A life long relationship

The picture below is Lambeau Field in Green Bay, WI, approximately 30 miles to the north of where I sit right now. I attended my first game there on opening day, 1971. It was an exciting game, to say the least, and the Packers lost to the New York Giants, 42-40. It was the very first game in the four year coaching stint of Dan Devine. It is notable as Giant Bob Hyland, a former Packer, bowled over Devine as he stood on the sideline, breaking the new coach's leg in several places. He spent the rest of that season in a full leg cast. He had one winning season, 1972, of his four seasons, and was fired after the 1974 season.

I remember knowing every single players' name of that 1972 team, as they won the Central Division (now known as the NFC North) and went on to lose 16-3 to the Washington Redskins in the first round of the playoffs. The Redskins lost in the Super Bowl to the Miami Dolphins - the only team in NFL history to go through an entire season without losing a game.

The Packers are a leading source of income for the state of Wisconsin, and Lambeau Field is a bona fide major tourist attraction. It is a great facility, and since it was remodeled early in the last decade, it is beautiful and open every day. The atrium at Lambeau Field has hosted weddings, conventions, chamber of commerce events, stockholder meetings... you name it. It has bars, restaurants, the Packer Pro Shop and the Green Bay Packer Hall of Fame. The Hall of Fame rivals the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, OH - and some say the Green Bay facility is superior. All I know is that it is very cool - as a history buff, it has lots of tidbits for those who don't care for sports, and for the fans, it is a treasure trove of facts, figures, trivia and more about the team once known as the Acme Packers, who were founded by a man named Earl (Curly) Lambeau in 1920.

The stadium itself is a wonder. It was built in 1954 and was basically bleachers and fences. Many of the seats there are numbers on aluminum benches. What might be a semi comfortable seat in August or September, becomes a thin slice of valuable space in November or December, as fans add layer upon layer of clothes in order to shelter themselves from northeastern Wisconsin's climate, which can vary from 90's in summer, to well below zero in the winter. During a winter game, you can stand up to cheer, and not be able to park your butt back from whence it came, as the width of each person is half again what it is during fair weather. The New Year's Eve game of 1967 is iconic in NFL circles, as Green Bay quarterback Bart Starr dove across the goal line with less than ten seconds left to defeat the Dallas Cowboys 21-17 for the right to play in the second Super Bowl, in temperatures betwixt ten and fifteen degrees below zero. To listen to people talk now, I have estimated that crowd to be in the neighborhood of 750,000 - though the stadium at the time held less than 50,000. Everyone wishes to be a part of history.

People have Packer rooms in their house, with theater seats comprised of seats taken from Lambeau Field in one of their renovations. People have Packer bars in their homes. My parents travel a lot, and spend their winters in various places, never the same one, every winter. They have never failed to find a Packer bar no matter where they travel, so they can watch the beloved Green and Gold with others of the faithful. I have cousins who live in the Los Angeles, CA area. We see them every 25-30 years, like clockwork. The last time that they were here, they went to Lambeau Field before they came to see any of us. And we understood.

I live on a fairly busy county highway, it connects to area high schools - one with about 1800 students, and a parochial high school with an enrollment of about 600. There are times when I sit in my driveway for ten minutes or more without being able to pull out. When the Packers are playing, I could take a half an hour long nap in the middle of that road, and not be disturbed. The Packers are the only thing that matters for many people. If you want to have a leisurely round of golf, tee it up at kickoff time on Packer Sunday, and you just might be able to play three or four balls at once - you won't be pushed.

I know, I know - I can hear it already. What else is there to do in Wisconsin? There is lots, but I am not on the board of tourism. Anyone familiar with Wisconsin knows that there are lakes, the highest concentration of golf courses in the country (not kidding, look it up)... Wisconsin is beautiful, with rolling hills - what a lovely job those glaciers did on carving out the tapestry that I call my home, lots of trees and grass - some great state, county and municipal parks, history - the home of Frank Lloyd Wright, the architect, Liberace the pianist, the artist Georgia O'Keefe, actors Spencer Tracy, Orson Welles, and Frederic March... and of course, Harry Houdini...there are museums and theaters and any number of things that make my home state a treasure to be my home. 30 miles to the south is a major aviation museum which hosts one of the world's major fly-ins, and the airport becomes the busiest in the nation during that last week in July.

