My Dad

So, as you all know, we lost our Dad last Saturday, 12/11/10 at 4:02 pm. (we didn't lose him. He died. We know exactly where he his, and I assure you, there is nothing lost about my Dad). And though we were all there (Mom and all 5 kids), and though it was very expected, it was still a bit of a surprise. Dad was a very stubborn man, and I don't think we completely expected his death. I half expected him to sit up and ask for food. He slugged on with that damned cancer for 20 years - why quit now?

His death was, and is a sad thing. It was and is a relief for him, because he lived in much pain and discomfort and awkwardness of routine for so many years, that I know he was just sick of it all.

His funeral was very nice - military honors, the bagpipes, and a full church service to a packed house. He'd have liked every bit of it.

However...the eulogy was so lauding, so over the top in its praise of Dad, that some of the speakers forgot, I think, the Dad was human. They described him as an annoyingly perfect individual who probably walked on water, and lay on beds of nails for entertainment.

In fact, he was funny, and quirky, and not always laudable.

Dad was quite a bit larger than life - he walked into an empty room, and it was suddenly full.

Yeah - he was human. When one speaker praised Dad's infinite patience, I think every member of the family reared back our heads and mouthed "WHAT?!?!?!?!" Dad had a pretty short fuse and was REALLY cranky at times.

The speakers forgot to mention Dad's motto, which was repeated often -

"Never let the bastards grind you down."

He said it in English and he said it in Latin and he had it mounted over many of his desks throughout his career. And he said "bastards", too, my church friends.

They didn't remind us that he said, "never let 'em see you sweat".

They didn't recount that he taught all the kids and grandkids (and probably his nieces and nephews), how to kill an attacker with one blow. (now, dear reader, I won't describe how that is done, because that may put someone on guard, but rest assured that every member of the Hixson clan is a trained killer - don't mess with us).

They didn't tell the story of how he shot a bat down from the 2 story fireplace in the family room, when he was so sick he could hardly walk even with a walker. (he was worried it would hurt his grandkids - don't you mess with them either. Just because he died last Saturday doesn't mean he can't come back and get you too)

No one ever explained that we were taught never to start a fight. BUT, if someone else started it, we were to by God finish it and finish it good. Hit hard. Hit fast. And it wouldn't hurt to hit low. For a committedly non-confrontational kid, it was good to have that advice. I only had to use it a few times, but was completely victorious when I did.

Dad was smart - very smart. He had many academic and business accomplishments. He was a stubborn, determined, stick-to-it kind of guy who didn't tolerate fools gladly. Hell, he didn't tolerate them at all. Try being a fool in front of him - I dare you. Actually, I wouldn't dare you, because if you're a fool, you'd try it, and my Dad was always heavily armed. Why, we found 3 loaded weapons in the room when he died - 2 within arm's reach. Yeah, buddy.

So, we miss him a lot. It's a hard loss, and I feel selfishly sad about it - selfish, because to want him to stick around would have been to want him to endure more misery, which is unthinkable.

But I miss the Dad who was funny and quirky and a bit of a loose cannon WAY more than I miss the saint who was described at the service.

As Dad would say, Keep smilin' kiddo. And never let 'em see you sweat.

And I'd say, "Love you, Dad"

And he'd say, "uh huh! you bet!"

Confused by Bibliomancy

I've always been attracted to the art of divination. Sometimes I gain valuable insights about the future by reading the movements of clouds (nephomancy) or, and this is my favorite, by watching a cats' movements or jumps (ailuromancy). Bibliomancy has also been the subject of much of my attention for many years: (1) A trusted book, often a holy book, that, by definition, is believed to hold the truth, is picked up and placed on its spine on a flat surface; (2) the book is allowed to fall open; and (3) a passage is picked with the eyes closed. This has proved to be a very accurate way for obtaining credible information about the future, but I'm always looking for other forms of "mancy" to, er, suit my fancy. and I thought I had stumbled on a new form of divination, "horamancy", which was destined to be the wave of the future, so to speak, or so I thought. The discovery of my new method occurred only a few weeks ago, but it only now that I am prepared to describe the events.

