Fred

After 96 years, certain things start to go. Like your short-term memory, for instance. 

I suppose it's called dementia. At its root it is a heartbreak waiting to happen with every interaction. So when occasion for laughter pops up, it is important to take advantage of it or you will end up in tears far more often than Jesus would prefer.

Mama started like the rest of us, not remembering the little things like what time dinner will be served or which day of the week it is. Slowly she lost that part of her brain which stores things like where she lives or what year it is. Eventually she lost the part in charge of remembering how old her children are, who her grandchildren are, and whether or not she has great-grandchildren.

It was shortly after this latest revelation that I, her favorite (or so I've always believed) granddaughter, was visiting her. After trying to no avail to explain our familial relation to each other, I pulled out her photo album for clarification. We flipped through pages, she recognized her parents. She pointed out her brother and sister. She seemed to know her children's baby pictures, but she had no idea how old they were or where they lived now.

But then we flipped to her childhood pet, a cat named Fred. And that is when a firework of recognition ignited in her brain.

"Oooh! Fred!" she exclaimed, looking at the photo as if she could will him right back onto her lap by simply longing for him. "I loved Fred," she said with the emotion of a lover lost. "I will NEVER forget Fred," she smiled at me, so pleased she actually had a memory after all.

I tried, Lord I tried to be happy for her. But really? Her cat?

New York, New York

I'm not sure I can ever go back to New York again after this last trip, for any other attempt at fun in the city would never measure up...

Wednesday:  Flight is delayed an hour, giving us enough time to grab a couple of margaritas at the KCI Mexican bar. Delicious, relaxing and right on time to head to New York, where we find LGA is an even bigger dump than it was when we last left it three years ago. We extract our luggage from the conveyor belt without touching anything unnecessarily while some poor dad in need of attention embarrasses his teenage son by pulling out his guitar and singing "867-5309" for all of us waiting around the luggage carousel. Made mental note to never do that ourselves and caught cab to my brother's where we stayed up until 1:00 talking to Philip and his awesome roomie, Lindsay. Philip advises us, "You can't plan crazy."

Thursday:  Cross the Empire State Building

 and The Nate Berkus Show off the list,

belly up to a fabulous Indian buffet while rain falls outside, check in to our c-r-a-p-p-y West Village apartment and take a nap. Meet Lindsay, Philip and his GF, Colleen, in Times Square

for a quick bite and some vino. Laugh our a$$e$ off at "Book of Mormon." I mean tears, aching abs, the works. That kind of laugh. Want to see it again and again kind of laugh. Still 38% certain we will all burn in hell for laughing at the content.

Friday:  Walk around in the rain to find breakfast, return. Walk around in rain to South Street Sea Port and score 2 tickets to see Robin Williams in Bengal Tiger at Baghdad Zoo and eat phenomenal sushi at Nobu. Nap, throw a pastrami sandwich down en route to theater and sit 8 rows back from Robin Freaking Williams as he portrays a tiger ghost pondering the meaning of life and death. Drinks with Philip and Colleen and friend, Jess, at an old speakeasy in the Village. Walk up our crooked stairs to our crappy apartment that is beginning to grow on us and drift to sleep with visions of Robin Williams dancing in our heads.

Saturday:  Sun finally shines as we stroll SoHo. Eat the best corn on the cob in the world at Cafe Habana with Philip and Colleen. Return to our not-as-bad-as-we-thought apartment for a nap. Wake up just in time to receive text from Jason that he has 2 extra tickets to Saturday Night Live. Pee our pants a little. Respond to text and - via Colleen's for snacks and a drink with Philip - make our way to 30 Rock for the best night ever. Elton John hosts. Will Forte makes an appearance. So does Jake Gyllenhaal. And Carmello Anthony. Oh, and Tom Hanks. We decide we are now in the red with karma and we will have to be much nicer to people.

Night continues with karaoke at Sing Sing with Philip, Colleen, and friends, Max and Kristin.

Ends at 5:00 in the morning as we climb the crooked stairs to our I-guess-I-could-stay-here-again apartment.

Sunday:  Brunch with pal, Jamey, and his life partner in crime, Qraig. Nap. Walk to green line through Washington Square Park and see this guy:

with his piano under the street light. Want to stay there forever and ever but dinner is calling at Max and Kristin's, so we make our way to Murray Hill for an outstanding evening with friends and brother.

Monday:  Two very tired Kansans board the plane back home. VERY tired. And very, very happy.

For Laurie Magee

Remember the time we were in Oklahoma City last year? And KU lost to Northern Iowa? And the Kansas State fans were complete a-holes about it? And you told them to watch out because Karma is a bitch?

