John Wolf

I tell ya, I have no idea what I did without the thingy on my computer's home page that tells me about things that happened On This Day.

Today's OTD entry is about Eddie Slovic. Eddie had a much-too-interesting life of crime, but he's remembered more for his death. Eddie was drafted into World War II in 1944, and allegedly deserted his platoon (or whatever you call "group of soldiers who work together") several times, often getting "lost" and sometimes managing to be reassigned to another platoon, especially when going into battle was imminent.

One day, the military had had enough of Mr. Slovic, when he actually deserted, admitted to it, wrote a letter stating what he'd done, and said he'd do it again if given the chance. He was given several opportunities to recant his testimony and rip up the letter with no consequences, but he refused, saying he'd made his choice and that he'd take his court martial. He was court-martialed, sentenced to death, and executed on this day in 1945.

Tonight, Thursday, I made dinner for Tony's (my husband's) grandpa. Grandpa is sick; he has mesothelioma, which is a kind of lung cancer caused by asbestos. Grandpa was an electrician and spent most of his working career in Phoenix, building it. Back then, asbestos hadn't been identified as being as harmful as it actually is, and he certainly breathed in his share of it.

Grandpa is quite a man. He had cancer in the 1980s and fought that off. I met him in 1986, when I moved to Phoenix from a tiny town in Michigan after meeting Tony my first year of college. He met me at Tony's house, opened his arms, and said "I'm grandpa!" To this day, I'm his granddaughter, not just Tony's wife. His wife, Grandma, died in 1988, just before Tony and I were married.

But Grandpa put on a burgundy suit (our colors were burgundy and dusty rose--yeah, yeah...it was the 80s!) and had a huge smile on his face when he performed our wedding ceremony. After that, he traveled. He went to Disneyland with us and rode all the rides-even the roller coasters. He drove from Phoenix to Michigan, and to Missouri, and once up to western Canada, across Canada, over to Cape Cod, down to Florida and then back across to Phoenix. He made room for a cat who needed a home, Noel, and he loved her until she died, too.

He welcomed his great-grandchildren when they came, first those of Tony's cousins, driving his camper van back to Missouri, then Michigan, to see them when they were born. Then his sisters children, then ours. He grieved for and with me the best way he knew how when I lost our first baby, a daughter named Emily Claire whose body formed with many massive heart defects and who was stillborn at 28 weeks. He rejoiced when I gave birth to two healthy children, and blessed our son Ben, then our daughter Julie, when they were born. He's been at all the great-grandkids' birthday parties in Phoenix, because as he's gotten older it's harder for him to drive so far. He did fly back, for awhile, for as many trips as he could. He's lived at the other end of our block for the past 14 years, always being a big part of our kids' lives.

But now, he's sick. He's going home to be with Jesus. He's 89 years old, and he has lived every one of his years to its fullest extent. He even fought in World War II. And tonight, when I took spaghetti and veggies and garlic bread to him, I told him that I'd read that today in history was the day that the only man sentenced to death for desertion from WWII was executed. Grandpa said, "I was there."

He proceeded to tell me the whole story, how this man had led a life of crime before the military, was drafted, and kept deserting his platoon. The men that were the firing squad bunked with Grandpa's company the night before the execution, having come from another place and needing a place to stay. All the men in the firing squad were happy to accomodate the government's wishes, he said; they were ready to get rid of this man who caused them so many problems. The day of the execution, Grandpa was on guard duty outside the place where he was executed. He remembers this man being marched into the place, surrounded by armed soldiers. He heard the shots of the firing squad, saw the other troops march out, and saw the ambulance with the man's body inside parade by. He went back to the barracks, he said, and the firing squad soldiers were there. They had been all ready to get rid of this guy, but when he got back, they were all ill and shaking. They'd never had to shoot someone in their own uniform before. They hadn't expected to feel that way, but they did.

"Slovic," said Grandpa. "His name was Slovic." And he was right. Eddie Slovic died in 1945, and Grandpa was there to see it.

I will miss grandpa, when he dies. I know it will be better for him...he's ready to go. He's tired out. He's tired of fighting. He's tired of cancer, and tubes draining his lung, and oxygen prongs. He's tired of catheters, and not being able to drive, and people having to come and make him dinner. I will miss hearing about WWII, about his Dorothy, and about his travels. He has given so much of himself to everyone, and even though he misses his independence, it is truly a blessing to me to be able to give something, even some small pot of spaghetti, or homemade cookies, to him. The world won't be the same without him in it. It will be harder, a little less happy, a little less historic. His house will probably be sold; no one in the family needs it. New people will move in, change the paint, maybe put up a fence. Who knows? It will be different. It will be hard. But this man, who remembers the name of a man he saw executed over 50 years ago, has earned his rest.

I love you, Grandpa.

Is it just me?

My, how times have changed. I know...what an original opening line, eh? Spiffy, isn't it. NOT! :) But I digress...

