Losing Uncle John

One morning, I was sipping my coffee and merrily scrolling through FaceBook, when a post from Patence stopped me cold. Her father, my Uncle John, passed away the night before. My throat cramped, my stomach turned to lead, I let my forehead rest on the table. Through blurry eyes I read the message again. It still said the same thing that he was no longer in pain, his long battle with cancer was over, and he was at peace.

Wow it hurt, despite only having seen Uncle John a handful of times in the two decades since I left home. He's not even my “real” Uncle—although I have always thought of him as such. I know he's been sick for years, but he just seemed to keep on, keepin' on.

I selfishly hoped he would.

A little backstory:
From the time I was not-quite-two, my Dad and Karla were together, a relationship that would last for about seven years. My brother and I became step-siblings to her two kids, Lew and Regina. Lew and I were the same age as were Regina and Reed. Later, Karla told me it was like have two sets of twins. Being a mother of two kids, four years apart, I fully grasp the hair-graying complexity of that situation.

Always next-door was Karla's sister Kerry and her husband John and their three kids, Patence, Josh and Johnnie. Together we formed a pack of seven kids, almost outnumbering the grown-ups two-to-one—it was awesome. We roamed Blue River like a pack of feral puppies, acquiring more loose puppies along the way. I was the runt of the pack, but made up for it with sheer feistiness. I never lacked for playmates, fishing buddies, or fellow explorers. We'd organize epic games of hide-and-seek, freeze-tag, and smear the queer. (We all took turns as the queer—so really it was an empathy building exercise.) We'd get in trouble together and take our whuppins together. On warm summer nights, all seven of us would sleep in a row in cartoon themed sleeping bags under two huge sequoia trees.  I'll never forget how it felt waking up full of the smells of trees and earth while my head rested in the coolness of my dewey pillow.

I never felt alone.

Dad and Karla's tumultuous relationship was not to last. My Dad, my brother, and I moved to a duplex in Rainbow, Oregon. Suddenly, I felt alone—a lot. I missed my step brother and sister. I missed my cousins. I missed Karla, Aunt Kerry and Uncle John. I worried that I wasn't part of the family anymore.

John and Kerry hosted many a summer BBQ and after hurts were healed my Dad and Karla settled into an easy friendship. The first time we went to one, post break-up, I walked in feeling the outsider, trying to blend in with the foliage, until I was spotted by Uncle John and Aunt Kerry. Uncle John's face lit up, “Amy! how are you doing, darlin?” and gave me that warm hug that he was famous for. He was a tough ex-Marine, Vietnam Vet, man of the woods and all the hard labor thereunto, and also one of the warmest people you could ever hope to meet. Kerry followed up with a hug and a kiss.

I was home, they were still my people. My heart was warm and full. I ran off to join my pack.

Although in reality all of this is likely a composite of a dozen different occasions, later that day around dusk, John was playing his guitar and singing with his eyes squeezed shut while Kerry was close by his side swaying to the music and joining her voice with his in all the right moments. In my faulty memory it was “Danny's Song”-although it was probably something much cooler.

Uncle John is a hard man to say goodbye to.

John's children, Josh, Johnnie, and Patence & Co., organized a memorial for him over this past weekend. The first speaker, George, talked about how Jesus was sent for us ragamuffins—people that are a rough around the edges and full of mistakes, a sentiment that always resonated with me.

 He told a wonderful story about a time when John treed himself. John, George and Gary all logged together and one day John decided he was going to climb a particular tree, saying something like, “I believe I'm going to climb that tree now,” while George and Gary looked on. Up and up John went until he froze with fright. After many colorful attempts made by both men on ground to get John to climb down, Gary loudly announced, “I guess it's time we start the back-cut.” Gary fired up his saw and told John to, “Just try to jump off as the tree is coming down.” George said Gary even started to cut into the tree a bit, then John chose “fear over death” and scuttled down the tree. George felt that was an apt analogy for life.

I cried when Johnnie talked about how her parents were soul mates. Indeed, John & Kerry were always together, something I remarked to Charley recently—you never got one without the other, they even shared their birthday. I'm a little worried about Kerry now, but she told me her family is taking exceptional care of her—I believe it. 

