Farewell, but not yet goodbye

For years and years, when a young man or woman left to serve as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, there was an event, usually a couple of Sundays before they left known as the missionary farewell. By the time they were mercifully shot shut down and replaced with a focus on the missionary and gospel teaching, these had become, in many cases, highly produced events. Typically, it involved several members of the family speaking about the missionary and it always included a few stories meant to embarrass said missionary. There were a couple of musical numbers by the missionary's family, or his/her friends, and then the missionary would speak. Bigger than this though was the Open House associated with the farewell. Invitations were sent, themes were created, and food specific to the missionary's assigned field of service was offered.

I know of where I speak. When I went out, mission farewell extravaganzas were pretty extreme. My open house included a centerpiece made of bread in the shape of, wait for it, an alligator. Spilling out of its mouth was a cornocopia of Florida fruit. The only thing my open house lacked was either a cocaine bust or an appearance by a couple of "Miami Vice" look-alikes. It was the 80's after all. Nearly thirty years on, can I just say I'm glad things have changed. It is now, mercifully, a much more subdued, simpler (see yesterday's post!) affair.

Today The Boy spoke in our services as i was his 'farewell.' He spoke sincerely of the opportunities in his life that he has had to make choices. He spoke of the examples, from Scripture and in real life, that have impacted his life for good. I am grateful for all those that have been an influence for good in his life. He spoke of his favorite scripture, which is found in the Book of Mormon:

O be wise; what can I say more?

There's a lot of wisdom packed in those seven words. I'm glad that we have the opportunity to choose each time to be wise or to be foolish. It's not always an easy choice.

I'm glad that today was just The Boy's farewell service and not the the day when we say goodbye. That's in seventeen days. Let's not speak of it. The stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I both had tears flowing as we watched and listened to our Boy as he spoke today. We were surrounded by our daughters, a good son-in-law, the Baby/Toddler Awesome, and our parents and it seemed that things were all right with the world.

I'm just glad it's not goodbye yet.

PS - I have not yet taken The Boy's mission blog private. I will be doing that upon his departure in September. I have the names of all of you who want in on the blog and will notify you as soon as it closes. In the meantime, click here for today's update. It's a lot like this post. And if you want to keep reading that blog and you haven't let me know you want to be included, message me.

Simple things

A few weeks ago, I spontaneously and unilaterally I should add sheepishly, reversed a decision that the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and I had made about bringing the Awesomes back to Connecticutistan for The Boy's mission farewell, which goes down tomorrow. With e-ticket receipts in hand, I told my wife what I'd done and with the grandson as an epic bargaining chip, all was well.

The weeks since then have been a blur, but as we debated what to do while they were here, we decided to keep it simple. There's a lot to said for simple when you've got a one year old, grandparents from both sides and a nearly nineteen year old who's itching to move on under one roof. So far, simple has paid off. Meals have focused on being at home and using the grill. We decided not to cram in a trip to Boston or New York City, again with the focus on simplicity. Instead, we went peach picking. Who knew that in the middle of the 'Stan that we would find acres of fruit (peaches, pears, and apples) trees, literally ripe for the picking. And the scenery was beautiful. As we came up over a hill and took in all the orchards, Our Lady of Awesome literally gasped, 'Dad, this is perfect.' It was indeed. And then this happened:

The Baby Awesome, or more appropriately Gigantor, was taking in a fresh peach right off the tree and loving it. It was, for us, a simple moment of joy.

We brought home a bit of that joy in the form of peaches that became the basis of the homemade peach ice cream. We've laughed a lot as grandparents shared memories of The Boy's childhood. We even played a few games tonight. And when I say 'we,' I'm included in the tally. 

By small and things, great things happen. That's been made evident to me today as we've focused on family and the simple things that bring us joy. Simple is good. Simple is the taste of a sweet peach. Simple is being surrounded by a family you can't imagine loving any more. Like I said, the dimple things are the good, no, the best things.

A Taxicab Confession

I had to do a same day turn to Tampa today for a meeting. The timing, admittedly, was a little tight, as is usually the case with same day turns, and of course, it went south.

One of the keys to a succesful turn is starting with the first flight o'the day, which is precisely what I did.  It took just one thing to foul it up. Today's one thing: a third flight attendant going M-I-A. The airline's solution was to ship some poor soul out of the ready reserve swamp at JFK to work our flight. We departed 80 minutes late and I was now going to be heinously late for my meeting. 