So tonight is Wednesday, and we were coming back from church, where we have dinner (if we get there on time, which we did not tonight), choir practice for me and Pioneer clubs for the kids (kind of like the Baptist's AWANA, but not AWANA). So I'm driving home, listening to Chumbawamba's Tubthumper CD, which my kids love, and my son Ben was talking about drums. He wants to play drums more than anything...this week. He "practices" at school, sometimes causing him to get in trouble if he keeps at it too long. And Chumbawamba uses PLENTY of drums...there's no question where the beat is in their music. Ben was telling me about his band teacher talking about practicing drums, maybe getting a book and reading ahead for next year (they aren't allowed to play drums in 5th grade, much to the huge relief of the neighborhood!). At one point I asked him when his band class was.

Now I don't know about when you were in school, but when I was in school, we had classes from, say, 8:30 until 9:25, then 9:30 until 10:25, and on and on until afternoon, when we switched to 1:15 until 2:10, and 2:15 until 3:10. Sort of round, easy-to-work-with numbers. When I asked Ben when his band class was, you know what he said? He said, without stopping even a moment to think, "12:03 to 12:49." HUH??????? 12:03 until 12:49?? Could they be a little more exact? What's next- 12:03:15 until 12:49:57? I just thought it was a little odd, and then I though...hey...Blogging Material!!! :)

My "This Day in History" thingy says that today, in 1933, was the day that Hitler was appointed Chancellor of Germany. Boy, I keep looking on the days that are really uplifting, don't I? On the upside, the Bart Simpson quote of the day is "Global warming did not eat my homework!" Not that Bart could ever counteract Hitler, I'm just sayin...

And, I just had a thought...whatever happened to Geritol? Remember that vitamin for those more full of life experience? I haven't heard a good Geritol commercial in years.

TTFN. Have a pleasant tomorrow. And a fairly happy evening, as well.

Today in History

I have a new thingie on my home page that tells me things that happened on "this day in history." Now, I'm writing this on Sunday where I live, but on the east coast it is already Monday morning (sorry, folks in the east). This day in 1986 marks the day that the space shuttle Challenger broke apart and exploded after launch.

That was my first "big world-scale crisis," and I was in my first year of college. I had gone back to my dorm room either after or between classes (couldn't tell ya really, too long ago), and I turned on my little brown, wood-grain-like, square radio. The announcement came on and, like they do, told us what had happened. I remember my first thought was "No! Things like that don't happen!"

It was a very sad day. Christa MacAuliffe was on board; she was an elementary school teacher (which I had aspired to be until just a few weeks ago). The kids in her classroom were watching the launch on TV. Her parents, husband and children were there, not to mention the families of all the other astronauts. It was horrible.

But afterward was worse. That was the first launch ever made with a civilian. Afterward, NASA stopped all launches for two or three years, until they could fix the problem (O rings, I think), and there was no possibility of a civilian flying again.

In 1988 or 1989 (I was married by then), the tried a launch again. I remember sitting on our bed with my husband, watching the 19-inch black & white TV, watching the space shuttle climb higher and higher, crying and praying it would all be OK. It flew higher and higher, did its little 1/4 turn, kept going...

It all worked okay.

Which reminds me of the Ron Howard movie, Apollo 13. In that movie, of course, three astronauts are aboard a spacecraft that explosively malfunctions, requiring superhuman feats to get the astronauts back to Earth safely. There are problems upon problems in this situation, yet we (or more specifically, Gene Kranz) did not give up. He pushed his fellow NASA workers and pushed and pushed them, not accepting any "we can't do that" answer. He didn't permit anyone to give up. He refused to acknowledge defeat. He would not even consider defeat. At times it seemed that his will alone got those men back to Earth safely. It was amazing to see, that kind of drive, that kind of will, even that kind of power.

Why do I walk with Jesus? Because if you take that kind of tenacity, that will that would only allow success, that would not let go of the idea of success, if you take that and substitute love, then you can begin to understand how much Jesus loves his creation, you and me. He won't let go. He won't give up. No matter what I have done wrong (and there has been plenty), no matter what tragedy I have gone through, He is there with me. Always. He won't give up. He won't leave.

Even more tenacious than Gene Kranz. Just thought I'd share.

Fantastic, favorite food

Food is one of my favorite things, so I thought it would be appropriate, since I just finished grocery shopping, to write about it. Sometimes, in the stress of daily life, nothing is ever so good as one of the following things, depending on the situation.

Ice cream-at least twice a week, at night before bed. Takes the edge off a long day like you wouldn't believe

Oranges-wow! what can I say? One of the true "happy fruits." Great for lifting a mood or for munching on at work when the day is slow and I'm about to nod off.

Pineapple-the other happy fruit. Same properties as oranges, but with a more tropical flavor.

Maruchan Chicken Flavored Ramen-I know. 950,000,000 grams of sodium. But it tastes so good when I'm hungry late at night. To make it even yummier, I drain the noodles, put a little butter on them, and sprinkle just part of the seasoning packet on it-no more than half. Then I try to eat one noodle at a time, winding it around my fork. Yes, I know...weird. But effective!

Spear-O-Mint Life Savers-They have these in the little card shop in the building I work in. These are fabulous, low fat crunchy things that help immensely when I'm stressed at work. I have been known to go through 2 packs a day. Oh, no! I'm a 2-pack-a-day lifesaver addict!!

