on a snowy ride home i am thinking of mom. it has been two winters since i heard her voice on my answering machine on snowy days like this. her radio voice, worried but hopeful, asking me "is it snowing in minneapolis? it's snowing hard here, i can see it out my window, so please call your old mom when you get home so i know you're ok."
was she really worried? or was it an excuse to call? both. oh those years of my tether to mom. it was hard to feel love back during those years. she complicated things, she imposed, she needed and needed and needed.
so many ugly moments of anger and frustration. how ashamed i feel still. but there is no choice about how you feel when you are feeling it. i look back and wish i had felt or acted differently, but in the moment, in all those moments, i could only feel what was real at the time. like the song says,
"you can't make your heart feel
something it won't."
i sat by her bed all day that day, september first. she was sitting up and talking with me just a few days earlier but now she was deep in the process of dying and could only wince, smile, gasp, and sleep. i kept peeking under her blankets, waiting for the bruising to appear on her legs, and when it finally did, a beautiful nurse named Hope patted my shoulder and said "it won't be long now, honey."
at 3:15 in the afternoon she sat straight up and stared into nothing with black in her eyes. death in her eyes. there was no reflection of light or sparkle, just cold, black, wide eyes. i panicked. what is she doing?! what is she doing?!
"hold her hand sweetie, take hold of her hand right now."
i leaned in a little and stared at the black and took her hand and told her "i love you mom."
they say you take a final breath, but she didn't. instead, she released it, she no longer needed air so she pushed it away. with a final sigh the black disappeared and her soul floated up and out of her head, out of the nursing home, out of my life. she fell back, and she was gone. completely gone from me.
still gone.
missing you, mom. really really missing you. sorry i was such a brat. i feel sad on this snowy night that there is no message from you.
or maybe there is.
love you.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
the center for changing lives is under construction
there is a previoulsy empty lot on park avenue in south minneapolis with a huge sign amidst the cinder blocks, and it says "the center for changing lives". i am in love with this for several reasons.
first, what a perfect and ironic metaphor: the center for changing lives is under construction. isn't that how lives change all by themselves? construction? block by block, square corners, detours, traffic jams and rennovations...we drive our lives through miles of it every day until the site is finished, which it never is, until the final moment.
the other thing is, what a terrific concept! if you need your life to change, there is a place you can go. you come out of salons with cuter hair, you come out of restaurants with a fuller belly, you can come of there with a new life! who doesn't want a piece of that?
so if you could go in there and change something, what would it be? i imagine a whole new life is quite expensive, and i wouldn't do that anyway, but certainly there would be less expensive treatments that i could afford and wouldn't take too long. maybe they could make me be neater. or worry less. i would never ask for something like "make me richer" or "make me happier", first because i'm plenty rich enough, and happy beyond reason, and second, because those are things i should make happen for myself, not ask anyone else to do for me.
but if they could instill a desire to be neat, especially as it relates to putting things back where i found them - now that would be worth paying for!
watch this site for further updates on the construction.
first, what a perfect and ironic metaphor: the center for changing lives is under construction. isn't that how lives change all by themselves? construction? block by block, square corners, detours, traffic jams and rennovations...we drive our lives through miles of it every day until the site is finished, which it never is, until the final moment.
the other thing is, what a terrific concept! if you need your life to change, there is a place you can go. you come out of salons with cuter hair, you come out of restaurants with a fuller belly, you can come of there with a new life! who doesn't want a piece of that?
so if you could go in there and change something, what would it be? i imagine a whole new life is quite expensive, and i wouldn't do that anyway, but certainly there would be less expensive treatments that i could afford and wouldn't take too long. maybe they could make me be neater. or worry less. i would never ask for something like "make me richer" or "make me happier", first because i'm plenty rich enough, and happy beyond reason, and second, because those are things i should make happen for myself, not ask anyone else to do for me.
but if they could instill a desire to be neat, especially as it relates to putting things back where i found them - now that would be worth paying for!
watch this site for further updates on the construction.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
drinking alone in the moonlight
another fun thing to ponder on my birthday.
this poem was written by a great chinese poet, who was known for romantic poems filled with magical images. tradtionally, he is supposed to have drowned while attempting to embace the moon's reflection in the water. i think we would have been great friends.
this poem was written by a great chinese poet, who was known for romantic poems filled with magical images. tradtionally, he is supposed to have drowned while attempting to embace the moon's reflection in the water. i think we would have been great friends.
drinking alone in the moonlight
li po
(701 - 762)
Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine,
No friends at hand, so I poured alone;
I raised my cup to invite the moon,
Turned to my shadow, and we became three.
