From: Chelle Stockman (your mom)
To: PUZ Stockman, Daniel E.
Saturday, August 5, 2006
Hello Son!
Your letter to us came via Sergeant Meyers. We speak of you all the time here at home and at work. I haven’t heard from Javier since your departure. He is supposed to enter his boot camp training this month and I hope to hear from him before he leaves.
Your pop is doing OK even though Jess has a friend sleeping over. You know how he detests “outsiders” in “His” domain. I prefer a houseful unless I’m trying to sleep which is rare these days—sleep that is. Anyway, I got to hang out with Don and Jess in our kitchen and family room for a lengthy time. They actually visited with me and we joked. Of course I seized the opportunity to lecture them.
Hahahaha-the mom’s privilege.
We spoke of retirement funds and the terms “unrealized income” versus “realized income”. I showed them how the governments of this world anticipate taxes off our realized income which in turns allows them to project what they should receive even during times of deceptive accounting, which in turn grows them to a disproportionate size over the growth of the people they are supposed to represent, which in turn leaves the people holding the debt stemming from the government’s mismanagement of funds. I know what you are thinking but dig this. They actually understood it all. I told them the unrealized income grows families and societies while the realized income is highly taxed over and again but grows un-kept promises with very little good. I told them to save 25% of their paychecks. At 18 they can open SEP IRAs with 15% of their income and the other 10% can grow in mutuals which when built up enough, they can take half of it and invest it in different stocks. They will amass more wealth when they need it most, when their ability to earn lessens due to their age. They dug that idea. I lectured them about brand names how they sap your income and offer no returns. Though I must admit, Jesse gets good value during his reselling of his shoes. That bugger is hep to horse-trading aspects of life. Too bad I’m learning this at such a late age (48). Better late than never I suppose. I suggest you and your comrades think about doing the same thing, Son. Take care of each other in this respect.
Gran is doing Ok though she sure gave Dad hell last week. I was back and forth 4 times in between clients just to calm her down. By nightfall she forgot it all and has been joyful ever since. She sure misses you, Soldier.
And me? Well, Son, You are my heart. What can I say except that I’m so proud of you and always have been.You set your goals as a wee child and never ventured off course;- I’ll just forget that you nearly joined the Marines in a moment of confusion. <smile>
Thank God for the Army Recruiters. Sergeant Meyers sure is a good man, probably one of the best of them. Others are a tad radical, but he is even keeled, like you. Plus he has a good poker face, like you, which means I have to feel out the “essence” to get a good read. He, like you, is good through and through. That’s my hit.
Well, time to go for now. I have to set-up for the cancer society benefit I’m volunteering for.
Love from your Mom-Chelle Stockman
Sunday, 8-5-06
Greetings my Son!
How’s my favorite Soldier doing? Ya know, last Sunday when you called I was talking by cell to your father, whining that you hadn’t called and that I hadn’t heard your voice. I was having Dan withdrawals. I saw your number on my phone and ignored it because I hadn’t recognized it! I listened to my messages and got all emotional because I had missed your call. My friends said that my emotional ups n downs would all pass that it is all due to my menopause. Hmm
So today, past-council and vice mayor, Joanne Schively, took me to see a play in San Francisco. You’ll never guess what it was titled. “Menopause-The Musical”!!!
I think the universe is conspiring along side this menopause deal as I become entrenched in the next phase of my life. <sucks plums>
Side note: The Raiders and Giants won today!!! Yahoooo. <smile>
Back to the play: I kept checking my cell, which I set to vibrate for your call. I kind of got emotional and at the end of the play they tried to get the audience up on stage. I refused to go up because I was afraid of crying and proving their points about hormones. I just held in my tears. So afterwards at the restaurant, Donnio, a Wiccan (kind of witch type gal) and some “artistic” friends of mine tried to do a healing on me—in the freakin restaurant!!!. Can you imagine that???
Well, I sat there all passive as I prayed that either a healing should immediately take hold; or, they would quickly abandon their endeavor to save me from sadness. Then a thought, a convoluted set of thoughts, entered my mind. It went like this:
“The Cheese stands alone. The Moon is like the Cheese because it too, stands alone. I’m like the Moon.” Crazy, dontcha think, Son?
Donnio, sensing something was up with me, said, “ Relax and see Daniel strong and content in his choices.”
I turned to her and said, “All I can see is the Cheese. It stands alone, like the Moon, and I’m like the Moon.”
Donnio’s eyes widened and she said, “Well, that’s a first for me!” They all cracked up—me too. It was funny, afterall. I can just imagine what you are thinking as you read all this. If you are thinking that my pals and me are a tad “different” (be kind to your momma), have I got a doozie for you, Son.
Friday, Jenny called me because she was on a mission to get a message off to the Supervisors of San Fran, the San Fran Chronicle, and as O’Neall so rudely put it, those fundementalist dykes coming against the rights of men. He is old-school when it comes to women’s rights. I was invited but had to go to court with Jesse so I declined. They were going to do butt-o-grams with slogans on bare butts. I explained that if people showed their fannies in public, they would permanently be classified as sex-offenders, just like those caught peeing in public places. I suggested they write their letters and slogans on underwear and call them “legal briefs”. They dug this idea and so they went to the Mitchell Bros. Theatre to meet up with the exotic female dancers to begin doing posters and painting bottoms or at least the underwear which would cover those sexy bottoms. What was their message? Hold on to your cap, Soldier. Their message was a gift from O’Neall and went like this:
“Get your Ducks out of our Quacks.”
Well, he is a cartoonist, Son. What did you expect? <smile>
Dad’s having a hissy fit, Son. He wants me to write a more lady-like letter about the family—one that depicts me as the Christian woman I am. So, I happen to be one of the nuts in King Solomon’s Garden; that’s who I am. Hope Dad gets that before we both pass from this world.
I’m proud of you, Soldier. We all are-family, clients and townspeople. How you ever came out of my womb so well adjusted confounds the hell out of me.
Just between you and me, I believe your father is suffering the symptoms of my menopause more than I am. He is simply crazy, pacing around all heavy-footed like a bear. But you already knew that. He is over my shoulder at this very moment screaming, “What kind of bullshit is that?” Oh yeah, he is looking at me with stern eyes as he says, “Tell him, he is a Stockman and he had better do that name proud.” (???—mad, I’m telling ya—simply bonkers)
We civilians will doour best to take back our rights from those who sully and steal them, Son. You soldiers just concern yourselves with the mission set forth to you by your commanders. We are proud of you and we pray we don’t fail you. Tell your comrades we thank them. We thank you all for your dedication to a unique cause. It’s all about bravery, Soldier. You are all a different kind of brave than the rest of us civilians.
Love from,
Your family,
by Chelle Stockman
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