Straight up - hold the Snark

Top Shelf - Straight up 

This is perhaps the most difficult post I've ever had to write. I'm so much better at the funny, snarky bites. But I need to say this without sarcasm or jokes.

Here it is, the unvarnished truth.

Sparky and I are splitting up. Things came to a head back in January and after almost 30 years together, we've decided to divorce. Those of you who know me well know that I am a fiercely private person. I do not wish to air (or have aired by others) my dirty laundry in public. Quite frankly, only the two of us truly know the truth and those of you who've heard stories have only heard one side.  There are two sides to every story and the truth generally lies somewhere in the middle.

Out of respect for my son, I'm not going to publish details of our marriage or it's demise here.  It's really no one's business but ours. Let's just say that this is the best thing for all of us.

As for me, after the dust settled, I was forced to take a good honest look at my life and admit that I haven't been happy for a very, very long time.  The initial feelings of panic and devastation passed quickly and were replaced by a huge sense of relief.  Pretending things are perfect takes an enormous amount of energy.

To my friends and family, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you for so many years. I'm sorry I didn't allow myself to trust enough to ask for help. I hope you know that I kept everyone at arm's length not because I didn't trust you - I didn't trust that I was deserving of your love or friendship.  I am learning to reach out (baby steps) and have found the support and love of my friends is there - was always there. I was just too afraid to ask. I owe you all (especially you, Laura) my eternal gratitude and love.

To my son, I'm sorry that I couldn't give you the perfect life I so wanted for you. However, every day when I look at you and see the strong, loving, creative and brilliant man you've grown into, I know that despite the fact that your father and I failed each other, we can take pride in the knowledge that we were successful as parents.  Despite our faults, we have managed to raise an amazing son.

And that, my friends, is what's going on.  We're still in the process of working out all the details (amazing how much stuff and business you accumulate in 28 years) but things are moving along in a relatively civilized manner.

One thing is not negotiable.

I get custody of the Bear.

/snark on

There is a body in my trunk...

Well, I drive a Jeep Cherokee so I don't actually have a trunk. But there is a space behind the back seat - and there is currently a body in it.

A dead body.

Dead, dismembered and drained.

Her feet are in a separate bag...

I didn't know her before her untimely demise, but I suspect she is a Hamilton.

 Note the strong family resemblance

Sparky and his BFF (My Sister-Wife, Geno) used to roast pigs in a huge oil drum in Geno's backyard.   Everyone else loved to watch the pig spin while drinking copious amounts of beer and tequila but since I don't drink all that much, the sight of a corpse rotisserie-ing all day in a rusty oil drum was less than appetizing.

Then, I discovered La Caja China!

I saw Roberto kick Bobby Flay's butt in a Pork Shoulder Throwdown and I was sold. I had found THE PERFECT CHRISTMAS GIFT for my husband.  (We've been married 27 years - I ran out of great gift ideas around 15 years ago, so this was a true Christmas miracle.)

I knew it was a hit when Sparky assembled the box in the middle of my living room on Christmas Eve. Since then, there's been no stopping him. Several times a year, Sparky whips out his Caja China and cooks up a pig.

It's a big production, mind you. He restrains the pig spread-eagled on a rack, injects the pig with secret juice, then he rubs the pig all over with coarse salt and spices...

'Scuse me... had a little "50 Shades of Pork" moment there...'

Anyhow, a friend of Son O'Mine is having a party tomorrow and he asked Sparky to roast a pig. So,  at this very moment, he's out there restraining and injecting and rubbbbbbing...

I'm going to watch.

Hey, I'm old... I take my thrills wherever I can.

Independence Day

Decked out for July 4th

Today is the 4th of July and Americans all over the world are celebrating their independence. Here in the Greene household, we celebrate a little more this year.

As some of you may know, in addition to coaching Football, for the past 20 years Sparky also worked full time as a Correction Officer in a maximum security prison. As of July first, he is officially RETIRED.

A lot is said of those who fight in foreign wars for the freedoms we enjoy, and yet, rarely does anyone acknowledge the selfless service of those who protect us here at home. We're all aware of the soldiers who race to battle with guns and grenades but what of those men and women who walk each day unarmed among society's most violent criminals with nothing more than a small body alarm to protect them.