Now the moon had merely followed my form,
But I quickly made friends with the moon and my shadow;
To find pleasure in life, make the most of spring.
Whenever I sang, the moon swayed with me;
Whenever I danced, my shadow went wild.
Drinking, we shared our enjoyment together;
Drunk, then each went off on his own.
But forever agreed on dispassionate revels,
We promised to meet in the far Milky Way.
49
today is my birthday and i have much to say.
what a perfect, heavenly day. odd to see a warm afternoon in february, but lucky me today. a fire in the backyard, good wishes and surprises at each turn, steaks on the grill, music too.
one of my favorite friends said in a card "make it your greatest year ever", and i think i will do just that.
meantime, i looked up at the backyard sky a moment ago and realized gratefulness.
thank you, good spirit and god, for all of it.
every day of it
every mile of it
every loss
every discovery
every love
every friend
every smell and feel and taste
every possibility.
for every memory i have
and for every memory i wish to have.
and, of course, for cake.
my thanks.
what a perfect, heavenly day. odd to see a warm afternoon in february, but lucky me today. a fire in the backyard, good wishes and surprises at each turn, steaks on the grill, music too.
one of my favorite friends said in a card "make it your greatest year ever", and i think i will do just that.
meantime, i looked up at the backyard sky a moment ago and realized gratefulness.
thank you, good spirit and god, for all of it.
every day of it
every mile of it
every loss
every discovery
every love
every friend
every smell and feel and taste
every possibility.
for every memory i have
and for every memory i wish to have.
and, of course, for cake.
my thanks.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Bug out!
they say that dogs have owners and cats have staff. true i think, but those on my staff are true contributers to the overall health of my household organization.
take last night, for example.
you know how it is when the whole family is snuggled in bed, and the only one who can't sleep is you? and how the ones who can sleep snortle and kick and puff out tiny smiles as they dream? and the one who can't sleep feels sweaty and squished instead of comfy and warm?
last night i decided the best route was to choose another bed. after slithering out of the middle of everyone, i grabbed two pillows and padded off to a solo camp. but suddenly, instead of snoozing peacefully, both boys had sprung awake, and into action:
they slid and they scurried and they used my legs as firepoles. spinning into the lead, and having smacked into a wall or two from catching claws on my socks, they arrived at the new post ahead of me.
they turned in circles , flicked their tales, and punched down the blankets. artfully, they performed the sleepy dance, so as to bless the mattress so that i would sleep.
blankets in place, cats at their stations.
time for sleeping.
take last night, for example.
you know how it is when the whole family is snuggled in bed, and the only one who can't sleep is you? and how the ones who can sleep snortle and kick and puff out tiny smiles as they dream? and the one who can't sleep feels sweaty and squished instead of comfy and warm?
last night i decided the best route was to choose another bed. after slithering out of the middle of everyone, i grabbed two pillows and padded off to a solo camp. but suddenly, instead of snoozing peacefully, both boys had sprung awake, and into action:
"BUG OUT! WE'RE BEING REDEPLOYED!"
"where are we going?!"
"I DON'T KNOW! BUT GRAB YOUR GLASSES AND GET YOUR STUFF! NOW!"
they slid and they scurried and they used my legs as firepoles. spinning into the lead, and having smacked into a wall or two from catching claws on my socks, they arrived at the new post ahead of me.
they turned in circles , flicked their tales, and punched down the blankets. artfully, they performed the sleepy dance, so as to bless the mattress so that i would sleep.
blankets in place, cats at their stations.
time for sleeping.
"why do YOU always get her hip? why can't I sleep on her hip once?"
"Go to sleep, squirt. Wipe your nose first."
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
be nice to me
terri, who has worked for me for 15 years, came into work late this morning. she had a doctor's appointment, so arrived to work at about 9:30.
"be nice to me!" she said, "i just got a tetanus shot!"
i smiled.
