On a recent rip to DC we stayed at my sweet sister-in-law (hereinafter referred to as "The Queen")'s place in Pentagon City. We decided one evening that we should go out to dinner at a nearby steak house which is one of renown and good repute. I do not name it because of our experience.
My husband and I had scoped it out earlier in the day and checked the menu. Hmm. When the menu posted has no prices listed you do know it will be, shall we say, dear. It should also then follow, however, that food and service will be commensurate, yes? The Queen told us that she had a gift card for $50 for this restaurant and we were going to apply that to our bill. Come on -- you KNOW if they prices are not listed that the price for a meal for 3 is going to be well above $50!
We arrived at the restaurant that evening and had a short wait - nothing to complain about, truly.
We were seated and then told our wait person, "Veronica", would be with us shortly. A staff person very promptly set us up with glasses of water while we waited for Veronica. Then we continued to wait. Then we waited some more. The Queen commented,"it's been a while since we were seated, hasn't it?" We began timing. About 10 minutes later, Veronica shows up and explains to us that our menus were not forgotten (as we had none), but that they like to do a presentation of the menu items so we understand exactly what meats or seafood we might be ordering (aha! some of you now know where we were!) and that as soon as she could get the "menu cart" she would 'demonstrate' to us our menu selections. She advises us that she & Igor will be 'taking care of us' this evening. Then she offered to take our drink selections. Now I must say that I am usually a water drinker. The Queen and my hubby generally like to have a drink or glass of wine and since we were walking there was no need to worry about a designated driver - although I generally become the DD by default. The Queen and the hubby as well as myself inform V -- politely -- that we will simply stick with water this evening. She literally slams the "drink menu" booklet shut. I kid you not, she slams it shut with this frozen faced look of consternation and condescension. We realize at once she must think she is being "poker-faced." We realize at once - she should NEVER play poker.
We return to waiting. We wait some more. Still waiting. Does it seem as if I am repeating myself? I assure I am not. Several minutes later, after watching her sally forth a number of times around the dining room - hey, at least she was actually DOING something as opposed to standing around chatting with a fellow "server" - I saw her begin to look for the menu cart. A few minutes after that she arrives with the cart and three menus -- which she holds onto with a death grip -- to begin her presentation. She begins to proceed down her script, pointing out this cut of meat, that cut of meat, when The Queen gently interrupts her with a request to actually have a menu so she can follow along with the presentation. If looks could kill at this horribly forward DEMAND and interruption of this important and impressive event we would be planning a funeral for The Queen. Reluctantly she doles out a menu to this obviously difficult and probably demented individual and then continues in her demonstration. At the end of the grand production, hubby and I are handed our menus and V tells us she will be back for our orders shortly and leaves with the cart.
The Queen, hubby and I comment on the apparent attitude, laugh at the demanding attitude of The Queen and peruse the menu. We debate and discuss all of the options and finally make our decisions and prepare to wait for V. Did you catch that we seem to get to do a lot of waiting here? The hubby decides that he and I will share a baked potato - he had seen them and they were quite large, and they cost $11. Yes, half of an $11 baked potato should be fine. We finally arrive at the opportunity to order, place our orders and I even receive an explanation that the Filet Mignon Oskar that I have ordered is actually a filet that is cut in half and then served with 1 piece of asparagus and some lump crab meat and the bearnaise sauce. Cause - you know, I probably am unable to comprehend that a category entitled "smaller cuts of meat" might actually NOT be a 24 oz steak.
Soon enough the soup hubby ordered arrives and it is quite delicious.
The food comes VERY promptly, hot off the grill and we finally get to meet Igor. Igor is the gentleman who has come around with offerings of butter, sour cream, and bacon for our baked potatoes as well as fresh ground pepper. He is quite charming, easy- going and courteous and promptly has our potatoes looking delicious and ready to eat.
Before The Queen has taken a single bite and while hubby and I each have our mouth full of food, the floor manager comes around to ask how everything is. How do you spell "mpphmmm?"
The food is actually quite good, beautifully cooked, although I really feel no need and no desire to eat the little "toasts" that support my 2 pieces of filet and remove them so I can enjoy the actual meat and sauce. And it was delicious. Why fill up on bread when I could save that little bit of space in my stomach for a yummy dessert??
We finish our meal - mine being smaller I did actually finish it, but the hubby and The Queen have only been able to eat a portion of theirs and it wants to go home with us. V prepares to remove the plates in order to package them up when The Queen informs her she prefers to package hers herself.
