Sara Writes Stuff Sometimes

There is so much to say, and yet it feels like a task I am unworthy to do.  I have a hundred little stories I want to tell, and then I feel empty inside.  Each time I reach into myself to bring a story forth, it eludes my grasp..  I feel tired just thinking about writing it.  Perhaps this is because I know I could write endlessly.  Because I know I could never do the story justice.  Because I don't know how to share the joy and grief that I feel about the wonderful celebration of my brother's life.  There's a thought that worries me, and I am afraid to say it out loud: This is the third year.  There will certainly be more years to follow.  But what if they decide to not do it anymore?  What if a year comes and there is no Tim Shea Day because it has lost its relevance?  I don't know if I can face that day.  Maybe I won't have to face that day.  Maybe it will happen after I'm gone too.  Maybe I will never have to know that Tim doesn't stir the hearts of everyone who has heard of him.  But for now, I can relish the fact that he is something of a legend in the area we grew up in, and that so far, he is nowhere near being forgotten.

Tim and I attended high school at St. Vincent de Paul in Petaluma,

California.   I transferred there as a junior, and found myself more at home than I had in public school.  I flourished at St. Vinnie's, and my brother became a freshman just after I graduated.  At first he was known as "Sara Shea's brother."  It wasn't long before he established himself in his own right and I became known as "Tim Shea's sister."  This is only fitting.  Anyone who knew Tim knows that his personality was practically gravitational: people were drawn to him inexplicably, and he happily kept them in orbit around him.  Not that he thought himself the center of the universe, but he certainly was at the center of whatever wacky, fun thing was going on.  When he died, I knew that there would be an outpouring of love and support.  But I am still totally floored by the magnitude of dedication to his memory.  Tim was not a saint in any way; he was not perfect; but he was genuinely human, and we all loved him because of his flaws, not in spite of them. 

Here are some things printed out about my brother for Tim Shea Day:

We have recently combined the traditional afternoon "Day on the Green" yearbook signing party with the

Timplatoonafghanistan

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remembrance of Tim Shea--or Tim Shea Day.  By beginning this day with a liturgy to celebrate the end of the year and all that has been accomplished, the life and service of Tim Shea, and to say goodbye as a student body to the seniors we can pull this whole day together and provide the ending celebration of the year for all the students, not just the seniors.  Our school motto: "Enter to learn and leave to serve" pretty much sums up the day...

Many of us may not have known Tim personally, but he touched the Saint Vincent community with his fun loving heart.  Today is about celebrating Tim's life and attitude towards life.  Let Tim remind us today, and every day, to appreciate the true friends that we have in our lives.  Tim was described as the definition of a true friend.  He treated other people with respect and never said anything bad about anyone.  He had a sense of humor that lightened the mood of the classroom and was passionate about history.  He also knew how to have a good time.  He had a gift of always seeing the positive in any situation, and it brightened the day of his classmates.  His memory lives on at SV through the "truffle shuffle" and the SV psychos [note: I have no idea what the "SV psychos are...].  Tim joined the Army in 2003, 2 years after graduation in 2001.  Tim left us at 22 years old, while serving his country when he was killed in Afghanistan. [note: this is incorrect...Tim was killed in Iraq...funny how the facts are already getting skewed only 2.5 years in...] We are blessed with the presence of Tim's parents, Mary and William Shea who remain active in the SV community.  Tim will forever be in the heart of Saint Vincents.

Ok.  This is what I can get out for now.  This is a start.  I am remembering to breathe.  I am inhaling, I am exhaling.  I will tell the story.  Even if this is all I can tell at this moment.

 

Check back for a full update on the activities on Friday, May 23, 2008.  I have lots of pictures and lots of stories.  For now, let me leave you with two Tim-isms..."It's all good!" and something he said to his friends before he joined Basic Training....it's hard to read, but it's Tim all the way:

 

"Look, if I die in the Army, do not cry, don't be sad, just throw a big party in my honor and make sure everyone has a good time on me."