I awoke in the middle of one night and looked at the digital clock on the night table (Latin hora, meaning "hour") and read "3:16". To me, this was an obvious reference to John 3:16, which reads: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life". I felt confident and, to a certain degree, sanctified and saved, until I contemplated the other possibilities of interpretation. After all, there are many "3:16" citations in the various books of the Bible, so I felt it necessary to check a few, just to make sure they matched the intent of the most famous example cited above. First, I tried Genesis 3:16 and read: “I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you”, but that seemed unrelated and harsh, so I looked at I Kings 3:16 and my eyes were met with the words: "Now two prostitutes came to the king and stood before him" At this point I was thoroughly confused, but decided upon one last attempt. I decided to consult the last "3:16" in the Good Book my finger quickly came to rest on Revelation 3:16: "So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth". It was time to call my experiment at horamancy a complete and abject failure! From that point forward I decided to stick with more proven forms of divination, such as xylomancy, divination using wood found in one's path, which I hear from experts to be quite reliable.

My bird, Toots...

We used to have 2 parrots, Winnie and Toots, who came to live with us in 1988 and 1989, respectively. Winnie passed away last year, sadly, but Toots lives on and is a relatively young 21 years old. "The girls" have always had a strong sense of self-preservation, especially with cats and dogs. They were always tolerant of the house pets as long as they kept their distance, but woe betide the critter who approached the cage. Ungodly shrieks, groans, screams and wing flapping have frightened each in our long string of 4 footed family members into keeping a respectful distance. The screaming then died down, unless the animal was bold enough to get too close again.Toots is perhaps more protective of her safety now that Winnie is gone.

For little Max, however, they made an exception.

Max is a 55 pound Lab/Shepherd/something with a curly tail ball of energy and excitement.When he came to live with us at the age of 6months, he immediately approached the cage - - and the parrots seemed fine with it. Never screamed, never threatened. They allowed him to stick his head in when I had the door open, and they even seemed to throw food out just for him. As a pup, he even put his paws on the side of the cage to get close enough for a sniff. The response has ever been one of benign tolerance. After Winnie died, Toots has remained friendly. Max is permitted to stand right up against the cage while he looks out the window - never gets chased or nipped (I say "nipped", but it's really a full out "chomp"). I guess I thought she'd mellowed.

Wrong.

This week, we have a house-guest - a very friendly, quiet, mild-mannered hound named Bella - about 2 years old and somewhat interested in what's in the cage. Not aggressively interested, just curious. Is this permitted? No, it is not. Toots growls, snarls, screams, and makes threatening wing flapping gestures every time sweet Bella approaches. She walks away and it stops. Max walks up alone to eat the kibble off the floor and Toots is quiet, almost friendly. I know Toots is a small creature and very concerned about self-preservation - who could blame her? - so I shouldn't laugh. I think she can tell the difference between me laughing with her and at her. It is pretty funny, though. Bella comes to me for reassurance that she's still an ok dog. Once she gets a pat, she tries again. I think she's finally given up now and will simply stay out of the sunroom. Toots sits in the sun on her perch and shreds vegetables. All is right.

Usually this type of sign/symbol is associated with circular traffic movements, but in this case it is used by historians to describe the seemingly complicated but, in reality, rather simple peregrinations of three of the great proto-Germanic peoples that occurred during the great migratory period of the fourth century c.e. The peoples were, of course, the Regurgilites, Cololites, and Coprolites. All of these tribes originated in the bowels of central Europe and moved slowly at first, and then quite rapidly towards a sudden termination at the great battle of Cloaca, near the present-day city of Merde, France. The symbol represents not only the physical movements of the different peoples, it also illustrates the tendency of these great warriors to merge, diverge, and submerge their identities among, between, and within each other. This complex set of relationships was first elucidated in 1873 by Col. (retired) Francis Lawton-Bliss, a talented amateur fly fisherman with almost no interest in any pursuit other than catching trout in the wild and generous rivers of western Scotland. Fortunately, like Martin Luther, a distant relative on his mother's side, he experienced this insight, a sudden illumination of the mental faculties akin to satori or nirvana, while expelling the remainder of a large meal, though by what manner we do not know, near his campsite. Two years later he was made a Knight of the Garter for his achievement and shortly thereafter he was eaten and digested by the natives of the Outer Hebrides while he searched for a fish of supposedly unbelievably large dimensions.

Family of Linguaphiles

We are a family of people who love language and languages. I was thinking about this the other day, mentally tallying up the various languages represented in our family. It is a fairly long list. Including my parents, siblings, siblings' significant others, and nieces and nephews we have the following covered (with varying degrees of fluency): German, Russian, French, Korean, Greek, Latin, Spanish, Italian, Chinese, Lithuanian, and a smattering of Polish and Malay.

Pretty impressive. At least, I'm impressed.

