“I want to beg you, as much as I can, to be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart; try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms or books that are written in a foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers; they cannot be given to you now because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. You will then gradually, without even noticing it perhaps, live along some day into the answer.”
The above was something Mom gave me ages ago, a piece that never got framed, just got shoved in a box and moved around a bit. Even somehow survived the flood in 2004. Fortunately the print and mat are wrapped in plastic so the dust and dirt of the years doesn’t seem to have impacted the piece itself. I found it a week or two ago and have read it at least once daily. Considering that my dear Aunt Sue is dying and today I head to Florida for a few days to hang out with her for the last time, this BE PATIENT and LIVE THE QUESTIONS NOW is hitting pretty close to my heart. The heart that is breaking for my cousin Jane because she soon will know this awful feeling of not being able to pick up the phone and hear her Mom’s voice. That is the worst for me…to not have Mom at my fingertips, to see me calling and happily answer any silly little thing I needed or wanted to know; to not be in my corner always.
This photo was taken about 10 days before Mom died. Aunt Sue is the one with the gorgeous silver hair, behind Mom. Before Mom had chemo and the cancer really took over, the two resembled each other a lot.
Aunt Sue loves the Lord and has lived a very happy life with Him in her heart. I am told she is looking forward to no longer being in pain and having the pleasure of gazing upon His face. Her faith and strength thrill me. But dammit, I am selfish and want her wonderful self here. I want to be happy for her, but my heart hurts. It hurts so hard.
And yet there is also a huge hurt that goes deep down to my core because I really want to ask her to tell my Mom a few things. Mostly that I am sorry for not being a better daughter while I had the chance.
My Mom used to save all kinds of stuff to give to me when we would get together again. Maybe magazine articles, feathers she found, little items she picked up in her travels, etc. Didn’t matter what the pile contained, Mom called it her A Drive. When we would get together the first thing she had to do was “dump her a drive” and give me everything, telling me about each item. It usually drove me nuts because there was fun to be had and dammit she was slowing us down. Now? Wellllll, I miss it desperately. Which, of course, means that I am now picking up where she left off…prepare to be dumped upon…
The other day the fantastic Heather (Coal Miner’s Granddaughter) wrote a post about breast milk cheese and cooking with breast milk. Human breast milk. I kind of surprised myself when I realized that I wasn’t all that grossed out at the concept. Not really grossed out at all, actually.
So while washing the dishes (I don’t have a dishwasher, I *am* the dishwasher) my mind started off on its own. That is usually a dangerous thing, but I tend to do some of my best thinking while doing dishes or showering. Maybe it is the water, maybe it’s the solitude with no tv or music. Ount know. Point is I started thinking of stuff that grosses me out. The highest on the list? Someone else using my toothbrush or me using theirs. BLECH! Even if I were on Survivor and the gorgeous Colby Donaldson offered to share I would have to turn him down. I’d rather use a branch and gnaw on that for a bit than share a toothbrush. Just can’t handle the idea. (Although Colby, if you are reading, I’d fuck you even without the toothbrush…call me.)
I read about a guy who is going to be in the hospital for a long time and how his friends are trying to get him lots of mail. Immediately I grabbed a card and had coworkers sign it, addressed it and dropped it in the mail. Over the coming weeks I plan on sending this dude all kinds of silly stuff. You should consider it, too. Read about it HERE.
On a totally different note, soon I will be on a plane to drink myself into a gutter for the HHD (High Holy Day = St. Patrick’s Day). My early AM flight will have me hearing the crack of dawn the morning of the 17th, but I plan to sleep the whole way to Alabama. The completely awesome Kim (from Live at the 205) will pick me up at the airport and then Birmingham should just look out because we might drink our faces off. The next day, once we find our faces, we shall drive south to Florida. I’m really looking forward to the getaway. She is truly an amazing woman and rumor has it other bloggers will also be joining us. Should be terrific. BUT, I’m not taking my laptop so who knows if I will be able to post. Sure, she is bringing hers, and it is a coveted Apple(!), but since I don’t know how to work it you might not hear from me for a few days.
Also, I can’t find my bathing suit so please send names of nude beaches.
So, my friend Earl posted a video that cracked me up. Seems his friend made it. They want others to see and enjoy. So here ya go:
And if you have a blog, maybe consider posting it?
I think that is it for now. Happy day. Enjoy it.
I haven’t written anything over here in close to a month. There are a variety of reasons why I haven’t written…too busy running around enjoying the fall, having nothing blog worthy to say, being named in a lawsuit that specifically references this little site of mine, just being lazy, etc.