Tazo Awake Tea-Ummmmmmm....

Good Earth Tea with Caffeine-Ummmmmmmmm...first thing in the morning.

M & Ms-Plain, chocolate ones. Sometimes I eat a few at a time, others I let one melt in my mouth until the inner, thin layer of coating is really soft, then bite in and get all the chocolatey, gooey goodness.

Cranberry Juice and Sprite-when I'm feeling decadent, yet thirsty.

My homemade pizza-with plenty of fresh spinach, tomatoes, LOTS of garlic, and lots of mozzarella. This is perfect for when I want to tuck in for the evening with my husband, and there's a game on, or something else we want to watch.

Applesauce and saltine crackers-when I'm nauseous. Also works with saltine crackers and Sprite.

I didn't buy any M & Ms at the store. If I keep them around the house, I end up putting them in the refrigerator and eating them cold, which is even better than having them at room temperature.

Any foods that make you feel better?

Award, Part Deux

I learned something else this week that is absolutely fascinating. Get this...if you don't want to wait until whatever time the postal worker arrives at your business location, you do have an option. You have the option to pay...yes, PAY $700 every six months to be able to go pick up your own mail at the post office.

That's right, you PAY $1400.00 per year to PICK UP YOUR OWN mail and for this outrageous fee, the Postal Service gets to process LESS work (they already have to sort it in order to deliver it, so all that remains is putting it aside for you to pick up). Wow...that must be a long walk to the "put aside" area in order to cost $1400 per year!

The Government Operation Award!

Howdy Doody, there, folks!

Today I introduce the Government Operation Award! The idea of an award has been shamelessly pilfered from Tori :)'s blog, with apologies and the hope that she will understand that sometimes, stupidity and incompetence is so pervasive, so blatant, that it must be highlighted. Today, I present just such a situation.

The first recipient of the award is The United States Postal Service!

I live and work in a large city, in the central part of the city, really quite near the post office building which is responsible (and I use that term very loosely!) for bringing the mail to its customers, which is pretty much everyone.

Now, silly me, I had always thought that it was the express purpose of the Postal Service to deliver the mail. Since they do this every day, one could possibly assume that some sort of routine would eventually be developed, so that the recipient of the mail could reasonably expect the mail to arrive about the same time each day. HA! NOT!

I have worked at my current company for over a year and a half. When I first began working there, Carl delivered the mail, and he did so at about 2:00 every day. Every day, Carl called me, and I went downstairs to pick up the mail (we get tubs and buckets of mail, so it won't fit into a mailbox and needs to be picked up. We have a note over the Post Office desk in our building, asking the delivery person to call our suite when the mail arrives). Life was good. Then, Carl moved, or changed routes, or something. He had fill-ins for over a year. These fill-ins would last a few weeks, and the mail arrival time would almost fall into a routine, and then BAM! The delivery person would change, and we would start getting mail at 5:45 p.m. Then it would come at 6:00 p.m. Then at 6:15 p.m. I would call the Post Office every day, and every day I'd hear the same story. There was a new person on our route. They didn't know they were supposed to call us (remember the note?) . Or they had had to split up the route and were still delivering. I would point out the ridiculously late hour, and the dork on the phone would apologize, and the delivery person would eventually show up, and then I could go home to my kids.

Recently, though, we were blessed with Sam. Sam brings the mail by 12:30 p.m., even on Monday when it's busy. He's quick and efficient and courteous. His uniform is clean and pressed (which is more than I can say for many of the delivery people we get). Sonny got all the backed-up mail delivered in one week, and then they were caught up (backed-up mail?? Wha?? They can let it just sit there and be, well, backed-up????? Fabulous). But I didn't complain. Every time I see Sam, I tell him what a wonderful delivery person he is, and how we appreciate him so much because now we get our mail on time!

Well, today, Sam was on vacation. I'm supposed to be off work at 4:30 p.m. At 5:00 p.m. I called the Post Office, where the phone-answerer-person said that they'd had to split the route up and the carriers were still out. I waited. And waited. I went downstairs, and outside. And waited in the wind. Finally I went into the other building, because the mail truck was in the parking lot, and he obviously wasn't in our building. I tracked him down in the mailroom for the other building. He had already finished our building. He didn't know he was supposed to call us when our mail was here. I asked if I could get the mail, since I was still waiting for it. He said yes, but to give him 15 minutes. So, I waited. Outside, by his truck, with my cart, because I knew we'd have a lot of mail since they also didn't call anyone to let us know the mail was here on Monday.
He finally emerges from the building, gets my mail, I take it upstairs, and finally get to leave at 6:00 p.m., an hour and a half late. I missed choir practice. My kids didn't get dinner until 7:30.

I don't know how this particular Post Office manages to do such a lousy, inconsistent job. I am ticked off that their ineptitude forces me to leave late and ruins my schedule. But their supreme effort toward this goal earns them the very first "Government Operation Award!"

Sometime before our office closes at 5:00. P.M. But today, and on many occasions