My brother has a room dedicated to the study of German. One niece has been teaching English in Korea for several years, her sister is a budding German/Spanish high school teacher, and their cousin (also my niece) has taken just about ever language offered in her school.

The most recent accomplishment is held by my nephew-the-Marine who just aced his Korean language test. Congratulations, kiddo!

Personally, I took five years of German and I have a Spanish lesson book. I may not be holding up my end of things. Perhaps some studying and podcasts are in my future.

Der Stubentiger

In German the word "die Stube" refers to the parlor of a house and "der Tiger" is the king of beasts, the tiger, so "der Stubentiger" is a colorful nickname for a domesticated cat, a "parlor tiger". Make no mistake, though, this "tame" cat is only one step away from being feral and can easily adapt to a life on the hunt, filled with the terrified sounds of small mammals and birds, perhaps a reptile, maybe even an amphibian, as this "most perfect of all animals" walks through its kingdom. Most scientists agree that, had the cat been equipped with opposable thumbs, the species would surely have ruled the world. Cats are clearly more intelligent than human beings, really belonging to a higher order altogether, and undoubtedly man made a very narrow genetic escape from being enslaved, forced to do the bidding of Cattus cattus. This is the true reason why many are against genetic engineering, being fearful that cats will one day rule the world. In fact, although lions and leopards are mentioned in the Bible, the cat is nowhere to be found in the Holy Writ. Silence only or a conspiracy of silence?

"If I won a major lottery!"

This is the first in a new series, entitled: "If I won a major lottery!" My first purchase would be a stereo microscope ($200-$1,500), pictured on the left. With this piece of equipment I could observe worlds significantly smaller than ours. The life represented under its lenses would be familiar: very small insects, pieces of pollen, individuals strands of hair or fur, and other objects difficult to see with the naked eye. The magnification would not be high enough to witness the birth of new viruses or the replication of DNA, and I doubt if many major scientific breakthroughs should be expected, but I would stay up very late into the night to clearly see an ant leading an aphid to the milking barn, or the silken fibers of a spider forming a web, provided that the animals in question were kind enough to cooperate! I must admit that there exists a major problem with the source of funding for this purchase: the lottery. I don't "play" this ridiculous "game", nor do I plan to do so in the future. Other monies will have to be sought.

Note 1: The use of quotation marks ("") around certain words does not imply condemnation of the affected nouns (ed.)
Note 2: On the other hand, the use of these punctuation marks must signify some reaction that the author does not want to clarify with actual text

This is a sympathy card in German. A rough translation: "Sincere Sympathy" in the northeast quadrant of the card, and "When the sun of the life sets, the stars illuminate the memory" in the southwest quadrant. This is a very typical, that is, commonplace, mundane, banal, quotidian expression, and cards like this are probably not even read by many recipients, who have already guessed (correctly!) the sentiment. Most of these traditional sympathy cards look very similar to one another, a situation which further limits the attention the bereaved undoubtedly deserves. My suggestion, and it is put forward with only the greatest temerity, is to create another category of bereavement documents: Sympathy-Humor. After all, the category: Birthday-Humor exists, and laughter is supposed to reduced feelings of loss and hopelessness, so this new type of card makes sense. There could be a series with the motto: "Don't collect them all!" to reduce the possibility of an outcry against such crass and cruelty. My first sketch, almost completed, would have a quaint peaceful scene on the front, maybe of a quiet place which has recently become empty and void of happiness, and the words: "You are not alone". When the card is opened the devil and his minions are seen to be rejoicing as they welcome the dearly departed to a celebration of truly satanic proportions. A small slit in the card would allow the sender to place a picture of the deceased close to Lucifer. There would also be the option of purchasing these cards with a soundtrack. My choice would be "Hell", by the Squirrel Nut Zippers, but I am always open to suggestions, especially if they are suggestive and rude. I patiently await!

[This post is certified to be devoid of emoticons]

Geisterfahrer

An individual known as "der Geisterfahrer", or "ghostly driver", is also referred to as "der Falschfahrer", or "wrong(way) driver", and is much feared on German roads, especially the autobahn, where he/she can cause an understandable amount of confusion, if not death and destruction. Motives should always be considered, however, and some Gesterfahrer might simply be disoriented, or tired, or purposely and purposefully headed in the "wrong" direction with a distinct goal in mind and intent on avoiding oncoming traffic. They might even be driving on the shoulder of the road, or during low-traffic times, so as to cause as little concern as possible. In the song by the same name, the German pop group, Tokio Hotel , is centered on an attempt by a man to reach his true love, even though he has had to make a 180 degrees turn on the roadway.