Uh-oh. THE LOOK.
Now I will tell you that I generally prefer to package mine myself as well. We both have this "thing" about people touching our food. I have had servers in whom I have felt absolute confidence that they would take utmost care and decorum in the packaging of my food and felt no hesitation in allowing them to do so. With V?? Not so much.
V proceeds to advise this poor lunatic who she is ONLY trying to help that they have special bags and they are air-tight and it is a special way of packaging that they do for "leftovers." What - The Queen doesn't have the intelligence or ability to package her own food??? A - she is a MOM, B - she actually is intelligent C - she is an Assistant Attorney General for the State of Texas working on loan to DC. Pick one -- oh wait - all three apply. I think she can figure out how to pack her food up for goodness sake!
The Queen insists and so V goes off to the kitchen and manages to make a big production out of bringing back several plastic bags, pieces of aluminum foil and foil lined bags. She has to bring an assistant to carry so much - or it could be that she felt a need for a witness to the disaster that was surely going to occur when these foolish people who were likely from West of Nowhere (the igmos) attempted to package their own food. All the while with that plastic mask of disapproval that I believe she honestly thought concealed her contempt.
She asks if we are interested in dessert and I say that I am actually interested in seeing what offerings there are.
She brings a dessert menu. Uh-oh, it's time to wait again. And wait. And wait. 15 minutes later she arrives to take our dessert order. 15 minutes was too long, honey. I am now full and have no desire to order something that even 5 minutes earlier I would have done.
Once again we have let her down. We have failed her expectations and her dreams. She advises she will bring our bill.
It does come rather quickly by her standards, normal time by ours. My husband looks it over, gets out his card & The Queen reminds him we have that gift card to apply as well. He puts that also in the bill and almost immediately it is taken up to the front -- by another server....
It then comes back equally quickly, re- done with the $50 card deducted from the total. V then returns to "read" it to us mentioning "most not happy" - that the gift card had been deducted and she would take that whenever we were ready and leaves. Hubby looks at the folder (- HEY she forgot to slam this folder!!) to realize he had NOT put his card in there but his driver's license... he puts his payment card of choice in and we discuss how this is NOT going to be 20% tip - no way! - while we wait for V to take it up. She does come get it and take it for payment and we decide that yes, we will tip her (oh it was bad enough that NO tip was up for consideration) and that it will only be $20. I say only because the bill was high enough that $20 is only about 10%.
The next day we hit the road home and stopped at a Denny's for breakfast. Service there - triple A rating. That waitress was friendly, courteous, attentive, all around nice and pleasant.
Are we likely to return to "M" steak house again? Nope.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
The (mis)Adventures of a Very Bold Cat - Livia
Let me start by explaining the boldness of this particular cat. The unfortunate reality in a college town is that many students decide they need a kitten (or a puppy) then at graduation or simply at the end of the semester when they go home or sometimes because the animal in question is no longer a "baby" they abandon it. It is NOT all students, regardless - it happens.
One day about 6 or 7 years ago now this little cat showed up in my driveway with this demanding, strident and really unattractive meow. She was a pretty little cat but this grating and awful noise she made - let's just say it was offputting!
Certain that there was some sort of acceptance for cats in the household -- as witnessed by the presence of our Emporer of a cat - Tiberius J Cat -- she insisted on hanging around and continued to make this screeching horrible sound.
For 2 or 3 days she persisted in hanging around and meowing. On Day 3 as I was attempting to remove something from the trunk of my car she jumped into the trunk made eye contact and meowled stridently at me. Well, that is a bold little cat and I told her she was.
Okay - I am a little bit of a soft touch but it dawned on me - this cat is really hungry and I could not let her starve. So - you guessed it - I fed her and therefore she claimed ownership of us and her rightful place. My son named her Livia. Of course he insists on giving all of our cats their middle initial as well so her name is Livia J Cat
When we moved from that house 5 years ago, naturally we brought her with us. Mind you she has NEVER strayed off of the property at that house nor at our present location.
Once fed, she stopped making the ugly sound completely. You have to admire a creature who so insistently seeks what she needs, yeah?
Example 2 of her boldness: When we moved out here (we live in what my sons would definitely call the sticks) I would let her in the house - at first. She insisted on getting up on the dining room table and I was not having that. I know to discipline a cat you don't spank them, you grab them by the scruff of the neck and lower their shoulders to the ground with a hiss as their mothers did. I did this to her on her last day in the house ever. She turned and bit and scratched and hissed at me as if SHE were in charge and I had better kowtow to her. Thus, her last day in the house ever...