People choose the Packers because we own them. Yes, the only team of any professional league to be owned by their community. That's right, in the 1950's - the team struggled financially and they decided to sell stock to the community to raise money. The team has a board of directors, and they meet once or twice a year, with their stockholders, at Lambeau Field - somewhere around 25,000 or so will show up. When the Packers won the Super Bowl in 1997, they were greeted by close to 100,000 people who lined the streets of Green Bay, waiting for hours to catch a glimpse of a couple passing buses. When the Packers arrived at the Lambeau Field, they were greeted by a full stadium. In temperatures that were in the single digits.

We love the Green Bay Packers. Don't ask why. We just do. We own them, and we'll never stop living and dying with them. It's a community thing.

hold my hand

I have nowhere to go, so here is just as good as anywhere else that I could be. And I have such loveliness around me. The crystal quiet of snow falling, without any sound, when wind has paused to catch its breath, and the world turns on its own, with no reason to hasten toward the next day. I peer out toward the river, and cannot see anything, even with a full moon, the falling snow obliterates anything in view. I sit with my head in my hands, a slight smile upon my face and I ponder the richness and mystery of memories.

As I went through each detail of the lovely interlude that had preceded my arrival in this spot, I was thankful for the clarity of the images. Her voice, a touch scratchy from a recent cold, and strained and somewhat muted by all of her laughing. Her voice was always a lovely thing to behold, as she always spoke with a smile in her voice. She seemed to be always on the verge of laughing, and for that reason some people did always take her seriously. But her upbeat manner and hair trigger sense of humor belied a spirit of passion and a devotion to the things that she held dear. She loved animals, she loved theater, she loved to read, and she was desperately loyal to family and friends. Though happy and optimistic, she was guarded with her feelings, and could take some time before she warmed up to anyone or anything. When that warmth was evident, it was an intoxicating thing to behold.

After the failed gymnastics on the bleachers, we had slowly made our way back to where I lived. By foot it was only three quarters of a mile or so, but it was nearly all uphill. More comedy ensued as we had trekked up the hill that led out of the park. The falling snow was somewhat slippery, and camouflaged some ice underneath, and the fall going up the hill was a noble and equal encore to the tumble on the bleachers... this time, my feet shot straight out and I was parallel to the ground for a few seconds, hanging in the air, seemingly weightless, until gravity rediscovered me and threw me to the ground. She nearly went with me, as we each had an arm around the other's waist, but the abruptness of it had thrust me away from her as I fell with a thud to the ground. Momentarily stunned, and with the wind partially knocked out of me, I gasped. This startled her further, and she thought that I was hurt seriously... When I shook my head and tried to clear the stars and cobwebs, I apparently made a sound and a face that struck her... Full blown giggles struck again, and having caught my breath, I laid out fully and just listened.

Her laughter was all that could be heard, and what a treat. I was glad for multiple reasons that I was ok, right now, the major reason was that she was useless. She fell to her knees and could not get up for a period of several minutes. When silent, I closed one eye, looked at her seriously, and whispered "Lucky for you that I love you, or all this laughing at my expense might get on my nerves..." The words caught her off guard. She smiled, her eyes opening very wide, and she took her hands, and placed them on her upper chest, fingers pointing toward her face...

"Moi?" she said. "You love me. You love me? You... love me. Well, ok." Her laughter stilled, for now, her face took on a countenance I had never seen before. As I struggled to my feet, ignoring the the newly collected aches and pains, I was anxious to pursue this topic. For clarification, for assurance, for any number of reasons. As I finished brushing the snow off of me, more so to gain time to decide how to proceed. She had turned away from and was looking off into the distance. I touched her shoulder, and she turned and threw her arms around me. She was shaking again, this time in tears.

"No one," she gasped. "No one, has ever, ever told me that."