Dad's Rules of Combat

My dad is a soldier. He served for 20 years in the US Army, and his outlook on interpersonal relations was ingrained in us all from our earliest moments, for better or worse. I like to think of myself as a pacifist, someone who can use reason and diplomacy to solve conflicts and disagreements. But no matter how hard I try, my dad's words of wisdom keep popping into my head.

Never start a fight, but if someone starts one with you, hit them first, hit them hard, and you should only have to hit them once.

Last week my son had his calculator stolen out of his backpack on the bus. The boys that took it didn't know him, though one is in our neighborhood. He is a huge boy, 6'5", about 240 pounds, and bears a striking resemblance to a troll. My kid called me at work to tell me what happened, and knowing a fair amount about this boy and his past run-ins with other kids, I decided not to put Junior in harms way and handled it myself. I figured he was much less likely to beat me to a pulp knowing his mother, who happens to be a prison guard, was a friend of mine.

I went over on my way home while I was still full of righteous anger. After a series of hard-line but frustrating negotiations with the dear child and a long conversation with his mother, the situation was somewhat resolved. He brought over $30 to replace the calculator, and knows that I promised his mom I would let her know immediately if there was any other unpleasantness with either him or his toady pals. So far so good.

I was able to replace the calculator, but it only cost me about $15. Do I give him the change? Do I donate the balance to our daughter's Walk to Cure Diabetes team? Hmmm.

We've decided to give him the change. I want him to know that we're not out for vengeance, but justice. I want him to know that we appreciate his willingness to take responsibility for his actions and even those actions of his friends (he fully confessed to his mother, even though his friends destroyed the calculator). And I want to show him a kindness that he didn't show my son, and hope that it will make him think through his future actions before he commits them. My husband wanted our son to take the money over and try to salvage the "relationship." I refused, as there was no prior relationship and the negotiations were with me, not our son. I want him to look me in the eye and know that I know that he knows that I know. I'm not the one that rides the bus with him, so if there are hard feelings (which I don't think there will be), he will have them towards me and not our son.

Idealistic? Yes. Naive? Perhaps. Foolish? I hope not.

Name Two

I have a couple of books on my nightstand – Middlemarch (George Eliot) and A Thread of Grace (Mary Doria Russell). In all honesty, The New Yorker, Heimskringla or The Lives of the Norse Kings, and my quad scriptures are also by my bed, but this isn't about any of those.

I am part of a little book club on GoodReads called the Transatlantic Bibliophiles. It's a lovely little group that Di started. This summer, the chosen book was Middlemarch by George Eliot. A classic. A very looong classic. Now I loved Bleak House, and that was 900 pages, so I do not have anything against long books. This one, however, has seemed to drag on a bit. It is a classic and people love it. That's what I hear, anyway. Everyone loves it.

Well, as a collective, we just could not muster the stick-to-it-tive-ness needed to finish Middlemarch as a group. I'm still determined to finish it, but I have turned in my library copy (after renewing it twice) and now I'm reading it on my phone. Lots of page turns, but quite convenient. I'm about 45% of the way through, so I'm getting there.

We've moved on to our current book: A Thread of Grace by Mary Doria Russell. Set in Italy during World War II, it offers a glimpse into the world in that time and place. A juxtaposition of the kindness of strangers and the horrors of war. It is a much faster read and I am quite enjoying it.

At one point in the story, a father and daughter are hiding in the mountains, hungry, cold, and frightened. Someone leaves them some food and the daughter is ecstatic and hollers a thank you to the hills. Her father is furious, even though their location is obviously already known. He rants about how the peasants hate them:

“The people in these mountains are illiterate peasants! They're ignorant, Claudette. Priests have been filling their heads with Christ-killer lies all of their lived!... They think we poison wells! They think we murder babies and use their blood to make matzoh! They hate us--”

“Name two.”
Albert blinks.

Whenever we said 'they,' Mama told us to name two.” Claudette divides the lump of cheese, handing half to Albert. “Mama said if you can't name two actual real people, then you're just being prejudiced. So name two peasants who hate us.”

This “name two” has really stuck with me. How often we hear sweeping generalizations about all of this kind of person or all of that kind of person. I hang out with Dad while he watches Fox News, and all of the personalities use sweeping generalizations.

Whoops. Well, actually, I can name two, so that sweeping characterization stands.

The next time I say “they” all do this or that, I am going to pause to see if I can name two.

I'll start with trying to name two people who love reading Middlemarch. Maybe I will be even one of them – in 400 pages or so.