Roadtrip, Interview, and Family History

I made the trip down to Houston recently to rescue my kids from their imprisonment. I also took my mom along. She wanted to visit her sister, my Aunt Betty. All in all, it was a great trip. We spent quality time with my aunt, visited the Houston Zoo, ate some fine seafood at an established seafood restaurant near the San Jacinto Monument, and got to visit with one of my brothers on both legs of the journey.

While we were there in Deer Park at my aunt's house, I took lots of pictures of the photos and family memorabilia in her house. I also conducted the first (of many.....hopefully) sit down interview with one of the elders of our family. It yielded some surprising results and fun facts that I would never have heard otherwise.

This trip and some of the activities we enjoyed on it, are exactly the kinds of things of which this blog was started for, to highlight and document these things and the people from our past. This journey I am on, helping my mother and trying to ensure that she enjoys as much of her life as she can from here out, took a huge step forward on this last trip. We are already planning the next trip and trying to include more people.

Some of the more interesting facts I learned from the interview include:

My mom's cousin, Al, introduced her to my dad and Aunt Betty to my Uncle Rob.

My mom's dad was the youngest of eleven siblings, nine boys and two girls.

My great grandfather Unger lived to be 101 years old and was THE Paul Bunyan's best friend (and here I thought he and his ox, Blue, were a myth) and he played a mean violin.

Last order of business:

Top photo - my son, Aunt Betty, Mom and my daughter

Second photo - My mom is standing and Betty is to her left, the other two are Aunt Bonnie and Aunt Bea

Third photo - My mom with the baby, Betty on the far left, Aunt Bonnie and Aunt Bea, and Aunt Bridgette is the baby. No idea of the dog's name.....yet.

Fourth photo - me and the kids for fun at a county line next to the Brazos River

Last Photo - Grandma Agnes, Aunt Betty and my cousin Evie

Writers' Workshop: Tears, fears and a shotgun ringing in my ears

I had a meltdown at work today. I had to get up out of my chair, leave my office, go outside of the building inside of which I work and weather the storm. Anyone who knows me would be asking, "who was he angry at this time?" I was angry with no one. I wasn’t angry, I was floored. I could not stop the grief from pouring out of me. It is known to happen more than I care to admit and has been for the last ten years. But I digress. When and where I have emotional meltdowns is not as important here and now as why I had this particular meltdown.

For once again I have been over to Mama Kat’s blog, Mama’s Losing It! I like to participate in the Writers’ Workshop she features each week, catch up on what she has been posting (she has some of the most creative posts I have read) and she has such a collection of interesting blog-stalkers and commentors. But today she has laid my heart so low with her post from her own heart, a poem written about one of the continual looping cycles of families. She has penned one of the most heart-touching poems about the metamorphosis of her life as a child. It spans the timeline from having a whole family, through the loss and mourning of her father, to her eventual adulthood including a husband and children, thereby bringing her situation back to the wholeness of a complete family once more, but for the next generation.

And she sums it up quite well by describing it simply as "a scary place to be."

I look at her pictures, especially the second one of her in her grief, and I rue that I may have caused such suffering for my own two children. I know that I caused it. I know that it is my own fault and that as much as I may rant about how my ex is treating me, that it is a direct consequence of my own failures as a husband and father. The thought and realization of this possible effect on my daughter and son is rending me. It has for ten years and it will continue. It is my invisible prison cell and a cell from which I will never be able to escape from or pay restitution enough to ease the burden of my cross. I am humbled and ashamed of my actions and lack of foresight.

Describing it is not good enough, you should read it for yourself and see the accompanying photos. It is simply beautiful.

What a/an (insert own appropriate descriptive name here – I used wench)!! I stop by her post to participate in the writing festivities and she sandbags me with own guilt. Women, we just can’t trust them guys. Sheesh.

But nonetheless, I am going to participate anyway! So here are the prompts:

1.) Define goodness...joy...sorrow...and anger using pictures you've taken.

2.) Tomorrow I will do it differently. Here's how...

3.) Describe a 'sound' from your childhood. What was it? When did you hear it? What does it bring to mind?

4.) I remember when...

5.) Right now is the best time to start. What's your first step?

