I just could not get here yesterday with all that has been swirling in the water around me and I had quite a few moments unloading pallets of pottery, watering the perennials and vegetables, and helping others find just the right plants for their gardens. I thought of my father and his youngest daughter on 8/3/96.
It does seem that all I have written about here relates to death and yet, that is life as well. Some deaths mark our lives in a way that will never return us to that place in our lives where we remained unmarked. Everything shifts and we know it deeply and it is good thing we were paying attention.
On 8/3/96 I had already spent about 10 days at my father's hospital bedside watching him gesture to images that floated above his head. People he knew? Ghosts? He could not talk nor swallow from a stroke that left him changed forever. First my sister and I began our long stretch as his sentries. Then she had to fly home to Texas to check on her life and I remained, vigilant and straining to hear the telltale signs of death that was creeping towards us.
I have no idea what the nurses, aides and doctors thought that tiny woman with a journal was doing yet I think they had seen it so many times before. They were wonderful and kind and patient and wise in a way that both of us needed. They allowed my father to pick his time and they carried a stillness with them that honored the process of death. Remarkable really.
I was restless and afraid that day on 8/3/96, pacing and getting up and down from my chair as I watched my father's breathing become more and more labored, gasping for air and fighting with life in the moment. He would not let go. For some reason, I finally got up from that chair at about 12:45 PM and walked over and peered down into Dad's eyes.
I started to cry and I let him know that my sister's were on their way from Texas, that they loved him and knew that he loved them. I told my father that I loved him, knew he knew what was happening, that I would miss him and that he could go. Right then, tears ebbed and fell from his eyes as he and I cried. He looked up, beyond me and he was gone. It was almost as if he blew past my head up into the corner, the energy and force of Frank leaving that room was powerful.
For me, that feeling of telling my Dad that it was OK to leave us and then feel him leave has marked my own beliefs of our timing, why we stay here on earth, why we let go and still wondering why I am here. I miss my Dad and his many slogans, eccentricities, generosity and I don't miss all those scary places that were present in the years he lived with my mother. Those were hard times.
I miss you Dad, thank you for the values, ethics, honesty and wisdom that you left with me. Peace be with you.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
July 23, 1991
There are many images of that night and the days that followed which are mine alone, the witness's story untold, and they are the pith and salvation of my spirit in life, that essence that makes up my heart and mind. It is a story but really, it is about the death of someone who was pivotal in my life yet someone I still know so little about.
My mother died on the evening of July 23, 1991. Her husband called, in a panic, to say she had stopped breathing. Actually, he meant that she was dead. I remember asking if he had called the paramedics but later understood that a "no code" was their non communicated arrangement. So, I fled in my car, late on a foggy northern California night across county roads toward my mother's ocean view home.
There was a strange silence in the house but it was as if specific lighting had been set upon her once beautiful face. I believe that she was still there and the light on her face was her waiting for me before she made her grand exit. Truthfully, she had died sometime before, though she died alone in the house because her husband, always a very self-centered man, had gone to teach a class. His wife was dying but it was always, all about him. That part of the story can only be stranger than we understood then given my mother's attachment to the many men in her life who were larger than life and clearly, the focus of her love and devotion.
Her hands. I remember her graceful, long fingered hands, resting on the bed covers as the sentries to her last breaths. She had suffered so much in life yet in death, she coasted to the finish line. I raced to her bedside, saw her hands, moved up to her face where that light from within shown and took in the fact that my mother was dead. I touched her left hand and bid her a shock filled adieu in my mind. I went to sit on the couch and come back to myself. I looked up, moments later, and the light on that face had gone. She was gone.
The few hours that followed were strange as I watched the funeral home come and load my mother's body, and drive off in the fog.as I watched from the deck that was so often her view of the ocean. The funeral and my mother's body buried in the Catholic cemetery, the lone bag piper and the many people who came to her service and never acknowledged her three children are a testament to how my mother lived her life. Except Marge Ling and I am indebted to Mrs. Ling for her kindness on that day. The fact that my mother's husband selected the church which is central to the Alfred Hitchcock movie "The Birds" is a dark joke between my sisters and I.
