In Which We Talk About Memories...

How do you define a "Force of Nature"?

In climatological terms (yes Blogger it IS a word, I just googled it because you highlighted it red...indicating I made a spelling error), a Force of Nature is likened to a hurricane, tornado, earthquake, or some sort of destructive (or otherwise) force upon the earth. Metaphorically speaking, which is what I'm going for here, quora.com states the following:

"Force of nature is an idiom. To say a person is a force of nature (is one, not has one) means the person is a very strong personality or character -- like a hurricane or a tsunami are also forces of nature -- full of energy, unstoppable, unchallengeable, unforgettable. In short, a person to be reckoned with."

Urban Dictionary takes it a step further, and although I'm not exactly fond of this definition I'll include it for the sake of point-making: "A person or creature possessing unnatural or God-like power." But we all know that Urban Dictionary is basically what you go to when you want to look up what will undoubtedly have an explicit sexual "alternate" definition that will more than likely gross you out - unless, you know, you have a strong stomach for that sort of stuff. 

I am dedicating this blog post to Tom Broderick, my "Shirttail Uncle". In short form, we are related by marriage, by my blood uncle's wife, whose sister is Tom's wife; therefore, my shirttail uncle. Their children are thus my shirttail cousins...I mean, we do share the same uncle after all...so doesn't that almost define the term cousin? But I digress...

Upon expressing my condolences at his passing, his wife said something that has stuck with me ever since. "He was a force of nature." That phrase really struck me, and ever since then I've made it my life's goal to be able to have that same phrase said of me when I dance with Jesus. "He was a force of nature." Well, in my case I'm sure other things will be said like "that guy was weird", and "he tried to get out of a car through a sunroof", and "did you see his last Snapchat picture? That filter though!" Maybe even "He made a mean Jewish Coffee Cake just like his grandma used to make...except for the walnuts." Some of my Lutheran friends will maybe even question the final destination of my eternal soul due to my Catholic tendencies. But at the core of that, doesn't that sort of at least begin to constitute a Force of Nature? 

Back in the Halcyon days* of my early double-digit years, as I was leaving my hometown of West Allis onto the city where I'd spend the better part of my years (and counting), in August of 1995, my Grandpa Bruce passed away after an unbeknownst-to-me battle with cancer of the everything, as in it had metastasized everywhere. That next month, over Labor Day, my uncle had invited me and my two cousins to go up north to Squirrel Lake, a now-defunct and torn down resort about ten miles west of Minocqua. It was then that I really got to know Tom.

Tom taught me how to drive a pontoon boat, how to park it even. There was always some sort of water adventure to be had when Tom was up north, be it in Dave's pontoon boat, a speedboat, fishing, tubing, and jet skiing. One of my very fondest memories is one gloomy Saturday morning when we were all on the pontoon boat, and something happened with the motor, or the waves or something. That part I do not remember but what I do remember was that the bow of the pontoon boat was where myself and my youngest shirttail cousin Beanie (using nicknames to protect identities, of course!) were seated, decked out in life jackets because Safety, duh. So all of a sudden, the bow starts sliding underneath the surface of the lake. Think a less dramatic and minuscule likening to the Tragedy of the Titanic. Only Not so Much...we didn't sink to the bottom of the lake, we could all tread water and/or swim, and we weren't in the middle of shark-infested waters. Just Muskies. Beanie, I'm looking at you. Remember the Muskies? Now at this point, about 4 feet of the bow is underwater, and Tom, being (I'm just gonna say it) an expert in the field of sailing and all things nautical, knew how to keep the boat from going down. He didn't say anything though at this point, and his wife, who stood behind him, hand on his shoulder, just as calm as can be, said in the most gently prodding and matter-of-fact voice, "Tom, the boat's sinking". Now I'm trying to capture the exact tone of her voice here, and this is the best I have. It was as if she was saying, "Tom, dear, I don't mean to alarm you, but it appears as though the boat is sinking." Or, as we say nowadays, "NBD" (No Big Deal). 

Needless to say the boat, as I said, did not go down. Tom knew what to do. If he was frightened or shaken by any of it, he never let on. But something tells me he was just as calm as his wife was. "NBD" :) That will forever be etched in my memory banks as the fondest Up North Memory this side of proposing to my wife on the side of the hill at Deerwood Lodge...definitely ranks up there.
Over Labor Day of 1998, at this point, my grandmother on my mother's side, was staying with us as she had decided to come back to Wisconsin after suddenly moving on a whim to Arizona in 1996 not too long after my Grandpa's death...now that I think about it, knowing what I know now, it was probably due to her lease being up. I'd like to think that part of the reason she came back was my mom was pregnant with my brother at the time, but something tells me that might not have been the case because upon disembarking the plane the first thing she could say to my mother was "Oh my God are you fat!" And basically ate her words, or put her foot in her mouth (so to speak) when my mother informed her that she was, in fact, 6 months pregnant with my brother.

