QuestionAbel Parenting

Camp is my life right now.  I think I warned about it earlier.  Even posting once a week may not happen as I will be busy slowly recuperating after a harried week.

Sam was here.  She stayed for a few days and left this morning.  It was nice to have her to go home to and to spend time with.  We have applied for our marriage license for our “fake” wedding.  She wants little pomp occurring with it.  And that is how we are rolling.

I have little time to write in the camp environment.  I am very busy doing other things – and that is okay.  Those other things involve my creative juices and actually see me writing things.  The staff manual, the songbook, notes to counselors and other things.  Once this summer is over, the return to Stillwater will allow me time to work on writing again.

And so I am not so frustrated as I am impatient.

Grandma’s funeral was on Saturday.  It started at eleven and was, as these things often are, a bit too long.  But it was very nice.  Nic and I were pallbearers along with my cousins and the guy who lives across the street from Grandpa.  The casket was not as heavy as I thought it might be.

Among other things, I heard the story of how Grandpa and Grandma met.  It was a nice little story.  They met at a square dance and she caught his eye.  A few weeks later, he saw her at a show at the auditorium and asked to take her home.  He had heard everyone call Great-Grandma “Ma,” so he said “Ma.  Can I take Ruthetta home.”  That was that.

Grandma sat in the middle of the house when we visited.  She was an empress to the family.  You could goof around all you wanted with Grandpa, but to upset Grandma was worse than murder.  I don’t recall anyone ever doing it.  She made sure the house was clean.  More importantly, she made sure the house was welcoming.  There are few places I have been as welcoming as my Grandparent’s house.  Little was off-limits to us growing up, we were free to explore the woods and fields in the back.

Most of my family was there.  The only cousin missing was Gail, and she had just been there a few weeks ago.  She lives in Panama with her husband, so it was a big thing for her to be able to make it up at all.  I know she would love to have seen us all.

I will miss Grandma.  And that’s the end of my feeling.  She died in the best circumstances, having lived a full life.  Grandpa held her hand when she went.  We had all said we loved her.  She is free of pain now, whatever has happened.

I will miss Grandma.

My grandmother has passed away.

This is a bit of a big thing.  I have had the good fortune to reach age twenty-five with all my grandparents in fairly good health.  Grandma Grimm has been in failing health for the past few years, so this comes as no surprise.  Still, it is a shock to have it happen.

Ruthetta Grimm, called Willie by Grandpa Grimm, has always been a mythic figure.  You couldn’t do much in my youth to anger Grandpa, but woe unto he who angered Grandma.  I never did.  All I saw was a sweet woman who made amazing pecan pie.  But there was the imagined Grandma, the one you never wanted to see.

I last saw her a few weeks ago.  I wanted her to meet Sam and know we were getting married.  She held Sam’s hand and mine.  For a long time, I was alone with her.  Grandma held my hand, too weak to sit up.  We just sat in silence.  Grandma and I have never talked much – I was never articulate enough to carry on a conversation when she was in health.  But it was nice to sit with her.  I let her know I loved her and kissed her forehead.

I did all I needed to with Grandma.  Her death is sad, but she is done suffering.  She touched a lot minds and hearts.  My mother learned to cook from her.  Mom taught my sister and me.  She is alive whenever Sarah makes a pie, even just a little.

So, Grandma’s book is closed.  But there’s one Hell of an epilogue to her story.

It has been a while.  I did warn you.  Gone are the wonderful days when I could update everyday, sometimes twice.  My schedule will not allow it.  But I know people read this blog.  There’s only a handful who seem to visit, and most of them are people I already know, but I feel compelled to reward them.  In that vein, it seems I should update regularly.  But when I throw myself into a schedule, chaos reigns.  I cannot say “I will have a new update every Wednesday.”  It doesn’t work.

My promise to you, the reader, is this:  I will update once a week.  It will be an update of substantial material.  An essay, a poem, something new created by me.  Rants may be involved.  Humorous tangents will ensue.  But to make it easier on me (that’s who I really care about) I will not specify a day.  It could be Tuesday.  It could be Friday.  I could do one on Saturday and then on Sunday and that would count as two weeks.

I have never considered myself professional.  This cements it.  We Adventurer-for-Hires cannot be hammered into a schedule.  It doesn’t work.

ANNOUNCEMENT:  And now for the meat, the real thought.   I was unsure if I should say so since anyone can read this, but I feel there’s no reason people shouldn’t know.  I am happy about this announcement.  It is exciting.  It is one of the greatest things ever to happen.

My dearest Samantha is with child.

Yes, Matthew Abel is going to be a father.  Several people will no doubt groan and say “poor kid,” but I will ignore them.  We have known for little over a month and the twelve-week mark is May 25th.  We are registered at Target.  We like the Classic Pooh line.