Still, I remember 7/23/91 as one of the anniversaries that I always know in my mind and my flesh as a time of deep feeling, sadness, understanding, compassion and wisdom for all that came before that day. I sometimes visit my mother's grave in Bodega Bay though not often because it is not how she wished to be dispatched and we all know it. She was did not wish to have her body buried though I imagine that she may have "viewed" the funeral, the piper and all that drama with interest for all that bluster in life about making her death simple.
May peace be with you Mom, today and always, regardless of your path in life, you are remembered and mourned.
My mother died on the evening of July 23, 1991. Her husband called, in a panic, to say she had stopped breathing. Actually, he meant that she was dead. I remember asking if he had called the paramedics but later understood that a "no code" was their non communicated arrangement. So, I fled in my car, late on a foggy northern California night across county roads toward my mother's ocean view home.
There was a strange silence in the house but it was as if specific lighting had been set upon her once beautiful face. I believe that she was still there and the light on her face was her waiting for me before she made her grand exit. Truthfully, she had died sometime before, though she died alone in the house because her husband, always a very self-centered man, had gone to teach a class. His wife was dying but it was always, all about him. That part of the story can only be stranger than we understood then given my mother's attachment to the many men in her life who were larger than life and clearly, the focus of her love and devotion.
Her hands. I remember her graceful, long fingered hands, resting on the bed covers as the sentries to her last breaths. She had suffered so much in life yet in death, she coasted to the finish line. I raced to her bedside, saw her hands, moved up to her face where that light from within shown and took in the fact that my mother was dead. I touched her left hand and bid her a shock filled adieu in my mind. I went to sit on the couch and come back to myself. I looked up, moments later, and the light on that face had gone. She was gone.
The few hours that followed were strange as I watched the funeral home come and load my mother's body, and drive off in the fog.as I watched from the deck that was so often her view of the ocean. The funeral and my mother's body buried in the Catholic cemetery, the lone bag piper and the many people who came to her service and never acknowledged her three children are a testament to how my mother lived her life. Except Marge Ling and I am indebted to Mrs. Ling for her kindness on that day. The fact that my mother's husband selected the church which is central to the Alfred Hitchcock movie "The Birds" is a dark joke between my sisters and I.
Still, I remember 7/23/91 as one of the anniversaries that I always know in my mind and my flesh as a time of deep feeling, sadness, understanding, compassion and wisdom for all that came before that day. I sometimes visit my mother's grave in Bodega Bay though not often because it is not how she wished to be dispatched and we all know it. She was did not wish to have her body buried though I imagine that she may have "viewed" the funeral, the piper and all that drama with interest for all that bluster in life about making her death simple.
May peace be with you Mom, today and always, regardless of your path in life, you are remembered and mourned.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Good Luck Or Just Night Music
There is a cricket in the garage tonight playing the hell out of his cricket violin. It is loud since the garage is small and the echo is perfect. Some countries believe that they are good luck though that may be just what they are we are hoping to find in life. Luck comes out of our mind's desire to have things easier than we have been having them. Luck is not something I have much experience with though perhaps, one day, I shall realize just the opposite. Today it feels like someone else is having my luck. Is that possible?
For now, Mr. cricket plays on much like a comb and some cricket tissue paper, apparently his wings are like "acoustical sails" and that, in itself, is magic to me. We are struggling down here on earth, some with little trouble but yearning for something else or in my neck of the woods, wondering what the hell happened to all that I dreamed of becoming.
Just the same, life does move onward and the winged creature in the garage is heralding the new day's eve with his delightful tune. Thank you for the music.
For now, Mr. cricket plays on much like a comb and some cricket tissue paper, apparently his wings are like "acoustical sails" and that, in itself, is magic to me. We are struggling down here on earth, some with little trouble but yearning for something else or in my neck of the woods, wondering what the hell happened to all that I dreamed of becoming.
Just the same, life does move onward and the winged creature in the garage is heralding the new day's eve with his delightful tune. Thank you for the music.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
TerraCon-2, Residents-0
My last day off and continued shuddering windows today. My beloved car was trapped in the garage-see photos. Funny, they never told us they would start digging in front of the house today. My partner ran out in her PJs in order to move her car, just as the backhoe moved in front of it, so we could, at least, get the hell out of here for the day.
Way to go Terra Con! Now this is what I call the "down and dirty."