"be nice to ME, sweetheart, i told her, "i got my heart shocked on friday."
big hug.
thanks terri!
"be nice to me!" she said, "i just got a tetanus shot!"
i smiled.
"be nice to ME, sweetheart, i told her, "i got my heart shocked on friday."
big hug.
thanks terri!
Saturday, February 16, 2008
200 jewels
we thought that "jewels" was the new term for volts or amps. turns out it's the name of a machine. but doctors have their own code, and when they shouted "200 jewels" it sounded so pretty. let's shoot 200 jewels into linda's heart. that will make her feel better.
the doctor explained that the medicine wasn't working, but there was more than one way to skin this cat. i didn't like the imagery but was hopeful all the same.
"Cardioversion" he said.
"it works slick," he said "but there are risks."
"one is that there will be a more irregular rythmn. or, no rythmn. but you will be in exactly the right place if that happens."
i couldn't stop the tears. they came and came, salty down my cheeks and under my chin. they will put me to sleep and shock my heart and it only takes a minute and then i'll feel better, but what if i don't wake up? it's all i could think. what if i don't wake up?
do my friends know i love them? do they know it as deeply as i feel it? did i say it enough? have i forgiven anyone who needs it? or asked for forgiveness from anyone i have hurt? what if today is someone's birthday and i am not here to wish it happy? what about... everyone? what about everyone? how did i leave things?
everyone smiled and said the right things and soon i was being wheeled into room 14. that's where they do it, in room 14. they all knew i was terrified but they didn't let that stop them. they smiled and patted and stuck on stickers and connected cords and ripped open things wrapped in plastic and asked each other questions and patted and told me "it's ok sweetie, we do this all the time."
i was crying now, truly crying, enough to fog up the mask on my face, and said "i know you do this all the time, but i don't".
the room grew more crowded - 2 doctors, more than 4 nurses, all available er staff, and a small flock of onlookers - interns and scribes -- all gathered round to see 200 jewels. mike sat in the corner with his arms crossed and someone asked him "are you sure you want to stay?" and i was so glad to hear him say "oh yes. i was a cop for 10 years, i've seen a lot." but he had never seen this exactly, in fact, nothing even close.
doctor number 2 had on a packers sweatshirt. he had thick red hair and a deep blanket voice. it looked like he had just gotten up. he leaned over my bed and said "i've never had anything go wrong in 15 years." but i cried more anyway.
"linda, are you getting sleepy?"
no.
"2 more milligrams, melanie. linda? how about now?"
kind of.
"will you count back with me from 100?"
ok.
"100."
99.
"98, what comes next?"
97.
"linda, we're at 96. what comes after 96? are you still with us?"
yeeeah. 95.........100! i liiike this....
flat on my back the ceiling was suddenly pinkish red. and like a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece the ceiling fell all away. until there was only darkness inside my eyes.
"linda, you can wake up now."
and i did, slowly. i answered all their questions and felt like i was floating on heaven. i have never felt so perfect in every way in my life. it had worked and i was fine. more than fine.
after resting a while, i pulled on my flannel pants, slid off the table and turned around. the massive complex machines behind my little bed astounded me - did they use all that stuff, i asked mike.
oh yes. and see back there, that's the machine they used to shock you.
the machine back there looked like a fax machine. it was yellow and it was black, and it was portable. there were two big wires on either side that connected to the paddles. there was a reostat. there were buttons with up and down arrows, red and green, and one button on the bottom that said "speed dial". Speed dial? who would they call? the morgue?
home in bed after a long nap, i noticed a peculiar itch on my chest. "burn marks, honey. that was electricity they used and it burned you a little." a tear or two.
underneath the blankets he told me he would never stop seeing it. seeing what?
"seeing you," said, "the way your whole body lept so high off the table when they shocked you, even though they were all holding you down. they shouted 200 jewels and the first doctor pressed the paddles hard on your chest. you screamed. i watched the screen to see what your heart rythmn was doing, and it shot high up, then plunged way down, and then you postured."
mike says that "posturing" is what happens to some people just before they die. he saw it often when he was a cop. your body gets very tense, and your hands and feet curl into each other and you reach for your heart as if you are trying to thump it for yourself.