The walk continues - the snow, the night, the quiet

As I continued walking, I was shrouded in the silence. For the first time, I felt the cold, and was keenly aware of being alone. This park, during the summer, is bustling with any number of activities. Now, I was the only inhabitant. That thought created a feeling of vulnerability, and it was very strong... The snow continued unabated. I turned the collar up on coat, thrust my hands deeper into my pockets, and trudged on. I followed the bend in the road, down a hill.

I was hit with moonlight in the face. The trees had parted, and the moon struck me full on. A recent warm spell had thawed the river, and the water moved freely again. The eagles must like that, having more opportunities for fishing. The scene stopped me dead in my tracks. I watched the snow fall, it was really piling up. Before me was the softball diamond, scoreboard, bleachers... all of it. As if Charles Dickens had led me here with the ghost of Christmas Past, I watched a scene from a time gone by, as it played out before my eyes...

When was it, how long ago? It matters not. It will be an image playing in my mind as I draw my last breath, as the conscious will view my life as it passes before my eyes. Let me linger right here, and be in that moment again. I am walking on a certain section of bleachers, like a kind of target. I get to an assigned place, wheel and head back in the other direction. She stands some distance away, and tries to pelt me with snowballs. An idyllic setting, another winter night... warmer then, maybe not temperature wise, but her presence made it so. No, it was warmer, the big flakes coming down, easily packed into snowballs. The current snow, too cold to make snowballs...

I hear her laugh. I can always hear her laugh. My foot hit the edge of the bleacher that I was standing upon and I fell off, with much noise and the flailing of limbs... Aluminum bleachers can be a tad unforgiving, what I wouldn't give to feel those bruises again. She shrieked, a combination of fear and hysterical laughter - she was genuinely afraid for my well-being, but could not hide her mirth at the clumsiness of the fall. Of course I wasn't hurt, shattered limbs would not have allowed me to dampen that moment... When she knew that I was alright, the laughter would not stop for some time. It was a fortuitous fall, as she held me so tight, both as a gesture of comfort to me, and as an aid to herself to keep her from falling down amid the peals of laughter.

We stood in the moonlight and kissed, it may have been a brief kiss, I only remember the passion, and not wanting it to end. When frozen in time like that, a moment of bliss and beauty can break the elasticity of time and space. As my current self stood and watched, I felt those arms around me yet. "Ass over tea kettle, oh my god... that's where that expression came from! You... you," unremitting, convulsive laughter, "it was like slow motion - hands, legs, then you..." more giggles, tears now... "you tried to catch yourself... you sure... are you..." her face now buried into my chest..."are you ok?" I feel her trembling as my fall plays over and over in her mind. For this kind of reception, I may make clumsiness a part of my normal routine...

I placed my hands on her shoulders, peered into the loveliness that her eyes always made me feel, and said "I am so glad that I can entertain you." To be honest, one shin, a knee, and a couple ribs were still singing out in genuine pain, but it was so worth it. The quiet that engulfed us, the intimacy that we shared, the night, the snow, the quiet, the setting - thank you, ghost of Lovely Past... why I get to replay this now, who knows... her lips came to mine again. Don't, please... just stay, a little longer.

And I was here again, alone. I felt a stinging on my cheek, and knew right away that the tears were freezing on my cheeks. Another badge of honor, the pain was such a lovely hurt. I made my way down to the entrance to the ball diamond, slipping slightly, gaining a grip on the chain link fence to catch myself. Wiping out here and now would not be nearly as entertaining... A few steps more and I was there again, same spot, same bleacher, only time, eternity, circumstances and memories separated that moment from this. It felt good to be here again.

I sat down and watched the moon. The quiet yawned around me, threatening to swallow me whole. I wonder if she thinks of this at all. My heart smiled. The moon winked. The snow fell. I don't know how long I sat there.

We went walking

In order to create a more perfect frame of mind, I decided to go out walking. I have a love/hate relationship with winter. I am so in love with calm, quiet winter days and nights, when every sound announces itself and is crisply enunciated from every other sound and occurance. I hate the windy, downright dangerous cold that chases us from cars to indoors and causes so many people to head for warmer climates. I love to walk, and nothing does better for my state of mind than to walk, to listen, to watch, and to air out the gray matter.