Tough prompts this week. I will skip the first one because I don’t have my pictures available at the moment (but I thought Mama Kat did a good job of covering this one with her post, as well as prompt #4). The second one, maybe. The third prompt is interesting, but I don’t recall a lot of "sounds" that spark memories from my childhood. Wait, I do have one for prompt #3. I’ll come back to that. Prompt #4, Mama Kat blew it out of the water. It doesn’t even exist anymore. And the last prompt just makes my head hurt thinking about it. So I’ll write about the third one.

There is at least one sound that I do remember that has a lot to do with a big chunk of my past. That sound is loud and quick! It makes you almost pee your pants if you are not expecting it. Even when you are expecting it you jump when it happens. It yells "DANGER" at you when it sounds. It makes every bit of nature around you flee. It is a criminal’s worst nightmare and sweet music to an honest man.

It is the sound of a shotgun being fired.

I am one of eight brothers. And my grandfather was one of a number of brothers also. He grew up on a farm in western Missouri. He was taught how to fish and hunt at an early age. He joined the army right after graduating high school to serve in World War I. Even though serving in the war as a messenger, he was commended for trading his side arm pistol for a rifle, which he used as a sniper against the enemy within the Arragon forest in France. He was mustard gassed and had his backpack shot while on his back. He was lethal with a firearm. When he came home he took up wild-catting and made his home and living here in the desert of West Texas. He competed in and won a lot of sporting competitions for shotguns. He hunted a lot. My father hunted a lot and he was also quite lethal with a firearm. My father was also a retired full colonel in the military. Hunting and guns have been a part of my families heritage for as far back as I can find in my research. My grandfather and father passed on enough guns to us boys that we each have several. I am quite lethal with a shotgun. I hunt. I take my son hunting and will take my daughter if she ever shows an interest. They will be lethal with firearms too (call it a self-preservation skill).

And that sound, the sound of a shotgun being fired, brings back fond memories of many Saturday and Sunday mornings and evenings out in the fields around West Texas. Those trips, walking and whispering with my brothers or my father, were moments shared with the people closest to my heart. Moments with no worries or fears, just the excitement of stalking and successfully hunting game. Not hunting just for the sake of killing, but for food and sport, for the experience and the practice to be good with the tool that allowed our forefathers to break out from under their oppressors. This, to me, is the sound of freedom and security from the tool that allows an honest man to defend his home and family from intruders and criminals.

Mother's Day poem, summer plans and quasi-vlogging

I have been working on an "assignment" from Mama Kat's Writers' Workshop. She is nice enough to prompt us with a few choices each week to help us get our creative juices flowing and this week she did not disappoint. When I read the five prompts, I smiled as I had (unbeknownst to myself) accomplished one ahead of time. So I did two more with it and I am going to post all three. I probably should skip prompt 1, but I need to get used to posting videos. My vlog attempt is a bit embarrassing, but since it came from the heart I'll do it anyway. Pardon the bit of slurring, but I had a few cold ones by that point.



Now to begin. I wrote my mother a poem (it might be the first). I hope you like it.

DEVOTION

Devotion
is the single word to be heard
that sums it up for all.
It is what you've done for forty-one
of the years I can recall.

Devotion
is what my fortunate father received
when he took your hand.
How is it that he correctly perceived
you as the fairest of the land?

Devotion
helped build a rock solid home
for seven bros and my sis.
Perpetually chasing us as we all did roam
ready with a hug and a kiss.

Devotion
to your choice of life work to do
by becoming a nurse.
Opting to aid the sick and needy, too;
instead of stuffing your purse.

Devotion
is what your favorite priest finds
when you grace his eyes.
Your resolve is the kind that binds,
strong faith you epitomize.

Devotion
to being the type of kind soul
to turn the other cheek.
Forgiving trespassers no matter the toll
and striving to be meek.

Devotion
the same offered to welcome guests
calling at your door.
Open to filling any and all requests
while refusing to keep score.

Devotion
to husband, family, job, church,
foes and friends the same.
For the word, no need to search
I just use your name.

Devotion
to helping you enjoy your life
in any way I can.
If dad deserved it, doubly so his wife
the only mother for this man.

stu pidasso

7May2009

This summer, I want to take my kids across Texas. Every other day we will enjoy a different waterhole in this great state. We will start out west in Balmorhea, and proceed to work our way across Texas to the east on our trip to Houston. I intend to have stops in Christoval, Junction, Llano, Burnet, Austin, New Braunfels, Bastrop and maybe more. I hope to do some swimming, fishing, canoing, dam jumping, cliff jumping, river tubing and more. We may even get my sister and her three men to come along for part or all of the trip. We may have to split it into two trips and do half of it next summer. I'll keep you posted.