I laughed when Johnnie said that when she was cooking for their family Sunday dinner and every week John would say, “‘Sissy don't tell me where having pork again,’” to which she told us, “So I stopped telling him—but we still had pork.” Looking skyward she said, “Sorry Dad, it's pork again.” referring to the delicious pulled pork that awaited us as the picnic.

Patence told wonderful stories about untying his boots after a long day logging or hauling, and how he'd save the treat from his lunch and leave it in his box, Zoo-Zoos or Ding-Dongs. Then after unlacing his boots for him, the kids would raid his lunch box for the treats they knew he saved for them. He did the same thing with his grandkids. After a long day at work, Papa always had his dessert saved for them. Occasionally, he'd be hungry enough not to have saved it, but the disappointed faces of his grandkids drove him to ask Kerry to run to the store and get them replacements. Patence said, “That's when I knew he had gone soft.” I think he always had a soft-spot when it came to kids, but it certainly got bigger when the beautiful faces of his grandkids appeared.

Nearly everyone else who spoke echoed my feelings about how John would light up when he saw you, like you made his day for no other reason than existing and crossing paths. It is a wonderful and rare quality to find in a person.

I soaked up every word, letting them float among my memories. Berzo squirreled on my lap and telling me time and again how boring it all was. Again I was feeling the outsider, but soon the talking was over and we got up to mingle. The many smiles, hugs and quick conversations drove those unfounded feelings away and I fully relaxed into the moment.

I was home, they were still my people. My heart was warm and full.

When it was time to go, I didn't want to...

Goodbye, Uncle John, may God have saved a place for you as special as you made each of us feel during your time here. I love you.

Book Review: Why Does E=mc²? (And Why Should We Care?)

Powell's Books · Barnes & Noble

Brian Cox & Jeff Forshaw © 2009

“A spirited, easy-to-understand collaboration… ...Why Does E=MC²? promises to be the most exciting and accessible explanation of the theory of relativity in recent years.”  This lofty promise graces the last paragraph of the dust jacket of this book.

Quothe the Dwight, “False.”

After reading (grinding?) this book, I do have a deeper understanding of Einstein's general and special theory of relativity, but it was neither easy-to-understand or fun—but the authors are having fun...

Imagine you're reasonably fit, and you have always wanted to go backpacking. You think a couple guides on your first solo trip would be wise. You hire Brian Cox and Jeff Forshaw, two lean twenty-somethings that have backpacked this particular trail 781 times, and have even summited Everest. They bounce with energy and are always excited. Now imagine Jeff pointing to a craggy peak away a piece called, “Understanding Energy”. It doesn't look too far, your legs are feeling sound, “OK, lets roll!” you say.  But instead of a direct line, Jeff and Brian take you on a long circuitous route. Sometimes Brian offers his arm across a puddle, “No thanks, I'm good."  Then later bounds like a mountain goat through perilous terrain, all the while saying, “Just follow me, this is so easy!” Three or so re-readings later, you feel like you can pick your way through the terrain. You're a sweating mess and Jeff and Brian are running in place to keep their heart rates up.

By the end of the book, you've visualized each of them finding a faulty handhold and plunging to their demise… “Wasn't so simple, was it Bri-an.”

The bottom line: if you have an understanding of physics, Newtonian, Einsteinian, and are familiar with the works of Maxwell and Faraday—and you're not easily annoyed, then this book promises a deeper understanding of the fabric of the universe. You'll understand that mass is interchangeable with energy, and that working with only those two can never bring you any closer than an approximation (Newtonian Physics); for something even closer, we must factor in the speed of light. (Physicists have yet to uncover the Grand Unified Theory.)  You will come to understand spacetime, that it is a pliable thing dented and creased by mass and acceleration and you may even be able visualize it as the fourth dimension; this was first for me. You will also play with star fusion, light, quantum physics, visit CERN in Geneva, and more. This book doesn't require intelligence so much as it requires mental flexibility, focus, and imagination… and the ability to not strangle the authors in the process.

