Aunt Nancy's Chair

It was full of money--so Suzanne said.

She had cancer--Nancy.

She beat it for a while--ten years.

But the osteoporosis caused her so much pain, the fractures just for turning in her bed.

She sat in her recliner.  A lot.

She could get comfortable there.

I don't know how with the 'bulges.'

My husband, Ed, would tease her,

"Can I have your chair when you die, Nan?  You don't weigh much.  It won't have much wear."

He got the chair.  Suzanne, Nancy's daughter, gave it to him, and Ed's addendum of,

"If I'm still alive, Nan, since I know you'll be at my funeral" didn't come true.

We got Nan's chair.  

She used to keep her money in that chair.

She and Jack, her young husband, who died at 52 and left her a widow of 50

had never had more each month than most of us hand to the pizza delivery guy.

But when Sue and husband Dave came to live with her they paid the bills.

And Nancy had dollars to stuff in her chair

And give to the needy.

Hurricane victims, cancer patients (as if she wasn't one),

the home care nurse whose daughter was a single mom struggling to get by.

Nancy had tens of dollars to give.

She was lucky, Nancy was.  She was rich.

The dollars from the chair were dispensed with alacrity--

"Your daughter needs a communion dress.  Take this $20 to help with the cost."

Out of the chair it came.

It helped her back, the fractures, 

to get that money out of the chair 

so it didn't press on her spine.

That chair sat on the second floor.  

It should have fallen through with the weight of the cash that was hidden inside.

A $5 bill for a little boy.  A $20 bill for a big boy.

Grandchildren, nephews, nieces, friends, the RedCross, Salvation Army.

The money fell from the chair.

It blew into lives and sometimes went to many hands like "Pay it forward."

The richer recipients understood that once in their wallets it multiplied and moved on.

Aunt Nancy made less money babysitting than some folks spend in a day,

Yet the chair became stuffed and then...

The chair is gone

but the stuffing lives on.

Suzanne had emptied the chair of all its dollars and somehow they grew as she and Dave

continued to find good causes

for the money in the envelope where the cash from the chair had been placed.

Year after year she was able to send the money out where Nancy would never go.

Nancy had agorophobia.

But through the money in her chair she went all over the world.  

No wonder she had fractures in her back, sitting on that damned stuffed chair.

It was bulging with.....

I check my own chair a lot.

It's not as uncomfortable as Nancy's.

She helps me dig deep to popcorn, a barrette, a ten dollar bill.

Hey, Aunt Nancy, my back feels better.

A family nearby found a ten in their mailbox just as the milk ran out.

The note said, "Good luck.  Nan."

I don't have faith, don't go to church, but my back feels better when all the

popcorn

and barrettes,

and

...stuff is cleaned out of my chair.

The Obliquity of the Ecliptic

Here's a poem I wrote a few years back that I can't find saved on my computer, so here's saving it.   Stargazers will recognize the theme of we earthlings thinking that we're all that when a little reading about the universe reminds us that we are, as Carl Sagan said, "a pale blue dot."  Here's a youtube of Sagan speaking true poetry http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luAteAz3WQ0&NR=1

The Obliquity of the Ecliptic

by Sally Coyne

The obliquity of the ecliptic

Induces solipsism

As illusions cause a profusion of confusion

About horizons and dimensions

Right ascension and declination,

Illumination of earth's presumptive supposition

Of universal hegemony

While astronomy cautions economy

Of perception

When gazing

In the direction 

Of space.

Daddy Honey

My younger sister, Linda, (so my remembered version of the family story goes) was said to have our dad wrapped around her little finger.  She once famously told him that he could no longer help her with her homework because he refused to make her an egg at 8 pm.  When she got to be older and could appreciate the family stories about our gentle dad (Thank God Mom was controlling or we all might have been brats) Linda started calling him Daddy Honey whenever asking him to do anything, and we all started calling him that for a while.  Today I met my family for an anniversary mass.  Our dad died a year ago.  It's hard to believe it's been that long.  We are committed to making sure that our children and grandchildren know him.  We tell the stories over and over and it becomes family history.  With five sisters and a brother, my mom, and all of our children it begins to be hard to tell if I really experienced some of these things, or now have the memories due to the stories.  I guess in a way we create our own history.  Here is the tribute to our dad written by Judy with the help of some of my other siblings:

A Tribute to Dad (Bob Coyne)

(August 10, 1918 – February 18, 2008)

(Written by his children)

  Our Dad never won any awards, had an illustrious career, or became famous in his community, but he was a wonderful husband and father.  His greatest accomplishment was raising eight thankful children who were not only devoted to him and Mom, but remain close and loving to each other.  The greatest gift he and Mom gave us was the constancy and security of our home.  Whatever else was happening in the world, our home was a safe haven.  We shared a nightly dinner and Sunday brunches where friends were always welcome and lively conversation was the rule.

