the sun was shining in central park the first time i sang this song in public. we were on stage and it was the conclusion of the “I AM” NYC revlon run/walk for women, an event where all the proceeds are used to help fight cancer, specifically women’s cancers. it was stunning – tens of thousands of people gathered, unified by a yearning, to make a difference, to help women live healthier lives, longer lives, to help fight the fight.
every time i hear or sing my own song, i quietly dedicate it to a woman i know who is a survivor in the middle of this battle, in the middle of her path back to health. my own sweet momma tops my list of women who have bravely and stalwartly walked this journey. but i think of dear friends, relatives, acquaintances…devastatingly, too many to list. all “bonded by the power of this dream that is i am.”
I’m different than you.
I am the same.
We are strong. We are courageous.
We are more than this disease; we are bigger than this fight.
United, we celebrate life.
it is raining here today as i write this. the power and fortitude of the mantra ‘i am’ seems a little weaker. it’s pervasive, this grayness. for survivorship of disease is not limited to the blunt force blow of cancer. survivorship spans the spectrum. women, like me, who are survivors of sexual assault. women who are survivors of marginalization. women who are survivors of silencing. women who are survivors of domestic, workplace, governmental limitations or abuse.
i listen to my own lyrics and i wonder…are we unified by a yearning? are we truly trying to make a difference to help women live healthier lives, longer lives, fight the fight – whatever that fight might be?
the air coming through the windows this morning felt cool. almost chilly. it has been a long while since the last time i could say that of a morning here. we have had a very hot, very humid summer…not my favorite combination. but today. it was different. and it made me feel immediately homesick. that happens every fall for me. maybe it’s a melancholy recognition of the passing of time, years zooming by. maybe it’s the season-change-thing…we know grey days are lurking right around the corner. either way, i feel homesick.
it’s a time when i miss long island the most, recall my growing-up years, pine for the autumn at millneck manor and long deserted-beach walks at crab meadow. a time when my sweet momma and poppo are really present for me in their absence, if that makes sense. i yearn to talk to them. a time when The Girl and The Boy seem oh-so-grown-up now, steeped in their own adult-lives, having adventures and being a dynamic part of this world, far away, without the benefit of hearing ‘good night moon’ every night. i know that every evening they roll their eyes at my goodnight texts to them, but i figure that someday they will understand. homesick.
yesterday was my father-in-law’s 85th birthday. we called columbus and sang ‘happy birthday’ to him. my momma and daddy did that every year for me and i try to carry on the tradition with the people i love. he laughed and told us he had gotten back from dinner at texas roadhouse and was listening to an old record. he listens to old records a lot. i suspect, because he is the man he is, that he gets homesick. i can tell by his eyes that he would totally understand me if i told him how i felt.
so today, if you are spending time together with someone, memorize it. if you are lucky enough to spend time with your momma or your daddy, please hug them. if you are one of the fortunate parents who have their children nearby, hold on just a little tighter and look into their faces when you say goodnight. relish it.
we have a new frog in our pond! two actually. this feels like perfect timing for us; we needed the good sign of a frog in our midst. both of these frogs are different than previous pond-frogs we have had in past years; these two are leggier, less body and more frog-legs. we’ve named the bigger one ripple and the little one pebble. neither comes when we call their names, but ripple is not as shy as pebble. we’ve advanced toward the pond and pebble will dive right in before we get close, but ripple sits quietly on one of the rocks and waits. when he (or she) eventually dives in, it’s with a flourish and we get to see the concentric circles that spread outward, which is where it got its name.
it’s where we sit in our belief – as artists, as people – that the concentric circles spread outward from the center. the only place from which we can really make a difference. any difference. it hearkens back to my sweet momma…her very core believing that all should start (and end) with being kind. on her website www.beakysbooks.com is quoted mr. fred rogers, “there are three ways to ultimate success. the first way is to be kind. the second way is to be kind. the third way is to be kind.” it’s how she lived. she would point to her life and asked what she had accomplished. greatness. she accomplished greatness. because she spread kindness. out and out and out it went, the ever-widening rings into the world.
it doesn’t seem that complicated. it doesn’t take wealth or a super pac or any kind of grandeur to accomplish. it is simple. basic. in the words of john wesley, “do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” or my sweet momma’s favorite verse, ” i shall pass through this world but once. any good therefore that i can do or any kindness that i can show to any human being, let me do it now. let me not defer or neglect it, for i shall not pass this way again.”(stephen grellet) or from the dalai lama, “be kind whenever possible. it is always possible.” right at the center, right where ripple quietly sits before the great hop – right before we move or speak or rebel or undermine or chasten or deflate or insult – is the place where we can choose to be kind.
we have a new frog in our pond! two actually. this feels like perfect timing for us; we needed the good sign of a frog in our midst. both of these frogs are different than previous pond-frogs we have had in past years; these two are leggier, less body and more frog-legs. we’ve named the bigger one ripple and the little one pebble. neither comes when we call their names, but ripple is not as shy as pebble. we’ve advanced toward the pond and pebble will dive right in before we get close, but ripple sits quietly on one of the rocks and waits. when he (or she) eventually dives in, it’s with a flourish and we get to see the concentric circles that spread outward, which is where it got its name.
