The Post about John Paul II April 2nd

I have two very clear, very early memories about Pope John Paul II.

The first didn't directly involve him, but it changed the world.

I was four years old when my father took my sisters and I for a walk in the park. A half-block from home I could see my Mother crying on the porch.

From there she yelled the news to my father: Pope John Paul was dead.

The second memory is from when I was in first grade, and the principal of my Catholic school made a PA announcement.

In a short statement interrupted by her sobs, she told us Pope John Paul II had been shot in an assassination attempt. She asked us to pray for him, and for the man who shot him.

I remember no such reaction when Reagan was shot that year.

Today, the man who has been Pontiff for twenty-seven of my thirty-one years lies dying.

To a non-Catholic - and to many in the faith - the impact of his impending death must seem mystifying.

After all, he is just a man. A good man, and an influential one, but in the end just a man.

I agree.

I don't hold him to any special standard of humanity. I admire him, I respect his office and what it stands for, and I acknowledge him as my spiritual leader.

I don't think he's secured special favor with God simply by holding office.

I think his life guaranteed it.

He was born Karol Wojtyla in Poland in 1920. He secretly studied for the priesthood under the weight of WWII's Nazi occupation and rose to Cardinal under the equally repugnant rule of Communism.

He was the first non-Italian Pope in over four centuries, a learned scholar who spoke eight languages fluently, and a traveler who had seen more of the world and its people than any of his predecessors had.

He established diplomatic ties with Israel, met with the same Communist leaders who once denied his God, exchanged ambassadors with the US, and led the Church into its third millennium.

All of that is fodder for historians to ponder. What made him so appealing to me was something he had no control over: his nationality.

Even now - and I'm a hundred years removed from the old country - I'm proud that a strong, passionate Pope shared my heritage.

To have the honor of growing up in a time when Poles were leading the fight against communism behind the Iron Curtain while a strong and vigorous Polish Pope sat in the Vatican - well, it was almost enough towrite off all those lame Polish jokes as mere jealousy.

To be sure, not everyone is a fan. I once read a scathing attack in which the author thought a natural but painful death for the pontiff would be just 'retribution' for his policy on euthanasia.

In a similar vein, I've heard him called anti-woman, because apparently a sincere moral opposition to abortion can be nothing less.

I don't agree with everything the Pope's believed and preached, most recently his stance against US military actions.

Yet I can recognize a sincere and consistent philosophy: that life, in all its forms, is too precious to waste; too strong to be trampled by a mad dictator or suffocated by communism.

It was a philosophy he held dear. To the end he lived by that creed, handling his slow decline with grace and resoluteness.

I doubt I'll ever see a Pope of his caliber again.

I will pray for him, and I'll mourn the news of his passing.

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Additional Reading:

How the Pope Helped Break Communism

The Pope of Popes

Two pieces of News

Two very diverse topics here.

First, The Smoking Gun reports that American Idol contestant Scott Savol has a history of domestic violence, something that may render him ineligible to continue in the competition.

Eventually, I'll have to post about the only TV show that I take care never to miss.

Secondly, my Mother called to tell me that the Pope's heart stopped and that he was revived but is currently in a coma. Some online news agencies are hesitating on this as there are conflicting reports.

I know to many people, including Catholics, this is no big deal.

I'm not one of them.

My prayers go out to him.

Terry Schiavo is Dead

I just heard the news and offer my prayers to her and her family.

 It's alarming how society just wanted her out of the way. The quicker she died, the quicker we could go on pretending we had all the answers to the ethical dilemas medicine has created.

 

 

The Post about the Zoo March 30th

I didn’t plan on going to the zoo today.

I didn’t plan on taking five kids.

I didn’t plan on severe thunderstorms making a beeline for Milwaukee County.

But then again, I did plan on traveling the world after college.

Since we all know how that turned out, it only makes sense that an unplanned, haphazard trip wound up being a success.

Spurred on by a half-forgotten email about reduced fares, my wife decided at 11 o’clock we were going to pay the rhinos a visit.

Which was easier said then done. My eldest was still at a friends house following a sleepover, and the rest of the clan had spent the night at my mother’s.

So we swung by my Mom’s and picked up my daughter, but left Parker behind. What was a three week old going to do at the zoo other than sleep?

In exchange we picked up both of my sister’s daughters.

Then it was on to pick up my oldest.

Where we added another kid, her five-year old friend.

Get rid of one, pick up three. Interesting math.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. While the Milwaukee County Zoo may be one of the best, most progressive zoos around, it bores me to tears.