 

That's my brufer. 

You don't even just have to do it on Memorial Day.  Any day is a great day to show your gratitude.  Watch the video, and see if you don't get a little choked up.  I did.

www.gratitudecampaign.org

This resonates with me because I want to say thank you, but am terrified of actually having to say anything.  Having lost my brother in the war, the sight of every service person tugs at my heartstrings.  I want to say hello, I want to say I understand, I want to share my family's story...but I worry about crossing the line and making them feel uncomfortable.  And now, finally, here is something we all can do, without saying a word.

Seriously you guys, nothing is funnier than Dinosaur Comics.  The line that threw me over the edge: "When you boil water it might be enjoying it, that's all.  Or, it might be writhing in pain, screaming for mercy with a mouth that now speaks only with a scalding voice of steam."  Oh. My. God.

What is your favorite term of endearment? 
Submitted by lostdwarf.

The best is hearing my father call me "Precious".  Something about the intonation. 

My friend Josh and I tease each other with goofy terms of endearment while we are at work.  We try to come up with the most barf-inducing,eye-rolling, cavity-causing schlock possible,  Favorties include muffincandy, sugarberry, and gumdrop.  This never fails to make us giggle, especially when we talk over the radio.

"Yesterday's sun is set, Si May-e.  Last year's rain is dry.  It's better to let old sorrows sleep an' tink on what's a-comin to-morrow.  Plenty o to-morrows is ahead o you.  Plenty o good to-morrows too, if you'll listen at what I'm a-tellin you."

(page 166)

I totally just faked a phone conversation with myself for 10 minutes so the creepy smelly guy talking through a Kermit The Frog puppet would shut up and leave me alone already.

This is the second year that I have worked during SakuraCon at the hotel, and I think it might be one of my favorite things ever.  The hotel, and all of downtown, is teeming with geeks and crazy costumes.  I have seen like at least a dozen jailbait ass-cheeks winking at me from under the shortest of frilly skirts, not to the mention the nearly infinite army of ninjas and their giant rubber swords.  The con is open 24 hours a day for three days straight.  Oh my god, and the furries...it's out of control.

Kevin is right: I am totally obsessed with Dinosaur Comics. But that doesn't mean it's not funny.  Because it's great!  And I feel like today's was especially funny.

 

Scarlet Sister Mary, by Julia Peterkin, won the Pulitzer in 1929.

This synopsis is directly off of the (tattered) dust-jacket on my reprinted 1944 edition.

Here is a story full of the earth's richness and the sun's warmth; a story that goes far behind the polite screen of civilization to life's naked elements of birth and growth and death.

Sister Mary was a slender, darting, high-spirited girl of fifteen when she married July the wildest young buck on the Blue Brook Plantation.  They were both Gullah negroes, descendants of the strongest and proudest strain of slaves the South had known.  For awhile they were intensely happy together.  Mary loved her July with a true "heart" love and she bore him the son that had already been stirring within her when they married.  But July tired of domesticity and went off to the city, leaving his wife and son behind.

During the twenty years that follow, Sister Mary becomes Scarlet Sister Mary, "pleasurin'" herself with men, using the charm which old Daddy Cudjoe made for her, filling her house with the children she loved so well, living and working with all the vigor and warmth which her nature demands.  Her story and the story of life on the plantation is truly one of the greatest novels of negro life in this country, a story whihc richly deserves the high tributes which have been paid to it.

 To be perfectly honest, this description has not excited me any.  I have read this type of story before.  Furthermore, I am on page 78, and I'm still not thrilled.  Apparently, Scarlet Sister Mary was considered obsence and was banned by at the public library in Gaffney, South Carolina.  However, The Gaffney Ledger newspaper published the complete book serially.  (Thanks, Wikipedia!)   I have found Peterkin's style to be quite pleasant, and several passages have been full of delightful images.  Whether the novel is really any better than this remains to be seen.