it’s where we sit in our belief – as artists, as people – that the concentric circles spread outward from the center. the only place from which we can really make a difference. any difference. it hearkens back to my sweet momma…her very core believing that all should start (and end) with being kind. on her website www.beakysbooks.com is quoted mr. fred rogers, “there are three ways to ultimate success. the first way is to be kind. the second way is to be kind. the third way is to be kind.” it’s how she lived. she would point to her life and asked what she had accomplished. greatness. she accomplished greatness. because she spread kindness. out and out and out it went, the ever-widening rings into the world.
it doesn’t seem that complicated. it doesn’t take wealth or a super pac or any kind of grandeur to accomplish. it is simple. basic. in the words of john wesley, “do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.” or my sweet momma’s favorite verse, ” i shall pass through this world but once. any good therefore that i can do or any kindness that i can show to any human being, let me do it now. let me not defer or neglect it, for i shall not pass this way again.”(stephen grellet) or from the dalai lama, “be kind whenever possible. it is always possible.” right at the center, right where ripple quietly sits before the great hop – right before we move or speak or rebel or undermine or chasten or deflate or insult – is the place where we can choose to be kind.
i keep a calendar. my sweet momma kept a calendar. the written kind. she had the old-school kind that you buy the yearly refills for, with two holes in them to line up with the two curved rings of metal on the holder. she wrote on it every day: appointments, important things, birthdays and anniversaries, dates of import, big events, the smallest fragment of time memory she wanted to keep. i guess that’s where i get it from. i love my old-fashioned calendar. i look forward to getting it at the dollar store every year and i keep a mechanical pencil with a good eraser in it. i write in it every day. and at the end of the year, i have always sat down and read through the year, re-living each day, sometimes a good thing, sometimes hard.
if i went through my calendar, even for this year so far, i would find moments i didn’t want to forget. days that were tough, days that were pretty amazing. i would read about My Girl calling out “mom!” and running over as i walked into where she was working and i could recall -way deep in my heart- exactly what it felt like when she introduced me to a friend and said, “this is my mom!” i would read about the manifest destiny of cucumbers and pickles, a funny-made-me-laugh-aloud debate over wine with My Boy. i would read about the gluten-free-dairy-free-egg-free chocolate cake my husband made me and the day we stayed in bed to read a book all day. i would read about lots and lots and lots of walking, hikes near and far. i would read about potlucks with our dear friends and laughter and wine and conversation lasting well into the wee hours of the evening. i would read about late late nights with each of my nieces and laughing till we were snorting. i would read about spending sweet time with my sister and ashes floating on the breeze over the lake. i would read about the quiet peace of the canoe and the sunshine and endless conversation on the pontoon boat. i would read about antiquing and the vintage typewriter i had fallen for that 20 sought out for my birthday. i would read about gatherings in our home and at friends’ houses, sharing time with our community of people. i would read about difficult days of worry or times of sadness. i would read about the hours of working together with d: writing all these posts for our MELANGE and designing all the products. i would see that it’s been much much more than 208 days in a year. it’s been 208 days in my life and every moment has counted. whether or not they are all joyous, all successful, all funny, all productive, they are all good.
my poppo would sit in the chair and gaze out at the lake behind their house. in the house before that, he would sit out on the lanai and gaze at the pool. in previous houses, he had chairs or his workbench, where he would sit or stand and gaze, clearly thinking, thinking, thinking.
now, when you’ve gotten to 91, there’s plenty to think about, many memories, many stages of life, many ways the world has changed. my poppo was a POW in world war II, escaping and coming back at a time that PTSD had little to no attention given to it. the atrocities he had experienced were his alone to process, with the help of my sweet momma, if he felt that he could burden her with it. my parents lost a child, a little girl named barbara lynn, who would be my oldest sister – even older than my sister sharyn! – while my dad was still missing in action, a little person, a part of him, he never met. i know that as they established themselves as a family, there were challenges that befell them, joys that they cherished, times of much sorrow, small moments and large moments of laughter and goodness. plenty to think about.
i always wondered what my poppo was thinking about, quietly sitting or puttering. sometimes i would ask, but other times i would respect his quiet-ness. now that i am getting older, i find myself spending time quietly thinking. memories, moments, decisions, good things, sad things, questions, things that make me cringe, things that make me laugh aloud. i think about what’s coming up…what is planned, what will remain a mystery. i wonder. i give thanks. i pray. pondering is a good thing. it’s necessary.
each time now when i sit outside or inside curled in a chair and find myself just staring off into space, i can’t help but think about my daddy. and i kind of feel him right there, quietly staring with me. pondering.
my sweet momma’s birthday is today. she would have been 97. she died shortly before her 94th birthday but remains a force in the world. her kindness and her zealous belief in kindness continue to ripple outward. i heard beaky firsthand when My Girl was talking about the world and its issues and said, “the best thing i can do is to be kind to people.” i’ve seen beaky firsthand when My Boy has stood firm in raising pride awareness.
