There’s something about the train…

Tags

Amtrak, family, thank you, train ride, travel, vacation

Every once in a while, my faith in humanity is restored.

I wasn’t entirely looking forward to a two day train trip with two small children on my own.  I was pretty sure my train-mad kidlets would get a kick out of it and that it would be a fantastic opportunity for them to meet people while seeing geography in action.  I also figured it would be easier than driving the 16 hours alone, though I had the sneaking premonition that cajoling an almost-5 year old and a 3 year old into maintain their public manners for two days might be a bit of a challenge (just look at the blackmail pic up there).

While I was right on all counts (and could probably write a dozen posts on the many things we had the opportunity to learn about and explore),  the most memorable and important aspect of our trip was our experiences with both the staff of Amtrak and many of our fellow passengers, who made our (exhausting) trip quite wonderful.   I think the retired couple that shared a observation car window with us summed it up best, “There’s something about the train that can bring out the best in people.”

• To the mother who let her little girl watch Tangled and eat apples and string cheese with Sharkbait and Chickadee, even though I was a “stranger” (not all parents are as laid back as you are)–the kids were so occupied, I was able to finish the oh-so-good book I was reading!
• To the extremely understanding persons in the women’s restroom at the Washington DC station that let us cut in front of the line when Chickadee *really* had to go
• To the grandmother of 12 that helped corral Sharkbait during his meltdown over running out of raisins and for reading him a story while I gathered the stuff out of my backpack that had come unzipped
• To the beautiful woman that took off her expensive coat and wrapped Chickadee up for the cold ride from the train into the station when I couldn’t find her blankie
• To the couple from Washington DC, headed to New Orleans, for your friendliness and for your help in entertaining the kids during our lay over in Chicago
• To the Red Cap (the Amtrak version of sky cap service) that went above and beyond, giving the kids a ride through Union Station when the train wasn’t *quite* ready for early boarding and to the staff in the dining car for not cringing over the mess and noise two small children can make
• To the school group from Detroit for helping entertain the kiddos at the end of their journey when they were tired and cranky
• To the Muslim family with the beautiful new baby who encouraged their (somewhat shy) adorable little girl to play with Chickadee–it was so wonderful to see  that not even language needed to be a barrier for children to play together with such joy, not even noticing their differences, much less letting them become a stumbling block to cooperation

Thank you all for your random acts of kindness and compassion! May each and every one of you be blessed to receive the same consideration that you took the time to show us.

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Requiem for my Grandfather

Tags

death, family, grandfather, love, memory

My grandfather was born premature during a time where his survival uncertain and quite precarious, and he served in the Navy from 1943-1946, and built the home that he and my grandmother raised their family in.  He never had idle hands–my grandpa worked for the same company for 40 years, and in retirement worked and volunteered at a local school to help kids with their reading, eventually starting a scholarship fund for students of the school that want to become special education teachers.

He was many things in his life to many people–more that I could probably think of to list, or could even categorize easily.  Son, Brother, Student, Sailor, Uncle, Friend, Husband, Lover, Father, Musician, Carpenter, Teacher, Grandfather, Great-grandfather.  While I’ve always known these things, I have to say that I’ve never really thought about my grandpa in any role but that of my grandpa until after his death, when going through old pictures of his life.

My cousin and I welcomed our assignment of the task of assembling pictures into photo collages for his visitation and funeral, as our contribution and tribute. We giggled over the outfit his mother dressed him in as a baby and were surprised to see that he was pretty darn good looking in his younger years.  I found my heart melting over a picture that showed how much in love my grandparents were until my grandmother’s death (though that didn’t mean their lives or marriage were easy) and I laughed at pictures of my apron-clad grandpa in the kitchen (somehow I’d forgotten that some of my fondest times were cooking up special treats with him–fudge, cake, rice krispy treats).  Having been somewhat  inspired to join the Navy (over other branches of the military) by my grandfather’s sea stories, I was delighted to find a picture of him in uniform.

We do not choose to be born. We do not choose our parents. We do not choose our historical epoch, the country of our birth, or the immediate circumstances of our upbringing. We do not, most of us, choose to die; nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death. But within this realm of choicelessness, we do choose how we live.

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This, I think, is a statement my grandfather would support wholeheartedly.  He firmly believed that life is for the living, that it should be lived in love and faith, and lived to to its fullest–ability or disability be damned.  He was a man who valued independence and lived on his own until the injury that finally put him in the hospital (despite being 87, blind and hard of hearing), but as a child of the Depression, he understood the helplessness of poverty and believed in offering a helping hand to those that needed one.  My grandfather was a man of great faithfulness (he and my grandmother were married for 45 years through both good times and bad) and greater faith–faith in a transcendent God, and just as great of a faith in the imminent presence of God in humanity.  When I told him of my change of religious perspective, his response was, “Honey, I think God is big enough for there to be as many ways to experience Him as there are people on Earth.”

*this post is dedicated to my grandfather, whose infinite love and faith continue to surround those that knew him, may he rest in peace*

MRC, July 11, 1924-July 11, 2011

in brief

Tags

anti-religion, dreams, family, life, opinions, politics, rant, religion

So I suppose I should allow myself to introduce…myself…

Perhaps most importantly, I am a wife and mother (I can see a certian sort of feminist cringing about now—but, since I consider my family to be the most important part of my life, it makes sense to me).  I am also a sister and daughter, a grand-daughter, a neice and a friend…

I am pagan and a kitchen witch.  I am active duty member of the United States Navy, as is my husband (who is also pagan).    I am not ashamed of being pagan, being a witch, or being in the military–but I have been told I should be.