Just like the museum, I made a trip or two to the zoo every year of my childhood. Maybe there’s someone out there who can pick up subtle differences from year to year, but as far as I can tell it’s the same elephants eating the same hay and making the same steaming piles of waste as the ones I saw 20 years ago.

In addition, maybe the zoo’s cheaper than most, but to my mind the mob’s gotta have a hand in it.

Even on a ‘reduced fare’ day the cost is prohibitive. And the cost of food/beverages/rides? Just sign over your paycheck and be done with it.

But the kids, they love it. And for them, it’s worth it.

The primate house continues to be the universal favorite (although to my eldest’s disappointment, there was no repeat of the gorilla-who-ate-his own vomit.) My middle child adored the aquarium, and I dug the elephants.

But to my wife’s disappointment, the big cat exhibit was closed. As was the petting zoo, the goat-feeding yard, and a bunch of other stuff.

There’s always a reason for reduced fare days.

But the kids loved playing on the playground next to the empty goat yard, and they adored what animals they did see.

The highlight for me? We loaded four of the girls into the double stroller, making it heavy as all get out. But in response to the girls’ cries of ‘faster faster!’ I ran - yes ran - the stroller down a roadway and up the length of a hill.

Normally you don’t see 300 pounds move that quickly outside of the bear exhibit.

We capped it off with a trip on the carousel and an in-depth examination of a stray ladybug, then headed home.

But not before a bought a one year family pass.

What can I say, it’s not that bad of a place to spend a day.

Oh, and by the way - the T-storms held off until we were at home.

Like I said, it only makes sense that an unplanned, haphazard trip wound up being a success.

 

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What is this, a photo blog?

If my new camera was a woman I'd buy her a ring.

This is a pic of a doozy of an impending storm, taken on Milwaukee's northwest side around four p.m.

Shame the pic quality has to be reduced to fit on the site, but whatcha gonna do?

The Trip with All the Kids March 28th

Fair Warning: This is one of those sappy parenting orientated posts that are really just an excuse to avoid scrapbooking. Read at your peril.

Today, in exchange for getting out of cleaning the house, and to honor a promise to my daughter over her spring break, I took my three rugrats and their three cousins  on a road trip to some local sites.

Alone, without any other adults. Yikes!

The Mitchell Park Conservatory - which is something it's never called, it's The Domes for cripes sakes - are three conoidal glass domes that have been a Milwaukee landmark since the '60's.

There's a desert dome

 a jungle one,

and a temperate dome that rotates through different themes throughout the year.

My Dad, if memory serves, worked there before he went to Vietnam, and I've probably seen the things a hundred times.

This was the third trip for my eldest - we went there on Sept 11, 2002 when many city landmarks were free in honor of 9/11 - and once last fall with my youngest daughter along.

 This, naturally, was Parkers first trip.

It went suprisingly smooth, despite having the Brady Bunch along. The eldest denied remembering the place, but suddenly remembered an obscure donated art project that's tucked into a corner of a dome. The search for this art class globe was one of the centerpieces of the expedition.

Afterwards, the kids enjoyed running in the drained pool outside and called me over to tell me they'd found the 'rest of the water' - a puddle that had formed over a drain cover.

I tried taking them on a tour of a firehouse, but unlikemy childhood, the firefighter told me I'd have to clear a tour with the bigwigs downtown. Not today, folks.

So I went throught the KFC drive-thru, and took the gang down to Miller Park, home of the Milwaukee Brewers.

On this gorgeous spring day we picniced in the shadow of the stadium, then spent a good half-hour playing on the elaborate jungle gym that can be found by home plate.

 

 

Still on the plate for this spring break week: No, not Daytona. A visit to a firehouse, a sleepover, Betty Brinn Children's museum, and (hopefully) some rest.

Hope your Easter went well.

 

Ps. Thanks to Jonah for taking many of the pics along the way. Good job!

ps2. Over Easter a neighbors soccer ball got stuck in Jonah's tree, and he was kind enough to leave the festivites to climb the tree and retrieve it. Here's a pic, which is cool enough I felt forced to tack it on to this post.

Check out http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Not to radically change gears here, but check out this site. The operators of the blog gave out over 3000 postcards inviting people to submit a secret of theirs (anonymously). The results are posted on the site.

It's an interesting mix of regrets, triumphs, humor

 and some very disturbing secrets:

Check it out and give me your opinion.

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Happy Easter!

A Happy Easter to everyone!

