Happy Birthday Dad ...

This is a story that I've shared here before, but with the days quickly winding down on "Just Blowing Smoke" it seemed likely that this would be the last opportunity that I might get to retell one that I certainly think is one worthy of repeating.

You see ...

Today was my father's birthday.  

As you might have assumed from the way that this was phrased, my father is no longer with us; and to a certain extent I suppose that you'd be right.   It's certainly true that right before Thanksgiving back in 2007, after being ill for a number of years and quite literally surrounded by his family, he decided perhaps that he'd fought the good fight long enough. 

This particular tale however, occurred the following year and is not mine but that of my nephew Patrick.  At the time, my parents owned a house in Shawnee, KS for some years, and Patrick had been responsible for yard mowing, using a riding lawnmower that my parents already owned. 

Spring came early that year, as it often does here in KC, and while my mother enjoyed doing some of the trimming around the edges, she had no interest in using the tractor.  Patrick dutifully arrived therefore to resume his normal role for the larger share of the yard. Now the riding mower hadn't been run (or even started) since the previous fall's leaf pick up.  Unsure of the proper settings and procedures to get it started after so long a period of idleness; his initial attempts brought no success. He asked my mother for any suggestions that she might have; and while not normally shy about sharing her opinions and being a person of amazing skills herself, the riding lawnmower was an area on which she had nothing to offer. 

So Paddy returned to the garage to confront his solitary dilemma, but it wasn't long before the full-throated roar of the riding mower was heard and the task begun. While normally a hard working guy anyway, on this day he completed his task with particular alacrity (even for him), and departed with very little to say for himself afterward.

That hasty departure was explained a couple of days later, when my sister Maureen called to fill Mom in. It seems as though Patrick, standing in the garage and scratching his head over a situation to which he had no ready solution, clearly heard my father say, "Pull the choke out and start it". He did, and the mower immediately caught. Distressed and fearing my mother's sensitivity to the nature of his solution, he kept silent.  It was only later after returning home that he was able to speak about it with his own parents.

Now my father was the patriarch of the Higgins clan in the truest sense of the word; and while normally a rather self-deprecating individual, was rather proud of these 'Harry the Handyman' skills. (In point of fact he was a world-recognized master of all things mechanical in the bookbinding industry, with a score of patents to his name to show for it.)  He was also someone who was inclined to share that mechanical mastery (sometimes rather colorfully) with his offspring of every generation (and often without being asked). So it seemed only fitting (and hardly surprising) that he should find a way to make his presence felt when such a need arose.

When the story finally came to my attention, and knowing Patrick to be a fine man of good quality and upright character, I took it on face value. If this is the way that he believes it happened, then I too believe it. While I am not surprised however, I am singularly pleased to know that my Dad is still out there somewhere and keeping an eye on the rest of us. I for one, can use all of the help that I can get.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Happy Birthday Mom

I try not to use my self-appointed position at the Just Blowing Smoke blog for personal reasons any more than current crop of Congressional Democrats use theirs to abuse the American people with onerous and odorous legislation (you can see how wide open that this leaves the field however). The birthday of one's mother however, should be able to be seen by almost anyone as an exception worthy of note. 

And exception is exactly the word that should be used where this woman is concerned, for the exceptional indeed is the Matriarch of our family. I don't recall that my siblings and I were not a terribly unruly bunch growing up, but I am sure that we presented our fair share of parental challenges; even to a stay-at-home mom. These were probably made a bit made more interesting for her however by the fact that our father worked nights for the lion's share of our upbringing and traveled extensively afterward, leaving her the keeper of both love and discipline, a position to which she was eminently suited. 

This situation also left the lioness protecting the cubs (pun intended) from threats both foreign and domestic, and protect them she did. While some days found her breaking up the natural squabbling (fairly frequent as I remember it) that occur when there are four siblings under the same roof, others saw her wading into a crowd of teenagers far beyond her weight class to restore order to an unruly mob. Some found her acting as referee during the the occasional youthful shouting matches at home, while others saw here performing the same function at her sons' hockey games (though not officially, of course). In the end she gained the respect of those around her in all of these situations, and her advice was always listened to (if they knew what was good for them), and was often heeded (even the refs finally broke down and gave her a striped shirt). 

An avid sports fan during her years in Chicago, she expanded her fanatical devotion to the Cubs, Bears, and Blackhawks to include the Chief and the Royals after moving to Kansas City, and later still to the KU Jayhawks. With all of these teams, somehow she is able to keep player rosters, performance levels, personal quirks, and character flaws on each player of every one of those teams straight in her head; with a perfect recollection of detail at the ready. She does this as well with a family of truly Catholic proportions spread throughout the country. 

