every time i turn a shampoo bottle over and empty the remains into a new shampoo bottle – each upside-down tap of the bottle, drawing the last vestiges of shampoo to the top, makes me think of her.
every bird in the backyard, every endcrust of bread, every leftover dinner, every time i do laundry or make lists, merry morning sunshine.
every time we use the wire cheese slicer, every time i pass by the snake plant, every time i tend our houseplants, every time i thank someone who has generously served us in some way.
every time i see a dachshund or a hosta, every time i think of Long Island, every time i write in my calendar, every area rug on a wood floor, sweet potatoes, math.
every time i make do, every time i save something for ‘special’, every time i turn a few specific phrases or use a coupon, collect rocks or driftwood, every time i make – or have – french fries or iced tea.
every time i see liverwurst or have rye toast, catch the aroma of roast beef in an oven or see a jar of ragu sauce.
when i see beets, when i have onion dip, when I devour crumb cake or chips ahoy, when i coffee-sit, when i repurpose things, when i think about baked ziti or darning socks.
when i defend how to pronounce “sauna”, when i see the “sisu” sign in my studio, spiral notebooks and scrap copies, when i hear “wowee!”, when i stood at the edge of the grand canyon.
every time. i think of my sweet momma. and I wonder how it is possible that she left this world ten years ago today. ten. ten years without her. ten years of not being able to pick up the phone and call her. ten years without mom hugs. ten years without a mom who would listen to any story i told her – any number of times i told it – knowing that my biggest fan was this woman, who was ahead of her time in so many ways.
i wonder how she is feeling now about the turn of all she left behind. i wonder if she has that certain stink eye she’d get, wishing to admonish this country’s current leaders and those following in lock-step. i wonder if the public deflection and distraction of some – avoiding the truth of their choice, avoiding taking responsibility for that choice, literally cheerleading this horror, loudly or silently – i wonder if seeing all that makes her crazy. knowing my momma – and her humanitarian and political leanings – i’m fairly certain she is pretty “irked” – as she would say. she is likely fired up and giving someone a piece of her mind somewhere on the other side. as high-road as she was (and, probably, is) she is not one to put up with the destruction of the country for which she and my dad sacrificed.
and so, every time i speak up or speak out i think of her. every time i voice absolute protection of the rights of members of my family. every time i express horror for the dismantling of this democracy and the cruel disenfranchising of people of the populace. every time i see another nail skewering women. every time i read about the dumbing-down, the elimination of history, the blunting of truth, the big-time grift. every time i stand up for what she taught me about kindness to people. every time. i think of her.
and every time i see the print “live life, my sweet potato” i think of her. and i miss her. yet again.
when the twenty-one gun salute echoed in the muggy florida air, i had the shivers. my sweet poppo was gone and nothing would ever be the same.
we were at the national cemetery in bushnell, gathered under a portico, torrential rain on and off. my sweet momma was both heartbroken and stalwart. we all lingered before it was time to drive back and celebrate my dad’s life. it is just a month and a half shy of thirteen years ago.
the pride that i felt – with patriot guard riders leading our way to this honorable cemetery – was something i recognized. it came from a feeling of stability, living in a relatively steady democracy and honoring this man – my dad – who had valiantly fought for that very premise – democracy over fascism, the populace over authoritarianism. barack obama was president and i did not read the news every single day expecting chaos to reign or nationwide or global disaster to be absolutely imminent. i rested assured that the people elected were intelligent, honest, respectful, compassionately decent people of the utmost integrity who had others around them with the same virtuous qualities. i was not panicking. my daddy had died and i could be totally present with his sending-off and present in my grief, the grief i shared with my family. i assumed that – alongside any desire i might have to be involved in day-to-day politics – i could also sit back and trust that – as a citizen – i was being represented by someone who had a moral compass.
i thought that would just be there – always – the strength, freedom, courage, the ideals of liberty and the unity of the states of this country. i believed that the spirit of this nation – the immortality of it as depicted by the american bald eagle – would always prevail.
fast forward.