Not far from where I spent my formative years there is a park. My hometown is smallish, probably 5-6,000 and will never be much bigger, as it is totally hemmed in by a river, a highway (with another municipality staking claim to everything south of that highway), and two other communities right up against the borders, east and west. It is a pretty nice town, the folks there a bit too provincial for my tastes... and it bears the name of a corporate giant who used to run the paper mill in town there. The mill shut down in 2008, and the town is still reeling from the after affects...

One of the great things that the corporate giant did was donate land for my park. It's mine, because it's there for me when I need it. It's on a point in the river, that lovely river that I have saluted in blogs past - one of the few in North America that actually flows north. The park has softball diamonds, as my hometown is drunk on sports... it has a small playground, shelters for social events, a boat landing and trails. It's major claim to fame is that it has hosted the World Fastpitch Softball Tournament every few years dating back to the 1970's.

But my joy comes from visiting there in solitude. There is an observation deck that overlooks the river. I have written tributes to that as well. Tonight I visit that deck, brush off the seats and just listen. Wind way up in the top of the trees but I feel it not a whisper. Sounds of distant traffic from the highway bypass a mile or two to the west. An owl or two or three trading gossip in the distance... and hush of crystal quiet that both calms the soul and echoes of dark sadness and loneliness. I hear a train whistle... it is a freight train, but it evokes that mournful cry, as so often in the past a trains often were about the business of bustling someone away to somewhere else, and someone else was pierced by the sound of their loved one leaving...

After moments of this rarefied air, I rise to move and breathe in different air. I cannot bear this lovely symphony of sadness too long, or be carried off with it. I walk up the steps and am quickly on the road. I love crunching the snow under foot, as the snow that is falling is cold, not very wet at all, the temperature in the teens... This is not conducive to big snowflakes falling, but the ones coming down are persistent, and lovely, and piling up.

More tomorrow... I need to linger on this

Feeling, much, much better... thank you

I have not blogged in what seems like eons... my time in the summer can be quite limited, and with being a third shift worker with limited internet access at work, it can be a challenge...

Lately, I have had some health issues, and I will fill you all in on it. Going back to June, our Wisconsin summer took a turn for the wet - lots of rain, record rain - the longest we have gone without rain is about 6 days, and when it rains, good golly Miss Molly, it will rain like there is no tomorrow. Yesterday we got a thunderstorm - two and a half inches in two hours, streets flooded, we lost power for a short time... and this has been a regular occurence.

And when it is not raining, our humidity is in the 70-75% range - which is not much by Southern standards, but rather moist and uncomfortable for Cheesehead standards. So the rain and humidity have pitched in to cause some rather high mold levels in the allergy index...

Another contributor might could be, not sure yet, but in June, my daughter's boyfriend gave her a kitten, and little Ruthie could be a factor of causing me further allergy issues. I was diagnosed with asthma about five years ago, and have had seasonal allergies for some time, so it could have impacted me when my immune system was being taxed by other things. Until June of this year, I did not even know where my inhalers were, my asthma was under control and not an issue at all.

So this nagging little dry hacking cough started, and pretty soon I recognized it as my old friend asthma. I found my inhalers and it kept it somewhat under control. As June stretched into July, and I was deeply immersed in my son's marching band season, my sleep time got severely compromised... to the point that if I got four hours of sleep a day, that was a lot... so as mentioned, my immune system was being overtaxed... At work, we started being mandated overtime, so I was putting in 9-10 hour days, six days a week, and I was starting to feel really run down... the cough didn't go away, and started worsening.

Marching band season ended mid-July, but by then, I had to start catching up on stuff that hadn't gotten done around the house and yard, and we had some nasty warm, humid spells mixed in with that... cough, cough, cough... by early August, the inhalers were not doing anything, and the sleep I was getting, was interrupted by the hacking cough. My ribs started to hurt, because I was coughing so much, and not really coughing anything up, no phlegm, just wheezing, and being short of breath.