ANYhow, I don’t even really know where to start these days. Just don’t know what to write about. I could tell you that I am too lazy to get out and rake my yard, but that photo above proves that point. I could recap my adventures in Florida when I stayed with Britt‘s family and attended Adam‘s party, but so many others gave much better recaps. I could tell you about my trip to Columbus the few days before I left for Florida, but it already seems like forever ago and most of what I find funny would get lost in the writing. I could tell you how Twitter is sucking the blogger from me, but most of you know the feeling.
WAIT! I know what I can tell you. The night I got back from Florida my neighbor told me there was a reporter snooping around my house, wanting to interview me for a story. Something about my Mom’s work with the Clean Water and Clean Air initiatives. Fortunately my (very hot) neighbor told the reporter that I probably wouldn’t be interested and that he shouldn’t be digging up painful memories since I’m still struggling with Mom’s death even three and a half years later. (I love my neighbor!)
I called the reporter, who left several business cards shoved in my door and in my mailbox, only to get voice mail. (insert happy girl wiggle here) A day later the reporter called back and left me a voice mail message saying that his story on air pollutants needed someone who had lost a loved one due to the environment and everyone he talked to told him that he should talk to me. Seems lots of folks that knew Mom and worked with her suggested he contact me.
Only problem is that I don’t feel that breast cancer is a direct result of air pollutants. And I don’t think that Mom’s decision not to take one of the meds (Tamoxifen) that could have kept the cancer from returning (to her brain, bones and lungs) was a result of the air. Or water.
Regardless, even if I did, I ain’t strong enough to be speaking on camera about my Mom’s death.
So there’s that. That is blog worthy, eh?
A few moments ago I sent the following email to several people:
“i just read pittgirl‘s post about the point park university kids and when i watched the video tears poured. i’m exhausted and in desperate need of tomorrow’s vacation, so maybe that is part of it. and i am sure part of it is pure joy at how awesome this city and its college kids are. there is probably a little part of guilt about me running away from this g-20 monster while folks like the point park kids organized the best four minutes i have seen in a long time. of course there is the huge suck of mom not being here to have been a part of showcasing our city to the world. roll all that up and i have tears streaming down my face, but i don’t mind.
ANYhow, please watch the video after you read the post. oh how the video makes me want to dance with pure happiness. maybe i’ll go watch it again and do just that…”
You are encouraged to read what Ginny (formerly known as PittGirl) wrote about this incredible video. I wholeheartedly agree with everything she had to say. To go to her post, click HERE. If ya don’t wanna, you are missing out, but I’ll still post the video for your lazy ass (and yes, the good stuff starts about 45 seconds in).
While searching for the above video I found a second one of the exact routine being performed down at PPG Plaza. Fucking fantastic way to protest and get your peace message out there! Although I might sorta wanna slap the person who did the video work that made me wanna hurl in this one:
Ξ August 26th, 2009 | → 18 Comments | ∇ mom |
That guy from Canadia that we all know and love, LeSombre, wrote a bullet post that included mention of a colombarium he passes as he travels between work and home. Since the word “colombarium” is a little unusual the topic popped up again in the comments. Delmer mentioned that he wasn’t familiar with them and went on to joke about putting ashes in the back of a pickemup and driving around.
And that got me to thinking. Because Mom’s ashes are in an urn which resides in my spare bedroom. Not that she is in there alone, there is a bunch of her stuff: rocks she collected; a lamp; her favorite turtle; pictures; books; artwork; etc. I don’t consider it a shrine…more like I had a home full of stuff and then had to empty Mom’s house so lots of stuff found its way into the spare bedroom.
Here’s a photo of where Mom is.
Although just now, trying to look at it from an outsider’s eyes, I just realized it might look kind of shrine-ish. When I back up and take another photo, you can see the picture of me and Mom that hangs above where her urn sits.
(Yes, it is too high on the wall, but that is where the nail was. Bite me.)
So now we arrive at the question portion of my post: If I were to extend an invitation for someone to sleep over, should I let them sleep in Mom’s Room, or move Mom somewhere else while the guest was staying at my house? What if YOU were that guest? Would it be weird to sleep in a room where someone’s ashes were sitting at the foot of the bed? Would it matter if you knew my Momma?
Man, I am full of questions today!
Anyhow, please feel free to comment without worrying about hurting my feelings. You can tell me that is or is not normal to keep Mom’s ashes (I would scatter them somewhere if I knew the perfect spot, but I don’t). You can tell me I need a shrink for joking about my spare room being Mom’s Room. You can give me shit by bastardizing a quote from Dirty Dancing (“Nobody puts da Momma in the corner!”).
Don’t be shy.
You know I love yinz.
I still really, really miss my Momma.
As I mentioned in yesterday’s photofest, we had a little to drink at the parade. Well, Twinkle didn’t drink at all because she had her son with us. He is only three years old and is damn precious cargo.
