This is the Life That Is

Dental Reflections

It is almost 10 months since I ceased to be a mom.  I mean, a REAL, hands-on, 24-7 mom.  I think about it less and less; when I do think about it, it is hard to imagine living through it, especially those last very difficult weeks.

But lately (never begin a sentence with a preposition) I've been feeling like an outsider with regard to typical 'mom' stuff--as it is thrown in your face at this time of year.  Backpacks and notebooks on sale (remember when "Trapper Keepers" were a must-have item?).  Back-to-school sales.  For many years of my parenting, these events were anticipatory in a positive, exciting way.  Eventually, they became almost an exercise in futility, a ritual that was followed, grudgingly and with much prodding on my part, for the sake of following it more than because it would accomplish anything.

New clothes, new backpacks, pens, binders--these do nothing without intrinsic motivation.

Today, I waited in the dentist's office to see if a very much abused tooth could be ressurected one more time.  In the waiting area were mothers with kids--fitting in that late summer checkup before school begins, along with scheduling nightmares.  My 'child' was here just last week--but it was not I who brought him.  It is almost as though HE was janked out of my life like my tooth will, sooner rather than later, have to be yanked out of my jaw.

Sitting in the dentist's chair, waiting for an x-ray to be taken, I strained over humming machines and banter among staff, to hear the radio, which had suddenly caught my ear.  In an office that usually is playing "Mix of the 70's, 80's and 90's!" (i.e. ear pablum) the sounds of Nirvana, Kurt Cobain, and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" were filtering in.

For a moment, I thought it seemed mystical, like a communication of some sort...but then my cynical side, which increased in amplitude when I passed it along genetically to my son, reminded me that that was a stupid idea...

No, Not PINK Floyd

I can't believe there is a wireless connection here!  I mean, there is no plumbing, no showers (yet), no drinkable water that isn't bottled, no cell phone for miles (for me, anyway) but there is a wireless connection.

at 2 am i wouldn't have said it, but this is likely a worthwhile experience.  another one for the cumulative file.  it has rained several times already (since last nite) and is so cold that I can barely type (tho it says 73 on the computer) and i'm practically shivering as i type.

Met several nice people, interesting.  a guy who carves pipes out of already-dead deer antlers and just had a bit part in a colin farrel (sp?) movie.  a ceramicist who does installations in homes.  several locals.  the tent city is growing so fast that i can't find my own when i return to it.  a very unreal experience.  lotsa down time at this point cause things don't really start for another 2 hours.  hope the rain stops by then.

who have thunk that this kind of thing goes on all over, in many places?  they expect thousands of people here this weekend.  it is all "peace and love" but not in a way I can't believe.  wide age spread, everyone from the aging hippies to young folks with little kids to ex-military young guys.  food stands, converted school busses selling coffee and housing the propriators,  so many people that live a nomadic life--i wonder for how long?

well, i guess further pictures will have to wait, for some reason they won't upload now, and i want to save my battery for later, or tomorrow, or whenever.

signing off, live from Floyd, Virginia.  Brrrr. 

History

I'm not a classical history buff, meaning the stuff that you hear about in American History class and such.  I've had, if possible, a NEGATIVE interest in American history.  My historical lust is for things I know personally, such as the old institution where I work, the old neighborhood where I used to live.

However, I recently had a yen to return to, and take daughter Ka*tie to, the FDR Memorial in Washington, DC.  Not out of any love for history--I couldn't have even told you when FDR was president, or which came first, FD or T R.  I just really, really like the memorial.  It is a place, not a thing.  You experience it, you don't just look at it. 

When I saw it 6 years ago, I didn't really pay more than passing attention to the plaques with quotes on them.  I was more captivated by the waterfalls, the sculptures.  On THIS visit, though, the quotes seemed to have been placed as a secret, although blatant, communication.  And many people seemed to be hearing it, and taking pictures, as was I.

You'll have to click on these pictures to enlarge them so you can read the quotes, but it is worth the trouble.  I assume that they are also on the website.  There isn't much I can say to add to them, so I'll just put them up here for you to appreciate.  It was incredible to me how timely they all seemed...

I'm Gonna Miss This Place...

I was fortunate today to attend a memorial service at work for a man who died unexpectedly last week.  He was an “individual”, not a staff member.  He had lived in the insti*tution since childhood, and was in his 40’s when he died.  He had Down Syndrome, and chances are, had he been born recently, he would have been raised at home, attended public schools, and maybe had a job someplace in the larger community.

It is not typical for a memorial service to be held when a resident (or “individual”) passes away.  Jerry was a Marcel Marceau of a man, small, pale skinned, non-verbal, mouth usually open, tongue out.  Wouldn’t normally stand out in a facility brimming with severely disabled folks.  The woman behind the service, his workshop manager for many years, loved him dearly.

