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Archive for January 22nd, 2013|Daily archive page

The New Year… for what it’s worth…

In Just Because... on January 22, 2013 at 1:21 pm

This being my first post of the year two thousand thirteen, twenty-two days in, it’s probably a good thing to examine what’s gone on and what’s going on now.

(That’s the end purpose of a blog, isn’t it?)

I may have written about my mother-in-law’s passing back in July two years ago, or I may not have.  (It’s not on the tip of my brain…) She was the one who called me her “bonus boy”, and who told my wife, her oldest daughter, that if we ever got divorced, Mom would get custody of me.

She left behind her husband of forty-some years, who is not the father of my wife or her siblings, and he died four days ago.  What I know of it is that he died partially of complications from advancing dementia.  (Since Mom died, we have had zero contact with him or his children.  Their choice, which we agree with.)

The man was extremely difficult to get along with, even before the dementia came on; he was apparently highly insecure, and used alcohol to medicate that feeling.  This did not create a hospitable atmosphere.

To say I’m glad he’s gone would be a gross overstatement… it was something that was brought to my attention, I considered it, and then let it pass.

There’s very little reason for us to participate in any of the funerary rites to follow, even if we were invited.

Megan and Phil

Megan and Phil, her birthday brother

The following day after his death, we managed to drag ourselves out to a “sweet sixteen” party for our great-niece, the daughter of the daughter of one of my wife’s closest friends since high school.  We are “Uncle Al” and “Aunt Megan” to them, and happy to be so.

The reference about “dragging ourselves out” is because of the weather here in Michigan.  There’s a saying; If you don’t like the weather in Michigan, wait ten minutes… you’ll get something you like even less.  Cold temperatures and stiff winds are not something we are fond of, because of Megan’s breathing issues and both our joint (no pun intended) history of pain in our joints.

The people at the party were sociable, friendly, and concerned about us.  We had such a good time, we stayed longer than we had intended to, and didn’t mind it at all.

One of the best parts was Megan getting to talk to Phil, who shares her birthdate, and whom she has known for more years than I care to consider.  She calls him her “birthday brother” (he was born exactly one year before she was) and her “heart brother”.  Phil has serious health issues, but he was attentive, involved, and jovial at the party, celebrating one of his granddaughters.  This is pleasant to watch, and more pleasant to be involved with.

Megan is now down to one living blood sibling; I had none to begin with.  Our family consists of those people we choose to be involved with, and who choose to be involved with us.  This arrangement suits us quite well.

She characterizes her biological relations and her step-family as a “conundrum” – highly complicated, involved, and maybe not worth the effort to attempt to unravel.  Having experienced these people for almost thirty years now, I would tend to agree.

The President has had his second inauguration, the “official” one on Sunday, that being the day set forth in the Constitution for the expiration of a President’s term, and the ceremonial one yesterday, on the Federal holiday celebrating Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  There are still too many people who think that President Obama is not a “native-born American”, and is Constitutionally ineligible to be President; they forget the fact that his mother was a citizen, so regardless of the site of his birth, he is a native-born American citizen, and therefore eligible.  George Romney, former Michigan governor, who ran for President in 1968, was born in Mexico, but his parents were American citizens.  This proved no problem for the electorate at that time.  My only surmise about why the “birthers” have their knickers in a twist is that Mr. Obama is biracial.

This shouldn’t matter at all; the fact that it does is not a good sign, in my eyes.  Maybe, in time, things will even out, and it won’t matter anymore.

‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished…

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