Semper Fi, Brandon

20 year old Lance Cpl. Brandon T. Lara died a week ago Saturday in Iraq. He was brought home Sunday and I was honored to stand along the roadside with thousands of others to honor him and his family as his motorcade drove by.

I was moved beyond tears to a parent's pain at the thought of losing my son as the hearse moved past us. To bear witness to the family's pain in the next vehicle was almost more than one could stand. The sacrifice this young man made, that his family made, that all of us who support our troops made, is immeasurable. I pray that he and those along with him have not died in vain.

May we never forget their supreme sacrifice. When called, may we make our own in the ways we are able, in honor of all those who have fallen for our sake. May we carry ourBrandons with us as we continue the battle.

Semper Fi, Brandon.



The morning is hot. At 10:00 , it's already hovering around 90 degrees, yet the streets are lined with patriots.



The vehicles went on as far as you could see.



Firefighters were everywhere. These trucks were at the front entrance of Randolph Air Force Base. As they tried to get the flag to cooperate, the crowd was cheering them on.



Bikers. So many bikers. This group is called the Patriot Guard Riders. They show up at funeral processions around the country as invited guests by the families. Amazing folks.



Patriotism and sadness intertwined everyone's hearts and minds.



As the procession started, we took to the street.



I love the huge flag those folks brought. This is the front of the base.



There had been chatter and nervous laughter from some, but as the procession started, silence fell.



Brandon.



We were all crying. The sadness had a physical weight. Brandon's sacrifice, the sacrifice of so many, wasn't lost on anyone there to say goodbye.



Patriot Guard Riders.



A funny thing happened after the procession passed us. So many jumped into their cars and followed. The procession was from Randolph Air Force Base to the city of NewBraunfels, which is about 30 miles away. We knew the route...so many of us followed.



I was overwhelmed with how many people were standing in the full sun, in the Texas heat, to have a chance to pay their respects.



Youngsters, teenagers, old folks. They stood there, silent as we all passed by. Makes me cry even now.



A vet in a wheelchair in the middle of the street. I can not express the emotion I felt. I was so proud of my fellow Americans.



Stunning. Overwhelming.



Another moment where I started to cry. From one generation of badasses to another, these guys stood and waited on Brandon.



The procession nearing IH35. We wondered how the procession was going to get onto the highway. There were so many vehicles following at this point. I'd say at least 50-75, not counting bikers. Thelonger we were on the road, the more the procession grew.



One of the Patriot Guard Riders pulling up the rear.



We pulled out of the procession right before IH35. This is the last of it. How would they get on that highway?!



Not to worry, the cops pulled IH35 to a standstill. You can see the traffic to the north is not only stopped, but backed up. From this point it's another 20 miles or so to NewBraunfels . I have never in all my years living here, ever seen a funeral procession given the right-of-way like this. It made me laugh with joy.



My parting thought is this: If you ever have the opportunity to stand along the road to honor a fallen soldier as their motorcade passes by, do it. It is the least we can do.

The German

As I recounted my visit with The German to Boy, and all the silliness and provoking on my part, he said: You know, you could probably learn a lot from her.

He was half-kidding (at least I think he was), but it made me think that perhaps all of you may think I am too harsh on the woman. AM NOT!

In order to align my karma, I will proceed to tell you what The German has done for me. The good stuff.

Let's begin:

* The German taught me the ability to stand in the face of adversity. She's a woman of considerable strength and stubbornness, after all she remained married to my father until his death and those who knew him understand what that meant. If he had been Husband, my boot would have been up his ass every. single. day. (and i adored daddy)

* She taught herself English through knitting manuals. BOOM! Impressive and true. This feat taught me humility, slapping me in the head with the fact that I am not nearly as smart as I liked to think, or reminded her of in my youth, because I can't even decipher the damned manuals IN ENGLISH.

* The German taught me the art of acting like you don't care when you really do, by grounding my behind without merit (no, really) more times than I could count. Whatev. While on the surface this trait may seem a weakness, in the business world it is valued beyond gold. Never let them see you sweat. It earned me many a sale.

* The German taught me the love of baking. It is one of the fond memories I have from childhood because I love to eat sweets. It was one of the few things we had in common, and one of the few times we could talk and not irritate each other. The memories still make me smile.

* The German taught me about love of country. She never missed an opportunity to tell us how spoiled we were or how lucky we were to have been born American. She backed those comments up with stories from her WWII youth and the horror of it all kept me awake at night thanking God that I had been born free, born an American. It also gave all her children the delightful catch phrase we still use today (said in thick German accent): Never trust a Russian. (did i ever blog about how i introduced husband to her and then whispered, "he's russian."?)

* The German taught me that even though you may not like someone you can love them. This has actually been a great lesson in remembering God's will first in all I do.

* The German taught me that that there is redemption in grandchildren.

* The German taught me that while loving someone, yet no so much liking them, you can offer support that makes a significant difference. She was the first person onboard when we made the decision to home school Boy, and she never wavered. Not once. Not only didn't waver, but encouraged us every. single. year. That support turned out to mean more than almost anything else she ever offered.