Monday, July 16, 2012
What The Lowest Bidder Looks Like
Since March our streets have been dug up by what appears to be the lowest bidder for sewer and water pipe replacement for The City of Santa Rosa. They have been driving front loaders, dump trucks, tractor trailers with rock, rollers, scrapers and yes, a back hoe at our little corner. It has been absolute hell. The windows rattle and the noise if deafening. The dust is all over the street and coats our house, sidewalks and cars.
On Friday, they park their equipment all around our wee houses. Today, I came home to the back hoe parked across the street....
We have asked several times when the job might be completed so that we can have some peace and hopefully, cars not coated with grime and dust but there seem to be as many excuses as neanderthals driving big equipment up and down our streets.
However, as I know these not so mannerly workers earn quite a bit more than I do these days, it is hard to imagine that they must be at the bottom of the list of bids that the City acquired. It is a relationship with TerraCon that I would love to end as they seem to think that the front of our house is their play land and their parking space.
On Friday, they park their equipment all around our wee houses. Today, I came home to the back hoe parked across the street....
We have asked several times when the job might be completed so that we can have some peace and hopefully, cars not coated with grime and dust but there seem to be as many excuses as neanderthals driving big equipment up and down our streets.
However, as I know these not so mannerly workers earn quite a bit more than I do these days, it is hard to imagine that they must be at the bottom of the list of bids that the City acquired. It is a relationship with TerraCon that I would love to end as they seem to think that the front of our house is their play land and their parking space.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Larry, The Night Baker
I am at the end of my work week and it ended on a hot day that was pretty slow for Senior Gardener Discount Tuesday. My co-workers are good people and we all plugged along and drank water, cleaned plants and kept them watered as well. I am fortunate and grateful to have a paying job as I try to make it through this difficult part of life.
I may be the only wage earner soon in our household. I listen to stories on N.P.R. about jobless people very much like myself and get the runaround at a local grocery chain as I try to get them to recognize me as a job applicant. I feel frustrated spending part of my day off going into show my face and have them tell me that they are "going through the applications." How long might that take you might wonder? Do they just throw my resume out as I exit the store? Who gets those jobs and why? Why not me I ask?
My partner is walking through this summer as well, having been given her layoff notice with a vague end date. We talk honestly about our lack of local support and about money as we sit in the backyard with the dogs and drink tea in the evening. I try to be supportive as well as she tells me about how hard it is to have people at work act like it is nothing to be laid off. They don't want to know about her stress and it seems like they don't really care anyway. They have their jobs and she does not. How does one let that go? I think I would be playing Johnny Paycheck myself.
This week, a very familiar face appeared in the nursery and I was happy to see the man I new as "Larry, The Night Baker" from Whole Foods. Larry was in his civvies and I asked him if he were having a day off. Larry told me that Whole Foods has laid him off along with a few others that the new management considered "the old guard." If you knew Larry, you would have been very shocked and saddened.
Larry, the night baker, is a bear of a man who was always positive and upbeat in his baker gear, behind the counter at our local WFM. One night, as we shopped, he mentioned that there was fresh bread in the bakery and.....we love you. No kidding. I stopped. Did he say he loves us? Ah, yes he did. Larry is that kind of guy and he was very, very devoted to WFM.
I went home that night thinking of Larry and sorry that WFM did not appreciate how much he gave to others. Larry made us feel special and yes, loved. "May the road rise with you " Larry and "may the wind be always at your back."
I may be the only wage earner soon in our household. I listen to stories on N.P.R. about jobless people very much like myself and get the runaround at a local grocery chain as I try to get them to recognize me as a job applicant. I feel frustrated spending part of my day off going into show my face and have them tell me that they are "going through the applications." How long might that take you might wonder? Do they just throw my resume out as I exit the store? Who gets those jobs and why? Why not me I ask?
My partner is walking through this summer as well, having been given her layoff notice with a vague end date. We talk honestly about our lack of local support and about money as we sit in the backyard with the dogs and drink tea in the evening. I try to be supportive as well as she tells me about how hard it is to have people at work act like it is nothing to be laid off. They don't want to know about her stress and it seems like they don't really care anyway. They have their jobs and she does not. How does one let that go? I think I would be playing Johnny Paycheck myself.