2025.
now – more than ever – i see that tomorrow’s sky is not just there. we are fearful of losing it all…every last bit of this country’s democracy.
the soaring eagle that dipped and swooped over us on the trail – time and again – gave me the shivers just like the twenty-one gun salute did. i hoped it was some sort of positive sign from the universe, maybe even from my dad.
my sweet poppo is weeping somewhere, knowing that his sacrifices – his time as a world war II airman and as a prisoner of war, his injuries, his post-traumatic trauma – may not endure this time in our nation. it crushes me to think of his utter disillusioned disappointment.
and then I hear him, “do you think the rain’ll hurt the rhubarb?”
and the early morning autumn sun streams in the window at a different angle, shining into my face, making me squint and scooch over under the quilt. the light pours over us and, though the air in the room is chilly, we are warmed by the intensity of this october suntilt.
it is our anniversary. eight years ago today we were surrounded by family and friends. we took vows of commitment in this second chance we both had and spontaneously skipped down the aisle to the ukulele band playing and everyone singing “what a wonderful world” after we were declared “married”. the day was glorious – sunny and in the 70s – and everyone gathered at the old beachhouse, warm sand and lakeshore boulders inviting walks, sitting, a late bonfire. we all danced and ate sliders from the food truck, homemade daisy cupcakes and wine from the corner store in our ‘hood. we celebrated in community.
this year will be quieter. we will perhaps take the day. we may go hiking or go visit a town in which we love to stroll and browse. maybe we’ll try to track down the burgermeister food truck, sit in the sun and reminisce. we’ll see.
but before we start – before our feet hit the floor to getamoveon – we’ll just sit here under the autumnglowing quilt with dogga at our feet, sip our coffee and be in wonder that two people – worlds apart – had the good fortune to somehow meet.
our tiny stars somehow aligned, bumped into each other in the galaxy and glimmerdust washed over us, never to be the same, always to be loved.
“my do!!!!” he insisted. there is nothing like a two-year old insisting – with all his might – that he will do it himself. he is extremely capable – strong, smart, wily. somehow you forget how much energy a tiny child has…it just goes on and on and on until it suddenly stops and sweet sleep takes over. amazing stuff. my little great-nephew’s curiosity is divine and his giggle contagious. his stubbornness makes me laugh, but mostly because i can stand back and watch his momma and daddy handle it. their turn. and i am thrilled for them.
even though he was figuring out how to climb the jungle gym in the playground, we were there to spot him. as he learned, our hands were firm, guiding him. as he figured it out, our hands were lighter, still there, but just poised and ready. much like all of parenthood, i’m figuring out. you hold on tightly, then just firmly, then lightly, then you let go, but you are poised and ready. and, just like j, they don’t turn around to see if you are there. they just keep climbing the jungle gym steps, anxious to get to the slide, anxious to explore the rest, anxious to play with the other kids. you are simply the spotter. somewhat invisible but always there.
at the end of the days there – with this marvelous two year old – we were really tired. his spurty focus of energy staccatoed our day as well and, now that my own children are grown-up adults, was something not as familiar to us. our days are more linear with less punctuation, if you will.
but i laid awake at night anyway. i rambled through thoughts of the days when my daughter and my son were little ones with “i do” on their lips. it brought me to places i remembered clearly and places that had slipped into corners of my memory. i missed them and wished that thirty years ago cellphones had had cameras and the ability to make videos. carrying around the 35mm camera and the vhs/8mm videocameras was cumbersome; today’s parents have so many ways to remember every single thing that happens.
my niece and i talked about how motherhood has changed everything. and i told her that will never change.
she will always – now – wake thinking about this little person. and she will always – now – go to sleep with him on the blink of her eyes. she will hold tightly and then firmly and then lightly and then – in achingly beautiful and hard moments – she will let go.
but she will always be his spotter, visible or invisible, noticed or not. he may not turn around to see her there, but she’ll be there.
a large-moving-truck-sized asteroid missed the earth. apparently, not by much. npr called it a “very close encounter” and nasa said it was a “near miss”. it kind of puts things in perspective. i mean, what does anything angsty mean when all could be destroyed in a moment by a united-van-lines-projectile?
i suppose the wise among us would nod slowly at that question. they’d take a deep breath and exhale audibly before speaking. and then they’d point out that there are no guarantees – for any of it – and perhaps lighter hearts would be a better way to fly through this universe, skimming along, soaring, aerial acrobatics from moment to moment.
it’s been seven years. my sweet momma glimmered her way to heaven seven years ago and now, seven years later, we are interring her ashes. the wooden box that my brother-in-law holds gently in his hands is added to my dad’s niche in the columbarium. his ashes are in a hard cardboard heart-shaped box and my dad grins as her wooden box is added next to his, relieved that it wasn’t the other way around or my momma would have had something to say about his box being wood and hers being cardboard. nevertheless, our son said it best, “happy they are resting together.”
i brought my ukulele and a songsheet and we all gathered around and sang “always” before the niche was closed. it was simple. and short. and the service a row behind us had a twenty-one gun salute followed by taps – just in time as the caretaker replaced the granite door.