So for 144 days (yes I counted...there's a history there and it's not an entirely pretty one), Grandma (I'll refrain from calling her my personal name for her here) lived with us while she found a place to live up here...as in Wisconsin. Ultimately she settled back in West Allis and now somewhere in southeastern Wisconsin close to the Illinois border, but for that first 144 days, you guessed it she was right across the hall from me in what was to become my brother's bedroom. Needless to say, it was not fun times in our household at that time. I believe the term "walking on eggshells" would be apropos to say here. Grandma tended to be very critical of the way things were done, which doesn't work well for any Aspie brain, realized or unrealized. 

So there we were, sipping our "toddies" that were made for us to warm us up after spending a rainy morning out on the lake. In our defense, it wasn't raining at first, but had done so after we'd ventured out on the water. My memory does not permit me to divulge what the toddies were made of, but suffice it to say they were good and warming. And there I was, discussing (okay, I'll say it, complaining) about my Grandma. Tom of course had the perfect solution - I was to shut her up by just saying to her "G-- Damn Gram!!" I'm sorry to say I never did heed that advice, as I felt that a mouthwash made of green Jafra soap (yeah that was the worst, forget your Ivory Spring, your Irish Spring, even your Zest. This liquid green soap from Jafra was the worst tasting soap ever - but who makes soap with the intention of the user to eat it, right?)

But that was Tom, pure, unadulterated Tom. I understand now what that phrase means, being a force 

of nature. And it's that very definition that drives me to strive for that kind of essence in my life. For Tom, I would use the term greatness, but in my case, I will say essence. It's easier for me to speak highly of other people than of myself. If I were to achieve even a fraction of his type of greatness I would consider it a great success. Those memories and more that are still locked up within the vaults of my memory banks, are the kinds of memories I want to make for my children, and eventually, Grandchildren. I know I'm not the only one with this desire, but I would love to be able to sit down with him for one more cup of coffee, or even another one of his wife's toddies, and just talk about life. Thinking about that a little further, I feel as though instead of coffee or toddies, it would likely be going out on the boat to go fishing. So I will rephrase - I would love to sit down with him on the fishing boat, cane pole in hand, and fish for crappies and talk about life. I wonder how many more times he'd have me say the equivalent of "G-- Damn Gram!!" to other people in my life. I'd love for him to meet my wife and kids, and there again I know I'm not the only one. That phrase comes up from a post I just saw again on Facebook, asking who you'd like to have a cup of coffee with, alive or passed, any individual. 

For that matter, I'd love to go back to Squirrel Lake just one more time, all of us, new family members and all, even though the resort is gone, with not a trace of anything left. The cabins, the piers, Duck Poop Island, Bird Poop Island, the boys from Thornwood Cabin who poked fun of us and tried to fight with us that one year, Lakeview, Shore, Edgewater, Dave's house, the playground, the badminton nets, the new Honeymoon Cabins...they're all gone, but the memories are forever in our minds. Some of them locked up, only to be released by that one trigger, that one thought, when the floodgates open and you're reminded of the good times, the love, the family...the forces of nature in all of us to take what we can of Tom and carry it forward in his stead. That love, that confidence, that love of the water, fishing, his wife's ever-so-perfectly roasted (with the patience of St. Theresa of Avila) marshmallows when Beanie would be the one chucking the marshmallow into the fire and dancing around with the stick in the air with a flame-engulfed marshmallow...a sugary torch of sorts...I think we can, and are, carrying that force of with us in his stead. 

We will all meet again. It's not goodbye forever. More of a see you later. Until then, we pick up our flame-engulfed marshmallows and dance around the campfire in some sort of ritualistic Marshmallow Fire Dance that only we will understand. Just as a small squall of rain in the right conditions of heat and humidity can quickly become a bow echo of thunderstorms capable of producing tornadoes, we will, and are, taking what we can from our experiences and memories, and becoming our own forces of nature, that if fostered with that same drive will become great forces of nature for our own families. 

For the record, if I had to describe myself as a Natural Force of Nature, I'd say I'm a hurricane.

*thank you John Green for saying that phrase and Google for telling me what it meant.

And as the great Archbishop Fulton Sheen (soon to be sainted?) would say at the end of his broadcasts, "Thank you, and God Love You."