This news is a big reason I have started writing so much lately.  It is why I have been taking it seriously.  I want my child to have a daddy who is a writer.  I don’t want them to have a daddy who is miserable at his job.  So I try harder on the behalf of a son or daughter I have not met yet.

And after this?  We will be adopting.  I do not feel it socially responsible to have more than one child.  Samantha is having amazing bouts of morning sickness, so she doesn’t really think she’ll ever want to go through it again.  Her mind may change. 

Names?  If it is a girl she shall be Gabriella.  We have no middle name.  Boy’s names we like are Quentin, Gibson, and Lando.  Well, I like Lando.  Sam thinks it’s a terrible name, but I am fairly certain if I keep trying she will crack eventually.

To end, the due date is December 20 – My sister’s birthday.  She is thrilled, let me tell you.

Finally.  I finally arrived home.  Awaiting me was the latest volume of the Percy Jackson series:  The Battle of the Labyrinth.  I have talked before about this series, but here is a recap:  Percy Jackson is the demi-god son of Poseidon and has to save the world.  His friends are other demigods, a centaur, and a satyr.  That’s it in a nutshell.

The Battle of the Labyrinth was enjoyable, but the “new car” smell of the series is wearing away.  I must admit to being a bit disappointed.  This feels a bit like Rick Riordan just wanted to get the book done and raced through it.  It feels rushed as there were more than a few typos in the text as well – which makes me feel it got rushed through the publishing house.

As a Percy Jackson fan, I was happy.  As an aspiring writer, not so much.

THE LIGHT SIDE:  The action starts right away, which it usually does.  Things always seem to mess up Percy’s life, and in this book he meets a new romantic interest.  This complicates things since he has one already at camp.  The character of Nico (a demi-god) is more fleshed out and gains some closure from the death of his sister.  Percy’s half-brother, Tyson (a cyclops) has a strong role, which is fun.  We get to see more of Percy’s dad, and we see Percy’s god-powers show up big time.
The characters continue to grow.  They do so slowly, but the Percy in this book is somewhat different than in The Lightning Thief.  The other characters have changed a bit as well.

THE DARK SIDE:  The book seems rushed.  Many younger age books I read race through their story, but do so in a way that you don’t really mind the lack of fleshing out.  This book reads like a well-polished skeleton.  Part of the problem may be Riordan usually writes for adults, but I think he’s selling the youth short on bulk.
Also upsetting is the lack of innovation.  I was really hoping for a departure from the Percy Formula with this book, but it is rapidly becoming as predictable as the A-Team.  So far, each book goes a little something like this:  Percy gets attacked, Percy meets up with his friends, Percy and friends go on a quest, Percy and friends meet a Greek God, Percy gets sidetracked for a chapter in a parallel to a Greek Myth (The Lotus Casino in book one, Calypso’s island in this one), Percy escapes, Percy’s friends continue the quest, they sort of accomplish the quest but learn more bad things are on the way.
I think what really drives me crazy is the “sidetracked” part of each book.  It’s an extra chapter in each book and doesn’t always do much to move the story along. 

I had originally been very excited going into this series.  It seemed like it would encompass five books – just like my favorite series, The Prydain Chronicles – and would really be quite a lot of fun.  It is a lot of fun, but it is becoming repetitive.  I enjoy it, and will keep reading it, but I wonder if I will ever want to reread it.

(I had this same problem with Harry Potter – I couldn’t put the books down.  But I don’t really feel I’ll every have much urge to read them again.)

Whenever book five comes out, I will read it.  I certainly hope it is better than the fourth.  I would like to see a departure from the formula I have described.  I would still recommend this series to any lover of young fiction, so I guess that’s a good thing.  I am such an expert in it and all that

Well, here’s hoping all of this works.  I am at my parent’s house using their creaky Internet, which amazes me.  People have talked long enough about how quickly we have come to rely on the Internet, so why should I?

Sam and I left Stillwater yesterday afternoon and drove.  And drove.  It was a long drive.  We camped and froze and we drove more today.  Which brings us here.

I could enlighten you as to the happenings in the car, but there weren’t many.  Much of the conversation consisted of Sam asking me what on earth I was listening to and myself replying “NPR.”  She would then change the station and go back to sleep.  Kona the Kitten roamed the car with a mouthy meow unless we held her.  The dogs slept.

It feels good to be home for a while.  I truly love it here.  But this is the center of my complacency in years past, so it is good to move on.  Tomorrow, we travel to Sam’s Mom’s house for a few days.  We might see my brother this weekend.  Next Monday I return to Camp for the summer.  I am both excited and nervous for this.  I am nervous about the attachment I feel to camp and how sad I will truly be to leave at the end of the season.

Posting for the summer will be sporadic as I will be working all the time.  I will be thinking of wordpress during the summer and what I want my blog to “be.”  In the Fall, it starts again.

