When Hell Freezes Over

It was cold. It was nighttime…It was February, and the roads and sidewalks sparkled ironically with inches of icy death when I got the call.

I lived alone at the time, and a call at 11 PM was totally unheard of. I wasn’t expecting a call, even though the circumstances of the times tempted one. Just…not…this way.

He was getting nasty in his old age, or as some would say, nastier. I blame some of that on the afflictions that were taking away his quality of life.

Sure…He had brought most of it upon himself over the years, but it still sucked.

At this time in his life, he couldn’t really do anything for himself, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for Mom to care for not only him, but her elderly mother as well.

We all tried to help. Most of the time when we did, he would simply yell at us. It seemed to him, that we were sucking up all his air. 

I realized it was mainly the pain and helplessness doing the yelling, but it still hurt.

He was getting sicker by the day…by the hour…by the minute, but…

That never stopped him from playing with his fishing rods. It didn’t prevent him from watching fishing shows on TV (God, how I LOATHE fishing), nor did it prevent him from asking me for a sip of my beer.

“Don’t tell your Mother.", he'd say.

I‘d give him a sip, and never tell, for at this point there was no harm in it. He never asked me for a cigarette (in his case, Camel non-filter), but had he done so, I probably would have given that to him as well.

Anyway…

On the night I mentioned earlier, I had come home earlier than usual from my then boyfriend’s house. I use that term loosely, by the way. God, he was a dick. With him, the red flags were everywhere, but I was young and dumb, and stayed with him for 13 years…but…I digress.

I had gone home early because as I said, it was getting really bad out. I arrived home, and fell into a coma like sleep, and then…

Like a banshee screaming in the night, the phone rang. It was my oldest brother, and he spoke…

“Hey Bethy, this is your brother. Don’t go outside, it’s really bad, but…”

In a quasi-slumbering haze, I interjected…

“Why are you calling so late?" and he replied....

“Your father is dead.”

I sat in silence. I sat stunned. And twenty-three years later, I remember the breathlessness and the vacuum of the pause, and the exact words that followed from my brother…

“Beth, he shot himself.”

And just like that, his suffering was over.

Think I’ll have a beer and a smoke now.

Zoooooves…

Death Is A Holiday!!

Happy Thursday Chuckleheads…

First of all, I want to thank all of you for all the kind words and comments that you sent to me in response to the loss of my brother, John.

Between phone calls, Twitter, Facebook, and here at Bagwine Ruminations, your outpouring of affection was to say the least, overwhelming.

I thank you all for that.

The viewing is Friday and the funeral is Saturday, so today? Thursday? I need to fill a void.

“How will you fill that void, Matt-Man?”, you ask.

Simple.

Today is Thursday so tonight at 11 PM EDT, Jayman and I will be broadcasting another award-winning installment of I’m With Stupid on Blog Talk Radio.

Now, tonight’s show was going to be about Sexism. Jayman and I were labeled as sexist by a certain passive aggressive person because we have chicks with great tits and asses send us I’m With Stupid promo pictures like this:

and this:

However, as events changed with the death of my brother, and due to the fact that we like to stay topical, we thought we would change the topic to the following…

Death:  The Lighter Side

Is death funny? Is the loss of a loved one, humorous? Is the feeling of sadness resulting from corporeal expiration, a punch line?

Well…

Yes and No.

Nobody likes to lose a loved one but viewings and funerals bring out not only the best, but the worst in people as well.

There are people who show up who you know really didn’t like the deceased. There are people who show because they “have to”. And…

In the case of a funeral involving a member of an Irish-Catholic family, there are those who show up merely for the free, drunken, post-burial wake.

Sure…I will probably cry Friday during the viewing and most definitely during the funeral on Saturday, but in the meantime, let’s have some fun.

So tonight, join Jayman and I as we celebrate the lives of individuals by making light of death and the uber-maudlin rituals associated with it.

You can access our show page by clicking HERE. So…

Listen in. Call in. And…Help us mock the Grim Reaper and those who fall prey to his psychosis.

Thanks again for your words of sympathy, and as always…

Cheers!!

Footprints in the Snow

“I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.”

~Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas is one of my favorite poets, if not my favorite of all time, and…

If one was to replace “tea” with “beer” within Thomas’ brief passage, it would describe perfectly the relationship between the seven Mahoney boys in our family.

We lost the oldest, Phil, some years ago, and Tuesday April 5th at 2:45 P.M., we lost the second oldest brother, John, to complications brought on by cancer some five months prior to his 62nd birthday.

We will miss him greatly, but in his honor, we will continue to build snowmen, knock each other down, drink afterwards, and remember the two gone before us by following their footprints in the snow.

Here’s to brother John, and as always…

Cheers!!

The Overture of Infinite Sorrow

Due to the unusually warm weather, we’ve had the windows here at the Bagwine digs open for the past few days.