Love Rocks

Berzo's Love Rock

It was the tail end of a meeting for a group I attend and Berzo was getting squirrelly. There's childcare available, but being trapped in a room with rambunctious, space-bubble-invading, three-year-olds doesn't float, no matter how cool the toys are. So Berzo sticks with me and after two hours of coloring and wandering around the room she's usually pretty ready to go. Eager to help, my friend Kathy reached into her purse and pulled out a lovely little rock with a blue heart affixed to it. She told Berzo it was a “Love Rock” and that she wanted her to have it. Berzo was still and quiet, a sure indication that she was touched. Kathy told her she could make one too. Berzo said that she didn't know how. So Kathy told her, “You cut a heart out of fabric and use Mod-Podge to stick it to the rock and make it shiny.” Berzo repeated that she didn't know how to make a Love Rock. Kathy tried again. Berzo said again that she didn't know how to make a Love Rock, with the patience to rival Job she explained it yet again, and then I took Berzo aside and told her we'd make some together. Kathy then filled me in on the backstory of Love Rocks.

Berzo gave Kathy a hug. (The space-bubble kid.)

Berzo held her rock in her hand all the way home, repeating her experience over and over, soaking it in. Then she gave her Love Rock to her Papa as soon as he came home, and she told him the whole story.

Love Rocks. It sure does.

www.love-rocks.org

Backstory:
In the fall of 2013 two young Forest Grove girls, Anna and Abigail, were hit by a car and killed while playing in a pile of leaves and our hearts collectively broke. It was surreal. Really? They're gone? Just like that? Just like that.

Instead of letting the girls' lives be defined by their tragic end, their parents decided to honor the love their daughters brought into their lives by starting the Love Rocks movement. Love Rocks can be found in parks, libraries, coffee shops and more.  They litter the town of Forest Grove, but are spreading all over.

Boots was also moved by the idea of spreading love this way we decided to make use of a sick-day to make a few of our own. We drove to Jo-Anne fabrics and the girls each picked out a fabric remnant they liked. While I hunted for Mod Podge, they popped in and out of the kid aisles. I made several speed laps around this store designed by Entropy herself, until I finally zeroed in on the elusive Mod Podge. Randomly choosing one of the thirty varieties, we headed to the checkout.

Mod Podge looks suspiciously like the rubber cement of the 80's, so I thought working outside would be wise. It was. Our fold-up card table is now shellacked in the stuff.

The girls hunted for five nice rocks each while I cut heart shapes from their fabric. I poured Mod Podge into two paper bowls and handed them paint brushes. They were off! They painted the fabric hearts onto the rocks with fervor and randomly shouted, “I need more Mod Podge!” and “Mama, I need another heart!” Then they'd dash out to get more rocks and wash them. The heat bored into the back of my head as we completed our labor of love. Boots looked up at me red-faced and said, “Mama I think I'm done. I'm getting too hot.” WHEW!

We then trimmed the paper “Love Rocks / FB” tags and painted those on the reverse side. We laid our rocks out to dry and retreated inside.

I was expecting to produce about ten total, but I think we ended up with about forty. Still slightly tacky, the girls distributed them to the door stoop of friends and neighbors. A pocket full of rocks accompany most of our trips to the park.

The best part has been the quizzical looks that people give us when Berzo or Boots is placing them and the delight they show when they hearing the story. On our last day of my group, Berzo brought five and handed them out randomly to the other members. They all came up to me to express their gratitude. My toddler gave them rocks and their hearts were touched. How awesome is that? One woman was particularly affected, and we chatted at length. As she turned the rock in her hands and caressed the heart, I could see how deep the small gesture set. She runs a child care and was wondering out loud about getting her little charges in on the love sharing.

www.loverockrun.com

If you see a Love Rock, upload a picture to their FB page, then take it and drop it somewhere else. Or if it makes you happy, keep it. Make a few to share and remember that it all started to honor two little angels called home to heaven early. If you're a runner or walker, consider signing-up for the Love Rock Run, all the proceeds of which are going to the construction of a memorial park for Anna and Abigail. The run will take place in Forest Grove on June 27th.

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