Sam and I just came back from seeing Iron Man.  It opened at 8pm and I was very upset because I didn’t think the local theater would have it until tomorrow.  Thank goodness I was wrong.  Around six I checked the website and squealed with delight.  Fandango provided the tickets.

We didn’t actually need to buy tickets in advance.  I don’t think there’s a strong geek population in Stillwater.  Maybe they were all playing GTA:IV

Iron Man is not cinematic art, it is just good fun.  Robert Downey, Jr. (as has been said by many) nails the role or Tony Stark.  Not content to have just one solid pick, the entire cast is excellent in their various roles.    The plot, while predictable, is sufficiently twisty.  This is no Batman Begins; they are two different types of movies.

The summer is shaping up to be quite fun.  Iron Man was preceded by a trailer for Speed Racer, which looks fun as well.

I use the term fun a lot.  There is a reason.  Somewhere along the line I think some people forgot just what movies are: entertainment.  Entertainment is best served fun.  There are plenty of movies that transcend this requirement and provide you with a holistic emotional experience.  There really isn’t a need for that all the time.  People need an escape.  Iron Man provides.

I have said before: reviews are not my thing.  I am not good with spoilers or gushing or being condescending.  So I will just finish.

If you are a big comic nerd as I am, you will want to stay for the credits to finish.  What happens?  I will not spoil it for you.  Trust me, it’s worth it.

Madam Curie was a dog.  Not the chemist, the dog.  My dog.  She was a shaggy black mutt with the intelligence of a dolphin.  If I had asked her to kick a football, I think she could have.  This was her talent.

I don’t remember what age I started begging for a dog.  My mom would probably state it was out of the womb, but that would be silly.  We had a dog then, undeniably mom’s.  A giant Irish Setter named Shaun.  If I think hard I can remember him and how I would try to ride him.  I was not very old when he died.  The unfortunate result of a car.

After this, we had a dog named Bear.  I don’t remember when we got him or when he left, because he was insane.  At the time I claimed he was always nice to me.  That is, he didn’t bark at me as much as the rest of the family.  My belief in this was firm.  Bear was taken to the animal shelter because he bit a neighbor girl.  That’s what mom told me, and I have no wish to disbelieve her.

It was several years later when I finally convince mom to let us get a puppy.  My sister had a friend whose dog had some mutts for free and mom took us over.  I have no idea if I had been demonstrating responsibility or she just wanted to shut me up.  It was a normal house just a few streets away.  The puppies were enclosed in one of those fences people by for the inside of the home.

The choices were down to a girl and a boy.  I chose the girl.  Very much into science at the time I named her “Curie,” which just about everyone heard as “Carrie.”

“No,” I would reply.  “Cure-ee.  Like Madam Curie.”  They would look at me like I was crazy.

Curie was crated.  My mom insisted this was the way to go and I have never seen a disadvantage.  I insisted the crate be kept in my bedroom which did have disadvantages.  Curie was a puppy and did not like being kept in a kennel at night.  Her first night brought mom to my room, both of us awake.  Mom was her typical motherly self, wondering what was wrong with Curie.

“Oh, you want to play” Mom said.  Curie nibbled at her hands.

Looking back, there were many things I would do differently now.  A hot water bottle would have helped a lot.  The crate would have been in the basement right away – its eventual home.  I would have played with her much more right away.

We played a lot.  Her favorite game was “run away from Matthew when he needs to catch the bus.”  I usually won that one, never missing the bus playing it.  It typically ended with a flying tackle.  She did run into my leg once, which caused much whimpering on her part.  During the course of her life I taught her tricks.  She could sit, rollover, lay down, jump in the air, and speak.  The latter was asked as “say please.”  Curie often asked for food politely at the table.

It was one morning while playing the game that she had her first seizure.  My sister, Sarah, and I had never seen something like that.  Curie’s generally bright eyes glazed over and she fell to the floor.  I ran to call Mom, incoherent at what was going on.  All Mom remembers us saying was that Curie was dying.  The seizure ended and as she came out of her stupor, she seemed distant.  It took a few minutes for her to be “Curie” again.

I was late to school that day.

It turned out Curie had epilepsy.  It wasn’t very bad at first.  Every so often she would fall over and seize.  We never knew when it would happen.  For a young boy, dogs can be the closest family member, so it was very harrowing for me.  I did what may have been typical – I withdrew.  I wasn’t capable of dealing with the situation at the time and played with her less.  She got worse – something was wrong with her liver.

I was at summer camp.  The meal was lunch or dinner, I don’t remember which, but I looked up and saw my parents.  They did not look happy.  I knew what was going on.

“Curie’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Not yet.”

Mom and Dad had driven two hours to give me the chance to come home and say goodbye.  The next day was the day Curie would be put to sleep.  I thought on it not very long and decided to stay at camp.  They seemed happy enough with my decision – I didn’t want to have to see my once brilliant dog reduced to skin and bones, barely able to lift her head.

Part of me will always regret not going home to say goodbye.