Confronted with a name or a face, she is immediately able to place them by parents, siblings, children of their own, city of residence, and time since last seen. (A trait which she unfortunately somehow failed to pass on, at least to this offspring.) I am always astounded to see relations approach to say hi to "Aunt Sis" (a nickname picked up long ago), never expecting to be recognized or remembered; only to have her reveal minute detail of life to each person, while asking the most exacting questions about their current lives. 

So on this day of days, I choose to remember and thank someone who keeps so many of us constantly in her memory. For today Ruth Higgins reaches the all too young age of 80, a number notable for her fulfillment of a promise made long ago to seal her undying loyalty to the Chicago Cubs with a tattoo on her right shoulder (Winnie is smiling mom). The undying loyalty, love, and respect of this son however (and I am sure far more of the clan) are today reserved instead for this woman, who deserves oh so much more than any of us can show her.

Happy Birthday Mom! 
 

Two Birthdays

Once more I reach the time of year when there are many birthdays to celebrate in the Higgins clan. While there are birthdays aplenty in the earlier part of the year, it is as summer comes into full bloom that my children and siblings find these anniversaries of their birth beginning to occur. (This is something that I can only assume can be accounted for by long cold Midwestern winters, long before global warming reared it ugly head.) 

So June begins this period today with the birth of my oldest Sean Patrick, who gained his name from Sean Connery, an actor that his mother and I were rather fond of at the time (especially when you ignore the Bond movies) and the Patron saint of Ireland. He has fulfilled the promise of this name with a fine career and an admirable life. I will not embarrass him with a list of his accomplishments in the field of computers (which I don't really understand anyway), nor by heaping praise upon him; but I will simply say that no father has ever been more proud of his son, and I am happy to have a venue like this blog to be able to publicly say so. 

But two days hence there is reason to celebrate yet again in the family, as my younger sister Kathy becomes the same age as I am. How can this be you might ask, if she is your younger sister? The fact is that Kathy and I are "Irish Twins", siblings born but 10-1/2 months apart. One can only speculate as to the excitement that our parents felt when this given this announcement by the gynecologist during my mother's postpartum check up. Kathy and I grew up inseparable however, excepting of course when my mother was forced to separate us to at least temporarily prevent one of us from tormenting the other to the point of madness (perhaps that's how I got this way). Now a grandmother herself and visiting her 1st grandchild in Germany as this is posted, we remain very close. 

So I happily take this time away from the more mundane affairs of world in general and politics in particular to wish both of them a truly Happy Birthday. 

Happy BIrthday Michael

Fast on the heels of the recent birthday of my youngest grandchild comes the birthday of yet another. In this case, it is in celebration of the birth of Michael. 

Though a recent addition to the clan through my step-son Joe, he is never the less the oldest child of his own family and the oldest of my grandchildren, a responsibility that he takes very seriously. Wise beyond his 14 years (and far too wise for this humble writer), he is a credit to himself and the upbringing of his parents. 

As is far too often the case over the years, I will be unable to attend the celebration being held for the young squire this year, but my thoughts will be with him and the rest of his family as he takes one step closer to a manhood which holds such promise (and the birthday card is on the way). Happy Birthday Michael, and I hope to see you soon.

Happy Birthday Laura

On this, the first anniversary of my daughter's 29th birthday, I have decided to share with you the toast that I gave at a recent early celebration of that event that was given as a surprise party for her by her husband. While I don't normally use this blog for personal stuff (yeah, like hell), I feel that the opportunity to speak a little bit about the aging process for all of us. Besides the chance to embarrass this young woman in public is simply too good to pass up.

We friends and family have gathered together here on this solemn occasion to mourn the passing of Laura Demaria's youth. Having now reached her third decade, she must leave behind at last, the final trappings of her childhood.

Watching now as her daughter Maggie grows and blooms into the young woman that we know that she will become; Laura will now have little to look forward to except to suffer the pangs of jealousy for what might have been in her own life. Remembering the days of her own childhood and adolescence, she must now confront the well-deserved guilt of her misspent and wasted youth.

Time will mark her as each year passes, and as she sees the reflection of every gray hair and every wrinkle in her husband Jim's loving eyes. Even his kind attention however, will provide no solace for the failing health and diminished mental capacity which soon will become her constant companion. Plagued by an ever-growing number of aches and pains as she enters this new period of her life, she will have to face life being referred to as "Mrs Demaria" by her students and treated with the respect of a senior citizen, with only her AARP membership to look forward to.

So while she's still able to hear and understand us, we say "Here's to Laura!" as she celebrates the end of an era. Never again will she celebrate the passing of another year. Her lot instead, will be a future filled with anniversaries of a date and of times she will soon only barely remember.

Now I know that publishing this probably means that I won't get invited to the next birthday party, but having a parent who can string a couple or words together coherently is a dangerous thing for a child.

Happy Birthday Kiddo. I couldn't love you more, nor be any more proud of you than I am today.