Now Livia has a partial hearing loss. She is not completely deaf but there is a definite loss there. My husband tested this "theory" of mine one day when he was in the garage and needed to use his bandsaw. The royal empress Livia (in her mind, anyway) was nearby and he didn't want for a sudden cat attack of panic to occur so before he began working he turned on the saw and watched her. Not a muscle twitch, not a whisker twitch, no response. So happily he sawed away. In order to call her I sometimes have to clap to get her attention so the vibrations will get to her and she will pay heed. If she does not want to come in at night or whenever, she will NOT. If you attempt to pick her up - well let us say I have some suede work gloves I don in order to pick her up when we insist on putting her in the garage for her safety.
The other night she did not want to come in. She was happily ensconced on a porcelain stand we have by our front door which she, apparently, considers her pedestal. It seemed a nice enough evening, she was entirely unafraid of being there and so I let her stay there.
In the night, torrential downpour, thunder, lightning. I woke up in the wee hours and thought - well somebody is going to be happy to come in when I get up!
I am an early riser and when I got up I made some coffee and started my "zoo duties" of feeding and caring for the cats. I went to the front door and she was not there. She frequently will go to the back porch during weather and it was still rumbling and flashing, although it was not pouring down rain at that time. I called her, clapped for her, called again and looked for her a number of times. No response.
All morning I looked for her and called her. About 1 in the afternoon my husband calls me. "Honey, I'm at the triplex and you won't believe this - Livia is here, she was up in the under body of the truck bed."
She had crawled up in there to get out of the weather and had stayed there - through my searches for her before he left for work, through the trip to the Interstate, through the 70 MPH trip on the Interstate, and had even stayed up thre when my husband got to work and parked the truck. He left work on his lunch time to go to the triplex he owns in order to take our recycling there. When he moved the canister full of recycling in the truck bed THAT finally was more than she could bear and she left the truck and hid somewhere.
I drove down town and looked for her for an hour. I had with me a cat recovery kit consisting of 1) a cat carrier, 2) a towel to wrap her in if necessary, 3) a spoon and a can of cat food.
I met with no success and even went to the funeral home where my husband works in order to look there in CASE she had crawled back up in the truck. Nothing.
I went back this morning agains fully equipped with my cat recover kit - and also a little dish to put the cat food in so IF I found her she could eat without cutting her little face OR if I had to resort to opening the can to attract her I could at least not have cat food spilled all over the place on the ride home.
I got to the Triplex and called and called with no response. Putting my "cat thinkin cap on" I determined what I would do if I were a frightened little cat who did not like to travel far from my security base and I was mysteriously transported to a very strange place. Aha!! Over there in the cover of the overgrown greenery on a back porch that is never used! Perfect - no one can see me, I'm off the ground and I can think about my situation as I recover from my fear and DAMN!! I am hungry!!
So I walked over closer to that area, called, tapped the can with the spoon - a sure fire way to get a cat's attention regardless of hearing issues - and I hear a little meow. I persist and sure enough, a little cat face appears, she recognized me and had quite a series of complaints about hunger first and foremost and about how very much she does NOT like to travel and where exactly am I any way mom?
I open the can and profer it to her in the little dish and she happily begins to eat although you can tell she is still a little freaked out by her travels. I go to get the cat carrier and slip the food dish well back in to it. I gently grab her up and attempt to place her in the carrier as well.
Did I mention she hates to get in the cat carrier? She will NOT be put in. I pick her up and pet her and try to calm her. She does indeed calm a bit but still refuses admission to the carrier. Another petting and soothing and I determine if I can just get her part way in I can push her with the closing door and - oh yeah baby! Success. She is in the carrier although not really happy about it. Then when I pick it up the swaying of it starts her fright anew. So I pick it up like a box and put it in the car, cover it with a blanket and get in the front seat and start up the motor. Total quiet and apparent calm reigns in the back seat. For a while. Now for the 15 mile trip back home through town.
We arrive home with relatively little complaints from the back seat and upon her release you can see she still is a little shaken by her adventure but ever so happy to be home at last. Maybe no more road trips for her..
One day about 6 or 7 years ago now this little cat showed up in my driveway with this demanding, strident and really unattractive meow. She was a pretty little cat but this grating and awful noise she made - let's just say it was offputting!
Certain that there was some sort of acceptance for cats in the household -- as witnessed by the presence of our Emporer of a cat - Tiberius J Cat -- she insisted on hanging around and continued to make this screeching horrible sound.
