Stayed over at A.'s Sunday night after a little gathering she had. Left early and got home about 11:00 am on Labor Day. It was overcast and I was content to just sit and read most of the day. Heard from brother Frank, sister Betty, and friends Marge and Peggy. Peg and I made a date for lunch on Monday.
Wider: In today's NYTimes, there's an article about the layoffs and belt-tightening now affecting schools:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/08/education/08school.html?hp
That was the very subject of my conversation yesterday with daughter Ellen, a third-grade teacher in California. She and her colleagues have much larger classes this year than they had before and are doing without aides, as well as some in-class equipment. Guess we need the money we could have spent on education to slaughter people in other countries. Apply the billions for war to making children literate? Oh, hell no, what kind of un-American talk is that?
Wider Still: I had to add the following link, which MUST be read. Fred Reed is crude, brash, and often disagreeable--but here, he speaks the truth.
http://www.fredoneverything.net/FOE_Frame_Column.htm

More about Pat's death, courtesy of my obsessive need to tell about it:
The rain had stopped by the time we got to the cemetery and it wasn't even terribly humid. The priest said the words and we added one of the few nontraditional activities I wanted: "Irish Dirt." George had gotten this at some kind of funeral directors' convention; it's a fairly large green container with authentic soil from Ireland, according to the info on the package. A. had put some in a round bowl and great-grandson J. held it as each person took a pinch and dropped it on the coffin along with a flower.
Wonderfully, as we glanced away from his grave, we saw a tiny frog perched on a nearby tombstone. An omen or some kind of mystical "sign"? Oh, no, I don't think so, but it was a pleasant reminder that the earth has riches and that my husband is now part of them.
Back at the house, we welcomed a big crowd; I'm so glad we had it here rather than at a restaurant. Everybody moved around, chatting and laughing with relief, and eating the good food provided by friends, as well as the Sacco subs we served, courtesy of Mike. It got warm and sunny and some sat on the front porch. People slowly trickled out after a few hours and only my children were left.
In a strange way, it was a good and satisying few days. So many attendees remarked on the simple beauty of the funeral, family and friends gathered to support me, and I believe Pat will be remembered for many years.
Daughter Ellen had to leave on Sunday, and after sons, DIL, and I took her to the airport, we went to Atlantic City. We (foolishly) gambled a bit, showed N. some of the sights, and ate in Margate. The next day, we met A., hiked at Batsto State Forest, then had lunch at a Mexican restaruant in Hammonton. The boys and N. left on Tuesday morning.
I've gone back to the cemetery three days since then, to get flowers to perserve and ribbons to save (but why? To what purpose?), then with sister Betty on the anniversary of her son's death.
There's more to record about all this, but I'll just do it as the spirit moves me. Overall, I still have such a feeling of unreality, as if the people around me suddenly started walking on the ceiling. I assume that will pass.

Continued:
My children are incredibly energetic and inventive. Under the direction of Mike, they spent hours transforming my sadly neglected flower beds all around the house into weedless, nicely trimmed, and newly-mulched perfection. After we rejected a number of restaurants for lunch after the funeral, we decided to have it at home and they bought disposable tableware, more food, and other necessities. We went to "The Rain Florist" and ordered a long spray from me for the back of the coffin, and individual baskets from the others.
Five friend/neighbor couples had descended on us on Tuesday with a array of casseroles, salads, rolls, cold cuts, sides, and desserts. We ate some and were able to freeze most of the rest to serve on Saturday.
An incredible number of cards and notes came in and are continuing with each mail; I cherish every one of them. Also, we received a number of beautiful flowers, plants, and gift baskets that still grace the house.
Appropriately, I guess, it poured rain on Saturday as we drove to Ventnor. I thought that would keep people away, but the church was packed. People from every phase of Pat's life were there--guys and gals from his first grade years, from his old Ventnor neighborhood, from high school and after, from Ewing where we lived 41 years, from our good group of newer friends. So many relatives came--not only my sister and brothers, but many of my nieces, nephews, and others. Pat's brother, Bill, is the only survivor of their family and at 84 and ailing, he was unable to be there, but his wife and all four of his children came. We had people from California, Massachusetts, New York, Illinois, Vermont, and North Caroline, not to mention, of course, Tokyo and Singapore.
The mass itself was lovely, celebrated by a friend of daughter A.'s and with the eulogy by my brother, Larry, who goes back almost to babyhood with Pat.
More later...

For some reason, I have a need to record at least some of the events of the last two weeks:
At about 6:40 am on Saturday, August 22, I received a call from the nurse at Atlanticare Hospital to tell me I should come because Pat seemed "tired." I was already up and dressed, in preparation for my 7 am walk, and I immediately left for the hospital. I knew already he had died and when I walked into his room, the doctor and nurse were there, and confirmed it. I called my daughters in California--the older one visiting the younger. My cell phone doesn't call overseas, so I asked to use the regular phone and reversed the charges to call older son in Tokyo. Called the younger in Singapore, but the nanny said he and DIl were out for dinner. It seems mobile phones won't accept collect calls, so I had a dilemma. Finally, a lovely young nurse with the exquisite name of "Apple Solomon"--she's Filipino, so I don't know where that name came from--lent me her calling card. My final call was to George Wimberg, funeral director, fellow St. James graduate, and long-time friend. (I often say you can't die in Ventnor without George.)
SIL Mike and grandson, Joel, along with the two precious little boys, came down to be with me on Saturday. Older daughter got home the next day and we went to see George to pick out the coffin, settle particulars, and perform all the chores that seem so odd and, at the same time, so ordinary, necessary, and right.
Yes, yes, theoretically, our funeral customs are needless, bizarre, and ruinously expensive, but you know what? I didn't want him incinerated, sifted into an urn, then packed away like out-of-season clothes. I wanted an old-fashioned funeral and burial and a place where I can visit and plant flowers. I'm familiar with Laurel Memorial Cemetery where Pat's parents and sisters are buried, as well as my twin's family, and that's where I wanted him.
Our sons arrived from Asia and younger daughter from Ventura, and we picked out a plot in the relatively new "couples" section. That concept strikes me as droll and hysterically funny, but it pleases me to think he'll be there and so will I. There are gay couples (judging from the loving wording on the stone), as well as family groups, and it's a nice, tree-bordered spot, albeit a little too near a public road. In addition, there's often horrendous jet noise from NAFAC across the way, but then I guess the people buried there don't mind.
More later...

Just in case anybody thinks I've lost my sass, I'm citing this from the Tom Dispatch blog:
"It sounds like the plot for the latest summer horror movie. Imagine, for a moment, that George W. Bush had been allowed a third term as president, had run and had won or stolen it, and that we were all now living (and dying) through it... There’s Dubya now, still rewriting laws via signing statements. Still creating and destroying laws with executive orders. And still violating laws at his whim. Imagine Bush continuing his policy of extraordinary rendition, sending prisoners off to other countries with grim interrogation reputations to be held and tortured. I can even picture him formalizing his policy of preventive detention, sprucing it up with some 'due process' even as he permanently removes habeas corpus from our culture."
In this brilliant essay, "Bush's Third Term? You're Living It." the author, David Swanson, points to the horrific continuity in Obama's administration. The whole piece must be read at
http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/175109/david_swanson_the_more_things_change

I plan to resume this blog in a few days or next week.

Pat died this morning.