it’s sobering to be in the veteran’s cemetery. pristine and beautiful, but sobering. so many headstones. so many little granite doors.
i looked up – i wanted to remember the sky – perhaps the heavens – the moments we stood there, after. the sun was shining and there was a gentle breeze.
my sweet parents whispered “thank you” to us and my momma got that stink-eye look she gets. “now go live life,” she added. and my dad reached out his hand and diverted the asteroid’s path, just a little. but enough to make a difference.
this painting is magical. it is the stuff of dreams, the stuff of hope, a vision of the future, the thready sharing of life and love. it looks more to me like flying than resting and, perhaps, as the wedding gift that d gave me four years ago today, it was prophetic. with the presence of mountains and a daisy, holding hands, embracing, perhaps dancing in flight, it is what we knew then.
what we know now is so much more.
our journey, our flight, together has, in its rawest form, a newness. meeting smack-dab in the middle of middle-age has its interesting elements. not that either of us is rigid…oh, no….of COURSE not. but when you are nigh 60 years old you do have your ways of doing things. add to that the fact that we are two artists artist-ing together. sheesh! there are some lively chats in these here parts. and to feel like you are starting over again – in your middle 50s – is time-warpy. there’s a lot to learn…but i guess that’s always true.
i have to say that i have never argued as much with another person. i’m quite sure that we agree the sign we purchased on our honeymoon in the mountains of colorado says it all, “you are my favorite pain in the ass.” it goes both ways. we definitely have a full-spectrum of emotions together. we are the best at disagreeing; we are the best team together.
i’m eternally grateful for this gift. i cannot adequately put this into words, so it must suffice that – this is the man i skip with.
i have no idea where this journey with mountains and daisies will take us. we are open to the mystery as we continue this amazing flight. allways. always. magical.
“wherever you are, that’s where i will be…” the framed needlepoint hangs next to my dresser. every day i see this message, a message of unrelenting connectedness.
life has a way of taking us near and far, to and from the people we love. children grow and fly free. siblings scatter around the world in pursuit of their dreams. parents age and leave this plane of existence. friends are close; friends move far away. i can speak for those of us who are particularly extra-ordinarily thready – these are tough challenges.
on the album RELEASED FROM THE HEART, this piece CONNECTED follows the piece i composed called MISSING. it was a self-reminder when i placed the track order that way. the connection between us eclipses the missing. our connections guarantee that they will surpass missing and wrap around us like soft blankets right out of the dryer. we have to just stand still and feel them.
we had the blissful opportunity of being together with both My Girl and My Boy under the same roof at the same time for a period of days. my annoying-mother-ness took lots of pictures and memorized moments, from hilariously funny to touchingly heart-full to painfully real. the first moments i saw each of them deplane at the tiny island airport will be indelibly sketched in my mind. pure joy.
we are connected. despite our proximity, despite distance from one visit to the next, despite time between, we are connected. i will – comfortingly, reassuringly, lovingly, supportively, annoyingly, and yes, unrelentingly – always be there for them. always.
that is what connection is.
download RELEASED FROM THE HEART on iTUNES or CDBaby
there are moments you remember as a mother. more than you can possibly count. but there are some that stand out. you can feel it forever. any reminder of it makes you draw in your breath and pause. THIS morsel, THIS painting does that for me. THIS is how i feel.
the moment you are safety in a storm, respite in chaos, time-out in exhaustion. the moment of sheer relief, absolute validation, exquisite shared joy or devastating shared aching grief. the moment of connected silence, words with no air. an embrace that is forever.
it drives them nuts, i’m sure, but i still write or say “triple always” to my children. a redundancy of course, the “triple” emphasizes the “always”… an unnecessary modifier that says “eternally”…. i love you eternally.
there is a boeing commercial we see often. in it, the narrator is stating steps of preparation for flight, counting down. then she says, “guidance is eternal.” that’s what i have heard every time. until one time i asked d why he thought she said that. he responded that she was actually stating, “guidance is internal,” which clearly makes more sense in the aviation world.
i had to listen more closely the next time to hear “eternal” as “internal”. i did discern the difference, but i still, each time it airs, hear “guidance is eternal” anyway, and maybe that’s a good thing. it serves as a reminder from an unlikely source, a sort of subliminal message, perhaps, at a time i need it. an absolute when looking to the universe for answers to unsolved questions, small eddies of confusion, sorting and attempts at balance, at level positivity, seeking wisdom from those who are beloved but on another plane.
the guidance is there. waiting. it is internal AND it is eternal. triple always.
reverse threading 