"but then," he said, "you woke up and they asked you to say something."
and here is what i said: "that was fun." they all laughed, and it was over.
but it really wasn't fun. and it isn't. but i did come back, and i have more chances to tell you i love you, you who are reading this. and to wish happy birthdays and forgive and be forgiven if that is what i need. and there is something to learn in all of this, though i haven't found it yet.
eckhart tolle says "life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. how do you know that this is the experience you need? because this is the experience you are having at this moment."
200 jewels in my heart, to make sure this experience - the experience of my life - continues. for as long as it will, and as long as it is supposed to.
the doctor explained that the medicine wasn't working, but there was more than one way to skin this cat. i didn't like the imagery but was hopeful all the same.
"Cardioversion" he said.
transverse cardioversion for atrial fibrillation uses low energy biphasic atrial shocks delivered through electrodes in the right atrium and the coronary sinus or pulmonary artery. it restores sinus rythmn expediently in patients with recurrent symptomatic atrial fibriallation.
"it works slick," he said "but there are risks."
"one is that there will be a more irregular rythmn. or, no rythmn. but you will be in exactly the right place if that happens."
i couldn't stop the tears. they came and came, salty down my cheeks and under my chin. they will put me to sleep and shock my heart and it only takes a minute and then i'll feel better, but what if i don't wake up? it's all i could think. what if i don't wake up?
do my friends know i love them? do they know it as deeply as i feel it? did i say it enough? have i forgiven anyone who needs it? or asked for forgiveness from anyone i have hurt? what if today is someone's birthday and i am not here to wish it happy? what about... everyone? what about everyone? how did i leave things?
everyone smiled and said the right things and soon i was being wheeled into room 14. that's where they do it, in room 14. they all knew i was terrified but they didn't let that stop them. they smiled and patted and stuck on stickers and connected cords and ripped open things wrapped in plastic and asked each other questions and patted and told me "it's ok sweetie, we do this all the time."
i was crying now, truly crying, enough to fog up the mask on my face, and said "i know you do this all the time, but i don't".
the room grew more crowded - 2 doctors, more than 4 nurses, all available er staff, and a small flock of onlookers - interns and scribes -- all gathered round to see 200 jewels. mike sat in the corner with his arms crossed and someone asked him "are you sure you want to stay?" and i was so glad to hear him say "oh yes. i was a cop for 10 years, i've seen a lot." but he had never seen this exactly, in fact, nothing even close.
doctor number 2 had on a packers sweatshirt. he had thick red hair and a deep blanket voice. it looked like he had just gotten up. he leaned over my bed and said "i've never had anything go wrong in 15 years." but i cried more anyway.
"linda, are you getting sleepy?"
no.
"2 more milligrams, melanie. linda? how about now?"
kind of.
"will you count back with me from 100?"
ok.
"100."
99.
"98, what comes next?"
97.
"linda, we're at 96. what comes after 96? are you still with us?"
yeeeah. 95.........100! i liiike this....
flat on my back the ceiling was suddenly pinkish red. and like a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece the ceiling fell all away. until there was only darkness inside my eyes.
"linda, you can wake up now."
and i did, slowly. i answered all their questions and felt like i was floating on heaven. i have never felt so perfect in every way in my life. it had worked and i was fine. more than fine.
after resting a while, i pulled on my flannel pants, slid off the table and turned around. the massive complex machines behind my little bed astounded me - did they use all that stuff, i asked mike.
oh yes. and see back there, that's the machine they used to shock you.
the machine back there looked like a fax machine. it was yellow and it was black, and it was portable. there were two big wires on either side that connected to the paddles. there was a reostat. there were buttons with up and down arrows, red and green, and one button on the bottom that said "speed dial". Speed dial? who would they call? the morgue?
home in bed after a long nap, i noticed a peculiar itch on my chest. "burn marks, honey. that was electricity they used and it burned you a little." a tear or two.
underneath the blankets he told me he would never stop seeing it. seeing what?
"seeing you," said, "the way your whole body lept so high off the table when they shocked you, even though they were all holding you down. they shouted 200 jewels and the first doctor pressed the paddles hard on your chest. you screamed. i watched the screen to see what your heart rythmn was doing, and it shot high up, then plunged way down, and then you postured."
mike says that "posturing" is what happens to some people just before they die. he saw it often when he was a cop. your body gets very tense, and your hands and feet curl into each other and you reach for your heart as if you are trying to thump it for yourself.
