Saying yes...

Life After Death

Five years ago I got one of those calls you just never expect, but most of us will get at some point if we associate with the living. It was my mother... someone was dying. It was my brother's wife. I stood there and could not make sense out of it. Apparently there had been a massive brain bleed... she was brain dead, but they were waiting until all people who needed to be there could be there since she was an organ donor. Aside from the pesky brain bleed, she was healthy.

My sister-in-law dropped dead just months shy of her 50th birthday. My brother went from planning her surprise party to planning a funeral. My brother went from being a happy family man to being a widower with 3 children. He lost the woman he had been in love with since high school (I met her when I was 7). I would have crumbled. He did not. Does this mean he flew through the grief? The loss? No, I'm sure there was plenty of ugly, plenty of anger, and he deserved it. He was allowed to go through it, but go through it he did, he didn't stay.

A couple of months ago I was at his house, it was a rare time where nothing was going on, I wasn't over there for a function, my husband and kids weren't there. A couple of his kids were rambling around, but otherwise, it was just us two. He was sitting on his bed watching a ballgame and I joined him. We half watched, half talked, and I spilled out what a stressful number of weeks I had had along with all of my doubts about mankind while leaning my head on his shoulder. I felt almost selfish, knowing my hard weeks had been nothing like the challenges asked of him, but gracious as always, big brotherly as always, he listened and gave me hugs and said he had been to dark places and that they're just not worth staying in no matter how hard they are to crawl out of. He said he had been in the worst spot and he never wants to be there again, will not allow himself to go there again, no matter how bad things are. He and his business have been hit upside the head by the challenges of the economy and yet he was still remaining upbeat. Not only was he remaining upbeat, but he was bucking me up.

Yes, he was remaining optimistic. We spoke of things we wished for in the future and he said he didn't need to find the end-all love he once sought as a young man, he had already found that... no he just hoped for some companionship. This past week marked the 5th anniversary of his wife's death, I emailed him and said how proud I was of him and how relieved I was that he had miraculously found some footing. He then told me he had met someone and was just enjoying spending time with another person, someone who wasn't looking for all we think we're looking for in our 20's. He said:

Like I told X in regards to the anniversary, because she was aware of the date, I said it is a day to remember, but not one to mourn anymore, because life continues and what has happened will never change, but how we move forward still has value and opportunity, so we are where we are and maybe it's time to start the next chapter and live for those who are left and enjoy them all the more......like friends and family that have carried me all this time, so it's nice to share time with someone who can appreciate these sentiments and not judge or think me crazy........my family already knows I'm a bit TOUCHED!!

My heart sang when I read that. I believe I also told him thank gawd he was touched, to which he responded, "That's right, we're normal, they're all crazy!" :)

I'm not quite sure why I'm posting about this... although I'm pretty much an open book, I do have plenty of stuff I keep private and believe should remain private, whether my own story or someone else's. Also, my brother doesn't read my blog and I'm not quite sure it's fair to post something so private in such a public space, but I guess I'm just really proud of him and amazed at what he's been able to weather. Does that make sense?? I guess it's also a reminder to myself not to linger in bad places even though they're sure to come. Shit will happen. Horrible shit may happen, but we can choose how we react. Why stay in a bad spot if you can think a slightly better thought? Followed by another and another.

The other reason for posting this? We were told that my sister-in-law, through donating her body, most likely helped around 50+ people. 50+.  That's a lot of people. I realize people have their beliefs, but if you're not tightly wrapped to any and have not signed your license...  you might want to. We don't need our bodies once we're gone and someone who is ready to write their next chapter might need something.

The protective filters are down and the mouth is open...

I was talking with a friend a number of weeks ago, I don't remember the progression of the conversation, but do recall ending up talking about what artistic projects I was working on when this little nugget came out... He said, "It's too bad you haven't been successful with your artwork."  He said I had not made much money, or if I had, I had not been consistent.

I sat silent for a moment, confused... It was so strange because in my heart of hearts I could reel off a hundred ways in which I had been successful with it and they were very important ways, ways that meant the world to me. The money part seemed so insignificant at that point. I was thinking instead of my artistic victories; it was so odd to hear someone sum up my entire creative path in terms of money. I understand how he could have done that. I've done that at times, many other people have done that, but when it came right down to it, too much had gone well for me to dismiss it. 