now, i know this story has been told before, but i risk being called redundant to tell it again. back when my momma was 93 and facing down stage four breast cancer having had a double mastectomy a few months prior, she told us she felt like she had accomplished little in her life. there could be little farther from the truth. but she insisted she had no title (“engineer”, “architect” etc) to put after her name. we knew she had, however, three manuscripts she had written decades prior – stories about the family dachshund named shayne – stories she had tried to have published with no success back in the day. stories told from shayne’s point of view and simply wholesome and delightful, we searched for – and found – the manuscripts. and immediately got to work.
my amazing husband david illustrated the first of the trilogy, named SHAYNE. i laid out the text and the graphics of the book itself, designed merchandise like an “author” shirt, banners and a shayne iphone case for momma, built a website, contacted newspapers and we hastened to put together a release party with a reading and press and a celebration with brownies and asti spumanti at her assisted living facility in florida. when we told her – on MY birthday in march (for what could be a better thank-you-for-my-birthday than this?) what was happening on april 11th, she squealed like a school girl and started practicing signing her name with a sharpie. it was BY FAR one of the pinnacle moments of my life to see my mom – the AUTHOR- hold her book, read aloud to the dozens of people who attended and sign “BEAKY” on her books as her fans lined up to purchase the earliest copies. eighteen days later, my sweet momma was no longer on this earth.
david has since illustrated both the second and third books. the second, SHAYNE AND THE YELLOW DRAGON, was released a couple years ago and today, on her birthday, i am so excited to tell you that the third SHAYNE AND THE NEW BABY will be released shortly. the trilogy will be complete! my sweet momma, beatrice h. arnson “beaky” the AUTHOR would be pretty jazzed to sign each of these, but i know her blessing is on them as she reaches through the invisible line between heaven and earth.
we will keep you posted on the release. i have this sweet vision of so-so-many-many-books being sold (to individuals, to schools, to libraries, to dachshund owners, to families with small children, to families with dogs, to dog lovers, to teachers, to scholastic press or to some entity that sees how important it is to have dreams come true – at ANY age) that we might start a beaky-beaky foundation and help – in some well-thought-out way – in momma’s name. if you have any ideas, let us know. we want to keep beaky’s ripples going.
my sweet momma had this thing. and she passed it down to me. genetics are brutal! when she would get something new, she would saaaaaave it. for later. for good. for something special. no matter what. we would give her gifts (like a beautiful scarf or blouse) and she would wait to wear it. she would purchase a new pair of shoes and they would stay in the box, only for “good” wear. and…i have the gene. d jokes that every time i ever get anything new, he knows he must wait about six months (an exaggeration…well, maybe an exaggeration only sometimes) to see me wearing it. now, i don’t purchase things too often, so i understand my momma’s “thing”…you want to keep the item in tip-top shape, you want to treat it like it is ‘special’. but it’s a curse. my sister did not inherit this trait. she will buy something and wear it later the same day. i envy her nonchalance, that cavalier attitude of well-i-bought-it-and-i’m-gonna-wear-it-ness. oh, how i wish i could do that.
recently, though, i got this new tunic…up north at a little boutique in a little town. it was on sale – 50% off – and i pondered it for quite some time (ask ANY of my girlfriends about my fine purchasing-decision-making-skills.) d convinced me to get it…i mean it was $24. a total bargain. i….wait for it…wore it the next day! the very next day!! and many times since. it has already made it to the pack-it-for-an-evening-in-the-mountains-with-a-pair-of-skinny-jeans-and-boots list. i am wondering if, somehow, i have overcome my waiting-thing.
eh. i doubt it. i still haven’t worn the pair of heels in the box in the closet that i got on sale about six years ago. they are waiting for later. for something good. for something special.
my sweet momma had a sweet nose. but somewhere along the line my poppo, using a derivative of her first name ‘beatrice’ nicknamed her “beak” and, for a time, all hell broke loose. she railed against his perceived slamming of her nose (which was actually a perky little nose) and was questioning of his continued use of his (now) beloved nickname when it irritated (“irked”) her. “beak” morphed into “beaky” – the name by which everyone under the sun knows and loves her. eventually, she even grew to love her nickname and proudly wore a gold necklace my dad had specially made for her (no, surprisingly, “beak” necklaces are not mass-produced!) our sweet beaky-beaky. ohmygosh, how i miss her.
there are days i know my poppo is in the wind. i can feel him there. somehow he lets me know. it was six years ago today that he left this earth and, before he said goodbye, i made him promise to hang around. i told him i had no idea how i was going to adjust the timing on the ’71 bug without him, i wouldn’t be able to call him on the phone to ask him how to rube-goldberg a fix on something, i would be missing his “hi brat!”
with him in the wind and my sweet momma and my big brother and all the others who i miss, i have help from guardians. with everyone who is by my side on this beautiful planet, close or far away, i have help from champions. we each do.
we face into the wind, challenged by change and our ever-fluid lives. we put on our invisible capes, take a deep breath, hold onto each other. together we are superheroes.