For 2 or 3 days she persisted in hanging around and meowing. On Day 3 as I was attempting to remove something from the trunk of my car she jumped into the trunk made eye contact and meowled stridently at me. Well, that is a bold little cat and I told her she was.
Okay - I am a little bit of a soft touch but it dawned on me - this cat is really hungry and I could not let her starve. So - you guessed it - I fed her and therefore she claimed ownership of us and her rightful place. My son named her Livia. Of course he insists on giving all of our cats their middle initial as well so her name is Livia J Cat
When we moved from that house 5 years ago, naturally we brought her with us. Mind you she has NEVER strayed off of the property at that house nor at our present location.
Once fed, she stopped making the ugly sound completely. You have to admire a creature who so insistently seeks what she needs, yeah?
Example 2 of her boldness: When we moved out here (we live in what my sons would definitely call the sticks) I would let her in the house - at first. She insisted on getting up on the dining room table and I was not having that. I know to discipline a cat you don't spank them, you grab them by the scruff of the neck and lower their shoulders to the ground with a hiss as their mothers did. I did this to her on her last day in the house ever. She turned and bit and scratched and hissed at me as if SHE were in charge and I had better kowtow to her. Thus, her last day in the house ever...
Now Livia has a partial hearing loss. She is not completely deaf but there is a definite loss there. My husband tested this "theory" of mine one day when he was in the garage and needed to use his bandsaw. The royal empress Livia (in her mind, anyway) was nearby and he didn't want for a sudden cat attack of panic to occur so before he began working he turned on the saw and watched her. Not a muscle twitch, not a whisker twitch, no response. So happily he sawed away. In order to call her I sometimes have to clap to get her attention so the vibrations will get to her and she will pay heed. If she does not want to come in at night or whenever, she will NOT. If you attempt to pick her up - well let us say I have some suede work gloves I don in order to pick her up when we insist on putting her in the garage for her safety.
The other night she did not want to come in. She was happily ensconced on a porcelain stand we have by our front door which she, apparently, considers her pedestal. It seemed a nice enough evening, she was entirely unafraid of being there and so I let her stay there.
In the night, torrential downpour, thunder, lightning. I woke up in the wee hours and thought - well somebody is going to be happy to come in when I get up!
I am an early riser and when I got up I made some coffee and started my "zoo duties" of feeding and caring for the cats. I went to the front door and she was not there. She frequently will go to the back porch during weather and it was still rumbling and flashing, although it was not pouring down rain at that time. I called her, clapped for her, called again and looked for her a number of times. No response.
All morning I looked for her and called her. About 1 in the afternoon my husband calls me. "Honey, I'm at the triplex and you won't believe this - Livia is here, she was up in the under body of the truck bed."
She had crawled up in there to get out of the weather and had stayed there - through my searches for her before he left for work, through the trip to the Interstate, through the 70 MPH trip on the Interstate, and had even stayed up thre when my husband got to work and parked the truck. He left work on his lunch time to go to the triplex he owns in order to take our recycling there. When he moved the canister full of recycling in the truck bed THAT finally was more than she could bear and she left the truck and hid somewhere.
I drove down town and looked for her for an hour. I had with me a cat recovery kit consisting of 1) a cat carrier, 2) a towel to wrap her in if necessary, 3) a spoon and a can of cat food.
I met with no success and even went to the funeral home where my husband works in order to look there in CASE she had crawled back up in the truck. Nothing.
I went back this morning agains fully equipped with my cat recover kit - and also a little dish to put the cat food in so IF I found her she could eat without cutting her little face OR if I had to resort to opening the can to attract her I could at least not have cat food spilled all over the place on the ride home.
I got to the Triplex and called and called with no response. Putting my "cat thinkin cap on" I determined what I would do if I were a frightened little cat who did not like to travel far from my security base and I was mysteriously transported to a very strange place. Aha!! Over there in the cover of the overgrown greenery on a back porch that is never used! Perfect - no one can see me, I'm off the ground and I can think about my situation as I recover from my fear and DAMN!! I am hungry!!
So I walked over closer to that area, called, tapped the can with the spoon - a sure fire way to get a cat's attention regardless of hearing issues - and I hear a little meow. I persist and sure enough, a little cat face appears, she recognized me and had quite a series of complaints about hunger first and foremost and about how very much she does NOT like to travel and where exactly am I any way mom?