"but then," he said, "you woke up and they asked you to say something."
and here is what i said: "that was fun." they all laughed, and it was over.
but it really wasn't fun. and it isn't. but i did come back, and i have more chances to tell you i love you, you who are reading this. and to wish happy birthdays and forgive and be forgiven if that is what i need. and there is something to learn in all of this, though i haven't found it yet.
eckhart tolle says "life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. how do you know that this is the experience you need? because this is the experience you are having at this moment."
200 jewels in my heart, to make sure this experience - the experience of my life - continues. for as long as it will, and as long as it is supposed to.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
my sweet valentine
not a holiday i usually celebrate - valentine's day. "a hallmark holiday," i tell myself. true love should be celebrated each moment and is that not the truth?
but then i shuffle into my boudoir in flannel pants and fluffy slippers, and there on my chair i find a soft stuffed puppy and a beautiful card.
"i'm glad you're mine" it says on the front. with a sparkly arrow hitting a heart-shaped target and inside it says
"i never thought there'd be
anyone like you out there for me.
but here you are.
amazing.
i don't think anyone can plan
something this good.
either it happens or it doesn't
and i'm glad it did."
and then he writes
"happy valentine's day
baby cakes, i love you!"
and so i rush to the truffel shop and order up a box of 8, which i would have done anyway, but now i can't wait to give him chocolate and savor the sweetness on his lips. my sweet valentine.
romantic dinner, tasty wine, and my lover. mmmmmm.
oh valentine, let's celebrate this holiday after all. and let's celebrate tomorrow. and forever!
love, linnie
but then i shuffle into my boudoir in flannel pants and fluffy slippers, and there on my chair i find a soft stuffed puppy and a beautiful card.
"i'm glad you're mine" it says on the front. with a sparkly arrow hitting a heart-shaped target and inside it says
"i never thought there'd be
anyone like you out there for me.
but here you are.
amazing.
i don't think anyone can plan
something this good.
either it happens or it doesn't
and i'm glad it did."
and then he writes
"happy valentine's day
baby cakes, i love you!"
and so i rush to the truffel shop and order up a box of 8, which i would have done anyway, but now i can't wait to give him chocolate and savor the sweetness on his lips. my sweet valentine.
romantic dinner, tasty wine, and my lover. mmmmmm.
oh valentine, let's celebrate this holiday after all. and let's celebrate tomorrow. and forever!
love, linnie
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
a life well lived
sister dee and brother jim are living a dream - my dream - in a small town on the lower peninsula of michigan. could life be any better than this?
"On Monday, I worked at the Lion's Club to help make Valentine cookies for the Historical Society's cookie and candy sale this week. Then I went to lunch at the KT with all the cookiemakers. That evening, I went to a knitting class in Benzonia. Yesterday afternoon, I went to choirpractice at the Church of the Brethren in Marilla and then Cindy and I went to a gathering at one of the church members house for a late afternoon meal. The third Sunday of the month, they have a luncheon after church but church was canceled this past Sunday so Harriet didn't want the food she had prepared to go to waste. There were about 15 of us who showed up. After we filled ourselves with ham, potato salad, cheesey rice, and cake--we sang old time songs to the guitar. Our "finale" was Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. That made me think of you and how much you would have enjoyed the afternoon. Unfortunately, Jim was getting a root canal done yesterday and missed the whole thing. He would have loved it too."
cheesy rice, old hymns, and family. god bless us, every one.
may all our dreams come true.