* The German taught me that if I wanted something, that I should seize the moment. After all, she met my father in Germany as a young girl, married him a month later, moved to the states not knowing the language and had 5 children is short order. She has always said she had no regrets.

And finally....

* The German taught me that if I should insist I'm adopted (going on 37 years of insisting now), and press her to prove that I am her daughter, that I should most assuredly duck when I bring up the subject as she will pick something up and throw it at me. I say an over-reaction at being busted on a secret, she says things I can't print here.

Oh, and just so you know, when I was home last week, she tried in vain to cook for me. She wanted to make pork chops and her famous potato salad (yum), but I was too interested in the fast-food flavors of my youth. Looking back I see what a schmuck I was. One day she won't be able to cook and I will kick myself for not eating it when I could. So, in the end, The German taught me the power of saying yes to someone else cooking for you.

Dadgum it. Now I'm craving her potato salad. Serves me right. Long live The German!

Light summer reading: How Hard Can Walking Be?!

Home!

West Texas is a trip.

I arrived with the eternal car gauge reading 104 degrees, but as the joke goes: it's a dry heat. And it is. I got out and about in the middle of the afternoon with nary, NARY!, a heat headache. That is impossible in San Antonio when the temps reach 100 and the humidity is in the 60-75% range. The heat felt just as I had remembered it from my running days in San Angelo: Hot as hell, yet dry enough to have your sweat evaporate. Trust me this is a good thing.

There are so many things I adore about West Texas, one being it's a step back into time. I'd estimate about 5 years from big city civilization. The restaurants are stuck there, meaning you can still find the worst kind of food in the best way. Greasy, trans-fatty, butter-drenched deliciousness. Thank you Jesus.

The people are stuck even further back in time. Here is one example of what happened to me (I swear this is a true story): I called my friend's mom who is newly diagnosed with the worst kind of cancer. I dialed her number from childhood memory, got the machine, left a message and then realized I had missed dialed the correct number by one digit. I redialed the correct number, got her husband and made an appointment to see her. I promptly forgot I had left a message on a stranger's phone. Until dinner at one of those delicious restaurants.

My phone alerts me to a voicemail (service is spotty, so I missed the call). I listen. It's the guy I originally left the message with and he tells me that while he knows my friend, that he's actually good friends with them, I had left my message with him. He proceeds to give me the correct number and tells me he appreciates me wanting to visit with her.

I almost cried. Humanity at its finest people.

My original intent on this trip was to take care of some business at a couple of universities, but to also visit The German. The business end went very well. I love learning entrance tricks and tidbits you would never find on collegeboard.com. The German visit was another thing entirely. In no particular order, these are actual snippets of Germanisms:

* ~ after a sex scene from The 40 Year Old Virgin~ Her: Men can be such animals. Why do they need "that thing" for so long?! Me: Um, the erection? Her: OMGott Patti! Me: What? Erection? That's what it's called. Like you didn't know. Her: ~ uncontrollable laughter almost to the point of peeing as she see me mime pointing out objects with my pretend 4 hour erection as I tell here there could be other uses for it~ The bread?! ~pointing with my erection~ It's over there!

* ~ watching Chloe Kardashian tell her mom she thinks she's adopted~ Her: that is an awful girl. Me: So, you don't like the idea of a mouth swab to prove you're my biological mother?! Her: ~ complete silence with a glare thrown my way ~ Me: How 'bout a hair sample? Her: That is an awful girl. Horrible. (message received loud and clear) Me: But Mom, Auntie says I am the only one she doesn't remember you being pregnant with. ~pause~ Her: YOU WERE ALREADY BORN BY THEN. Sheesh, Germans are soooo touchy.

* Her while we are out driving: You know you can go the speed limit. Me: Sure, if I want to ram that car in front of us to prove your point. Her: Oh, Patti.

* Her: You raised a good boy. Me: Thank you Mom. Really, I appreciate that. It was the toughest job I ever had and I ....Her cutting me off: Well, you and Husband. Me: You're right. He was half the equation and I...Her cutting me off again: He's a good boy. Always was. Still is. Me: Pretty darn good. Can't complain. Her: You shouldn't. Me: I 'm not. Her: I'm just saying you shouldn't. Me nodding and wondering what horrible thing I did as a kid that she is remembering and wishing I had been more like what she thinks Boy was. I can't compete against that. Thanks a lot Boy.

* Me and Brother #3 having some fun at Sister's expense, as siblings will do. Mom: That's not nice. Me: Hey, she's your daughter. Mom: ~ Hurmp ~ Me: Ah, I see where she gets it. ~me ducking~

* Her: You're fussy (said when I find her style of soap pump not what I am looking for) Me: I like simple lines. Her: Where's the style in that? Me: It is actually a style in itself. Her: ~ looking at me like she's just about ready to consent to a mouth swab ~

* Her: Do you like dark chocolate? Me: Yes. Her: Me too! Do you like fresh blueberries? Me: Not particularly. Her: Fresh raspberries? Me: Nope. Her: What's wrong with you? Me laughing: Plenty.

