I Bear Witness

July 3, 2009

A List

Filed under: Family — Tags: , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 10:37 pm

Chloe playing with a friend on a sunny day.

Chloe playing with a friend on a sunny day.


“The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost.” ~Arthur Schopenhauer

“The earth laughs in flowers.” ~ee cummings

Because my father is dead:
I have a newfound intolerance for bullshit. I notice the weeds in our garden. I don’t read as much, but I study more. I loathe loathsome people more fervently.
I don’t sweep our hardwood floor enough. I now believe the dishes can wait. I take my dog to the beach and talk to strangers for hours, but I won’t call any dear friends. I pepper sentences with profanity.
I call my newly widowed mother and listen to her pain. I am writing a short story that involves about my ex-husband’s tiny penis (nods to Anne Lamott for her brilliant penis idea).
I listen to Moby.
I ache with the loss of his good nature and wonder where did it go? I weep often, but always alone. I don’t share this pain with anyone except a friend in Ohio. She’s a poet, so there you go.
I leave our bedroom a mess. I don’t fold laundry. I still can’t find a job, but I’m attending college, so I’ve evened the score. I long for a lemon tree. I stopped respecting one brother, but I can’t tell you which one in case lurkers lurk. If so, I’ll be sure to say, “You? You thought I meant you? No, not at all! Why would you think such a thing?” so obviously I haven’t lost my passive/aggressive edge.
That’s not bound to change.
There’s more but this is all I can stand for today.

May 19, 2009

Sunday

Filed under: Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease (CJD), Family, Garden Things — Tags: , , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 9:01 am

It was a bright, beautiful, warm and inviting wonderful day! I’m not able to sleep more than four hours a night. I wake up before dawn with a knot in my gut. “Is this a dream?” I wonder. “Is my Dad dying or is this a nightmare?” Every morning, early, I ask these two questions and the answer wakes me right the hell up. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s really dying. Thoughts swirl through my consciousness. My throat dries up and anxiety grips my chest. It’s better to get out of bed then, so I let the dogs outside, and sit on the couch with the laptop.
It’s quiet in the morning unless our neighbor’s dogs are in his back yard. If they’re outside, we have barking. Lots of barking. In that case, I let the dogs back in. I feed them and settle back into the couch. No matter what I do, I’m aware of my Dad.

He can’t swallow anymore.

I bought pansies today. I bought nasturtiums, and Japanese blood grass too. Lime green leafed salvia. I aim to clean up the patio tomorrow, to pretty it up, make it make me smile. Folly.

My mom is full of grief. “I’ve known him since we were sixteen,” she says. She thinks she might travel some. “Maybe I’ll meet another old lady to travel with,” she says. I offer to travel anywhere with her.

“Really? You’d want to be with me?” she asked. She sounds surprised.

“You’re on!” she replies when I say, “Sure!”

She gave his recliner away today.

Jim and I had breakfast with two dear friends. We ate outdoors underneath Japanese maples, east of the apple tree. It was nice. Then I drove my husband to work, poor man. I came back later that day to bring Chloe. She barked at both of them and pooped on their lawn. Twice.

The doctor says Dad has days, or hours. My sister-in-law prayed with him and he said, “Good night Ralph.” That’s his name.

So I know he knows he’s dying. I wonder if I’ll know when he goes? I hope so.

March 10, 2009

Piles

Filed under: Chatter, Garden Things — Tags: , , — BabushkaBlue @ 7:47 pm

I had a little relapse and spent yesterday feeling sick and miserable. Slept off and on all day and ate toast and drank a few glasses of protein water. Operative word: Blerg.

Today is a brand new day. Instead of dark and gray and snow flurries, there is sunshine and blue and a very cold breeze. Chloe has already been to the beach with Jim and me (thank you my lovely friend] this morning, but I feel like taking her again. She’s chewing up a barbecue tool while her car blanket spins in the washing machine. The television is on, but the sound is muted. I can’t stand anymore bad news.
When the blanket is clean and dry we’ll head back to the shore. I could stand another quiet day before I dive into a new plan.

Nothing has felt right. Nothing fit. I didn’t feel excited, not a bit of passion, no love, whenever I thought about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I did think about what I didn’t want. No cold calling, sales, high-energy, multi-tasking, rock n roll, get ‘er done and work my ass off because I enjoy making the lazy CEOs rich. I wondered about what was wrong. Was I way too past my prime? Had I become obsolete or at least irrelevant? Why didnt anything fit? Why did I feel apologetic? Embarrassed? Unconvinced and therefore unconvincing?

