Last night, while watching season premieres of some of my favorite shows (The Office, Survivor, Ugly Betty and Grey’s Anatomy*), I was alerted to the fact that I missed a national faux holiday. I didn’t realize it, but this week is “National Stay At Home Week.” I just hope the selection at our local Hallmark store isn’t totally picked over.

 

Apparently, the television powers-that-be have decided that since there isn’t a strike looming large, we should all hunker down with our trans-fats and our remotes, pull up a big couch and do nothing but watch the premieres of their TV shows.

 

Hmmm…nice try guys, but there are two problems with that concept:  First, here in the Milwaukee area, we are currently in the middle of a seemingly perfect storm – that is, a roller coaster Brewers’ Wild Card race coupled with some of the most beautiful weather of the year. Stay at home? Well, only to watch the Brewers! Secondly, hello….can you say “DVR?” We time-shifting experts have no need for staying at home. We can have our premieres and our social lives!

 

Look, there will be plenty of opportunity for staying at home. It’s called February. That’s when we need premieres and comfort food and elastic waistbands. We’ll be there for them then. Now, well…we’ll be there, but on our terms and on our clock.

 

*If, like me, you’re addicted to Grey’s Anatomy and wish to receive my weekly Grey’s Recap e-mails, send me your e-mail address and I’ll add you to my list. It’s fun, it’s snarky and, best of all, it’s FREE! (Or should I say “McFree?”)

  

So...I know this college kid from Tosa. And he’s doing a project this summer. No, he’s not painting the house or fixing a car. He’s creating a musical.

 

That’s right. I said a musical. And to do it, he’s writing and recording one song a day for 40 days. He wants you to come along on this tuneful journey. Bookmark his website and get a front row seat to this local creation. You can comment or maybe even give him some ideas. I’m in…are you?

 

OK, full disclosure. I know this kid really well. I still think it’s worth checking in on his progress. It could be fun…..

The other day, I had the good fortune to hear about some new books from two representatives of Harry W. Schwartz Bookshop. If there’s one thing you know about me, it’s that I have an addiction to buying books. It is rare that I will enter a bookstore and leave empty-handed. For me, it is like walking into a kitchen and being faced with freshly baked brownies and cookies. I cannot resist!

 

Anyway, many good suggestions were made. One in particular made an impression and so I bought it. It’s a small book called Not Quite What I Was Planning. It is, simply, a collection of six-word memoirs. That’s right. I said SIX WORD MEMOIRS. You might be asking yourself, how can this be?

 

The answer is that it’s based on the legend that Ernest Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in six words. Here is what he wrote: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Wow. Pretty powerful stuff, isn’t it? And that’s the premise. It is possible to say a lot with very little. In fact, it’s even fun.

 

The book is chock-full of these gems. Here are a few:

 

“Liars, hysterectomy didn’t improve sex life!” – Joan Rivers

“I still make coffee for two.” – Zak Nelson

“Fifteen years since last professional haircut.” – Dave Eggers

“Nobody cared, then they did. Why?” – Chuck Klosterman

 

There are more…many more. Those are just a few from the back cover alone. The book has six-word memoirs from famous and unknown authors alike. Some are silly. Some are sad or poignant. Some are brilliant.

 

So like the cookies, brownies and this book, I couldn’t resist. I had to try it myself. My life summed up in six words. Let me tell you that this exercise truly illustrates that less is more…work that is. It’s easy to be verbose and very difficult to be concise and descriptive all at the same time.

 

And although I don't come close to Hemingway, here is mine: “Saw some stuff. Tried acting otherwise.” That’s it. I won’t explain it because it’s all there.

 

How about you, dear readers? Will you share your six-word memoir with me? Go ahead, right here in the comments. I promise it’s fun!

 

Oh and if you’re totally addicted, you can join Schwartz on Downer’s Six-Word Slam on April 25^th. "Six words about you. Great fun!" (See! I did it again!) 

 

Saturday night, as I stood there at Lambeau Field and watched a magical, mythical snowstorm swirl while an unlikely Packer team came from behind to destroy their opponent, I had one thought: “Thank you, Andrew. This was so much fun.”

 

Allow me to share a story with you.

 

As many of you know, we lost our son Andrew nearly a year ago. Andrew was born severely developmentally disabled more than 21 years ago. He lived to defy odds and teach us a bounty of lessons. Today, we firmly believe he is in a better place, watching over all of us.

 

At one of the memorial services for Andrew, one of his caregivers at Central Wisconsin Center, Roseann, approached me and said: “You know, Andy is now up there watching over the Packers.” I chuckled, agreed with her and didn’t give it a further thought, knowing that the Packers’ prospects for the 2007 season were dim at best.

 

But Roseann knew something. She was the one that dressed him in one of his many Packer outfits on game day. She knew that Andrew came from a family of die-hard Packer fans. She was one of the few who understood our obsession.

 

After the first Packer-Viking game on September 30^th, the one in which Brett Favre set an NFL record and the team rallied to win in the final seconds, a letter arrived at our house. It was from Roseann. It said: “Remember I said that Andy would be helping the Packers win.” I showed the letter to my husband and I think we both got a little misty-eyed.

 

So on Saturday night, as we stood in that virtual Green Bay snow globe, watching one of the most amazing football games I will ever see, it suddenly seemed entirely possible that Andrew, our angel, gave us another very special and unexpected gift.

 

Thanks buddy. God bless. We love you.

You can disagree with me on this, but I'll argue till the end. I'm pretty sure that I have the best neighbors and friends...in Tosa...anywhere, actually. In fact, I'd take mine over anybody else's any day. Bar none.