Ah, a visit with The German never disappoints. The more I am around the woman, the more I am convinced she isn't my mother. But it's kinda hard to prove when my sister is the mirror image of me, and my middle brother and I could be twins. There has to be something I'm missing. I'll keep probing.

The German tolerates me in very small doses. Like 15 minute increments. I am talkative, she is quiet. I use course language, she thinks about civilized society and the language therein. I embrace erections, she thinks they are best left to the professionals. I am social, she likes to hang around the house tending her garden. I am snarky and have a big laugh complete with snorts and she, well, doesn't.

It's not that we truly dislike one another, I think it's more along the lines as she doesn't understand me nor does she care to. Whatever happens, she is my mother (at least that's what she is sticking with) and I will make sure I grace her with my presence for as long as she lives whether or not she likes it. It is my sweet revenge.


One last thing about my visit. Mark. I left him this:




There was no sign of the rest of the Pez gang. Hello Kitty was a fish out of water. The creepy globes have survived, but not one Pez. It's just so wrong.




How lonely will Hello Kitty be? Even more important, how funny is that?!



On a weirdo note, right next to Mark's site was this hole that could fit a very fat snake:


The entire time I was there, I kept my good eye on that hole. A gal can never be too careful.

I left Hello Kitty, placed a rock on top of the gravestone, laughed, cried, walked carefully around the snake hole and then high tailed it out of there on my way home before someone saw that it was me leaving the Pez.

I even brought home some of the food from the past. Ate it yesterday. Dadgum, I love West Texas.

Angelo!

Going to West Texas tomorrow, and you know what that means: PEZ ADVENTURES!

I wonder if Wonder Woman and the Easter Bunny an Mustachioed Villain are still there?

I wonder if Hello Kitty will find the cultural differences too steep to overcome.

I wonder if it will be so hot that all I will find are multi-colored puddles.

Stay tuned....

CAKE!

I give you cake:


Ingredients for the Italian Creme Cake: Yes, that is actually shortening in that measuring cup. Shortening AND butter. At least I'm using a lower fat buttermilk.




Next up we see just how old my hand mixer is: Circa 1970ish. I think I swiped it from The German when I ran away from home. While I used the Kitchen Aide to mix the batter, I was enormously lazy and didn't want to clean it out to mix the egg whites. So BOOM! old hand mixer to the rescue.




The batter was golden from the 5 eggs. The properly beaten egg whites are ready to be gently folded into the batter.




Oh my. And yes, I defied death and licked every spatula (2), beater (3) and bowl (1). Husband waltzed in 30 minutes later hoping to catch some spoonful for himself. He was too late. I told him I ate it all to save him from any possible gastrointestinal mayhem. I look out for him like that.




In the three cake pans it went.




Again with the lazy. Tilt your head.




The perfectly baked round with the eye-rolling, slap your momma, lusty-noise making, foot stomping icing as filling.




Could it be any more perfect?! It's like I knew what I was doing.




Done! I could have run a warm knife along the sides to smooth it out, aesthetics and all, but I like the icing like this. More character, like me. Plus, there was the whole lazy theme that begged for continuity.




The cake is fantastically moist, yet holds decidedly together. The not-too-sweet cream cheese frosting is combined with chopped with-my-own-hands and toasted pecans. The melding of these elements makes for a cake fit for The Summer of Cake.



Happy Summer of Cake to all!

Ever closer...

I Wonk'd while waiting for the layers to cool. I swear I wasn't drunk....just high on batter.

Back soon with pics.

Almost cake...

Cake layers (3) are in the oven. I risked my health and licked the bowl and batters clean. Oh man, this cake is going to be something. Next up: toast pecans for frosting. Pics after I clean up the kitchen and wipe my drool off the camera

Cake!

Tomorrow: Italian Cream Cake.

Start your drooling engines.

7am

Husband waking me up this morning, rubbing my back: Time to get up.

Me, sound asleep: WHAT DAY IS IT?!

Husband laughing: Um, Wednesday.

Me: WHAT? ~finally waking up and lowering my voice~ Oh. I thought it was the weekend. Dang it.

And so goes our life most days.

A lil sumin sumin

I was runnin'.....new marathon update HERE! Go leave Husband some love for his big big decision. DO IT!

Oh, and Big Brother starts this week. Feel free to judge me now.

Fine, I cried.

Boy left today and for the first time in a long time I cried. The running joke between Boy and Husband when Boy was in college was "How long did Mom cry after I left?" As the years went by, my heart got used to the shock and I cried less and less. After he got married, I knew he was in good hands with Girl and I stopped the blubbering. Until today.

I think since Husband's medical adventure, my tender heart still feels the bruise of how the scenario could have easily played out, and I feel even stronger now about wanting my duckies close to me. Seeing Boy happy in his marriage, seeing him capable in his life, seeing him laughing across the table from me while playing cards filled my heart. It was a true salve to have us all under one roof, loving, laughing and living.

I know how lucky I am. I know not everyone has what we have. I know, I know, I know.

Doesn't mean my heart is rational. It refuses to listen to reason. It's a mommy heart and it will cry when it wants to.