I don’t want to sell you anything. That’s key. On the other hand, I don’t want to feel like your underling. I don’t mind being helpful. I even think it’s cool to be a servant, but I don’t want to be a modern-day knave to any corporation/kingdom. For a while I wondered if there was something wrong with my attitude, but I understand it now. I come from blue-collar stock, at least partially. I also come from a group of brilliant thinkers, creative artists, and hilarious rascals. We make our own way. We were independent business folks, farmers, factory workers, think tank members, stay-at-home moms and entrepreneurs.
Follow your passion, was the advice. Horticulture! Web design! Writing! Art! But how do any of those become a new career for an already middle-aged woman? That’s my problem. That’s where I run into a thick brick (and ivy covered) wall. That’s where the jokes about mothers and old people on Facebook and riffs about age shut me down, and shut me down completely. Utterly, really. I mean it.

I hate being laughed at. I fear the inevitable snickers, snide comments, and assumptions about who I must be (for instance, I didnt know anything was wrong with Chico’s).
Here’s the thing. So what?

That’s all there is to it. So what? I’ll do what I love, go where I want to go, say what I need to say, love who I want to love, laugh when something’s funny, cry when I’m moved to cry and if that makes someone snicker, so what?

On another note: crocus!

A pile of things: The gigantic fallen branches are gone and the leaf mess is gone from the patio. Ferns are poking out, as are the tulips. Daffodils bloom. We need a bazillion pounds of mulch and pea gravel for the various paths. This year we should split the Hostas.

Clean and organize the office. Organize the art supplies, which is a never-ending clarion call. Make the two-headed doll and create a few more springtime cards. Mop the floor. Pre-cook several pounds of ground beef and freeze it.

These are wishes (like fishes) that may or may not get done this week, but I put them here in the spirit of hopefulness.

Have coffee with one old friend and a new Twitter friend that shares my love of gardening. Take that damned placement test I keep putting off because I’m terrified. Change the air filter. Make our bed.

My stomach is gurgling in protest, still unsure if she wants me to have a good day. Stomach doesn’t have much authority if I don’t fill it, so I won’t. She’ll have to go to the beach with me so Chloe can run with her friends while I watch the sun sent over the water and behind the Olympic mountain range. Thats the plan.

We’re off.

October 29, 2008

Golden Afternoon

Filed under: Chatter — Tags: , , , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 4:25 pm

I can’t decide what this blog is here for, but since it’s here I’ll use it. Today it’s a convenient diary. Tomorrow it might be another way to shill my art, especially if I can convince my artistic sisters to join me in a fledgling venture.

I am convinced there’s hope of such an adventure, a way to fund our lives with the art that oozes out of us. We’re good. We’re GOOD, every one of us. We’re as good as the best of them and way better than many that live in beautiful art-funded houses.

I came home for lunch and never went back. Instead I clipped coupons. I washed dishes and bagged up leftover trash from last month’s wedding cake preparation. Jim’s cake was beautiful.

In two days I won’t have a job. In two hours I’ll have a load of laundry folded and another load dancing in the dryer. Jim repaired the dryer so it takes only 30 minutes to dry an arm full of towels. I want to change the sheets. Dust the furniture. I crave order. When life falls at my feet, the first thing that goes is my neat gene. I crave order, yet I allow chaos. And in the chaos I can’t think.

My head might explode from stress yet the sky shines cool in blue and every time a breeze blows in from the Sound gold leaves fall by the thousands. Gold lies on top of everything. We’ll sweep it from the lawn and rake it off the gravel paths, but they can stay on the gardens – free mulch!

To review: No job, clipping coupons, ditching work, headache and laundry. Gold leaves.

October 26, 2008

Layoff’s Coming

Filed under: Garden Things, Politics — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 6:38 pm

One week left at the office, and then off we go into the unknowable future. Layoff! I’m part of the freefall – a statistic. MSNBC talks about me and so does Fox News. At first I was terrified to be a middle-aged laid-off woman with no great hope for a comparable job. For two weeks I wallowed in self-pity and (mostly justifiable) fear, but not today, baby! Now I’m on a quest. Now it’s an interesting challenge. It’s become a topic: something to focus on. I’ve applied for over two-dozen positions, but I’m not convinced that these are/were viable offers. Most of us Americans are concerned about the economy and might not want to spend an extra dime and that includes employers. I have a job interview and some kind of test this Tuesday. There is a job fair on that day too. I’ll go.

