9 Thanks for Mom

Over the last 2 years, or 104 weekends, I have spent at least 85 weekends in an ER, Hospital Room, or Skilled Nursing Facility with my parents. That’s about 81% for you stat geeks. (Johnny has spent a boatload of time here, too) Dad’s journey ended a year ago March and Mom’s journey is slowly making a turn. Today, November 20^th, I checked her into VNA Hospice in Valpo. I know that many of you have been on similar journeys, and for more time. It’s arduous, taxing, draining and a host of other adjectives. It would be easy to dwell in the cellar of despair, but Mom will have no despair. While I have no idea when Mom begins her next journey, her journey here is on the horizon, going away. I know that I am thankful for a lifetime of her generosity. The blog is focused on what I am thankful for, from my Mom. I will read this to Mom sans any gallows humor I have inserted.

1. Giving Me A Little Brother: Mom has given me a lot of things, but my life would be less without Johnny. Mom made sure that we looked out for each other and for 53 years we have been side-by-side. Evidently at the age of two, I took the Sears wishbook and dialed the number, and tried to order a brother from the kid’s section. While I’m sure Dad contributed, I got the coolest brother. This doesn’t mean we don’t fight (we are boys, duh) but never step between us, just ask poor Andy who we ran over with my Purple Ranger and Johnny’s Orange Crate bikes after he tried to broker peace. That’s all Mom. I am so thankful for a priceless gift of a younger brother.
2. Love of Music : She exposed me to so much music and it is part of the tapestry that is Maria Bratsakis. Every colorful thread of that tapestry reflected into me. She put up with me playing tuba while I learned “Misty” for her and dad. She got Dizzy Gillespie, the Joffrey and a host of other great acts to our little hamlet of Valparaiso. She showed up to every concert and supported me through auditions, regardless of result. She also went to wrestling matches and football games, although I don’t think she looked while we were wrestling. I am so thankful for a song in my heart…or earworm…that I have everyday.
3. Love of Art: Mom had mad art skillz!. When were in Cooks Corners Elementary, mom would draw silhouettes of all the neighborhood kids and cut them out on black construction paper, then she would glue the silhouette to white paper. Very Victorian but way cool. She wasn’t just limited to silhouettes, she would do colored pencil drawings too. While she was part of a zillion art initiatives, she got focused on the new art museum at Valparaiso University. Eventually, she would develop the same sort of cynicism I had: VU leadership. Her team got the Dick Brauer Museum built and it still stands today. Mom would show me art books (the Andrew Wyeth one being the most impactful), introduce me to various types of art, along with Aunt Janet Sullivan (Jan’s Art Barn Janet) and all that just fell over me. My art tastes are more eclectic and Pop than mom’s, yet I am forever thankful for being submerged in such a colorful palate growing up.
4. Big Heart: No one has a bigger heart than my Mom. Regardless of the obstacle thrown in Mom’s way, she somehow finds a way to grow flowers in otherwise infertile ground. Only when her parents died did I see Mom break. In fact, though her propensity to love never faltered, she hasn’t been the same since.
5. Goofy Body: I was born with two feet, two ankles and an ass. When Mom and Dad assembled me, they forgot the legs. Not sure why I’m thankful for that because buying pants for a 26” inseam is really hard…let’s skip that 😊
6. Love of Cooking: Mom is an awesome cook. She would cook traditional Greek, Julia Childs or Irma Rombauer (Joy of Cooking) from the time we were little. Plus, a good old American steak with potatoes and salad was a big hit. It wasn’t just the cooking though, it was the tables. Mom would have the dining room table seasonably decorated and always welcoming. Everyone was invited to the table – especially around the holidays, and our friends who had nowhere to go, or liked Mom’s cooking better, were always invited. I am thankful that her empathy was magnified and communicated through food.
7. Hazel Eyes: Mom gave me hazel eyes, big deal, except that one doesn’t work. I’m thankful that I was brought up where it was never a disability and could never be used for an excuse. It was hard going through school with coke bottle bottom glasses but mom made sure I tried to see only good. Sure, I suck at basketball, I’m 5’10” and Greek, those aren’t genetics for basketball. Today, I am thankful because I only see the colors of life.
8. God and Family: Mom made sure we got to church, except on Pop Warner Football Sundays, and that the faith was a central part of our day. Every morning before school we would face an icon of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus say a prayer. I still use parts of the prayer in my daily life: “Let those who don’t care for me see in the light of those who love me.” And “Keep a still mind and a burning heart…” are still part of my lexicon. I am thankful for the God being at the center of our lives.
9. When I was 5, Mom slipped at the top of the stairs heading to the basement, basically hitting each of the 13 stairs with laundry in her hand as her head smacked the cold, grey cement basement floor which stopped her fall. I stood at the top of stairs, Mom motionless at the base. I grabbed our yellow wall hanging rotary phone, dialed the “O” for operator and told the operator what happened. I then protected the entrance, so Johnny wouldn’t see mom helpless. I waited till help arrived. I am thankful that it took 50 years before I have to stand at another staircase in life over Mom.