I open the can and profer it to her in the little dish and she happily begins to eat although you can tell she is still a little freaked out by her travels. I go to get the cat carrier and slip the food dish well back in to it. I gently grab her up and attempt to place her in the carrier as well.
Did I mention she hates to get in the cat carrier? She will NOT be put in. I pick her up and pet her and try to calm her. She does indeed calm a bit but still refuses admission to the carrier. Another petting and soothing and I determine if I can just get her part way in I can push her with the closing door and - oh yeah baby! Success. She is in the carrier although not really happy about it. Then when I pick it up the swaying of it starts her fright anew. So I pick it up like a box and put it in the car, cover it with a blanket and get in the front seat and start up the motor. Total quiet and apparent calm reigns in the back seat. For a while. Now for the 15 mile trip back home through town.
We arrive home with relatively little complaints from the back seat and upon her release you can see she still is a little shaken by her adventure but ever so happy to be home at last. Maybe no more road trips for her..
Thursday, July 22, 2010
RIP PFC Anthony Simmons
Tuesday July 20, 2010
2nd Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division was what my younger son served with for two tours of duty in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was a Bravo Bayonet. My nephew now serves in Afghanistan with almost exactly the same designators. Sadly, he is a Delta Demon. (Just kidding Jamie!)
Kidding aside, these young man are getting hammered and have suffered woundings and deaths. One of the young men who was recently killed was PFC Anthony Simmons. He was a young man who was from here in Tallahassee, and it was my honor to attend his funeral to represent my family, to offer what support I could to his mother, his brother - who also serves with 2/327, and his other family members.
8 July, 2011
It has been a year, today, since Anthony Simmons was killed.
I had initially started this post, as you see, last year on the day of his funeral. Something made me wait until now.
While this post is to honor and remember young Anthony, it is even more specifically to offer support and honor to his mother, Renee.
Renee is a member of a rather elite club to which NO ONE wants to belong, she is a Gold Star Mother.
I served as a Blue Star mother and I recall only too well, the harrowing pain and worry one carries for their child on deployment to war.
You think you can understand because you are a mother what it would be like. I thought that too. Until my son deployed to Operation Iraqi Freedom, now known as OIF 1. You have absolutely no idea what it is like, I promise you, until you live it personally. And it is hellacious.
Thus I know that I cannot begin to imagine what this has been like for Renee, what this continues to be like for her. I do not mean to minimize the sorrow or pain of any other family member, please understand. I single out the mother because that is a singular relationship.
There is a special bond between mother and son (sons) that I had never known about as a daughter. I have absolute confidence my sons would walk through fire for me, as I would for them. I am sure this is the case for Renee and Anthony and Nicholas as well.
I cannot begin to fathom how the strength is found to carry on when you hear your son is lost to this world. As a mom, I can tell you that you see your son, the grown man, the soldier, and you see at the same time that sweet little 3 year old who tells you you are the" bestest mommy ever" and how much he loves you. And you know that that 3 year old who you picked up when he fell and kissed his worries away and laughed with and hugged and tickled and turned into a human airplane for his entertainment is right there in front of you in the grown man. And now the eternity of him is gone.
Forever.
And his birthday comes. And Thanksgiving. Christmas. Easter. Family events. And you have to cope and go on. Surely just a morning, just any ordinary morning is hard enough to bear and you have to endure them all and every special moment too.
I think, Renee, that you have found how to become a warrior goddess among women. I think it was required of you and you didn't want to do it - who in God's green earth would? - and you picked yourself up morning and took a step, as you had to. Some days, I would bet you had to pick yourself up many, many times.
You, too, are a hero because of this.
I was proud of my city, our city of Tallahassee on that day almost a year ago. I was proud of how Rolling Thunder stood honor guard at the church, both the evening before and the day of the funeral. I was proud for you how you stood and opened yourself to kindness - from friends and family and from strangers as well, for I came to offer respect and kindness on behalf of my family and was, myself, a stranger to you.
After the funeral, I was proud of so many citizens of our city who stopped their cars and got out to bow their heads, of homeowners who came out with flags as the cortege passed. I was proud of the fact that for this miles long funeral procession, the Interstate was closed off to other traffic. Both directions. To give honor to a young hero, the Interstate was closed off to non-procession traffic. The Rolling Thunder, the Firefighters, police, sheriff deputies, emergency workers who stood to honor this stricken family in the heat of July in Tallahassee, what pride in honor they showed. I was proud of our city when, as we got off the Interstate, the sidewalks and street sides were filled with people holding flags, offering their condolences and making their efforts to extend honor to our military in general as well as to this family, this soldier in particular on his last ride. As we turned up towards the cemetery, people in this neighborhood, too had their flags and many stood in front of their homes to offer what they could.
