Share the Love

I think you will recognize the names in the conversation here. It's a beautiful and true story. All stories are true, this one actually happened.

This story relates to my previous two posts about Mark.

It's the February 26, 2008 post, just to be sure: "Thirteen Ways of Losing an Uncle"

Memorial Service

Mark E. Ferguson
July 12, 1964 - February 12, 2008

The memorial service was held at the Chapel of Broadway UMC in Indianapolis. I'll post the order of service and my comments for the witness. Margie's uncle Charles and I sang a duet of Townes Van Zandt's If I Needed You. Charles also sang a solo, The Lord's Prayer. Uncle Bobby Brewer, pastor of Dixie UMC (near Hattiesburg) preached the homily. Broadway's wonderful organist and choir master played gathering music and congregational hymns. The service was well attended, the chapel was full of friends and family.

Too Soon, Gone From Our Midst

Mark E. Ferguson, of Indianapolis, IN, died at home on February 12, 2008, following an extended illness. A memorial service in celebration of Mr. Ferguson’s life will be held at 10:00 a.m., Saturday, February 16, in the Chapel of Broadway United Methodist Church, 609 E. 29th Street, Indianapolis IN 46205. Family members and friends will preside. Mr. Chris Schroeder, organist and choir master of the church will provide music. Family members and friends are invited to attend.

Mr. Ferguson is survived by his wife, IUPUI associate professor of Political Science and Director of Graduate Studies, Dr. Margie Robertson Ferguson and son, Duncan, 7; mother, Evelyn Savell Ferguson of Perkinston, MS; father-and mother-in-law, Dr. James A. (Jr.) and Linda McSwain Robertson, of Hattiesburg, MS; brother- and sister-in-law Mr. James A. (III) and Shannon Robertson, of New Orleans, LA; and many beloved relatives and friends. He was preceded in death by his father, Dr. Travis Ferguson.

Mr. Ferguson was born July 12, 1964 in Pascagoula, MS. He was employed as an information technology consultant by Price Waterhouse Coopers in Indianapolis. He was a volunteer reader for Indiana Reading Information Services.

Those who wish to share their condolences to the family are invited to send contributions to the National Brain Tumor Foundation, 22 Battery Street, Suite 612, San Francisco, CA, 94111-5520, (800) 934-2873, http://www.braintumor.org, or to the charity of your choice.

Margie and Mark, thanks for coming to share in our celebration of holy union. May our devotion and love endure life's insults as well as yours.

















A good man, a good friend, quiet and deep, with lots of patience with little-boy energy for incessant video games. Right, G?

That's right, Margie -- we lift our glasses, a wee dram in his memory and feel his pleasure in good company.

On Eating Local

Yes, we're eating local! Not 100% yet, we're working our way into it.

Last week was supposed to be our start, we thought, and we got our first delivery from one community supported agriculture service (CSA). For $35.00, we got some beautiful organic produce, including root veggies, blood oranges, and apples from California. I think the eggs were local. We didn't realize the winter would mean the CSA service would supplement their income using organic produce from anywhere. I think they try to work with local farms, but it is deep winter now. We realized we could do the same for ourselves at Goose Market on College, where we have been picking up sweet potatoes, organic lettuce and veggies, beef, and chicken.

On Saturday, I journeyed out to Traders Point Creamery for the winter market (9:00 a.m. - noon) and picked up some beef, pork, and eggs, some dried tomatoes and bell peppers, and some home made soap. Today's New York Times had an article and some recipes about dried tomatoes. It's true, the flavor is intensified in the drying. We'll have to try that next summer. We lost so much in not being prepared to "put up" our abundance of tomatoes. Winter is a good time to find out what kinds of preserving we can learn by next harvest from our back yard gardens.

I cooked up the last of the potatoes and other root veggies, including carrot, parsnip, and a purple carrot. Here's what I had for dinner tonight: organic potatoes, carrots, and parsnips steamed in the good ol' Revere Ware, and the local pork loin. Hey, Mississippi folks -- recognize Emmett Collier's pottery?












Tonight, we got our first delivery from Basic Roots. Wow, that Brian is a nice guy. Here's what we got for $45.00.

We know this is not the best time of year to start this adventure. Brian told us that the usual supplier of winter greens, Yeager, was frozen out with that recent deep freeze. But, they went to Saraga and picked up some organic baby lettuce.

We're expecting this winter to eat more potatoes than usual, just because that's what people have stored away. These sweet potatoes from the Basic Roots bag look wonderful.