Last week at work, I finally told my boss at the end of my shift Friday morning, that I had taken several unscheduled breaks in the office to just catch my breath, have some coughing jags and just try to rest, because I was exhausted. He told me to go home and get some rest, and I was more than happy to comply. I didn't sleep at all Friday night because of the coughing, and my son took me to the walk-in clinic at our doctor's office Saturday morning. As soon as he saw me, he heard the wheezing (before even taking a listen with a stethoscope) and said "sounds like pneumonia..." listened to my chest, and said "Wow." He ordered a chest x-ray and white count. White count was normal, and I had no temperature... but the x-ray showed my right lung had a white cast to half the area... he and I both concluded, pneumonia - I had pneumonia before, and this sure felt like it.

He gave me a couple different kind of meds - antibiotics for the infection in my lungs, cough suppressant with codeine to help me sleep, and told me to use my albutoral inhaler as much as I needed. The rest of Saturday wasn't too bad, as I was relieved to have taken some course of action to get me better. Sunday was not too good - I wasn't sleeping yet, the cough suppresant wasn't working too well, and each coughing jag was like someone having batting practice with my rib cage... Monday wasn't better, probably the worst day of all. I went to see the doctor again later that day, he gave me a nebulizer treatment, which helped. He gave me a prescription for prednisone, and told me that it was likely a severe asthma attack, and not pneumonia. He also gave me something for allergies, in case something was at play there as well.

So I had a pretty comprehensive battle plan in place - something for pneumonia, something for allergies, something for asthma... What happened next was pretty grim. Albutorol has a stimulant in it - and after the nebulizer treatment, I could feel the elevated heart rate. The prednisone also has a stimulant in it - it is a steroid and anti-inflammatory to fight the inflammation in my lungs. My heart rate soared, but nothing yet had kicked in to help my breathing, and so it felt like my breath stopped at neck level. I started having a panic attack, yelled at my kids, I couldn't sit down because I couldn't get comfortable, and couldn't stand because I was exhausted... my kids were pretty scared.

Back to the doctor, and he concluded that I needed to be hospitalized. I got there about 8:30 Monday night, and the resident who admitted me said my wheezing was out of control and quite "impressive." A quick nebulizer treatment helped a bit, but the heat rate was in the 130-140 range, almost double my resting pulse rate... they put me on oxygen, and gave me the prednisone in an IV... by morning I was so much better... it seemed to have finally gotten to the inflammation... and throughout the day on Tuesday I improved more.

They didn't want to let me go, because a normal person's oxygen saturation level is around 95%, and I couldn't get mine over 90. Finally a respiratory therapist showed me some breathing techniques, and by around 4 yesterday afternoon, I was cleared to go home. I had great care in the hospital, it was a brand new section of the hospital, great nurses, CNA's, doctors, staff - everyone... I got back home around 8:30 last night, and spent a restful seven hours in my own bed.

Not out of the woods yet, completely - meds for a spell yet, I have my very own nebulizer to help me if breathing gets compromised again, but all in all, I am much, much better. Thanks to everyone for your care and concern.

Though it wasn't pleasant, and I care not to experience it again, if this is the worst thing that happens to me, I am truly blessed. I have much for which to be thankful...

(hmmm... don't seem to have the ability to post pictures, what's the deal?)

a reason to pause

Amidst the blinding chaos that my life has been the last few weeks with the marching band about to leave on their 12 day trip out east (departed safely and on time yesterday) - increased work time, lack of sleep and whatever else went flashing by in my life that I could not attend to, I got an e-mail from my cousin about two weeks ago... We think of closure as something that closes a door, heals all, and swiftly takes us back to whatever "normal" is...

When you lose a child, that is nigh onto impossible, I cannot fathom the difficulty, the pain, the anguish. Some of you may recall, from 360 land, that my aforementioned cousin, my godmother, lost her son, a 36 year old pilot for the state DNR, in April 2009 in a plane crash whilst he was spotting a grass fire while on duty. To say the least, it was devastating. He left behind his wife and two little boys. The reason that his mom contacted me was that they wanted to include his bio in memorial to fallen firefighters which will be published later this year.

So amidst everything else, I agreed to do that. It was due today... so when the buses pulled out yesterday, I came home and set about the task of remembering Heath. I had written his obit, so I didn't want to do that again - I wanted to immortalize him. What you read is what came forth, I guess something that sits in my brain for ten days or so, can finally come forth when called upon. His mom and his wife loved it, and that is all that matters to me. Take a moment, hug and squeeze all those who are precious to you, and take a minute to remember those who make the ultimate sacrifice for us. Heath died while helping to safeguard our land. I still miss him, his wife, his little boys, his whole family, trudge on with huge holes in their hearts.