The cemetery was packed.
PACKED.
So many people wanted to offer kindness, courtesy, sympathy, honor to you, Anthony and to your family.
I was proud of our city that day.
I know, Renee, that you must also have been proud of Tallahassee doing honor to your son.
We honor you, Renee. You have walked a whole year now with this bitter sweetness. That your son Anthony is not here and yet he is. You have shown so many people how to keep walking, keep fighting, keep your head up and keep moving.
My heart keeps empathy for you. I'm proud of YOU, Renee. And I am willing to bet that laughing from somewhere we cannot hear, cannot see, is Anthony -- saying with great pride "That is MY mom."
God bless.
2nd Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division was what my younger son served with for two tours of duty in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was a Bravo Bayonet. My nephew now serves in Afghanistan with almost exactly the same designators. Sadly, he is a Delta Demon. (Just kidding Jamie!)
Kidding aside, these young man are getting hammered and have suffered woundings and deaths. One of the young men who was recently killed was PFC Anthony Simmons. He was a young man who was from here in Tallahassee, and it was my honor to attend his funeral to represent my family, to offer what support I could to his mother, his brother - who also serves with 2/327, and his other family members.
8 July, 2011
It has been a year, today, since Anthony Simmons was killed.
I had initially started this post, as you see, last year on the day of his funeral. Something made me wait until now.
While this post is to honor and remember young Anthony, it is even more specifically to offer support and honor to his mother, Renee.
Renee is a member of a rather elite club to which NO ONE wants to belong, she is a Gold Star Mother.
I served as a Blue Star mother and I recall only too well, the harrowing pain and worry one carries for their child on deployment to war.
You think you can understand because you are a mother what it would be like. I thought that too. Until my son deployed to Operation Iraqi Freedom, now known as OIF 1. You have absolutely no idea what it is like, I promise you, until you live it personally. And it is hellacious.
Thus I know that I cannot begin to imagine what this has been like for Renee, what this continues to be like for her. I do not mean to minimize the sorrow or pain of any other family member, please understand. I single out the mother because that is a singular relationship.
There is a special bond between mother and son (sons) that I had never known about as a daughter. I have absolute confidence my sons would walk through fire for me, as I would for them. I am sure this is the case for Renee and Anthony and Nicholas as well.
I cannot begin to fathom how the strength is found to carry on when you hear your son is lost to this world. As a mom, I can tell you that you see your son, the grown man, the soldier, and you see at the same time that sweet little 3 year old who tells you you are the" bestest mommy ever" and how much he loves you. And you know that that 3 year old who you picked up when he fell and kissed his worries away and laughed with and hugged and tickled and turned into a human airplane for his entertainment is right there in front of you in the grown man. And now the eternity of him is gone.
Forever.
And his birthday comes. And Thanksgiving. Christmas. Easter. Family events. And you have to cope and go on. Surely just a morning, just any ordinary morning is hard enough to bear and you have to endure them all and every special moment too.
I think, Renee, that you have found how to become a warrior goddess among women. I think it was required of you and you didn't want to do it - who in God's green earth would? - and you picked yourself up morning and took a step, as you had to. Some days, I would bet you had to pick yourself up many, many times.
You, too, are a hero because of this.
I was proud of my city, our city of Tallahassee on that day almost a year ago. I was proud of how Rolling Thunder stood honor guard at the church, both the evening before and the day of the funeral. I was proud for you how you stood and opened yourself to kindness - from friends and family and from strangers as well, for I came to offer respect and kindness on behalf of my family and was, myself, a stranger to you.
After the funeral, I was proud of so many citizens of our city who stopped their cars and got out to bow their heads, of homeowners who came out with flags as the cortege passed. I was proud of the fact that for this miles long funeral procession, the Interstate was closed off to other traffic. Both directions. To give honor to a young hero, the Interstate was closed off to non-procession traffic. The Rolling Thunder, the Firefighters, police, sheriff deputies, emergency workers who stood to honor this stricken family in the heat of July in Tallahassee, what pride in honor they showed. I was proud of our city when, as we got off the Interstate, the sidewalks and street sides were filled with people holding flags, offering their condolences and making their efforts to extend honor to our military in general as well as to this family, this soldier in particular on his last ride. As we turned up towards the cemetery, people in this neighborhood, too had their flags and many stood in front of their homes to offer what they could.