For your blogging pleasure I present a holiday-inspired photo scheme, a sampling of this Holy Thursday's

Ninth Annual Bring Your Kids Over to Dan and Lisa's to Dye Massive Amounts of Easter Eggs Because Back In their Youth They Foolishly Thought They Couldn't Have Kids And Created An Annual Tradition to Bring the Joy of Children Into Their Lives, If Only for A Day, and Now Are Forced to Stand By the Fruits of This Foolish Belief

Virtually every kid we've known in the past decade has taken part in at least one year of the festivities, with my nephew Jonah racking up a Cal Ripken-like streak of nine consecutive starts. 

This year went quicker than most, despite dyeing eight dozen eggs. Chalk that up to having two kids at the table nearing or at the decade mark.

As I explained to Jonah, it takes a little longer when the average age at the table is four, and half the eggs land on the floor . . .

I'm sure I'll burn in hell for this, but I present my easter tribute to Kurt Cobain:

and just some of the finished product, which is then distributed to family far and wide

and only mildly related, but worth a look anyway: this morning after church, we had a visitor at the breakfast table:

 

Again, Happy Easter!

Why Snow Hates Cars March 26th

This started off as a story to keep the kids occupied in the car, but it's grown quite a bit since then. Along with The Coffin Tale, The Pumpkin Story, and The Fuzzy tale, this one's in continuous circulation on our road trips.

You know cars hate snow.

When it snows cars slip

and slide

They spin their wheels

and get stuck

and sometimes they get so cold they can't even move at all!

You know cars hate snow.

But do you know why snow hates cars?

It wasn't always that way.

Once upon a time, when the Great Snow King

ruled winter, cars and snow got along just fine.

The Great Snow King was called 'great' for a reason.

Oh, sometimes he sent cold, cold winds down from the North Pole

and he always made sure your parents had plenty of snow to shovel

But he also made sure kids had snow for sledding, and snow angels,

and snowball fights.

He always made sure there was snow for Christmas,

and if he was feeling super nice,

he'd send just enough snow to cancel school.

Now the Great Snow King had a son that was a snowman, and he wished more than anything that his boy would

someday be King.

His son The Snow Prince had other ideas.

He wanted to be an actor.

Of course, that was a silly wish, because snowmen do not become movie stars.

Except for one time.

This time.

Now, while the Snow Prince was dreaming about movies, a car was dreaming about something else.

His name was Jazz, and he was as brand-new as a car could be.

He was shiny and smooth, with big comfy seats and a powerful engine that went

"Vroom Vroom" as he went down the street.

Jazz wanted to be a race-car when he grew up, and he liked to drive fast. Too fast for the city, so he would go out to the country and go "zoom zoom" down the lonely roads.

That was how he met the Snow Prince.

It's not often you see a snowman in summer. Especially one who’s sled was stuck in the mud.

"Howdy partner. Need some help?" Jazz asked.

“Oh yes, sir, if you please,” The Snow Prince said, for he was nothing if not polite.

Quick as a jiffy, Jazz tied a rope to the sled and with a ‘vroom vroom’ of his engine pulled it free.

“Oh thank you sir!” The Snow Prince said.

“Aw, lay off that ‘sir‘, stuff, mister. The names Jazz, and racings my game!” he said.

“I’m the Snow Prince,” the snowman said. “And soon I’ll be a movie star. I’m going to be famous!”

Jazz was a little confused.

“Don’t see many movie stars around here. Especially one’s that melt,” he said.

That was when the Snow Prince noticed a drop of water on the end of his carrot nose

The weather was a bit warmer than he was used to at the North Pole.

“I guess I didn’t plan very well. I thought it would still be winter and I could ride my sled. But it’s not, and if I don’t hurry up I’ll never get to Hollywood,” The Snow Prince said.

“What’s out there?” Jazz asked.

“Only the best movie ever! It’s all about a snowman that comes to life one winter and sings lots of songs to make kids happy. They start filming soon, and I’m going to be the star of the show! I was born to play that part!” he said.

“Hmm. Well, that sled won’t get you very far,” Jazz said. Just then another big drop of water fell off The Snow Prince. Splash!

Suddenly Jazz had an idea.

“Tell you what. I’ve never been to California, and I hear they drive really fast there. If you like I can give you a ride,” Jazz said.

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose,” The Snow Prince said as another drop of water fell to the ground.

Splat!

“I have air conditioning,” Jazz said, and that was that.

So Jazz and The Snow Prince set out across America.

They drove through the Midwest and saw lots of farms.

They drove through prairies and raced buffaloes.

They drove through the Rocky Mountains, where The Snow Prince enjoyed the cool mountain air.

And along the way the two became the best of friends.

But not once did the Snow Prince tell Jazz that he had run away from home, and that his father was looking for him. And he never, not once, told him how mad his father would be if he found them.