A memorial table had been brought together, featuring a few photos of Jerry from recent years, a couple of foam balls, a Frisbee, a poem, a plant.  Staff filed by and smiled, a couple of staff hugged.  Jerry’s peers carried on as usual; one man smiling and shouting “he died, he died’, although only familiar listeners could understand him. A tiny lady repeated, “buy me a soda” in a high squeaky voice.  A former ball-playing companion stood against the far wall twirling a fabric strip torn from a shirt.  Another lady walked back and forth, kicking the chair and getting stuck in routine until staff interrupted her.

Several staff stood up and said a few brief words about how Jerry would be missed, how much they liked him.  Wistful memories of him slapping women’s butts, dunking his head in the toilet, and eating up the attention given him in the annual fashion show were shared.  A tiny lady with a tinier head stood up in imitation of staff, uttered a few incomprehensible sounds accompanied by finger shaking, and sat down.

Several individuals kept their eyes fixed on the bowls of pretzels and cheese balls waiting at the rear of the room.   All told, everyone “behaved” remarkably well.  Staff served everyone plates of snacks.  No one stormed the food table.

I was again reminded of what a fine group of people I work with, how every life is valued by someone, and some lives are valued by many.  And not necessarily the ones that you expect.  Jerry’s family took care of his physical remains, and likely will have their own memorial.  But at our place, his adopted family held a very fitting tribute.

Our NEXT House...

During the past couple of years, my husband's answer to many things has been, "Our NEXT house will have _______".  Until recently, this was mostly an academic exercise, a harmless dream.  Now, with land purchased and a foot in both worlds but somehow also in neither, it is more a reality.

I work from this end, arranging services to get the present house in a condition to sell.  He works on the other end, coordinating designers and builders and money.

I ignore favorite activities (except the garden, which will not tolerate ignoring, especially after the THUNDER STORM (!!) that is going on RIGHT NOW) in favor of preparing for the future.  The stained glass, the gourds, the reading all beckon, but are dismissed in favor of ceramic tiling, wallpapering, etc.

Many years ago, we moved to a house for what I assumed would be a brief time.  I reluctantly decided against planting grapes and other future-oriented plants, since we would not be there to enjoy them. The second summer,  I decided that  it was not risking much, and planted a grape vine and an apple tree.  The fourth summer, we had grapes and the fifth, a few apples, on up to the 11th summer...

Now, I sometimes wonder if we are putting our lives on hold recklessly.  What if we don't live long enough to see our "Next House"?  What if other disaster strikes and we cannot enjoy it, and yet have put off the present in anticipation of future gain?

I need to find a way to keep a foot firmly planted in this world, since it is the one I have.  I need to let go of the feeling of anxiousness, the feeling that I can't live in the moment because I am too busy living in the future, or worrying that I am not doing enough in the now.

But mostly, I need to go to sleep while it is still raining really hard...

Loose Ends

Here are two pictures/graphics/whatever that have been on my desktop for ages, waiting for something, I don't know what.  Anyway, in the interest of sharing them before purging them, I am posting them below:
The dog reminds me of someone.  It's the eyes...

Some Time Between Appointment is a Dangerous Thing

(Had a few free minutes yesterday between 'important meetings' at work...)

For several years now, I have used this visual imagery to help me cope with changes in life and I've found it so effective I've even suggested it to others.

The idea is that when something new enters your life, like a child, or a job,  it is initially very disorganizing and disruptive.    It feels so chaotic, like life will never be the same.          

But, eventually, an equilibrium is reached, and life
assumes a "new normal".  It's hard to remember what it
used to be like.

Why then, does this process not work in reverse?  I guess my real question is how can a person do just fine, for their whole lives, without something (or someone), and then have such a hard time later when it is gone?

(and why should something that looks as simple as this post be SO difficult to pull off???)

Simply Amazing

If anyone missed hearing "This American Life" on NPR this weekend, please, do yourself a favor and listen to it on line (go to archives) or download it onto an iPod or whatever for later listening from Audible for $3.  My only hope is that this broadcast doesn't hasten the death of NPR at the hands of our government.  Especially the second half of the show--just very thought provoking and no holds barred.

Tag, I'm It (along with a few others)

Started to rain last nite.  The gauge that I finally remembered to stick in a flower box says 2 1/4” so far.  I’m SO happy that it’s raining—now—tho I know that if it continues much into tomorrow I’ll forget my gratitude and start to feel oppressed.  I need to weed the garden before driving to Illinois on Sunday for a quick kiln-delivery-happy-birthday visit, and be back in time for “The Prom” on Thursday.

I KNOW that everything will take a monumental growth leap after this much rain, and I can hardly wait.

A couple of days ago, my daughter Ka*tie, the grammar blogger/queen  and EO*C amazement, included me in a game that may be intended more for the younger blogging set.  It was nice of her to think of me, so I’ve decided to try and play along.

It consists of completing sentences, 5 total, selected from a given field, and then passing the opportunity along to several other people.  This has made me realize that I am very ignorant about a lot of things, have absolutely no interest in others, and few strong opinions, at least about the topics supplied…

The sentences:
If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...musician... doctor... painter...If I could be a gardener...missionary... chef... architect.. a linguist... a psychologist... a librarian... an athlete...If I could be a lawyer... an inn-keeper... a professor... a writer... a llama-rider...bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut... a world famous blogger... justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...

