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It was announced today that the remains of Lt Cdr Michael “Scott” Speicher have been located and returned home. He was the first American casualty during the first gulf war when he was shot down over Iraq.

I remember when he was shot down, and the stunning realization that despite our technological prowess and military power, good men and women still die in war. He was mentioned in no less than two state of the union adresses, his status changed from KIA to MIA to captured over the years and now his remains have been found and he can be laid to rest.

I am so godamned proud of the military that kept looking and almost two decades later found him. I hope our young PFC who has recently been taken hostage in afghanistan stays strong long enough for someone to get to him out safely.

Welcome home Lt Cdr Michael “Scott” Speicher, rest in peace.

Linda Marie Grant, born April 14th, 1952, died August 1st, 1988.  20 years ago today.  She had three kids; me, Kristen and David Joseph Lenz (Borden?).   I miss her more than I can describe.  I can remember her smile and her sickness.  I remember Cabrini Green where she lived and the oxygen tanks in the corner of that dark, cold, shitty apartment where she lived last before the hospital stay.  She lied about the oxygen tanks, said they belonged to the previous resident to try to spare my sister and me the knowledge of her pending death.

She died in a hospital without her kids.  She’s buried in a grave without a headstone.

There is a brother out there that I don’t know, one of the last connections I have to my lost mom.  My brother’s name is David Lenz and he was adopted or fostered in Illinois.  As long as I’m seeing search phrases like what are pictured in the attached pic, I’m going to keep on hoping to hear from him someday soon.

I have sat on this post since Aug 1st, the 20th anniversary of her death.  I didn’t really want to post it and I deleted some of my more personal memories and thoughts.  I changed my mind today, when I found this site, it’s a diary of a dying mom.  She gave me the courage to remember my mom so publicly.

In memory of our honored dead on Memorial day, I want to salute Sgt. Merlin German, USMC. 

Merlin was an inspiration and a saint.  With burns over 97 percent of his body he survived and thrived for three years after being given no chance to live.  Merlin was injured in Iraq by an IED and flown home so that his family could say goodbye to him before he died.  He didn’t accept that as his lot in life, he fought.  He fought bravely and selflessly for three years before succumbing to his wounds last month.

He danced with his mom and founded a charity for burnt children during those three years, all while recovering from his horrific wounds.  His life was a triumph, his triumph was an inspiration and his inspiration will continue on. 

What have I done these last three years that compares in any way?

On this Memorial Day, keep them all in your thoughts.

You can read more about Sgt. German here.

I often wonder if my brother, David knows he has a brother. I wonder what his foster/adoptive parents told him about his birth family, if anything. I wonder what his adopted parents know about his birth family and why David was taken away. I wonder how he took the news that he was adopted, when he eventually found out, as he must have. I wonder if he has any pictures of us or him as a small child.

I have a few pictures, we were at Nana’s house, which was a little red brick house with a huge yard and two apple trees out front. My sister and I would get paid to pick up apples from the yard, I remember that they were bitter little things to eat. David was there, I think he was already fostered out and my sister and I were visiting from California. That may have been the only time that we ever met as children, I coulnd’t have been more than 10, so Tina was about 8 and David may have been around 5ish? I remember that day mainly because I have a few pictures to remind me of being there. Without pictures of that day and what he looked like, the concept of me having a brother would be more of an abstract idea instead of a hard actual personal fact. I hope he does have a picture, or some memories of us.

I wonder if he’s ever googled my name, or his mom’s or sister’s name. Does he even know our names? I am almost 100% sure his name is David Joseph Lenz, he was born David Joseph and I don’t know the last name. I’m sure he knows his mom’s name, Linda Marie Grant is what she’s buried under and the cemetary is less than an hour from where he is supposed to live.

I hear he’s in Algonquin, when I was in Chicago last year I found a number for a Lenz family in Algonquin and called them. I left a message, but never heard back. I have no idea who his dad is, but we share our mom. Her death really did fracture what was left of the Borden clan, sending shards from California to Chicago. She is missed, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I can however, find my brother.

I read an OLD article that sickened me just now, despite it’s age. The freedom of religion also applies to freedom from religion. The Burke family of Newark was ordered to return a seventeen month old baby they adopted because they are atheists. This obviously got tossed out in a higher court but here’s what generally happened.

The Burke family was ordered by a judge to return the baby they adopted because the state of New Jersey’s constitution states, “no person shall be deprived of the inestimable privilege of worshiping Almighty God in a manner agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience” Now the fact that the Burke parents don’t believe in an Almighty God would apparently preclude the baby from growing up and having the opportunity to worship an almighty God. Hence, their adoption was not legal in the eyes of judge Camarata .

Thomas Jefferson, one of the chief architects of the US constitution once stated, “The legitimate powers of government extend to such acts only as are injurious to others. But it does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.” Possibly even more eloquently and appropriate to this conversation Jefferson also stated, “No man shall be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship, place, or ministry whatsoever, nor shall be enforced, restrained, molested, or burthened in his body or goods, nor shall otherwise suffer, on account of his religious opinions or belief; but that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or affect their civil capacities.”