King John Story 4: Roasting The Easter Dog

Nothing is as big and fat as Easter in a Greek home. It is the biggest holiday of the year and King John would never disappoint. We would have a small gathering of at least 50 every Easter. Preparation began Holy Week in two phases. Religious and Easter Day. The weekday religious preparations were organized and attended to by Mom. She made sure we got to Wednesday night, Friday afternoon and sometimes night services. Then Dad took over and took us to the 5am Saturday Liturgy and of course the midnight service.

Dad's real focus was Sunday. First, he built a lamb spit that could withstand World War III. He had the guys at the shop cut a 55 gallon barrel in half. Welded 1/4" angle iron supports to the front and back as feet. On the back side, he used the same 1/4" plate to build a platform for the small 2.5 horsepower Emerson motor that  could drive the screws on a Wolf Class nuclear submarine under the arctic circle. That would connect to a 1" solid, stainless rod with a point so sharp, this rod could pierce through one side of an Abrams tank and emerge through the other. Yep, dad was an engineer. It needed at least three, sober, adult men to position into place.

Next, dad would take his Italian side kick, Uncle Rich, and go to see Petros at Diana's Grocery, until it was shut down by the health department. Then it was Nick at the Parthenon Restaurant in Greek Town. The Lamb was all dressed with the requisite oregano, lemon, olive oil and other Greek spices that have been passed down to Greek men since the beginning of thyme. The biggest decision was to leave the head on or off. Yia Yia liked the head and would make soup, so dad would have the head cut off. If Yia Yia wasn't going to be there for some reason, dad kept the head. This was a head on year..... Yia Yia and Papou were in Tulsa.

Sunday morning rolls around and dad gets his posse; Uncle Ferg, a college chemistry prof, and Mr Aungst, a local attorney, neighbors and extended family, to strap the lamb, named Gus this particular year, into the spit that can withstand World War III. This was no easy task. The Posse was up to any task and this was no different. Whether it was gardening and they rototilled over one's thigh and someone had to be the ersatz ambulance driver, or finding a lost child in the woods and carrying him home, or when two kids got busted in a red neck town, you get the picture, this merry band of neighbors could tackle anything. Dad would make them 7% Greek for life and give them immunity to participate in all Greek affairs. Hence, it was a Greek affair. Gus may be a challenge, but the Posse was undeterred. The lamb, though dead, still was greasy from spices and the like. The 1" stainless steel rod was heavier than Gus and had to be rammed through him. I wanted to help, but I was chased off and, in retrospect, glad I was. Once in place, Mr. Aungst made sure the coals were lit, dad flipped the 'on' switch, and Gus was rotating. After that, The Posse would periodically check on the lamb.

This Easter was different. Our backyard had 3.3 neighbors that bordered it. One side was Gary's family. He was a state champion golfer. The Jamesons who left their heart in Sparrow's Point, Baltimore and Theo Ferg's house which took up about 60% of the one side of the backyard. The other 40% was the lot that belonged to my band director, the famous Robert G. Miller.  He and dad were always cordial but I had never seen them hang and talk. This day, Mr. Miller was on my back porch, having a glass of wine with dad. Was my music career over? Had it ever started? Mr. Miller went back home and I went out to check on damage control. Dad said Mr. Miller just came to say "Hi". Then dad and I just gazed at Gus. Johnny joined us.

Gus was spinning slowly, and when the body was perpendicular to the ground, the head, with vacant eyes seeming staring right at you, due to gravity, was parallel to the ground. The head would remain this way until the body would make a quarter turn more, parallel to the patio, and the head would just plop over, resisting gravity to the last moment. Plop.....here it comes.....plop.....repeat. It was slow, mesmerizing and just strange. It went on and on like this for hours. I also noticed something else........Mr. Miller's kids.

Mr. Miller had three kids. They were younger than me, around Jr. High age and younger. They would run up to the border between the Bratsakis/Miller properties and freeze. Just like they had an invisible dog collar on. They stared at Gus with eyes as big as saucers, a look of terror, as if they were facing down Jason and Freddie on Elm Street. They would retreat into the house, reappear, run to the property line, freeze, terror, retreat. This went on all afternoon.

Mr. Miller came back over for another drink and went back home. I asked dad what was going on. Evidently, the Miller's schnauzer had been missing since Friday. Mr Miller told his kids we caught it and were having it for Easter dinner. He had asked my dad not to say anything. Dad happily complied. They thought we were roasting the Easter Dog. It's amazing anyone born in the '60s is alive today.

Gus, the Easter Dog, with  head, lopping back and forth...was awesome. We feasted! We are Greek.