Our apartment complex sits alongside a busy street and directly across from the Emergency Room entrance/exit of a good sized hospital.

Between the street traffic and the hospital activity, the noise can at times, be deafening.

When it’s warm like it has been of late, our street becomes Thunder Alley, as seemingly every Harley-Davidson in North America storms up and down the road in a bombastic blast of steel, fuel, and leather.

At least a dozen times a day without warning, the calm and quiet are shattered like bone going through glass by the piercing screech and wail of ambulance sirens.

There’s also a Middle School nearby, and when school is in session, the kids walking to and from the school create a whirling buzz of hoots, cussing, and incoherent babbling.

The incoherent babbling is a noisy indication that in five to seven years many of these kids will be either knocked up or doing time…or both.

There is another notable sound that often seeps through the windows of the digs and into my ears.

It typically happens at night, as I sit next to the windows while at our computer…and?

I hate it.

It emanates from the hospital parking lot near the Emergency Room section.

It is the sound of men and women, family and friends wailing in sorrow, crying in disbelief, and in tone that is both angry and languid screaming…

“No, no, no…Why dear God, Why?”

When the motorcycles roar by, the thunder fades quickly.

The piercing screech of the ambulance sirens, is so commonplace here that I don’t notice the noise nearly as often as I do.

The incoherent babbling of the school kids is a mere annoyance, but…

The overture of infinite sorrow that I sometimes hear being played by folks standing in the hospital lot strikes a much more profound chord.

It strikes me louder, and echoes longer.

And yeah, like I said…

I hate it.

Cheers!!

In The Meantime...

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

~Kahlil Gibran

That passage from Gibran, is, as was typical with most of his pennings, thoughtful, insightful, and in this instance, a source of comfort for when tragedy befalls us.

In theory, his line is absolutely true and quite poetic, however…

In the real world application of Gibran’s advice, perhaps there should be a caveat of sorts. Perhaps the line should read like this:

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and eventually, you shall see that in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight. In the meantime, get through as best you can.”

"Eventually" and "in the meantime" are the key words because there is always an, “in the meantime” of grief, anger, and struggles of day to day living that can overwhelm a person, and a family.

I know a person and a family who are struggling through a post-horrific “in the meantime.”

Boo, who has been a Bagwine friend for some time, and a friend to many others in the Blogosphere even longer, is currently experiencing that “in the meantime.”

On July 19th, Boo lost two of her five children in a house fire.

She lost nine year old, "Moo"…


And she lost three year old, "D’oh"…

Boo and her family are struggling with the emotional loss along with the accompanying financial burden of these times.

Boo and her family could use your help. They need your help.

I know of two funds and channels through which you can, if you are so inclined and have the means to help them, contact.

You can visit the web pages posted by two wunnerful people who often comment here:

Clay Perry

and

Dana

If you click on either name, it will direct you to their individual blog pages with the details and “how-to” on helping Boo and her family.

I know that no matter what any of us do, it will not help Boo and her family to ever get over this event, but anything we do “in the meantime”, will absolutely help them to get through this event.

And, if we can help them to get through the anguish of the “in the meantime”...

Boo and her family can someday, at least once in awhile, fully recognize, understand the beauty of, and find comfort in Gibran’s words.

Thanks and Cheers!!

Funeral For A Friend

Today is a sad day in Bagwine.

Ryno and I will be attending the funeral service for my cousin Chris, who passed away Friday at the far too young age of 52.

I really dug Chris. He was funny, a smart ass, a tree trunk of a man, and…he liked my BFF/OSP, Schmoop.

Not only did he like Schmoop…

When we would meet up with him at the biker bar we used to hang out in, he would often ask me, “What the Hell, is she doin’ with you?”

He could be a hellion. Of course, while only 5’9”, but 215 pounds all of which was muscle, he could afford to be.

He was journeyman plumber, a husband, a father, and a former All-State wrestler in his High School days.

And he was, first and foremost, a decent guy.

I will miss the big lug. Here’s to you, Chris.

Speaking of Chris diggin’ the Schmoop, and so as not to end on a dirge of a note, I give you and specifically Chris, before he heads up to Heaven, a shot of Schmoop in her wife beater…


Not bad for 44 years of age, eh Chris?

And since you just saw her Schmoobies, I figure why not show you all a shot of Schmoop's incredibly sexy, bush…

Yeah, Chris would dig that.

Between the funeral and working later, I won’t be around much today, so I’ll catch up with ya all later.

And please…don’t impart some syrupy condolence on here...Chris would have none of that.

In fact, he will come back and kick your ass if you do.

Of course, he’d buy you a beer after he did.

Have a good Tuesday, and as always…

Cheers!!