          Mom was the love of his life, his sweetheart, best friend, and lifelong partner.  He relied on her to run the household, but also gave her time to be herself.  He supported her volunteer work by holding down the fort when she was away. The greatest tribute Mom gave to Dad was when she received a diocesan award from Bishop Wuerl.  Upon accepting the award, Mom gestured to Dad and told the Bishop, “This is the man who made it all possible.” He was a devoted husband and father, who changed innumerable diapers, polished children’s shoes and eyeglasses, made very strong coffee, and fixed potatoes every night for supper.  He was very proud of his children, rejoicing in our achievements and sympathizing in our misfortunes.  Mom and Dad were a wonderful disciplinary team, playing “good cop”, “bad cop” to great effect.  Even if he doubted her decisions, he steadfastly supported them, so that they always provided a united front.

         

          Dad was quiet, sometimes stoic, always dignified, but never stuffy.  He had a playful sense of humor and loved making puns, most of which were really awful.  He liked to use silly names for everyday things, such as “shattered” wheat instead of shredded wheat, or “blananas” for bananas.  His “smashed” potatoes were the best in town, bar none.  He had a soft kind of laugh, with shoulders that would shake when he thought something was really funny.

          He was the least materialistic man we knew.  He never owned a car, had an expensive hobby, or yearned for high-priced gadgets.  On many occasions he went to work with only a handful of change in his pocket, because that was all he had to spare.  Yet, his children never wanted for food, clothing, or a good home.  When he needed something new, Mom had to convince him to spend the money on himself.

          He always felt blessed to have another child and declared that each succeeding one was the cutest of all.  Judy totally agrees with Dad’s assessment in this area.  He saw each of us as a unique and wonderful gift from God.  He loved us all equally and never favored one over another.

 As a young man of the Great Depression, and true to his Scottish roots, Dad had some unique ways of saving money, such as drying out paper towels in the oven and using a tea bag more than once.  He taught us the value of thrift by never letting a spoonful of food go to waste.  His favorite son-in-law, Ed, once threatened to buy miniature, keychain sized Tupperware containers so that Dad could store his leftovers in them.  Dad was always concerned about us kids leaving lights on and often admonished us not to make Duquesne Light rich.

          He also had some unique hiding places for the treats he managed to save for himself.  Once, when the coffee was done brewing, but none would pour out, Mom discovered that Dad had hidden a piece of cake inside the pot, which had acted as a sponge and soaked up all the liquid.

          Dad had a lifelong love of music and possessed a sweet Irish tenor, which he exhibited as a choir member for more than four decades.  He particularly enjoyed the big bands and popular standards, and knew all of the singers and musicians.  He was an avid Pittsburgh Pirates fan and liked listening to games on the radio.  He took his transistor radio everywhere, listening to talk shows, music, and baseball games with equal enjoyment. 

          Dad was blessed with nine brothers and sisters.  He spoke of them all with love, but it was his sister, Nancy, who played the biggest role in his life.  Nancy and her husband, Jack, shared a home with Mom and Dad for more than ten years.  They helped to raise each other’s children and enriched each other’s lives with love and laughter through many lean years.

          In closing, we would like to recall a poem from “The Prophet” by Khalil Gibran, which perfectly embodies our feelings about Dad.  Margie chose it with help from Robert, for Mom and Dad’s 50^th anniversary invitation.

          You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

  The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness.   For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Thank you, Dad, for always being our stable, gentle bow!

20/20 Appalachian poor

I'm watching a 20/20 I recorded--Diane Sawyer in Appalachia.  I almost want to cry.  I'm not sure who first used the term "crushing poverty" but it is apt.  I'm thinking of a child I know who lived in similar condiditons right here in this middle class school district.  I try to remember that every day when I look at my class--what were their mornings like?   Some of them were nothing resembling mine or my children's mornings with food choices, warm beds, clean clothes.  I keep feeling that I need to do something bigger with the rest of my teaching career--something related to helping under privileged children.  This country offers free education, but it is far, far from equal.  So many years after reading Jonathan Kozol--why is it still this way?  Well, I'm off to 20/20 's website to see how I can help.

84-year-old technology user

Here's Florence who ditched her book to play solitaire on my laptop, at one point while watching a recorded program on my dvr--she has one, too btw--and talking on the house phone which is an internet phone.

Mighty Guins

OK--so the 0-3 comeback last night gives us new hope that the Pens could possibly still make the playoffs.  Let's go Pens!

Hines Ward by Megan Prazenica

Here's the Hines Ward drawing by Megan Prazenica.  You can get info on where to purchase this and the Troy Palamalu poster on Megan's website:  meganpraz.com