This week, a very familiar face appeared in the nursery and I was happy to see the man I new as "Larry, The Night Baker" from Whole Foods. Larry was in his civvies and I asked him if he were having a day off. Larry told me that Whole Foods has laid him off along with a few others that the new management considered "the old guard." If you knew Larry, you would have been very shocked and saddened.
Larry, the night baker, is a bear of a man who was always positive and upbeat in his baker gear, behind the counter at our local WFM. One night, as we shopped, he mentioned that there was fresh bread in the bakery and.....we love you. No kidding. I stopped. Did he say he loves us? Ah, yes he did. Larry is that kind of guy and he was very, very devoted to WFM.
I went home that night thinking of Larry and sorry that WFM did not appreciate how much he gave to others. Larry made us feel special and yes, loved. "May the road rise with you " Larry and "may the wind be always at your back."
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Bad Moon Rising
This week, my week, has been a tough one. We started out with our sick dog having another pre-dawn seizure. The Phenobarbital is not doing its' work as well as it could. However, we are all still here, alive and accounted for this week.
My partner has had a few lame interviews and some sending her resume into "the black hole" just like me. No response, no ripples. As her weekend marched on and the first part of her work week, she held her own at Friends House who has given her a layoff notice and considers where else it might trim the budget. Too bad that The Unholy Trinity is still cooking in its' cauldron of evil doings. Too bad that they are not on the schedule of cuts as that could put a tourniquet on some of the blood loss.
However, I noticed that the nursery seemed to have more than its share of cranky people who were just not happy with any plant that I might suggest. I began to feel that it might be a virus going around or just a batch of people, women most of all, who would never be happy with our service or stock. Funny how people approach gardening in the same way they seem to approach their lives. Some are almost panicked to find plants to take home, some saunter and smile or whistle a tune that comes to me somewhere watering or plucking dead blossoms. Some are angry or suffering within themselves and it spills over and sometimes I am in the way.
The spilling over seemed to be a pre-cursor to this night's full moon. It seems like a bad moon, dragging ill will in emails and interactions with others. People on the Internet highway and the highway itself were impatient, unkind and just plain vindictive with one another. A painful moon that simply means we are tugged in a direction that we might otherwise avoid if we could just stop, have some compassion, feel our own sadness or joy and not smash our fellow travellers as we journey forth.
Nothing has been solved for me this week and I experienced my own "bad moon on the rise" and tried to stop my anger. I got paid today, which isn't much and yet, I am fortunate to work an honest day and celebrate another day of life. Tomorrow is a day off and we are going to enjoy it regardless of the moon's influence on ourselves, our lives and our loved ones.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BmEGm-mraE&feature=player_embedded
My partner has had a few lame interviews and some sending her resume into "the black hole" just like me. No response, no ripples. As her weekend marched on and the first part of her work week, she held her own at Friends House who has given her a layoff notice and considers where else it might trim the budget. Too bad that The Unholy Trinity is still cooking in its' cauldron of evil doings. Too bad that they are not on the schedule of cuts as that could put a tourniquet on some of the blood loss.
However, I noticed that the nursery seemed to have more than its share of cranky people who were just not happy with any plant that I might suggest. I began to feel that it might be a virus going around or just a batch of people, women most of all, who would never be happy with our service or stock. Funny how people approach gardening in the same way they seem to approach their lives. Some are almost panicked to find plants to take home, some saunter and smile or whistle a tune that comes to me somewhere watering or plucking dead blossoms. Some are angry or suffering within themselves and it spills over and sometimes I am in the way.
The spilling over seemed to be a pre-cursor to this night's full moon. It seems like a bad moon, dragging ill will in emails and interactions with others. People on the Internet highway and the highway itself were impatient, unkind and just plain vindictive with one another. A painful moon that simply means we are tugged in a direction that we might otherwise avoid if we could just stop, have some compassion, feel our own sadness or joy and not smash our fellow travellers as we journey forth.
Nothing has been solved for me this week and I experienced my own "bad moon on the rise" and tried to stop my anger. I got paid today, which isn't much and yet, I am fortunate to work an honest day and celebrate another day of life. Tomorrow is a day off and we are going to enjoy it regardless of the moon's influence on ourselves, our lives and our loved ones.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5BmEGm-mraE&feature=player_embedded
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