Finally they got to California, and The Snow Prince was so happy to see the big Hollywood sign! He was this close to being the worlds first and most famous snowman actor!

“I’m hungry Snow Prince,” Jazz said. “Mind if I stop for some gas before we drive to the studio?”

“Go ahead, I’m hungry too,” he said.

Jazz pulled into a gas station. In it’s window was a red sign that said “Ice Cream”.

“You better be careful . It’s mighty hot out here in California,” Jazz said.

“I’ll only be a minute. And you’ll be right outside,” The Snow Prince said. With that, he went in search of some butter pecan.

As Jazz was filling up his tank with the best tasting gas he’d ever had, he was very happy he’d taken the trip.

Not only had he met a great friend, but he’d seen the whole country, and California was very pretty.

That’s when he heard it.

At first it was very quiet, like a mouse, and Jazz thought he was imagining things. Then he heard it again.

“Vroom, vroom vroom”

The noise seemed to be coming from down the block. Jazz was itching to go see what it was, but he knew he shouldn’t leave The Snow Prince.

“I’ll just be gone for a minute,” he thought to himself. “I’ll be back before he even notices.”

With his mind made up he drove down the block. The noise seemed to be coming from behind a tall pine fence.

Halfway up one of the planks was a knothole. Jazz popped a wheelie and put his headlight to the hole.

There, on the other side of the fence were dozens of cars going round and round a track as fast as they could!

“A race!,” said Jazz. “Hot dog!”

He was very excited and wished he could get a better view. Then a man in a bright blue usher’s suit tapped him on the fender.

“’Bout time you got here! We’ve been looking everywhere for you, the race already started. You better get in there before the boss gets any madder,” the usher said.

“But I’m not who you think . . . “ Jazz said, confused.

“Enough chit-chat. Are you gonna race or not?” the man asked.

Jazz should have remembered The Snow Prince and said “no thank you”, but he was much too excited to think of anything but driving in the race. His dream was coming true!

Back at the gas station The Snow Prince stepped outside with his ice cream. He looked left

and right,

and left again,

but didn’t see Jazz.

His ice cream started to melt in the hot California sun.

At the racetrack Jazz was doing well, moving closer and closer to the lead.

Outside the gas station The Snow Prince was worried. His ice cream was a gooey mess and he could feel melted snow drip,

drip,

dripping

down his face.

The Snow Prince tried to go back inside by the air conditioning, but the clerk pointed to the puddle he was making and said “Stay out!”

Now he was very worried indeed.

Down the street a man took out a checkered flag.

The race was almost over.

And the winner was . . .

Jazz!!!

Everyone was cheering! A man handed Jazz a microphone.

“Say a few words to the crowd son,” he said.

“Gosh, I’m so happy. I just wish my friend . . ,” Jazz began. Then he realized what he’d done.

“Snow Prince!” he yelled, roaring down the street faster than he ever had on the race track.

He pulled into the gas station and looked around.

He looked left,

and right,

and left again,

but there was no sign of The Snow Prince.

Unless, that is, you noticed a carrot nose floating in a large puddle of water.

Jazz was so sad he never raced again. To this day the only time he leaves the garage

Is to drive a little old lady to church on Sunday’s.

Very

Very

Slowly

Since The Snow Prince was made up of - what else? - snow, he didn’t go away forever.

The sun dried up the puddle

and he floated in the clouds

until he reached the North Pole, where he fell,

one by one,

as snowflakes until he was back to his old self.

When the Great Snow King saw him he was too happy to be angry at his son.

But The Snow Prince was very, very mad.

While he was up in the clouds as drop after drop of water, another snowman

got the part in the movie

and went on to fame and fortune.

Every kid knows his name.

You know it too -

His name was Frosty.

When The Snow Prince heard this he told his father all about how Jazz had left him behind to melt, and the Great Snow King became very angry too.

So he passed an order:

From this day forward,

When it snows cars shall slip

and slide

And spin their wheels

Cars will get stuck

and sometimes they will get so cold they won’t even move at all!

Which is why cars hate snow, just like snow hates cars.

 

The End

 copyright 2005 Dan Slapczynski

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A much needed LOL Break

Two serious posts about the Terri Schiavo case appear below, and I encourage you to read them . . .

 . . . but to break up the gloomy karma, I present this little ditty:

While researching my son's circumcision several links popped up on the search engine, among them the sponsored link below:

Circumcision Sale  - New & used Circumcision. Check out the deals now!
www.eBay.com

Personally, if I was in the market for a circumcision I'd avoid the used model, but to each his own.