I am an armchair biologist (for now…I plan to finish my degree when I get out of the Navy).  Persons that think that religion should be taught as an alternative to science in public schools piss me off.  I believe in the first amendment.  I think that “Do you believe in evolution?” is the stupidest question ever…its like asking if someone believes in the blueness of the sky, or the wetness of the ocean…

Some thing that is empirically supported doesn’t need to be believed in.  It still happens, even if you don’t.

I like to read.  I read anything with words.  I read Stephen Jay Gould and Robert Dahl.  I read the Bible and the Koran because I think it is important to know what the other half of the world’s population thinks, and why they are willing to kill each other and everyone else for it.  I read Julie Garwood, Yasmine Galenorn, Nora Roberts and Jayne Ann Krents/Amanda Quick/Jayne Castle.  I read Russian poetry and medical journals.  I read Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings.  I read the newspaper.  I read the covers of gossip magazines in line at the grocery store.  I even read cereal boxes and I read in the bathroom (but I don’t read cereal boxes in the bathroom).

I am not a liberal.  I am not a conservative.  Liberals and conservatives are equally bad for the future of this country.  I am pro-choice and for the death penalty.  I agree with a universal health care program and better defense spending (not really more, just getting rid of the $80 hammers). I think that perhaps education should go back to being a privilege—maybe people would value it more.  I believe that there is a problem with a country that emphasizes rights, without mention of responsibility.  I think that a person’s sexual preference should not be a hindrance to their ability to marry the person they love.  Marriage should not be a civil privelege.  I don’t like the idea that my money goes to support someone else’s bad habit(s)–particularly if they are an elected official.  I don’t let my religious beliefs vote and I don’t think anyone else should either.

I love the beach.

I kayak, I swim, I hike, I climb, I paint, I sew, and I do any number of things to amuse myself on a rainy Tuesday or sunny Thursday afternoon.

I dream.

Sometimes I dream too much (can you dream too much?).

I enjoy satire and sarcasm, particularly that which is aimed at making the reverent irreverent.

I like sweeping historical dramas with amazing scenery.

I am not a Christian.  I do not worship Jesus.  I do not worship big-G, little -od.  If he indeed exists, I do not think he is a deity worth worshiping.  I do not believe that a book written by men that contains so much hatred, anger and cruelty should be considered the word of a benificent deity.  I do not believe that a book filled with countless contradictions and blatant inaccuracy should be considered infalliable and anything but fictitious.  I don’t care if you think I am going to hell.

I honor more than one god.  I believe that deity is too big for one name.  I celebrate the Sabbats.  I believe that every living thing has a spirit and that a soul is a sort of more highly functioning spirit that is not exclusive to humankind.  I am learning to read runes.  I practice herbalism, both medicinal and magickal.  I think spelling magic with a ‘k’ is pretentious–but I do it anyway, sometimes.  I practice witchcraft–therefore I am a witch.  I am not Wiccan, I do not follow the Rede, I do not believe in the Threefold Law and there was no Byrning Tymes.

I sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door to the bathroom and I laugh at Monty Python.  I wear my baby. I think twiggy models are as much to blame for the obesity epidemic as McDonald’s.

I like Saturday mornings when I don’t have to put my uniform on and go to work.  I like to ”sleep-in”, snuggled in bed with the hubby and our daughter who is too young to appreciate Saturday morning cartoons, yet using her as the excuse to watch them.

I like flowers.  Real flowers.  Still attatched to the roots, and planted in the ground.  I love trees; I’ll take a conversation with a nice, tall tree over most people any day.  I have cried watching a documentary on elephants. I love the smell right after a fall rain…or of sandalwood candles…or of a baby–my baby, right after her bath.

I tried to breastfeed, it didn’t work for us, and I am not ashamed–even though there are people that think I should be.  I don’t like lactation consultants.  I despise the fact that someone thinks I should feel guilty that my daughter and I could not breastfeed.  I despise the people that call me a bad mother because I could not breastfeed.

I want to learn to surf. I would like to sky-dive.  I believe in trying anything once–except foods that are still living or squish and squelch on the way down…blegh.

I love my husband.  Completely.  Alot.  Often.  Beyond distraction.

I love my daughters.  Both of them.  My first, who was beautiful and died too soon, before she was born, at 26 weeks.  My second, who is beautiful and brilliant and bright. I love my baby to be…I don’t know him/her yet and all he/she is doing right now is making me sick…but (s)he is still loved, because (s)he is a new addition to our family.

ETA: He’s an awesome little guy.

I get angry when people drive slow in the left lane.  I get angry that I am angry at the people that are driving slow in the left lane…its just traffic, its not important, it doesn’t change the fate of the world to slow down just a little (unless you are driving an ambulance).

I hate to do the dishes.

I like sushi, pancit and lumpia, kelaguen,  inafliton lemai (breadfruit chips), and lingonberry jam.  I also like a well-done barbeque pork steak, toasted ravioli and gooey butter cake…after all, I am a Cardinal’s fan at heart (if you didn’t get that, you aren’t from the St. Louis area–its ok, we can’t all be perfect)

A good cup of tea is my favorite companion for a snowy day and a good book, even more than a cup of hot chocolate.

I am probably addicted to the internet.

I am definately addicted to the internet.

Ramen.