"On Monday, I worked at the Lion's Club to help make Valentine cookies for the Historical Society's cookie and candy sale this week. Then I went to lunch at the KT with all the cookiemakers. That evening, I went to a knitting class in Benzonia. Yesterday afternoon, I went to choirpractice at the Church of the Brethren in Marilla and then Cindy and I went to a gathering at one of the church members house for a late afternoon meal. The third Sunday of the month, they have a luncheon after church but church was canceled this past Sunday so Harriet didn't want the food she had prepared to go to waste. There were about 15 of us who showed up. After we filled ourselves with ham, potato salad, cheesey rice, and cake--we sang old time songs to the guitar. Our "finale" was Swing Low, Sweet Chariot. That made me think of you and how much you would have enjoyed the afternoon. Unfortunately, Jim was getting a root canal done yesterday and missed the whole thing. He would have loved it too."
cheesy rice, old hymns, and family. god bless us, every one.
may all our dreams come true.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
the snow allows you to see the wind
we were on our way to a friend's house last weekend to cook and eat and drink for all afternoon and evening. a physcian and a writer, both world travelers, with a particular fancy for inviting an eclectic group of soon-to-be friends to chop fish for bouillabaise, simmer sauces that start with three other sauces, pour chocolate into cakes and over figs, eat sushi in front of the fire, and finish off the long day with pork and veal, artichokes and caper berries, melon and tapas, and deep, dusty Spanish wines. a perferct day.
on the way, the snow was flying, not just falling. fluffy tornadoes and lacy veils that lifted and fell and twisted on the wind.
"the snow," he said, "allows you to see the wind. we can always feel it, and sometimes hear it, but only once in a great are we allowed to see it."
makes me think of other things we deeply feel but can't always see. things like hope or doubt, fear or courage. and of course, love.
sometimes snow falls inside us. seasons aside, when we need to understand things most, snow falls. it drops in tiny drifts and rolling banks in our hearts. and when it does, we slowly see all the feelings we have felt forever.
peace and comfort, this. as we sit in front of fires with wine and friends, we feel it all.
but this time
we can see it, too.
on the way, the snow was flying, not just falling. fluffy tornadoes and lacy veils that lifted and fell and twisted on the wind.
"the snow," he said, "allows you to see the wind. we can always feel it, and sometimes hear it, but only once in a great are we allowed to see it."
makes me think of other things we deeply feel but can't always see. things like hope or doubt, fear or courage. and of course, love.
sometimes snow falls inside us. seasons aside, when we need to understand things most, snow falls. it drops in tiny drifts and rolling banks in our hearts. and when it does, we slowly see all the feelings we have felt forever.
peace and comfort, this. as we sit in front of fires with wine and friends, we feel it all.
but this time
we can see it, too.
Friday, February 8, 2008
before and after
it makes sense that your mood would suddenly change when something upsetting interferes with a perfectly fine day. a car accident, bad news, a fall on the ice, disapointment in any form. what puzzles me is how it can change when nothing has happened at all. you felt happy a few minutes ago, and now you just...don't.
you try to put your finger on just what it was that snuck up on you. it's like you walked across the room through a cloud of perfume and suddenly you smelled sweet and luscious when you didn't a minute ago.
it goes away eventually. you settle back into the goodness of your life, and you feel grateful for that.
or else you take a nap.
you try to put your finger on just what it was that snuck up on you. it's like you walked across the room through a cloud of perfume and suddenly you smelled sweet and luscious when you didn't a minute ago.
it goes away eventually. you settle back into the goodness of your life, and you feel grateful for that.
or else you take a nap.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
only cowards eat worms
a soap opera scene goes like this: one man says to another, "when i was young i was terrfied of all the other boys. one time they cornered me with a can of worms and told me to eat every one, unless i was afrrraaaaid...so i ate every one. i showed them who the brave one was."
seems to me the brave thing would have been to smack that bully upside the head. nothing screams bravery like an empty can of chicken noodle soup colliding with the skull of an imbecile, accented with a spray of night crawlers.
bravery, that!!
i usually imagine that doing the brave thing also means doing the thing that scares me most.
but
sometimes retreating from the things i fear is the bravest thing i do all day.
seems to me the brave thing would have been to smack that bully upside the head. nothing screams bravery like an empty can of chicken noodle soup colliding with the skull of an imbecile, accented with a spray of night crawlers.
bravery, that!!
i usually imagine that doing the brave thing also means doing the thing that scares me most.
but
sometimes retreating from the things i fear is the bravest thing i do all day.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
cold season
4 am and a bad cold leaves me wanting a shot of whiskey and a cigarette. neither would help except maybe the whiskey. lying there i kept thinking about old ghosts. one in particuluar who was very fat and very loud and today i saw his face and read his musings and that is why i want a drink and a smoke. there's the man you want your honor, the one with the fake hair and broken hottub.