The US Constitution states, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof”

I’m no lawyer, but the judge in this case was a jackoff. The government cannot require religion for their services. Should firefighters only respond to calls from Catholics in Boston? Should police in the southern states only help people who are Baptists? Obviously, the answer is no, as both of those cases are ludicrous. Neither should a judge require religion from potential parents.

Now, just to be clear I tread the line between atheism and my own form of belief in my own vision of a supreme being. I tend to feel a presence when I’m in the mountains, when I’m low on oxygen and high on life. When I’m back in the world, watching news about babies thrown off bridges, sexual predators, and suicide bombers I tend to forget about that presence.

What I cannot stomach is the self-righteous world of most churches. The ivory towered perspective and dialog of a population dominated by charlatans and hypocrites. I do not shun God in any way, I reject the small minded philosophies of small minded religious sects stating that it’s either their specific way to God or nothing.

The mountains are my cathedrals, the trees are my pews, the canyons are my sanctuaries and the open skies are my stained glass visages of God. The wind, thunder, snow, rain and silence of the deep lonely woods are my conversations with God. My heavy footfalls are my hymns and each exhalation is an entreaty to my God.

Here is a link to the article that started this all off. It is from 1970, but still blood boiling.

Now it’s getting ridiculous. I got a fifth overdraft charge, and just had to take a screenshot of this so that in 10 years when I’m playing golf with Bill Gates and the Sultan of Brunei, I can look back and laugh. Or maybe I’ll hire someone to laugh for me.

Here’s the screenshot and I’m an idiot.

I set a new personal record today. Being right around the holidays is a cool time to set records, especially records like this. I was hit with not one, not two, not three, but four overdraft charges today by my bank, Wamu. Each one is 30 dollars. 30×4=120 dollars in fees in one day.

What’s Christmas without a little eggnog and overdraft?

Happy Holidays to all my little fans out there.

If you ever want to know how to be a father, just watch this. Prepare to cry though.

Four months ago in Chicago I saw mom’s grave. There’s alot to be said about that, but the thing that sticks out most is how hard it was to find. I knew the cemetary it was in, so that was easy but finding the grave itself wasn’t.

At the office in the cemetery I asked for her by the names I thought she would be buried under. First, Linda Borden, her maiden name. Nothing. Next Linda Mole, nothing. Now, you have to keep in mind that this is an older cemetary and maybe newer ones are different but this one had all it’s files in large dusty old tomes. So to look up Borden, the clerk needed to get the “B” book and Molae the “M” book. So the clerk seems pissy already. The other thing to keep in mind that a son who misses his mom and has never seen her grave is trying his best but failing miserably not to cry like a baby the whole time.

So next I ask for Linda Grant. After a snippy comment from the clerk she brought out the “G” book. Lo and behold, there she was. She hadn’t carried the Grant name for at least 8 years before she died. But it was a touching last wish of hers to be buried with the name of two of her children. Tears that have been saved for 20 years went out the window at that point while the clerk showed me on the map where to find the grave.

I followed the map but found no grave. I searched high and low where it was supposed to be to no avail. There was no Linda Grant buried there that I saw. So, I returned to the office to ask again. Another, nicer clerk helped this time while the first one sat in back looking even pissier than before. This clerk explained that there was no gravestone marker for my mom, but showed me how to find it based on nearby gravestones.

I didn’t know that there were unmarked graves in the world, I thought that was something that happened in the old west, not in present day society.

So, I found it.

I’m back from Chicago.

I’m tired of the ‘next month will be better’ cycle I’ve been seemingly stuck in for the entirety of my time while employed at my current job. I get paid once a month, on the last day of the month, which is odd all by itself. In addition to the oddity of the once monthly check, add some financial damage from last October’s truck repair/replacement fiasco and a seemingly never ending list of shit that needs to be replaced, repaired, restored, birthdays, and $3.50 per gallon of gas and I’m already broke for the months of May and most of June.

Note the date this is being written, April 30th and I’m already broke for the entire month of May and what looks like June too. It’s like being on a financial treadmill, you get behind just a little bit and can’t ever get off of it. If the state would pay me the overtime it owes me in a timely manner I could get on off the treadmill, or at least slow it down drastically. But, that doesn’t appear to be in the cards.

Right off the bat, my job isn’t supposed to get overtime as a paid commodity. It’s supposed to convert into time off at a rate of 1.5x. So, I work for four hours and I can take six hours off at some point in the future. God only knows why everyone is so dead set against paying motherfuckers for their hard work but they are. Every week to two I hear some kind of comment from a supervisor, manager or someone about overtime. The only way it’s possible to get consistent overtime is to build up your own personal bank of overtime to 480 hours without management noticing. After that you can get paid as long as you stay under the radar and again only for as long as management stays out of your hair.

So I finally built my bank up to 480, that took alot of fucking time and work and I’ve been there since January. I’ve only gotten one overtime check since January. They owe me 3 months of overtime. Who would have thought that any entity could be less efficient than the federal government.

One of these days I’ll get off the treadmill, and maybe even write about Chicago while I’m at it.