The cemetery was packed.
PACKED.
So many people wanted to offer kindness, courtesy, sympathy, honor to you, Anthony and to your family.
I was proud of our city that day.
I know, Renee, that you must also have been proud of Tallahassee doing honor to your son.
We honor you, Renee. You have walked a whole year now with this bitter sweetness. That your son Anthony is not here and yet he is. You have shown so many people how to keep walking, keep fighting, keep your head up and keep moving.
My heart keeps empathy for you. I'm proud of YOU, Renee. And I am willing to bet that laughing from somewhere we cannot hear, cannot see, is Anthony -- saying with great pride "That is MY mom."
God bless.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
I am so mad I could just spit nails right now
I went to the Post Office - oh, I know, that is probably enough to get many people to want to spit nails, but wait - it gets worse! I went to mail a care package to my son who is on his 3rd deployment to the Middle East. He is in Kuwait this time (two previous in Iraq), which is less dangerous than Iraq or Afghanistan, but by dint of being in that tinder spot known as the middle east is nonetheless NOT a safe place to be.
I waited in line, and waited, and waited, with my package not taped closed yet, as I needed the Customs form required for sending a package to an APO address. You see, they don’t have the forms out and available - you have to ask for them at the desk - and these forms require you to inventory the contents you are sending. You might send them something dangerous - oh wait, THEY ALREADY HAVE DANGEROUS STUFF – such as grenades, automatic weapons, one is hopeful that they have SCADS of ammo; what they mean is you might send them something dangerous according to Islamic culture like prayer books, rosaries, bibles - really dangerous stuff.
Twenty five minutes later I get up to the front of the line and ask for CP72 - Customs Declaration and Dispatch Note.
Perhaps the worker was new. No, I assure you that is NOT the case - I have seen her here many times in the past. “What is that?” Ah, in her many years of working for the Post Office she has never seen a package go to one of our military members before now. I tell her what it is and she says “I don’t think we have any of those.”
“You don’t have any of them? Well, I’m sure our soldiers serving in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere will be glad to know they can’t get care packages because you don’t have any customs forms.”
I said it nicely, really I did, just in a nice voice that also made it clear I expected SOMETHING from her other than a dumb look
She then did bestir herself to look - at her station, the next guy’s station, the 3 unoccupied stations. She even went back to another room and came out where the cattle, I mean customers are forced to wait in varying degrees of patience until they get a chance to transact their business.
“No, I think we’re all out.”
“You have NO Customs forms for mailing packages to our G.I.s.” Seriously?
She is forced to reenter her station right by me (since they wouldn’t let her back into the back via the locked door through which came down into the cattle pen) and as she does she mumbles “oh it’s unbelievable.” as if by empathizing she will deflect any irritation at the ineptitude displayed both by her lazy attitude and the FACT that the POST OFFICE does not have the required form for sending a package that THEY REQUIRE you to have.
By this time, there are easily 20 people in line waiting, irritated that everything in the station has come to a complete halt as she meanders around searching for something that they do NOT have.
She wanders back down by the office, flips through some papers AGAIN, “no, I think we don’t have any.”
She has this look and sound of hope that this comment, repeated for the 4th or 5th time will magically make everything better.
While managing to keep my temper MOST admirably, I say “If you don’t have them, you don’t have them.” I’m pretty sure I don’t want her to pull them out of her butt – or try to!
So I gather my package and my purse and begin to leave. What? No parting shot? No expression of irritation or frustration on my part? No.
Except - I say directly to the other head of cattle in this roundup of USPS misery - and making direct eye contact with them while speaking:
“If you are here to mail a care package to your soldier - you can’t do that. They don’t have the required forms.”
On the way home, I go to my Pak-Mail store. They have the forms. They have actual friendly customer service. (WHAT!!?)
It also costs more to send my package. Flat rate medium size box at the Post Office – IF THEY HAVE THE FORM - costs under $10 to send. I pay $18 at Pak Mail. But they had the form.
Now I had the leeway of spending a little extra cash, and a little extra time to get that package out today. What about the people who do not have extra money in their budget and do not have the luxury of a little extra time to go somewhere else? Even if it were to another Postal Station. If you do not have the means to go 10 miles out of your way to mail a CARE PACKAGE, for heaven’s sake - what are you supposed to do, then?
What about a soldier’s wife who is watching her pennies and her time? What is she supposed to do?
There is NO excuse for this.