there are gifts in every disaster. he was a hurricane of strong cologne, poker chips, cocktails and lies. but in the middle of that were all of us, and one day we all stood up together and walked out.
mary was the hero in all of that, and still my hero. so pretty and brave with rose petal skin, mary mary. mary lost her mom shortly after i did, on christmas eve a year ago. her father followed soon after. mary mary. we sat in a sunny chapel and listened to chopin's etude and sang dean martin and oh, canada! and through all of that mary cried and found strength and kept moving.
we lose people. some we loved and will always miss, and some sneak out of town in the middle of the night leaving us scratching our heads.
and some we think about in the middle of the night, and wonder.
there are gifts in every disaster. he was a hurricane of strong cologne, poker chips, cocktails and lies. but in the middle of that were all of us, and one day we all stood up together and walked out.
mary was the hero in all of that, and still my hero. so pretty and brave with rose petal skin, mary mary. mary lost her mom shortly after i did, on christmas eve a year ago. her father followed soon after. mary mary. we sat in a sunny chapel and listened to chopin's etude and sang dean martin and oh, canada! and through all of that mary cried and found strength and kept moving.
we lose people. some we loved and will always miss, and some sneak out of town in the middle of the night leaving us scratching our heads.
and some we think about in the middle of the night, and wonder.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
you are on my heart, my friend.
This time
this year
I am thinking
about my grandfather
hearing my
laugh
just before he
passed
I was
not there
in my carbon
but my
laughter
had
stayed
and
hung
around
in
spoiled air
and
drifted
by
Francis Bernard Beaubien
as
he decided
to soar.
-- written by ennui.
this year
I am thinking
about my grandfather
hearing my
laugh
just before he
passed
I was
not there
in my carbon
but my
laughter
had
stayed
and
hung
around
in
spoiled air
and
drifted
by
Francis Bernard Beaubien
as
he decided
to soar.
-- written by ennui.
Friday, February 1, 2008
where is home?
i had a dream i was in a nursing home that had recently closed. the family that ran it for the past 50 years had all finally died, and there was no one to carry on. the staff were all gone, the residents all moved, and all that was left were empty rooms and shadows.
my job was to help remove the family effects, mostly boxed up. but there were a few things left behind.
in one room, there were scraps of blue and red bandanas, a tiny cowboy boot, and a clock on the wall that looked like a sailboat. in another there was a pillowcase with pink and yellow ruffles, torn up in a corner.
the carpet in the main hallway was wrinkled and thin. rooms on either side were decrepet and stunk. pealing paper covered holes in the walls. piles of plaster from water leaks littered the corners. windows were cracked or missing.
the home's administator told me that all of the residents had been moved just a few days ago.
i felt sick. "how could these people have lived like this? my god, to spend their last days in this place?"
a beat, a pause, a tearful response:
"this is where those people lived. for most, this was the only home they ever knew. they were together here, and they loved each other. now, no two of them are in the same place. it makes me so sad."
so,
where is home? home is wherever love is. home is where there are hands to hold, winks to exchange, eyes to gaze into, and memories to share. home is where we land when our souls are strong and our hearts are open.
home. welcome, home.
my job was to help remove the family effects, mostly boxed up. but there were a few things left behind.
in one room, there were scraps of blue and red bandanas, a tiny cowboy boot, and a clock on the wall that looked like a sailboat. in another there was a pillowcase with pink and yellow ruffles, torn up in a corner.
the carpet in the main hallway was wrinkled and thin. rooms on either side were decrepet and stunk. pealing paper covered holes in the walls. piles of plaster from water leaks littered the corners. windows were cracked or missing.
the home's administator told me that all of the residents had been moved just a few days ago.
i felt sick. "how could these people have lived like this? my god, to spend their last days in this place?"
a beat, a pause, a tearful response:
"this is where those people lived. for most, this was the only home they ever knew. they were together here, and they loved each other. now, no two of them are in the same place. it makes me so sad."
so,
where is home? home is wherever love is. home is where there are hands to hold, winks to exchange, eyes to gaze into, and memories to share. home is where we land when our souls are strong and our hearts are open.
home. welcome, home.
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