I just want to share a little sliver from an awesome life.

Heath

Department of Natural Resources – Wisconsin
Pilot
Date of Death: April 8, 2009
Age: 36

It’s been more than a year, but the pain of loss is just as fresh. The disbelief that someone who could live so fully and completely could be taken from us in the blink of an eye, is not one ounce less than the first moment we learned that he was gone. On April 8, 2009 a star truly fell from the sky, as Heath’s stay among us was cut far too short. That we are richer for having had him here for as long as we did there is no doubt, our memories are fond of the fullness of his life - his love for his family – his wife Jenny, son, Matt and Brett, his parents, brothers and extended family, and his genuine calm, smiling nature will stay with us and inspire us always…

Heath was a pilot, and he left us living the passion of flight. He was spotting a grass fire for the Wisconsin DNR, it could not be more appropriate that one of the true pleasures of his life was what ushered him from this life. The only passion that surpassed flying - was for Jenny and the boys. Had he his choice, of course he and Jenny would have taken great joy in spending many years together, watching their boys grow to honorable manhood.
There was a time in our country's history when people served their fellow man because they could do no other. Part of Heath's DNA was that if it involved flying, he believed that any risk was manageable, and that he could not imagine life that did not include flying. Working for the DNR allowed him to merge two of his great passions - his love of nature, and the feeling of peace and fulfillment that he felt when flying. A semi-famous letter from a soldier involved in the US Civil War to his wife, written in 1861 captures this sentiment "I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter..." And that captures Heath as well - if it involved flying, he knew he could handle many kinds of situations, and was therefore willing to accept some of the perils of that pursuit in exchange for the exhilaration that came with soaring above the earth...
His love for Jenny and the boys is deathless, and it bound him to earth as much as anything could… but there was that irresistible need to breathe in the sky, that washed over him like a strong wind, and though he used his skill and talents to serve others, there can be no doubt that his last thoughts were Jenny and the boys. Is it any wonder that when his family went back to fly over the site of his last flight, he found it necessary to show us that his spirit will always be carried upon the wind.

Greetings from...

The dark side, the graveyard shift... from the shrouds of night time... it is me, the erstwhile blogger, much more frequent commenter... I have to work out some kind of deal with whatever/whoever the being that apportions the hours of the day... somethin' just ain't right.

I started working third shift on Easter Sunday, April 4. Two and a half months later, and I have to say that I don't mind it, but I have not instilled the proper discipline of getting the sleep that I need. As I sit here writing this, my bones ache from fatigue... This being marching band season, I am trying to squeeze every last ounce of my free time into helping the band do what it needs to do... Two weeks from yesterday, they will leave for their 12 day trip to Boston, with stops in Ohio, New York state, ending with their normal season ending visit to Traverse City, MI for the National Cherry Festival, where they will march in two parades and perform in a field show. I should be able to catch up with them in TC to end the season with them, but the job thing has wiped out any opportunity for me to do the entire trip...

One of my "to do" lists is 12 items long, and that's just my Thursday list for the band. You don't want to see my yardwork list, and my housework list would be enough to chase anyone into therapy. Right now I am thriving on being busy... but when those coach buses pull out of the parking lot on June 30, and I am not happily ensconced in my front seat behind the driver... well, just be aware that I might be a tad crabby. It will be the first band trip that I will have missed since I started in 2005... Life goes on, but it makes me a tad sad, yanno?

Time to get back to work. I have choked down my second 20 oz diet Pepsi Cola, and so I need to have some resolve for the last two and a half hours of my shift. I am working 12 hours tonight, so the tiredity is bit more profound... this too shall pass... This morning when I crawled in bed, I giggled like I was having a lurid sexual affair, but it was only me, crawling betwixt the sheets, no one else was there. But getting into bed felt that good... I can't wait to do it again in a couple hours.

Just me, reporting that I am alive... Carry on.