Marsbarn Designs...

the most difficult thing

The church was modern but warm, large but not impersonal, and full of light.

We stood by as they brought in his casket, 
and opened it.

And there he was, and wasn't, all at once.

We watched his wife place a cross in his hands and arrange a garland around his head. 
The Deacon touched his hands and said quiet, private things. 
And then, his family, including his four small children, said goodbye.  

His children are all so young.
I wonder what, if anything, they will remember from this day.

The service was a Catholic one, but they tried hard to welcome all of those who came.  
I was impressed by the ceremony.  
The Rosary was hypnotic, and through the ritual repetition I could see some of the weight come away from the family.

At the end of the service, the Priest thanked all of the different groups of people who had come, and then he stopped being an agent of his office and became a man for a moment. 
He said that this service was the most difficult thing he had ever done as a priest.

You hope that everyone will be the last (but you know it won't be)

Tomorrow, Big E and I will be attending a funeral.

Our friend and co-worker who had a heart attack on the 21st of December, died on the 27th.

He was 38 years old.
And since I haven't seen him in ten years, he is even younger in my mind.

This will be the fourth funeral of a police officer I've attended, but the fifth officer I've known who has died during our nearly fourteen year tenure as a police family.  Two of these officers were shot in the line of duty, two died from heart attacks, and one died from a rare, aggressive cancer.  There have been other deaths as well, both on duty and off, of people I'd never met, all in our bureau that employs less than a thousand people.  

It seems like a lot of death in a short period of time. 

Big E: Have You Ever Been Stung By the Skeleton of a Dead Bee

With H away, while Little E was sick in bed. and before I had to pick up Sweetheart G from school, I  put my hands in the earth, tilled the soil, and weeded the yard. With knees on the grass and hands clearing an edge, I felt a prick to my palm. Pulling my hand from the ground, I found I had been stung by the exoskeleton of a bee. As fragile as a dry leaf, the insect's remains still managed to strike out one last time and found me. Once the stinger was removed, I presented the corpse to a delighted Little E.

  

In the mans own words.

For a better version of the Mighter Than a Locomotive, look here .

Faster than a speeding locomotive

My favorite guy had a good night last night.

He heard a report of a car stuck on the railroad tracks.

Seconds later he saw a freight train heading north.

He used lights and sirens to get ahead of the train.

Then he lit flares.

Think Die Hard II, when McClane tries to wave off the doomed airplane with flares, 

but this time it's a huge freight train heading toward a car wedged in the tracks.

But my guy had his shirt on, and he was successful.

The train stopped, the conductor was hugely thankful, 

and now I need to figure out how to get a 

"I stopped a train" award patch.

The car, by the way, was probably a DUII.

Since the car turned onto the tracks,

and then drove up them until the its wheels became wedged.

Sober people don't normally do that.

when work follows you home; it's funny and queasy all at once.

It went something like this:

Huh, that siren's moving fast.

And it's loud.

It must be coming up the street.

Oh.. hey.. I know that voice...

and that official "You Are So Much Toast" tone

saying "Get Down NOW!"

Oh, and look here comes a cover car..

and another..

and another..

and another..

oh, and a motorcycle..

What is that man doing to have half the precinct come in like the cavalry?  

And, hey listen to my heart go thumpty-thump. 

This police floor show was sponsored by a drunk driver who decided that a DUII wasn't good enough for him. After adding an eluding charge to his karmic load, he thought about tacking on a Resist charge (they add so much to one's rep), but apparently he thought better of it.  (That "toast" tone or the never ending stream of cover cars may have had something to do with this moment of enlightened thinking.)

I must admit that I hadn't been yearning for any excitement.   

I'd watched the last 45 minutes of the National Spelling Bee* and was feeling the nice soft glow that comes with watching a worthy competition of skills. Of course, it was impressive to see the man in action (I don't know that the neighbors will all agree about that... ) and I did feel a certain wave of nostalgia from my days in precinct... or maybe that was the bit of nausea as the adrenaline began to fade and I waited for my "all's well" phone call.

*(I was as shocked as anyone to find that I was bewitched by the Bee.  Now if only I had caved to curiosity at 8, instead of 9:30.  Darn my ignorance of the alchemy of words.) 

Big E: I am the Mulch Man!

After a week of wild weeding,
routing root of blackberry,
grass, dandelion, and morning glory,
I capped my work with eight bags of bark dust.
Koo-koo-katcoo!

 

As to those pesky cutworms, they die well
when you squeeze their bellies.
Their heads pop off and line of liquid
shoots out in a stream.

Big E: The Return of H.

Today is h's last day in Paris.

She return's tomorrow.

The blog soon will be back to normal.

Friday, a mother at school asked

if I was ready for h to return.

I said, "No. I wish she could spend another week.

This is a once in a lifetime experience. I would not take that away from her."

The mother looked at me strangely and walked away.

Of course, I miss her, and I could not care for the children

without the help of Auntie O, but I want a woman

who has her own adventures and is not shackled to me.

Yes, I killed the cut worm and dozens of his brethern.

Big E's Tale: The Terrible Troll and Three Fairies

In the Garden of Neglect,

the sun was warm:

the day perfect.

Three pretty pixies began to play

when a terrible troll wanted

to chase them away.

He grumped.

He groaned.

He growled.

He moaned.

He hated the sun.

He hated the day.

He hated the pixies.

He hated the play.

The pixies only wanted to prance.

They loved to sing.

They loved to dance.

On a toadstool they did sit

as the troll had a fit.

The troll vowed to ruin their day.

The troll swore to drive them away

With pine cone, pitch,

and rotting flower,

the bad troll thought 

he'd ruin their hour,

but the fast fairies flitted away.

Out of his reach, 

they continued their play.

The troll snarled,

his talons bare.

He tried to snatch

their golden hair.

The three fairies were not afraid.

In song, a wish they made.

The troll would be their friend.

With their games,

his heart would mend.

From that day on,

the troll learned to dance

and sing silly songs.

Big E, the Bane of Blackberries

Woe are the blackberries.

There presence has diminished. 

The strongest canes have been cut down. 

The oldest root clusters have been razed.

The runners have been ruined.

The glory is to the gardener.

English Ivy weep.

Dandelions, you are doomed.

See the yard debris bins

and know your fate.