Stick your tongue out!
Make a mean face.
EVERYone make a mean face!
Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to mind that I was not exactly sober. That said, embarrassingly I give you a quick video. Seriously though, ignore my stupid self and concentrate on the cuteness that is my cousin’s son.
Those photos were taken on the car ride to drop him off at his grandfather’s house so that Twinkle could catch up to Tinkle and me in the booze department. We grabbed a late lunch and then headed to the Harp and Fiddle in the Strip. Great, great fun. Lots of music. And hot men.
Like this guy that was standing in front of me at the packed bar. He was wearing a kilt and a woman next to me dared me to lift it up. When I ascertained that she wasn’t his wife I firmly tapped him on the shoulder. It was like tapping my finger against a tree and I freely admit it was kind of hot. I wasn’t even looking when he turned around, I kept my eyes on the massive shoulders, but I asked if I could touch his bum. (Yes, I said “bum.” Since it was in an Irish accent it somehow worked. Shut it.) Quickly I was granted approval. Didn’t have to tell me twice! I grabbed the kilt, lifted, rubbed the beautiful bum, gave it a squeeze and then slapped it. Three times. After all of that I let go of his kilt, leaned forward and asked if his wife was now going to kick my ass. He laughed and said she doesn’t mind. So I asked for a photo.
CUTE! Yep, I realized he was cute when I looked to see if the cell phone took an ok picture.
I made my way back out to the best spot in the place, on the porch, under the tent. Lots of laughter with Twinkle and Tinkle. Lots of Smithwick’s Irish Ale. Sometime after too many beers I met some cute guy with phenomenal arms. So I made out with him for a bit.
Then I ran into my favorite bar’s bartender.
Not long after I ran into my coworker who was in town from SC.
Twinkle’s former coworker decided to join us at the Harp and Fiddle. He kept us laughing.
We had fun!
Hell, even on the way out drunk girl met another attractive man.
You guys know I saved the best photos for tomorrow, right? Half Nekkid Thursday has a guest who wasn’t shy and wanted me to see his green underwear. Wow, you are gonna wanna see this one! Yum!
(Note: No HNT here this morning. Maybe later.)
Recently I have made a few really, really stupid decisions in an effort to spare my heart. For me, Denial is not just another river in Egypt. Problem is, as much as I try to hide or ignore people or things in an effort to “stay strong” I will never actually find the strength to just fucking deal in the first place if I don’t admit that there is a fucking problem. Dealing and acceptance are the only things that will make it all better, not hiding.
Huge, heavy sigh.
To anyone who listened to “Clearly You’re Retarded” last night, thanks for letting me say something that I have never said before. While I certainly didn’t expect that show to play shrink for me, I am glad I was apart of it. And I appreciated the gentle mirror, held up for me to look into.
I will do my best to make my wrongs right. If I can’t, I have no one to blame. If I can, it is because the others are much better friends than I deserve.
Speaking of friends, I really am grateful for all of you. Very thankful that you are in my life.
I am not one for wishing away the days. As sappy as it sounds, I really am one of those “enjoy every moment” kind of people. Yet Monday I will be doing my best to concentrate on my busy work day and look forward to my dinner with family (Cousin Sarah will join me at our aunt and uncle’s house) so that I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts.
As much as I love birthdays, I can’t be happy because Mom isn’t here for me to fuss over. The vice on my heart as midnight approaches can be pushed down and tucked away when I have a lot to concentrate on. But is that coping? Is that dealing with reality?
No. No, it is not.
And I am ok with that. For now it is exactly what I need. So I will wish that Monday passes quickly. I will pray that snow will fall and I can focus on the beauty of the day instead of the ache inside and the nagging question of whether or not I am normal or just a great big baby for wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.
I don’t feel so strong.
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Ξ November 22nd, 2008 | → 14 Comments | ∇ mom |
It was pretty damn cold today…maybe 28 degrees or so…and I was walking with a smile on my face. The vehicle was in the parking garage, close to the elevator, and I was only two blocks from the restaurant where our gang had already gathered for lunch before the movie. I love the cold, was about to feed my hungry self and then head to see Twilight with friends. Happy, happy girl.
There was still some snow and ice on the sidewalk so this not graceful girl was watching her feet while stepping from the street onto the sidewalk. I looked up to get my bearings and felt the breath leave my body as though I had been punched in the gut. Red winter jacket, just like Mom’s. Short and shiny silver hair, just like Mom’s. Smile, just like Mom’s. But not Mom.
I couldn’t move. Just stood, unable to even draw a breath, in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot. Somehow I managed not to let the water which instantly pooled in my eyes fall.
It is just that I really miss my Mudder. And her birthday is Monday. How am I ever going to get through the damn day?