The responses:

If I could be a gardener—well, I AM a gardener.

If I could be a librarian, I’d make sure that my library had all of the town’s old records, city maps from day one, city directories, old and current, newspapers on microfiche, so that people could have a peep-hole into the past, could figure out that the present florist shop was once a drug store, the auto repair place a Piggly-Wiggly.  They could say, “Aha!  I KNEW that place used to be a factory!”  They could find out how old their house, and even their street, was.

If I could be a llama-rider, I would probably get off and walk, because llamas don’t look very big, or very strong, and it seems just as fair for one of them to ride ME as the other way around.

If I could be an astronaut, I would try to convince all of the other astronauts to take off their suits and get off the spaceship.  I mean, jeez—what on EARTH are you THINKING?  Do you have any IDEA how dangerous this whole idea is?  and even if you die for the sake of science, who cares?  YOU won’t be around to appreciate your sacrifice

If I could be a doctor, I would try to work with kids with genetic disorders, so I would have an excuse to look at them, closely, and figure out what happened.  I could analyze patterns, look for syndromes, ask questions about their families, look at photos of aunts and uncles…and advise them, and their families about the risks of having more children.  I know that this is actually the job of a genetic counselor, but that was not one of the options.

If I could travel back in time to any time and place in history (free choice) I would cover the time from about 1920 to 1975, at a large state insti*tution, such as the one where I currently work, or the one in Illinois where I previously worked.  I’ve seen photos, I’ve talked with staff,  I’ve read accounts and actual records.  I’d like to actually EXPERIENCE the way it truly was when there was barely time to feed and change everyone before it was time to do it all again, when patients cared for patients, when grown adults were kept in “cages” all their lives, when much of the food was grown on the institut*ion’s own farm, by its residents.

Now, I’m supposed to pass this along to three other bloggers, but I don’t really know that many other bloggers.  I think Beth Ann at Karma might play along.  I doubt that Robbie would, but it can’t hurt to ask.  And “Colon-close parenthesis-equal sign”, whom I really miss, has sworn off communicating with me, and doesn’t have a place on his website to respond.  There is Rita, but her blog has gone dormant.  Maybe Libby, if she's not left the country yet.  But if anyone wants to just pick a few questions and answer them in the “comments” section of this blog, please do.  I’d be interested in your answers.

Who IS This Person in the Mirror?

Hello to anyone that might still check this blog.  I am taking a break from my very reluctant foray into middle class suburban life.  For weeks now, I have been managing an unlikely stable of contractors and subcontractors, doing major updates to this house for the first time in its thirty years...readying it for eventual sale.

Several of these folks have been people I've hated to see finish up, because I've enjoyed their company.  There was Woody, the painter, replete with tales of falls and near falls from ladders, and his wife who drove a half-hour to hold the ladder for him when needed.  I arrived home one day and Woody was wearing our exterior house paint all over his face and hair...his paint sprayer "blew up", he said--did I want him to cut off the painted rhododendron leaves?

There was Joe, the "kid" with the souped up, low rider pickup truck and the tattooed arms, laid back, hard working, and always accommodating ("I get paid by the hour, I don't mind re-doing it.")  In seeing my son's room, he spoke encouragingly about his transformation before his 18th birthday, and said that he and my son have a similar taste in music.

There was the tall, young, and black cabinet installer, with the somehow incongruous name "Ryan", who absolutely LOVED our dog Honey.  And the two very hard working floor refinishers who apparently eschewed deodorant.

And in between all of this, we are living like privileged refugees, washing dishes in the bathroom sink, preparing food on cabinets that have no counter tops, moving one room of stuff at a time into other rooms, and feeling guilty for complaining about "problems" that we brought on ourselves and that many people can't even fathom dealing with.  Cognitive dissonance.

Ryan found some old papers behind the original cabinets...a list of clothes to order from the Ward's catalog, including girls jeans for $4.75/pair.  A ruler with the name Jason H_________, who is apparently now 32 years old and still in the area.  I am assuming that his parents were the original owners, and that they had pretty...weird...taste in wallpaper.  Ghosts.

Then there is the work WE are actually doing, wallpapering and installing new cabinets and plumbing in the bathroom, actually purposely planting perennials that grow in shade, and the previously mentioned shredding of trees' worth of branches and sticks.

And then, there is the incredibly strenuous work of the garden, 5 miles from home, since there is no sun in our yard.  I have found nothing better for temporary relief from real worries and persistent distress than being physically exhausted.  And the always thrilling emergence of tiny seedlings that are, amazingly, just what you planted!

P.S. Whatever "higher power" created the goldfinch is to be commended.  I cannot imagine a more frivolous, shockingly beautiful bird that I don't even have to leave my kitchen to see.