These are the people who form a line of defense between us and those who would hurt or kill us for no reason other than we have something they want.

And yet, there are some who resent the "20 years and out" policy. They feel that these state employees somehow get a "free ride" on the taxpayer's dime.

Make no mistake about it, Correction Officers EARN that retirement.

20 years of working a rotating schedule - 5 days on, 3 days off.

Overtime is not an hour here and there - it's a full 8 hour shift on top of your normal shift. That's 16 hours straight - sometimes voluntary but it can be (and often is) "ordered" when necessary.

20 years of working every holiday. No holidays, no snow days because they are  "essential personnel."

20 years of going to work every day in a freshly pressed uniform only to have inmates hurl all manner of bodily secretions at you - this is just one form of assault - many are HIV+

20 years of daily verbal abuse - being called every racist, ethnic or sexual slur imagineable - you cannot respond in kind - that would be unprofessional.

20 years of being locked behind bars with the most dangerous humans on the planet - and knowing that to them, you are nothing more than a target. (Sparky was well respected in the prison and yet he was assaulted twice.)

Correction work takes its toll on those who work there and the families who love them. It changes people. It's not easy to maintain your basic faith in humanity when you spend 8-16 hours a day bearing witness to the horrors that humans are capable of inflicting on themselves and one another. It's easy to become jaded and cynical, and it's not easy to turn that off when you get home.

Sparky's 20 years are done. Ever since he made the decision to go, I've noticed a change in his demeanor. Each day his smile comes more readily and he laughs more easily.

Today we celebrate Sparky's Independence Day.
　

The smartest thing I ever did

I'm going to let you in on the biggest secret I have:


I didn’t realize it at the time, but the smartest decision I have ever made in my entire life was to marry Sparky.

I recall very clearly on our wedding day, as soon as the JP said "I now pronounce you man and wife," my new mother-in-law said, "I give it a month."

To be honest, I secretly agreed with her. I was terrified of commitment. Before I met Sparky, when a relationship turned serious, my immediate reaction was to leave town within 48 hours. I was positive that once he really got to know me, he'd come to his senses and run for the hills.

Here it is. I am not a nice person. Ask anyone who knows me. I am many things, a published author, a good cook, an uber-organizer, a fair and impartial manager, smart, funny, accomplished. But not one person would describe me as nice.

I am a solitary and selfish person. I am blunt and sarcastic. I don't make friends easily, nor do I keep them. Sparky, on the other hand is still friends with people he went to grammar school with.

He's the nice one. In 26 years, I have not met one person who did not like Sparky. Co-workers respect him, his players admire him, women love him and men just plain like him.

He's that guy.

He's the guy who can make a 79 year old woman blush in the grocery store after he gets that item off the top shelf and calls her sweetheart.

He's the guy who can't go into a store or restaurant without hearing “Hey Coach.” He remembers every player from every team he’s ever coached in 15 years. He also knows where they are now and how they’re doing. Other coaches get handshakes, he gets hugs.

He’s that guy.

True Story: We both grew up in Connecticut. On our honeymoon, in Key West (where neither of us had ever been before), as we’re riding up in the elevator to our room, the bellhop turns to Sparky and says, “Are you from Connecticut?”

He's that guy.

And in 26 years he has been my partner in crime – tiptoeing with me through knee-high snow to stalk the paper boy at 2:00 am when I was convinced he was a burglar.

He has always encouraged me to reach for my dreams and was as excited as I was each time my writing was published – even though he rarely reads anything longer than a magazine article.

He’s been my harshest critic – at times forcing me to face painful but necessary truths about myself and my actions. And he’s been the one holding my hand in times of incredible joy and profound loss.

He allows me the freedom to fly while his strength keeps me firmly anchored to the ground.

He is my hero. He is a model of what it means to be a decent and honorable man.

He's the love of my life and I'm a better person than I might have been because of him.  Yep, marrying him was the smartest thing I ever did.

I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions but this year, I have one.

This year I want to become Sparky’s hero.

That's my wish for 2011.