alzheimer's 15 yrs ago, a journey which led to her being placed 7 yrs ago in assisted living, I prayed for the strength to walk this path with her with patience and a modicum of humor.

I'm humbled to say that God apparently DOES answer prayers - only, sometimes, the answer is "NO".

I've never found patience with her- answering the same questions a bazillion times in ten minutes, over and over and over again - and there's nothing funny about it.

It's like being trapped in a nightmare version of Ground Hog Day!

I recently read that some theologians consider that movie to be One of the Top Spiritual Movies of our time; a perfect example of how God keeps giving us opportunities, over and over and over again, to learn compassion and more loving responses.

Oh good, so I'm failing not only Daughterhood 101, but Religion 101 too!

There's a reason I don't keep guns in the house.

BTW

I've stopped praying for the strength to get through this with patience and humor; I'd settle for strength to get through it alive.