Our military members have their lives on the line every second of every minute of each hot, miserable day they spend in theater. And the USPS can’t keep the forms on hand to send care packages to them? The forms REQUIRED by the USPS?? Are you kidding me?
The Postmaster General received a huge bonus last year in addition to his salary. What the heck for? Is he working in 119 degree heat? Is he under constant threat of mortar attack like my nephew who lost a good friend just last week to mortar attack? Does he suffer from a lack of food because the drivers hired wouldn’t deliver their supplies as they feared the Taliban? Doesn’t look like that is the case from his photograph!
I waited in line, and waited, and waited, with my package not taped closed yet, as I needed the Customs form required for sending a package to an APO address. You see, they don’t have the forms out and available - you have to ask for them at the desk - and these forms require you to inventory the contents you are sending. You might send them something dangerous - oh wait, THEY ALREADY HAVE DANGEROUS STUFF – such as grenades, automatic weapons, one is hopeful that they have SCADS of ammo; what they mean is you might send them something dangerous according to Islamic culture like prayer books, rosaries, bibles - really dangerous stuff.
Twenty five minutes later I get up to the front of the line and ask for CP72 - Customs Declaration and Dispatch Note.
Perhaps the worker was new. No, I assure you that is NOT the case - I have seen her here many times in the past. “What is that?” Ah, in her many years of working for the Post Office she has never seen a package go to one of our military members before now. I tell her what it is and she says “I don’t think we have any of those.”
“You don’t have any of them? Well, I’m sure our soldiers serving in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere will be glad to know they can’t get care packages because you don’t have any customs forms.”
I said it nicely, really I did, just in a nice voice that also made it clear I expected SOMETHING from her other than a dumb look
She then did bestir herself to look - at her station, the next guy’s station, the 3 unoccupied stations. She even went back to another room and came out where the cattle, I mean customers are forced to wait in varying degrees of patience until they get a chance to transact their business.
“No, I think we’re all out.”
“You have NO Customs forms for mailing packages to our G.I.s.” Seriously?
She is forced to reenter her station right by me (since they wouldn’t let her back into the back via the locked door through which came down into the cattle pen) and as she does she mumbles “oh it’s unbelievable.” as if by empathizing she will deflect any irritation at the ineptitude displayed both by her lazy attitude and the FACT that the POST OFFICE does not have the required form for sending a package that THEY REQUIRE you to have.
By this time, there are easily 20 people in line waiting, irritated that everything in the station has come to a complete halt as she meanders around searching for something that they do NOT have.
She wanders back down by the office, flips through some papers AGAIN, “no, I think we don’t have any.”
She has this look and sound of hope that this comment, repeated for the 4th or 5th time will magically make everything better.
While managing to keep my temper MOST admirably, I say “If you don’t have them, you don’t have them.” I’m pretty sure I don’t want her to pull them out of her butt – or try to!
So I gather my package and my purse and begin to leave. What? No parting shot? No expression of irritation or frustration on my part? No.
Except - I say directly to the other head of cattle in this roundup of USPS misery - and making direct eye contact with them while speaking:
“If you are here to mail a care package to your soldier - you can’t do that. They don’t have the required forms.”
On the way home, I go to my Pak-Mail store. They have the forms. They have actual friendly customer service. (WHAT!!?)
It also costs more to send my package. Flat rate medium size box at the Post Office – IF THEY HAVE THE FORM - costs under $10 to send. I pay $18 at Pak Mail. But they had the form.
Now I had the leeway of spending a little extra cash, and a little extra time to get that package out today. What about the people who do not have extra money in their budget and do not have the luxury of a little extra time to go somewhere else? Even if it were to another Postal Station. If you do not have the means to go 10 miles out of your way to mail a CARE PACKAGE, for heaven’s sake - what are you supposed to do, then?
What about a soldier’s wife who is watching her pennies and her time? What is she supposed to do?
There is NO excuse for this.
Our military members have their lives on the line every second of every minute of each hot, miserable day they spend in theater. And the USPS can’t keep the forms on hand to send care packages to them? The forms REQUIRED by the USPS?? Are you kidding me?
The Postmaster General received a huge bonus last year in addition to his salary. What the heck for? Is he working in 119 degree heat? Is he under constant threat of mortar attack like my nephew who lost a good friend just last week to mortar attack? Does he suffer from a lack of food because the drivers hired wouldn’t deliver their supplies as they feared the Taliban? Doesn’t look like that is the case from his photograph!
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