Guess what?

K-State went down in Round 2 this year.

And KU made it to the Elite Eight.

Karma, it would seem, has come through just as you said it would. I just wish you were here to cackle with me about it.

Flat Stanley

Goodbye, Flat Stanley, it's been fun having you here!

Princess(es)

If you have not seen the Princess Diana exhibit at Union Station in Kansas City (or anywhere else) and you have any interest whatsoever in Diana, England, Elton John, fashion, and/or sparkly things, then stop reading this drivel and get your royal arse to Union Station.

If you have seen the exhibit, then you will likely agree that it is a stunning piece of pop culture's juiciest and most curious history. The expertly arranged traveling museum begins with a look at various Spencer family heirlooms, namely jewels, letters and paintings up to hundreds of years old. I asked, but they will not let you leave with any of the tiaras.

(The same would turn out to be true for all of Di's dresses, including her wedding gown, even if you offer to leave them the 25-foot train.)

Turn the corner and you are in Diana's childhood home, Althorp. Letters to her parents, favorite toys and old suitcases, among many, many other treasures, sit waiting behind glass for your glimpse and a sigh. Home movies play on a screen, with some of the unwitting props on display around the pale pink room. Hardly royal, this room could just as easily have been filled with anyone's tchotchkes from her infancy to courtship. But ours wouldn't be that interesting, really, would it?

Journals from her late teens describe, in her own writing, her courtship to Charles. Just as you finish reading a large wall plaque with the simplest version of their history, the sounds of "Trumpet Voluntary" pipe from the room next door. You turn the corner and face...

The. Dress.

Yards upon yards of hand-made silk and lace. Dated? Probably. Timeless? Definitely. While no modern bride of 2011 will ever walk into a bridal store and request a gown with enormous sleeves, mountains of fabric, bows at every turn and a train longer than most living rooms, every bride will want to look as beautiful as Di did on her wedding day.

Never mind that Charles was already flinging with Camilla. Forget the part that she was barely 21 and he was an aged 33-year-old man who still lived with his parents. Ignore every part of your brain that tells you this was a tremendous piece of pageantry that gave birth to bridezillas worldwide and ultimately ended in the most publicized divorce since Henry VIII.

Put all of the logic and cynicism away for when it is someone else's time to wed and remember how it felt to be excited about something so beautiful. So British. So unlike anything we had ever seen here before.

Remember how the blushing bride made the monarchy human. Remember the joy with the birth of each boy, Barbara Walters's interview with the young family, the growth of a young girl into a capable and independent woman who wrote her own rules and loved out loud.

Remember the beauty of England's rose, and, as you approach the end of the magnificent train and notice the trumpets fading and Elton John's familiar arpeggios coming from the next room, remember how all of her joy was swiftly and suddenly wiped from the earth, from her sons, and turn the corner into the funeral room, letting loose the ugly cry as you read her brother's original announcement of her death while Elton John sings his haunting anthem.

Feel more than just a tad guilty for ever buying any book, magazine or collectible with Diana's face, knowing that love of Di came, ultimately, at a steep, unbearable price.

Turn the next corner and see the hundreds of volumes of condolence books from all over the world. And then watch Diana come to life again as you walk through the next room filled with Diana's greatest hits and misses as a fashion icon. Try to wrap your head around the fact that she was once inside each and every one of these dresses and suits.

Try to imagine scaling the glass case and climbing inside of the dress, allowing your skin to be where hers once was.

Read her many letters of correspondence in the next room and make your way out through the gift shop.

And if you leave wishing you could go back to the wedding room and just live in a time before anyone knew any of the heart-wrecking truths and tragedies to come for a bit longer, know you are not alone.

Looking ahead

I made a deal with Dave. I would endure attend Webelos Camp with Luke again this summer if we could go to U2 in St. Louis.

As these rainy spring-ish days drag along, I have taken to cruising YouTube for footage from the show to remind me what I have to look forward to.

Waiting for the sun to shine, I've taken a particular liking to this one by Bono and the Zen Presbyterian. Can't wait until July...

Under Pressure

Very little stresses me out more than composing the perfect family photo, especially when framed for the church directory.

After growing paler by the minute all winter, I now need to find clothing for our six-pack to wear that will look good on the standard gray/black/navy backdrop in a 1.5" x 1.5" photo.

I have already given the kids the "This isn't the kind of picture where we all get to pick our favorite outfits. This is the kind of picture where we try to blend in with each other, but not in a matching-jammies-awkward-family-photos kind of way, just in a way that Jesus would do had he had the opportunity to immortalize himself in this way with five other people."

They seemed to take it well.

Stay tuned...