This past week, while my family and I were dealing with the grief of losing a son and a brother, our neighbors and friends swooped down on us, fed us, offered a shoulder to cry on, shoveled our snow, walked our dog, picked up our mail, house sat, helped us find photos and memories and were there for us at all hours. Rarely have I felt so loved and cared for in my life.

There is such an amazing community spirit here that it has truly eclipsed our sadness. To say thank you would seem trite. What we can say is we are so truly blessed.

A couple of months ago, this story was posted on Crocker Stephenson's jsonline blog about Tim Krahling, the young man with spina bifida. I was proud to share the story of our oldest son, Andrew, and his unique situation which seemed to have many similarities with Tim's story.

Today, I'm sad to report, Andrew died Wednesday after a brief battle with pneumonia. My husband, daughter and I were with him in his final moments. Just as much as Andrew fought his way into this world, he also fought his way out of it. Andrew's life has been a long journey that has taken us to so many unlikely places. Because of his many medical complications, Andrew never lived with us in Wauwatosa, but needless to say, he was always here in our hearts.

Andrew, you've touched so many people in your quiet way. Watch over us, buddy.

On November 18th, 1986, I gave birth to our first son, Andrew, via "crash" c-section. My husband and I had rushed to the hospital because my water had broken and we knew that something was wrong. When we arrived, the doctor on call hooked me up to a fetal monitor, gazed at it with a deep look of concern and then put her hand on my leg and said: "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat." Seconds later, she saw what she called an "agonal" heartbeat and I was rushed into an operating room where Andrew was delivered. For eight minutes, he did not breathe. Then, he barely began to respond. They hooked him up to a ventilator and put him into the neonatal intensive care unit.

As the day wore on and my anesthesia wore off, we found out that despite my unremarkable full-term pregnancy, I had something called vasa previa which essentially meant that part of the umbilical cord had branched off separately. Often, women will have vasa previa and it won't be discovered until after they have a healthy delivery. In our case, it was different and oh, so wrong. My water broke at the exact point where the separate part of the umbilical cord had formed. Since it was a weaker part of the cord, it sheared and Andrew lost blood and therefore oxygen. The doctors assured us that there was no way to have known that would happen. We, and Andrew, were just unlucky victims of the odds.

Andrew stayed in the NICU unit where a battery of tests was run. Neuro specialists were consulted and within a day or two they told us that Andrew had virtually no brain activity. They and all of the medical experts felt that leaving him on the ventilator was to keep him alive by extraordinary means. And so, we made the gut-wrenching decision to have life support removed from our newborn son. First, we asked a Catholic priest to baptize him. The medical staff then asked if we wanted to be there when they removed the ventilator, but I couldn't do it. The idea of watching my son die was simply beyond unbearable. And so we returned to my room and waited. And in a cruel twist of fate, Andrew started to breathe on his own. He was sustaining his own life without a ventilator. We suddenly found ourselves caught in the parental hell that is grieving over the fundamental loss of a baby while wondering why God was keeping his body alive.

As the days and weeks passed by, we started to adjust to the idea of parenting a developmentally disabled child. However, his disabilities were so severe; they were beyond that which we could handle in our own home. We spoke to social workers and staff who unanimously advised us that bringing Andrew home would rip our marriage and our future family apart because he would require around-the-clock medical care. He was likely blind and deaf, would never walk or talk, could not feed from a bottle or ever swallow food and his cognitive age would always hover around 1-1/2 months. He would never be able to recognize or acknowledge us. Essentially, he was and always would be in a vegetative state.

We were in such a fragile state of confusion about what to do next for our child who was essentially living in the shell of a body. At one point, we petitioned the hospital ethics board to ask what, besides removal of the ventilator, were considered "extraordinary means." It was an agonizing path for parents to take but we did not want Andrew to suffer needlessly if his time with us was limited. The board basically said that all current measures should continue. We were comfortable with their advisement. Next we faced the decision of how to care for Andrew for the rest of his life.

We found out that our options were to find a foster family specially trained in caring for developmentally disabled individuals, or apply for a placement at a state-run center about an hour from our home. We chose the latter, feeling that they would be better equipped and trained for his care. That would also allow us visit him in comfort and convenience and give him access to the very best therapies and medical care available without having to leave his surroundings. Administrators from the center

Dear Santa:
I give up. Christmas is starting much earlier than I think is reasonable, but I can't seem to fight commercialism. I noticed that your house was up in Mayfair by November 1st. I was almost expecting Tom Turkey to rent it out for a couple of weeks, but thankfully that didn't happen.

Anyway, since I can't stop the ebb and flow of holiday merchandising, I may as well just embrace it and jump head first into the season like everyone else. However, I have a few requests this year. Can you find it in your heart to give us Tosa grown-ups some treats under our Christmas tree? Here are a few suggestions:

The gift of patience. Even if we're quasi-Martha Stewarts, at some point during the next 40 days, we're going to shop. Help us take a deep breath and know that everything will take just a little longer and we should leave the attitude in the car.

The gift of kindness. Again with the shoppers - there will be a lot of us out there. We'll be hustling and bustling and our packages will be jostling. Give us the ability to step aside for a mom with kids, hold a door for someone carrying several packages, or let a car merge in front of us as we're battling traffic.

The gift of big things from small places. When we're out shopping, encourage us to find the small Tosa stores that help make our village so great, such as Jilly & George, Anthilia, Juxt Home & Baby or The Underwood Gallery.

The gift of good friends and family. Help us to remember that the special people in our lives are more important than anything that can be bought in a store. And since food, family and friends go together so well, maybe we'll think about visiting the new Enoteca, the tried and true Hector's or sharing a pizza from Balistreri's with those we love.

Oh and be careful when you visit our beautiful old Tosa homes. Some of those fireplaces get a good workout this time of year and that red suit might need an extra dry cleaning.

Thanks Santa!
Love,
Karen