They included samples from a woman who works with beeswax that comes from bees in a church steeple on Rural Rd. on the east side. They also included a CD from the Dancin' Nancys, Everything Changes. Popcorn, apples, apple cider, tomatoes, salsa, eggs, and a yummy loaf of dessert bread completed the order, all from within 60 miles of Indianapolis. I'll check the next time I go to Kroger to see how we're comparing on costs. But, this is not the point. We're willing to renegotiate our finances to make this commitment to CSA.

I think this is a fine way to start something new with the beginning of Lent.

On Being Caustic

You know the kid who projectile-vomited on me in the playground (previous post)? Well, it happened again. Turns out she thinks I am caustic.

Caustic:

kôstk
ADJECTIVE:	1. Capable of burning, corroding, dissolving, or eating away by chemical action. 2. Corrosive and bitingly trenchant; cutting. See synonyms at sarcastic. 3. Causing a burning or stinging sensation, as from intense emotion: “Most of all, there is caustic shame for my own stupidity” (Scott Turow).
NOUN:	1. A caustic material or substance. 2. A hydroxide of a light metal. 3. The enveloping surface formed by light rays reflecting or refracting from a curved surface, especially one with spherical aberration.
ETYMOLOGY:	Middle English caustik, from Latin causticus, from Greek kaustikos, from kaustos, from kaiein, kau-, to burn.
OTHER FORMS:	causti·cal·ly —ADVERB caus·tici·ty (kô-sts-t) —NOUN

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Copyright © 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Published by the Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

--Bartleby.net dictionary

I'll admit, I'm sarcastic sometimes. Most of the time, it's not aimed at anyone, but at circumstances. And, usually, I'm joking around with someone who appreciates the wit. I can tell when the wit doesn't work, most of the time.

I feel surprised, I think, that I missed the cue with Dr. P-V, as I am now thinking of her. The wit is lost on her. I am finding in my new position that I am confronting more cheerless people under one roof than a convention of pessimists. I guess I need to watch my "caustic" wit if I want to get along here. But, wait a minute: do I want to get along here? How long before I join the convention?

I'll admit, it surprises me to find that someone actually doesn't like me and doesn't really want to improve that situation. How does someone become my age and stage of life and care about something like that? How does Dr. P-V get to her age and stage without more humor? I know she was sick, and I know she's exhausted.

I have decided to steer clear. For one reason, I am not long in this job and I choose to direct my energy for essential tasks; if we had to work closely, I would work at it more. Secondly, I really don't care very much about this person or the job to invest too much energy. I managed to live and work all these years without knowing her and I can live longer the same. Thirdly, I'll take responsibility for what's mine, but this is not just about me. If I cared more, I would pursue the question of what's behind her hostility. But, I don't care very much, so that's enough about this. I could care more, but not now.

Blogger friends: do you think I'm caustic? This is how I get therapy now -- invite criticism here.

No, wait -- don't answer that. I'd rather not know! I'll be so sensitive about it now that it will probably self-regulate and I'll learn from it and go on. Like a self-bailing raft, this wave has left my boat a bit unstable, but it will empty by the time I reach the next rapid, and it will be ok.

I admit, I'm sarcastic often. It's a defense against pain and fear. I'm smart and I have a good vocabulary. I can spot people's weaknesses and exploit them. Trouble is, if, on the receiving end, someone is looking to be hurt, they won't be disappointed.

My dad is like that. He is very thin-skinned and does not like to have his weaknesses handed back to him in a joke. I don't, either, but I have a streak of some kind that is ready to laugh at myself. That doesn't make me better than Dad, it just makes it easier to take a joke.

Now, if I came back to Dr. P-V, suggesting that she get a thicker skin or learn to take herself less seriously, then I would be perceived as victim-blaming. I do think there is something going on here that owes to victimization of some kind. People who experience trauma can have unresolved anger. It's sometimes easier to blame institutions and their representatives when overwhelming events cannot be blamed on anything more concrete. I could be projecting.

I need to consider that in my new position, I will be susceptible to these kinds of victims in my work. I am in a position that is more institutional and bureaucratic than I ever thought I would be. People will be looking for excuses to accuse me of abusing my power or seeking to exploit their weaknesses.

I think it would be better for me to learn how to live more into this reluctant gravitas, and to spend more energy trying to build people up, especially the weak ones, especially Dr. P-V. I can change my humor use in the workplace, but it's hard for a victim to change. I'd better take the high road here. I'll save my caustic wit for banter with my true friends, who are strong, smart, and enjoy word play.