I've treated my artistic abilities like a loyal pooch. No, that's not true, I'd treat a dog better... I've treated them more like a high school boyfriend... there when I need it, dismissed as soon as something more intriguing comes along... and there again when something intriguing doesn't call or live up to the hype. You get the idea.

I don't think I ever set out to have a serious artist career (to be said in deep booming voice!). I love painting, but never wanted to be Julian Schnabel. I always liked Pop Culture a little more (yes, I said it!)and would have been happy making one silly thing that the masses embraced as a touchstone.  And I wasn't even sure of that.. other paths were often more intriguing, but when they paled or life's direction changed, art was there waiting for me. Sometimes I treated it as dismissively as a party trick, other times I realized I might have underestimated it. As I've gotten older, I've relied on it more and more... appreciated it more and more, taken it for granted less and less. I've slowly realized it's not a separate part of me, but was just me... me needing to make things, needing to capture things, needing to express in various ways.

I've made a lot of discoveries over the years. They haven't stopped, if anything, they've increased. I think back to the artistic person I was in high school and in college and then as a young adult, times when I thought I had reached all there was to reach, that my vision was complete, and I laugh because I've realized over the years that I will never stop learning new ways of seeing things, new ways of experiencing things, and with these new ways will come new ways of expressing. It's never-ending, thank God.

I felt I was all that in my 20's... but my 30's held creative changes I never would or could have expected. My 40's have been just as eye-opening. I keep moving forward, keep feeling and seeing things on different levels, which is why it was so funny to hear my entire artistic success summed up in terms of the bottom line. It's ironic because looking back, I probably made more money on things that were nowhere near what I am capable of today. I'm almost ashamed I took money for them...

No, my artistic success cannot be summed up in mere dollars. If anything, my lack of consitent earnings over the years has proven I've failed at marketing and business. Or I've failed at being concise and knowing exactly what I've wanted to do or be when I grew up.  I haven't failed in art, I've failed at making money, I've failed at focusing and choosing. I haven't failed at what I've created or how what I've created has evolved and how I feel about it. I haven't failed in how I see things or feel things. I haven't failed at having ideas, THANK GOD. You have permission to shoot me should my imagination ever give up on me and leave. No, I just honestly could not say I had failed. It was nice to see it like that, to feel it like that, probably for the first time ever.

Relativity, swans, and saying yes...

It dawned on me about a week ago that my blog was soon going to turn 3. While I couldn't wait for my first anniversary, time after that kind of took on its own rhythm. It seemed like getting to a year was a year full of stuff... lots of stuff to say, lots of stuff happening, people saying lots of stuff... The second year went by in a flash. I don't even remember the second year that well. I didn't even acknowledge the year. I'm not even sure I blogged, but the archives show me I did. This past year?? This past year in ways has seemed like 10. I guess it's all relative. Relative to what, I have no idea. I'm still glad I started. I'm still glad I kept on even though many times I wanted to quit. because blogging has put me in contact with too many swans... swans, according to one of my sisters, and "The Ugly Duckling", are those people who make you feel at home... those people, who when you're around them,  let you exhale because they get you, you make sense. A few years before I started blogging, I had moved to a place that appeared to be devoid of swans except for those in my household... (It's good to keep swans in the home. I've got emergency swans at the ready at all times). This was good in that I had few distractions from other tasks, but was also not good in that I found myself constantly asking, "Am I a weirdo?? Why isn't anyone else wondering this or thinking this? Why does no one think this is funny?" Grizzled was kind and refrained from answering... he did, after all, marry me...

And then, a few years before I started this blog, I found the bloggy internetz and the internetz was filled with swans! Big swans, little swans, a few faux swans, but mainly swany swans... the area where I landed was filled with glorious swans. It still is, and for that reason, I can't leave. Not yet. So here's to saying yes to one more year of swimming with the swans. You all make me laugh... and smile... and think more than you'll ever know.

**below contest is still in action. Get those guesses in!**

Just because you've ordered, doesn't mean you can't look at the menu...