It’s time to crank up the art machine and make a few things. Time (therefore) to organize the secretary – get rid of things I won’t use and organize the things I need. I leave for Wisconsin on November 8th and will work on a body of work while there.
Maybe I can fine a mediocre (income-wise) job near home and supplement my income selling art and since I’m dreaming I’ll begin to write for odd little freelance projects here and there (any ideas?). I will find a solution because I have to. Giving in to fear and hopelessness won’t do anybody any good, and in particular it won’t help me.

Who would hire a hangdog, depressed, worried and hopeless overweight middle-aged woman? Not me.

Instead of buying things, I want to organize what I already have. Instead of searching the shopping centers for Christmas gifts I’ll either make things myself or buy from crafty Etsy friends. I’ll buy from a local dairy. Shop locally every chance I get.

We’ll turn down the heat and wrap ourselves up in blankets. I like the shift in my focus. I want to simplify because it feels right, feels better than consuming things for no needful reason. I want to concentrate on personal responsibility. I want to aim towards peace, towards charity, towards love and reconciliation.

Gardening Notes: Everything is dying or falling asleep. The hostas are yellowing. The maple leaves are on fire. The asters are beautiful and two different shades of purple. The Cosmos have new flowers in white pink and brighter pink, but the impatiens plants have melted. Petunias are gone.
A gardening expert told me to wrap our green tomatoes in newspaper and they’ll magically ripen. That represents the last of the last of our summer, unless you count the fennel that if we let it would take over the world. It’s over. It’s cold. It’s time to sweep the wet leaves off the patio and call it a year.

Politics: Nine more days. I’m voting early by absentee, but I don’t trust the GOP enough to mail it. I’ll turn it in by hand and try to breathe until a week after this Tuesday. Tomorrow. Obama. Word to the wise; turn off your tee vee. Don’t visit political websites. Go for a walk instead. Buy a handful of flowers. Bake a loaf of bread. Make stew. Clean out a closet. Give a bag full of old clothes to charity. Clip coupons. Donate a couple of cans to a food bank.

Everyone I know is tightly wound up and ready to scream.

When I go to work in the morning, I already know my boss will be loaded for bear because something bad happened to him Friday afternoon. He’d like to hold me responsible, but I’m not and not only am I not responsible, I don’t care. By laying me off, when really – seriously – he didn’t have to lay me off but he’s a Republican and that’s what they do, he set me free, just like a divorce.

It will all end up okay eventually. He’ll solve his own problem and that’s fine with me. We all move on.

October 10, 2008

List

Filed under: Chatter, Mull — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — BabushkaBlue @ 1:57 pm

Do more laundry.
Plant fall pansies and mums.
Sweep the floor,
then mop it.
Get rid of the old clothing.
(Where’s the vacuum?)
Vacuum the bedroom,
then dust.
Clean the bathroom,
especially the floor. Ick.

I want to dive into the weekend with some kind of hope that I have control of my life. I’ve been looking at everything wrong. I have it/had it backwards (I think). My pending unemployment is a challenge, and an opportunity to learn. I want to organize my house – especially the office, especially the bedroom, especially my secretary full of artful things. I can’t even think about the garage, but there’s great potential there. We could make a shop for Jim. Someday he might be able to find his tools. Imagine!

I want to shop for needful things in a smarter way. I want to make things instead of buying them.

This morning Jim and I watched Wall Street open frighteningly low. We talked about the end of the world as we know it (I heart you, Michael Stipe) and wondered what society will look like in a couple of years. Our economy has been based on credit and debt and isn’t that backwards? Shouldn’t we base our economy on US? We are the workers, the creators, the inventors, entrepreneurs, the creative folks. Instead of importing everything we own, let’s make it ourselves again.

I can buy dairy products from the farmers nearby. I can buy local vegetables, beef and chicken from Lopez Island. I can make cards instead of buying them. We can make hypertufa pots for our garden and grow things from seeds. Split the hostas, spread the ferns. Tend the garden carefully.

This bump in the road doesn’t have to depress me. I need to think, and think fast, come up with other ways, new ways, creative ways to make my life productive. 

Mow the lawn.
Trim away the fading perennials.
Cut down the rest of the roses.

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