Upon arrival, I bolted for the taxi conga line and upon jumping into the cab, I said something normally reserved for poorly written cinematic histrionics or the finale of 'The Amazing Race,' "Step on it! I need to get (there) fast!" I should point out my cab driver was a 70 year old man. How do I know? He told me. He told me plenty actually. Before I knew it, the cab became a confessional.

Back in October 2011 (see 10/14/11 post), I wrote about an insightful experience with a cab driver in my beloved Chicago. That experience reminded me of the importance of treating everyone with a bit of dignity and respect. I needed every ounce of that lesson today. When I gave the driver the address of my meeting, he said he'd taken a fare there the day before and with that, he was off to the chatty races. After telling me he was 70 and had lived in Flo-ri-da for more than forty years, he mentioned that he was having surgery on his nose for skin cancer in a few days and that he was pretty nervous about the pain and how he might look. I mentioned that my mother had had similar surgeries and done great and that I was sure he'd be fine. We talked about the marvels of modern medicine and he noted how amazed he was when his appendix was removed through his navel down at the VA. Then things got gross. Why? He told me what his next procedure was going to be with the good people at the VA - a penile implant (never in a million years did I think those words would darken the pages of the Den). He said, without a hint of irony, "I'll be a happier man after that one." What do you say to that?

Here's what I said, "Oh look, we're here," because we had just arrived. I'm quite certain he was going to delve into the particulars of his upcoming 'procedure.' I was not prepared to hear about it. I chuckled as I got out of the cab, wondering how I get into situations like this. Is there something in me that tells people, 'Hey, set this guy up!' I seem to have a propensity to find myself in odd little predicaments like this. And I don't know why. This much I do know - he wins my award for Best Confessional from a Cabbie that I've ever heard.

Well done, sir, well done.

It was a good day

Yesterday was a good day. A very good day indeed.

It started early with my (mostly) regular blood donation to the American Red Cross. As I've noted here previously, I was terrified of giving blood, to the point of not doing it, until I was 35 years old. When I finally 'manned up' lo those many years ago, donating blood has been a regular part of my life. Because sleep has become a mere suggestion in my life, I was up at 4AM yesterday and was first in line to donate when they opened. I was raring to go. Sadly, the bloodletting lady who interviewed me was not. Here's how our exchange went down, which I shared on Facebook (BTW - I was informed last night by The Boy that FB is 'completely stupid' - duly noted):

Bloodletting Lady: "Are you still a male?"
Me: (I should note I had not shaved and you can etch glass with my morning shadow and B) I'm wearing shorts - it looks like I'm wearing mohair pants) "Um, when I stood up to go to the bathroom this morning, yes, I still appeared to be male."
Bloodletting Lady: "I'm not a morning person. Yes or no, please."
Me: "Yes. And are you the person doing my draw?"

She was not the lady who did my draw. I was relieved but knowing it was going to be a good day, I was not deterred. With my pint given, it was on to the next part of the day. We spent the bulk of the day here with The Boy:

Boston Temple

Another step in his path to his missionary service was to attend the temple for the first time and to participate in the services there. It's a unique, special, and sacred place. It is a place of learning and for a young man or woman, their first time there is very much like a rite of passage. It was a privilege for the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and me to be alongside The Boy for this experience. Being there with him, knowing that he has chosen for himself the path that he is on was for us a moment to be grateful. Truly one of those moments when the occasional pain of parenting pays off in spades. Like I said, it was a good day.

We were reminded while there of, and it pains me more than you know to invoke the following horror, the 'It's A Small World' nature of this world. When we lived in Arizona, we had a group of friends with whom we shared much in common. We were all young marrieds, in our first homes, with babies, and a shared love of Mexican food. Fast forward to today and we are scattered and our children are older and spread all over as well. One of those friends had a son serving as a missionary in Liberia. Due to the horrific outbreak of Ebola, those missionaries were reassigned to other missions. This young man has been assigned to the Massachusetts Boston mission and we've been exchanging notes with his mom about running into him. Yesterday, we ran into him at the aforementioned Boston Temple. Given that we'd not seen him since he was two, recent pictures on the now 'completely stupid' Facebook, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML recognized him immediately. It was a lot of fun to talk to him. It was even more fun to get some pictures with him and text his family right then and there. Suffice to say, there was 'a lot of joy in Mudville' between a mom with a missionary serving and a mom with one who is about to leave.

Like I said, it was a good day. I'm more blessed than I deserve.