Taking a page from the Snag Handbook of Parenting, I decided to embarass my Eldest Lamblet in front of a friend while driving them to dance... as usual, the topic was veering towards boys... who was cute, who was not. Who was smart, who was not. I chimed in on a couple of the boys who were mentioned to which EL replied...

"Mom! EEEEEW!!! You can't say that!"

"Why not??" I asked. "I'm not dead. I have eyes... I can see what someone looks like and share my opinion. I can appreciate a quit wit and a sharp mind!"

She didn't think so. Her friend giggled. Her friend having told her before that she enjoys the frankness of our conversations, whether serious or not.

At some point during the drive, the topic turned to a teacher that another mother thought was *hot*. I spoke up here and said hot would not be my adjective of choice, but I would say *handsome*. So and so was definitely a handsome man, to which EL's friend replied, "But he's MARRIED! You can't comment on a married person! And... YOU'RE MARRIED!"

EL slid down even further in her seat... obviously knowing I was not going to stop talking. I informed the dear friend that just because you're married doesn't mean you stop appreciating people and whatever charms they might have... and this man was handsome and nice, married or not. I also mentioned that I wanted nothing to do with this man, even if I we were both single. He was 27 and I'm not Sean Penn or Michael Douglas, I've always prefered the company of an older person, but... I could appreciate his looks. He was handsome. End of story.

And then we arrived at our destination with EL making a dash to get out of the car before I said anything else... she was fast, but I was faster. I informed her friend that appreciation never goes away and thank gawd for sunglasses... watching suntanned college-aged swimming teachers is what makes swimming lessons bearable...

And off they ran, but not before I heard a giggle emanating from EL's friend.

I may be married, happily married, but I'm not dead.

Thank you Righteous Bubba... I think...

Those familiar with Righteous Bubba's blog know that flying mustaches abound, Phil Spector wigs do the Can-can, and Burt Prelutsky watches... I innocently asked RB what he might be able to do for El Snacktator. RB responded. Unfortunately I could not locate my larger Snackie file... It was then that the Bill O'Reilly Holiday Package cookie jumped into my mind. Just what could the Bubba do with that?? Hmmmm??

 Yesterday, Righteous Bubba responded.

While very, very funny... I think there are some things better left unseen... 

Moment of Zen

Spent a lot of time in the dirt this weekend... planting a few remaining things, pulling out lots of overachieving weeds or overly zealous cilantro or chives. It was lovely out... sunny, warm, but with a nice, cool breeze. It was a weekend to be spent outside. At first I thought I'd rather be doing anything outside other than weeding, but as usual, if I just get into it, I swear, I feel the mental knots loosen and the superfluous thoughts just spill out into the ground. At one point, I remember being aware of the fact that the mental transition had taken place and I was observing it. I was in the dirt, pulling away the last few weeds, sifting out those that had fallen back to the ground, when I realized, I wasn't thinking, my head felt empty and I felt like I could sift through that patch of dirt for hours especially if it meant a vacation from nagging thoughts.

I love dirt, love messing with dirt. I don't mind getting dirty. Never have. When I was little, a favorite pastime of friends and one of my siblings, was making mud/clay cubes from chunks of clay that we had unearthed. The ultimate version of this was a visit to my paternal grandparents when they had a house that was on a huge stretch of wooded land that ended up at a creek, a creek that was filled with orange clay. My grandfather would help us dig it out and we'd make little animals out of it. If our visit was long enough, long enough to let the animals dry adequately, he'd let us glaze and fire them. It was amazing, from clay taken out of a creek to shiny little animal in your hand. I wish I still had one.

One other thing that my grandfather would do was send us on safaris in that huge yard. He had a large stack of photos of animals from the dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History. He take the pictures and would hide them all over the wooded lot. We'd hunt in rotting tree trunks, under piles of leaves, up in trees, until we had found the animal he had directed us to get. We all loved it. After my grandfather's death, almost every grandchild wanted those photos. I think we each decided to take one. I still have my kangaroo.