Sunday Morning Church Disservice: Genesis, Exodus, and a Nocturnal Portrait

The skies will be gray, wet, and cold on this Sabbath in Bagwine, Ohio. However, I have a new schedule at work and will not be manning the Beer Mine today as usual.

But, in spite of the day off it is not a day to rejoice.

Early Saturday morning, forty-four years to the day on which she gave birth to Schmoop, Schmoop’s mom passed away.

While her passing saddens us all, she now rests in a world of crystal clear clarity, something which she hasn’t had for some time.

So to Schmoop, Dave, Rick, Jeff, Steve, and Schmoop’s sister, may you find comfort in the fact, that good ol’ Patty Ann is roaming above you in high definition and with a smile upon her face.

Maybe this excerpt from a poem my dad wrote over 35 years ago will help…

Her skin was fair like the lily’s bloom,
and her hair was gold from the Nature’s loom.
I yearned to grasp her hands in mine,
but I was bound in forest vine.
As gentle night and morning kissed
she vanished full in swirling mist.

I hope and pray her star will rise
beyond the earth and Heaven’s skies.
I’ll watch it where no mortals weep
when I walk again in the forest deep.

JJM ©1974

Amen, and Amen…

On this day more than usual, I do wish Schmoop's family,

Cheers!!

While America Sleeps...In Death, Ted Kennedy's Dream Is Realized

Unless you live under a rock, you now know that Sen. Edward M. Kennedy has died. Yep, Ted Kennedy has gone to that great open bar in the sky.

His passing brings many things to mind for me. Not the tragedy involving Mary Jo Kopechne. Not the flaws in his personal life. Not the bitter and sorrowful thread that weaved its way through his family.

After experiencing sadness upon the knowledge of his death on a personal, and human level, I was struck by something that my ex said.

I called the house Wednesday morning to talk to Ryno, and while waiting for him to pick up the phone I asked his mom if she had heard about Ted Kennedy.

She told me yes and that it was sad, and then went on to say something that somewhat surprised me.

She said, “What will we do now? I mean, all of the great ones are passing away and we have to rely on the current and next generation of politicians? God help us.”

Allow me to put her comment in context. The statement is coming from a person who is hardly a Liberal. Hell, she voted for McCain, and if anything, she is center right…a moderate at most.

Upon hearing her say that, my head cocked, my eyebrows peaked, and for a second, my mind went blank. I couldn’t answer her question. But her statement did proffer more questions…and thoughts.

Why, outside of the Kopechne death, was he hated and loved with such fervor? It finally dawned on me. He was a tireless, tenacious, legislator who clung to, and pushed forward his ideas of what the country should be.

He had a major hand in the writing and passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, COBRA, Title IX, The ADA, No Child Left Behind, and of course, had been doggedly promoting Health Care for all for decades.

Kennedy was both loved and hated because he was continually offering up change. When legislation is proposed that may alter the lives of Americans, love and hate for the idea grows quickly and exponentially. But…

Unlike most Americans, Sen. Kennedy never shied away from his ideals or feared changed. He was proud of what he thought, and he passionately championed each cause and more importantly each person in which he believed.

He…was…a…statesman. And as I look to the House and Senate today, I don’t know of anyone who has enough passion or gravitas to carry Kennedy’s bucket full of scotch laced piss. Sad.

I’m not saying that I want someone with whom I agree to follow the ideology of Kennedy.

I am trying to find someone who demonstrates leadership…a legislator who is unafraid of speaking loudly and strongly…A legislator who still has a fire in his or her belly.

Where is the next Henry Clay? The next Daniel Webster? The next Robert LaFollette and yes, the next Edward Kennedy?

I don’t see it coming from the Senators or House members who currently hold office. Hell, other than your own Senators and a handful of others, can you name the U.S. Senators? Only a few can, and you know why?

They don’t do anything outstanding or push the envelope of thought, oratory, and legislation to the edge.

Instead, our Senators and even more so our congressmen and women are more concerned about introducing bills concerning flag burning, defining what marriage is, and asking for an official resolution of apology because someone they know got their feelings hurt.

Fuck em…

Of course, their inane inertia is not entirely their fault. The issues I mentioned are exactly what riles up their constituents, their poll numbers, and more importantly their donors.

We are as much to blame for having no giants among men in our Congress. We don’t want giants. We are quite happy with like-mindedness and mediocrity. It makes us feel safe.

People like Ted Kennedy and others, who dare to challenge our values, ideas, and put an itch onto the left ass cheek of our comfort zone are unwelcome.

I feel sorry for us, but I am happy for Sen. Kennedy. Finally, after his years of struggle, toil, and effort, he is at peace.

He dwells in a place where social equality is the rule, no mouths go unfed, and there is health care for all.

In death, his dream did not die with him…It was realized.

Cheers!!