And the last bit of bidness, is the posting of my first attempt at video upload.

Strolling through my head

Work is slow and I twiddle (not Twitter) my thumbs most the day lately. With this much time to kill, I find myself rehashing a lot of things while trying to refocus and stay on top of all my crap. As I pour through my journals and other writings, I occasionally come across things that I had put to far back in my mind.

Recently I was thinking of my little brother, Anthony; whom I have been close to (by age too) for most our younger life but recently are too far apart. It shows in my poem.

The poem was actually written on his birthday in 2004 and that was before his young son was born. Alas, how time flies by us all.

Ode to my lil’ bro

I have got to say on this day
that my only younger brother
has done our family proud
by doing right by his mother.

He managed to find his way
out of Mudville, Texas;
all the way to Florida;
which, my mind, perplexes.

He sowed his wild oats.
He avoided serious trouble.
He got it out of his system
and snapped to it on the double.

He got his education, and
on track he got his life.
He found himself employment,
and a lovely wife.

He bought her a nice home,
and he started a career,
Then together they started
a family which to rear.

And with that little girl he does

the chores and duties which he outta.
He takes good care of Emma’s mother
and Bubbles’ third granddaughter.

stu pidasso

February 8, 2004

And last night, I stepped out for drinks with a friend and his wife. While waiting for them to show up and trying my best not to look like I had nothing to do, I started work on another poem for my son. I have been working on writing a collection of poetry just for him and I decided to write twelve of them on the subject of the Boy Scouts of America's Scout Law. It says, "A scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent." Scouts were a big part of my life growing up and I fret over the absence of that quality life experience for my son, but I can at least expose him to the ideals and principals that I learned from my involvement. While thinking upon the topic of "HELPFUL", my mind wandered across the term "a better man". I remember it from the Jack Nicholson movie, As Good As It Gets, where he tells Helen Hunt at one point that knowing her (and in desiring her) made him want to be a better man. Here is my poem, Better Man, about being helpful which I have written to and for my son.

Better Man

Some strive for a woman.

Some struggle for a child.

Some are doing all they can

while others lounge and smile.

But boy, I implore

that you understand,

it is worth it all the more

for you to be a better man.

As we live from day to day

and do all the things we do;

when you have the means and way

lend a hand when it's asked of you.

Endeavor to be helpful, son;

to others on life's road.

But help them by pulling your own,

before laboring with their load.

stu pidasso

April 29, 2009

People, perspective, x-ray vision and self control

It's late here in Mudville and I am catching up on some blog reading. I stopped by Jen's at Random Thoughts and read her musing on x-ray vision. She wishes she could read other people's hearts. As I was digesting this one particular post, I also made a connection between her desire and the large number of broken relationship bloggers I encounter as I browse. I mean the sheer numbers of people who are blogging about broken relationships in their day to day postings (myself included) is staggering. Well, I wish I could read other people's hearts too. The first one I would read would be my own. I want to be a stand up guy. I want other people to see me as a stand up guy. I want to FEEL like other people see me as a stand up guy. But why is that? Why do I care what other people see me as? Is it that important that we have a public persona that all the other people out there like? Or should we all be of the "can't please everyone all the time so I might as well please myself" mentality?



I have a brother who was trying to lecture me on perspective. He did a pretty good job of it. He got me to thinking about all the different types of perception. He engaged me in such stimulating conversation (almost makes you feel dirty when I write like that doesn't it?!?) that I literally went home and lay in bed and contemplated my own existence. GROOVY MAN!!! Well, he at least got me to acknowledge that there are a few different slants of perception to ALL our situations.



First, There is how you perceive things. You know how you think. You know how you vote. You know how you feel when you read all the horrific and mind-boggling news we see day in and day out in our world. You have a pretty good grasp how you see the world, right? Right. But how do you see yourself? Who do you consider yourself to be?



Now, compare and contrast (if you can comfortably do that) that self-perception with how you THINK others perceive you. Is there anyone you know that you think doesn't like you? Even a stranger you cut off in traffic? Anyone? Your boss? Your ex? Any enemies at all? Well, aren't you special!



Now, since you just mentally checked out that perception, you have perceived how others perceive you. That could be totally different from how they actually perceive you. Confused yet? Cool. So the whole "perception" thing is a crap shoot. You don't really know how others feel about you unless you are really tight with them and then you shouldn't even have to worry about it because they are apparently your mates, right? So, I guess we are back to the whole "can't please all the..", you know the quote.