When my eldest lamblet was about 3 or so, we still lived in the city, but had a courtyard patio that had garden beds in it. Grizzled and I planted quite a bit in those beds and got quite a bit out of them considering their small size. When I'd go out to work on them, I'd take EL out to dig in them as well. I'd tell her that our building had been there a long time and that Chicago was an old city so who knows what she'd find when she dug. I'd seed the dirt with a few items beforehand so she wouldn't be totally frustrated if she didn't find anything. Over time I buried an old earring, a few coins, a shell, a little ceramic figure or two from a box of Rose Tea. She'd dig and dig and sure enough she'd find something. If she dug long enough, she'd find something that I hadn't even planted, as I suspected she would. I asked her to imagine who it had belonged to and how did it end up there... what was the story. If I play in the dirt or dig long enough, I find something as well. Peace of mind. No story, just peace and quiet.

50, going on 13, going on 50

I've always joked that the Eldest Lamblet was 50 when she was born. She just had an old soul air about her. She was never fond of baby words and embraced big words and abstract thinking early and easily. For the longest time, she'd get impatient when other kids were behaving as kids. We'd often remind her to cut them some slack, that she was a kid, too... even though, so often, she didn't seem like one. She was just an old soul in a kid's body... which is why the fact that she's been acting her age a little more lately is all the more disconcerting. Where did the old soul go?? An adolescent is on display more often than not.

Today, the eldest lamblet is officially a teen... on top of that, for the past half a year, she's been acting a little more like one. Instead of giving me the benefit of the doubt during a conversation, or even assuming I might have a clue due to my years of experience on the planet, she's been tiptoeing into the territory of assuming she has to explain because I couldn't possibly understand. Apparently the lamblet has gotten older, but I've gotten younger... or, as she's gotten older, she's acting younger... or I'm old and she's getting older and we're on a crash course with reality and inevitability... or something like that.

All I really know is, interesting times await. Still, I think we have a pretty good foundation. We still crack each other up. We still talk and listen and listen and talk... and she still comes to me for a fair amount of answers or chats and the occasional middle of the night reassurance that the Mayan calendar is nothing to worry about. I'm trusting that she will continue to do that, even if the teenager in her thinks I don't have a clue. I'm trusting that the 50 year old in her will remember that I've always told her I'll give her an age-appropriate, honest answer to anything she asks and if I don't have the answers, I'll help her find them... and that is something I will do until the day I die.

In the meantime, we're adjusting how we fill our roles and the roles themselves are shifting. It's interesting, never having been on this end before. I trust that this mother/daughter dance will go smoother than mine did during the teenage years, but am also not a total fool, so I'll buckle my seat belt just in case and will remind myself, when the teenage roar is in the house,  that I not only love this person, but also really like this person. It is a rare occasion that I don't enjoy her take on something when it's truly coming from her and not some rehashed adolescent rant. She's got an interesting perspective that I've always appreciated and learned from.

Last night, before she went to sleep, I went over the story of when I was pregnant with her and when she was born. She never gets tired of it and always asks to hear it the night before her birthday... even at 13... the story is still music to her ears. I then gave her a kiss and told the usual, that I'd wake her up at 1:52 am, would squeeze her head really hard and would shine a bright light in her eyes so she could relive the wonder. But... we both know we're happy neither of us has to go through that part again. After that, the rest is gravy... even if the gravy is sometimes lumpy and bumpy.

Happy Birthday my dreamy moon cougar.

Serendipity

Sometimes the internetz and real life collide in interesting ways. Viva la spark!

I apologize... kind of...

Although fish has not been able to come up with the blown glass T-bone, he has been sending numerous sausage links for meat-themed ornaments and lights, thus proving that if you google it, it will exist in a form of its own choosing. All google prayers are answered, you just may not get the answer you want.

One of the good things about holding a contest where you offer a prize is that fish is overly-competitive... see above... fish is also ultra-anonymous. Fish will win, but fish will never divulge his true identity or his locale, so even though he wins, I never have to pony up with a prize. I may have to send Dan Leo something though for being first in with a meat-themed ornament. Honorable mention goes to Zombie Rotten McDonald for his artistic use of meat in a decorative challenge and for his inclusion of another blogger.

Meat ornament suggestions and links are still welcome.

Everyone needs a ballast