Death Cloaks and Birthday Cakes

What day is it? Well, let me tell ya. It’s a BIG day here at Bagwine Ruminations.

It’s an anniversary of sorts.

You see…On June 16th, 2006, my mom passed on.

After being married to one man, birthing nine kids, cooking innumerable pounds of meat loaf, and living nearly 85 years, mom left this earth to be with her husband and oldest son in that great Dutch Oven in the sky.

I miss the old lady. But, she was ready to go at that point; she wanted to go, and so, it’s for the best.

Mom and I were pretty close. I was her baby, and for a long time after most of the older kids had moved out, it was just her and I.

Dad didn’t give a crap about mom and I…he left us to fend for ourselves. Ha, kidding, he was at work during the day, so that’s why it was just Mom and I.

She drove me to all of my baseball practices…sat amidst a bunch of whiny parents and watched every game. She even bought me a "diamond" stud earring to wear during my High School graduation.

It’s the one I still wear to this day. Some folks, after losing their mom, will say that she is, and always will be in their heart. My mom is and always will be, in my left earlobe.

With nine kids and only my dad being the one working...feeding, clothing, and taking care of us was rough on Mom.

Somehow, she managed to do it. We never missed out on anything. We never went without anything that we absolutely needed.

Mom was an ardent Catholic and yet, hated the hierarchy of the Church. She loved playing cards, drinking a cold Bock beer, and politics.

With a son who was a city commissioner and later a State Senator, and another who was also a city commissioner, she always had her hand in politics.

And trust me, just as she did while playing cards, when she was involved in a campaign, she loved to win.

She was sweet, humorous, sentimental, and at the same tough as nails and resourceful.

I am glad my mom is gone. Because…that is what she wanted. And, she is back in the arms of her lifelong love, my dad.

To want any less for her would be selfish of me, and that is a characteristic she never had.

Here’s to you Mom, and if you don’t mind I’d like to mention one other anniversary.

Longtime Bagwine friend and an Italian man of questionable sexual orientation, Vinny, of Bond’s Big Leather Couch is celebrating his birthday today.

Leave it to Vinny to try and steal the thunder and attention away from my sweet, dead mom. So typical.

Ha…My mom probably just laughed and said what she always said to me, “Matt, why do you have to always see how far you can push people?”

Anyhoo…If you’d like to wish him well, you can stop by his site by clicking HERE.

Happy Birthday Vinny, and keep in mind…while you are celebrating and wearing a big ol’ happy hat, I’ll be sitting in the dark, wrapped in a death cloak, and mourning the loss of my dear departed mother.

While Vinny is cutting cake, I’ll be crying in my Bagwine and I…Okay Mom, I heard ya…I’ll shut up now, and leave Vinny alone.

Cheers!!

Now Dig It: Obituaries and the Truth

As promised…

Yesterday I gave you Schmoop, and today, making his Bagwine Ruminations debut, Schmoop‘s brother…

David!!

And thus I give you, our new segment…

David Says: Now Dig It…

Hi all, David here. Now dig it, or don’t. I really don’t care. I mean, I’d like for you to read this, but if you don’t…

What the fuck, it’s Matthew’s blewwwwg, not mine.

So be it, he asked me to do this, and I love him (unlike my Curse of Eve sister, who just pretends to).

How do you feel about obituaries? I mean, obituaries as they appear in the newspaper…

I love to read them. I mean, as long as they’re not family members…well, for the most part.

For those of you who live in the Midwest, or in parts of the south, or in those spots of California where the sheep outnumber those who are fucking them, ever read an obituary about a farmer?

Holy Cow!! These bastards live longer than the dirt they’re tilling.

They sow beans, grow alfalfa, tat hay, whatever, for 50-75 years. And then? They kick the cow’s milk bucket. They go to that great barn in the sky.

Who shows up for their funeral? Nobody. You know why? Because they were a Son of a Bitch!!

I wish more people would do that. Not show up I mean, and more importantly, write a obituary that is truthful.

The way I look at it…If people truly loved and cared for a person, by all means, write something nice. But…

If the non-breathing, SOB was a prick, and who was a barnacle on the back of others, let me write it.

Something like this…

Bud Shitgig died on April 32, 2019. He was a snot nosed kid when he was young and a dirty bastard when he was older.

He ran around on his wife. He was never there for his children (who half of them by the way, were illegitimate) or his family. We’re so very glad you are gone, you dirty fuckin’ prick.

Take That, Mr. Shitgig.

Isn’t that how it should go? I thought so.

I want to thank Matthew for this time, and I hope to see you all next Friday. If not? Whatever.

I’ll still be around. You’ll be dead. And, I’ll write your frickin’ obit. Get over it.

Have a nice day…or die, I really don’t care. But if you could, leave a comment first, so I know that I made a difference.

Dig It,

David