That is exactly why we ask ourselves these questions. We want validation that we are good people. Not just validation that WE think we are good people, but validation that OTHER people see us as good people.



Back to that damn quote.



But the quote is true. We can't please everyone all the time. So we need to worry about pleasing ourselves and those loved ones we let share our lives. And to this end, actions speak louder than words.



I love my parents. I love my kids. I love my siblings. I love their families. I love my friends. I love my dog. And I strive to prove that love by doing the day in and day out things that SHOW I love them. Doing the dishes at six in the morning so that all have clean coffee cups. Coming home for lunch to make sure that my mom has eaten something nutritious and that my dog gets out for a walk. But as I suggest in this very post, actions speak louder than words. So ladies (and gents), you don't need x-ray vision; you just need time to actually watch what people do in certain situations.



It all comes down to self-control. Doing the right thing in the right situation at the right time is tricky. Actually it can be down right hard sometimes. And I know that I fail at it. ALOT. But that is cool because I know me, and I mean well, despite my own imperfections.



So, to heck with what you all think. I am going to tuck my mom in, give my dog a treat and have a beer. But I am watching you to see how you behave and if you are a nice woman with good values and show it by being yourself day in an day out, well; you rock!! And you heard it here as validation that I perceive you that way.



In fact, some of the bloggers I think rock are Diane, J Cosmo Newbury, Curl Girl, Mama Kat, Matt, Wendy, Janie, Black Hockey Jesus, C Beth, Laurie, Quita, Jenn, Angie, Melissa, and more than I can keep writing out. But I only see you on the web, so my perception is limited.

a few tidbits from my latest opium induced fantasy...

It has been a few weeks since I last posted and a lot of stuff is going on, but I am at a loss for any inspirational topics to blog about. My mom is doing okay, no back soreness or spasms. My drunk brother is, well...drunk. My perpetually young at heart brother is still trying to convince everyone around him that he is in no way approaching fifty. I still haven't gotten off my ass and completed any of the multitudes of projects I have started. My dog is still well, but his hips are quivering like a fat girl sitting on a running washing machine (no offense intended to anyone as I am one jellyroll away from 250 and 5'8"). Ahhhh, my sister. My sweet sister and her husband. My sweet sister and her husband and their two great teenagers. They all piled into the traveling vehicle and rampaged across Texas to get their sweet asses to Austin. There, older teenager competed in the state swim meet. He already set district records and excelled in regionals and was now trying his skill at state. They tanked. But not in a bad way. They (and I say they because he was there to compete with his school relay teams) were not sucky as in they had a chance to win and just flopped. No, they did their best and just got outshone by bigger, older, more prepared kids. My teenagers are swimmers too, and it would have been a great chance for them to support their cousins and see their auntie and uncle, but I was sick and my daughter was sick and my son had an art contest there in Houston. So a trip to Austin to see cousin swim was not in the cards. But this weekend I go to get them and bring them HOME for spring break. That has nothing to do with my sweet ass sister and her fam though. Anyway, said swimming cousin and his relay mates were ranked 15th in their first event and ended the meet in.......you guessed it, 15th place. They were ranked 14th in their second relay event and the finished there also. Whoever is ranking these high school swim teams has got one hell of a crystal ball in there pocket. Yo, high school swim ranker dude, can you give me a few stock tips??

For clarity, it must be noted that this was composed two weeks ago....before spring break. A follow up will be in the works tomorrow.

Before they were movies......

Growing up in my house, my dad was a little overbearing. I think it had a lot to do with the responsibility that he was shouldering. The man had nine kids and worked two jobs to help pay for our upbringing. In the evenings, he would come home and the tension would just be thick as soup. But when it came to dinner time (and we ate as a family most always), he liked to read to us. My dad considered himself a scholar and being a member of Mensa, I'd have to say he was pretty smart. He desperately wanted to pass that intelligence along to all of us. He was demanding. So, after finishing his meal, he would settle in and read us chapters of a book at a time. I remember him reading J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Hobbit", and the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. He even did the voices. How he kept all the voices straight from dinner to dinner was amazing. It was one of the neatest regular family events we had. SO long before they were made into movies, my siblings and I knew all about Frodo, Bilbo, Gandolf and all the others. Somehow those moments shared between my father and us got missed in the early teen years between my kids and I.