Loss

Attended a memorial service for a person who was only a friend for a short time, as I met her just a couple of years ago.


The last time I saw her, she looked more worn than tired, surrounded by other people who had not seen her for some time, who had known her longer.  I didn't try to make my way through everyone to wish her my best until her recovery.  She had been in the hospital several times even since I met her, diagnosed with a terminal illness.  I was in denial that it was just another bump in the road for her, and that I would see her again.


We hadn't even made eye contact the last time she was around, though I tried.  We'd had a number of rich conversations before her more recent round of hospital trips, and had become friends.  I know in reality our friendship was shallow in comparison to relationships she had with others, though there was a special connection.  As much as anything I'm still dealing with taking for granted I would see her again, in addition to her passing, which was not untimely, though no less difficult to bear.


I cried almost all day, from the time before the service began into the night.  I saw photos of her in a slideshow, where she looked more like a sister than my own.  My sister and I are close, yet we look like opposite sides of the family, respectively.  This woman and I could have been fraternal twins.  We looked more alike than she and her sister as well.  Superficial, yet again, as our souls were on different planes at different times.


Our lives in New York before we met were astonishingly parallel, though I was a little less bohemian, and may not have noticed her in the village, while I got my street smarts in the middle and upper parts of the city. 


Vastly different as well was that she married happily, to a man fully aware of health limitations that would prevent her from bearing children, and that would require more of his attention than most men would buy into.  She would flicker in and out of health, her husband always on alert.  There were still many happy years, and no regrets.  It was a glimpse of what my life may have been like had I found anyone that were as tolerant or attentive that could remotely compare to my grandfather.  I may have a time or two, and sought the attention of more elusive or 'exciting' types instead; none of the latter turned out to be in my best interests, nor my family's.


I cried for a relationship I never had with a sister/friend or a man, from years of separation away from what matters.  It wasn't my fault; my choices were ignorant and conditioned.  The results were the same, however.  My joy has been my child (one thing my sister friend was not given), which is a bigger than life God given consolation and gift, more than I could have wished for in a child, yet not without tremendous pain as well, though not from the child: An education in realities I didn't know existed until thrust into a world as a last resort where human life has little value, and staying alive and protecting your child takes almost everything you have, in resources, strength, and health.


Her first name was identical to my middle name as well.  We bonded instantly, and I unrealistically felt she would always be around, at least until my son left for college, when I would have to go with him, parting ways with being close to her in proximity then.  I was wrong.  It was an illusion.  And a reminder that tomorrow is not guaranteed to any of us.

Liberation

For causes I can't explain.  All of the previous year have not recognized my age.  Kept thinking I was actually the age I am now, on my birthday.  Last year, though a year younger, somehow thought of myself as the next year's age, this year's age.  Now that it's here, it's as though I'm the same age in my head two years running.  Now it's official: I'm the age I've thought of myself all of last year.  No idea why.


It's also a significant year in that my child will also be 'of age'.  'Free'.  A legal adult.  In a way, we are both liberated, in different ways.


God willing, there will be many new beginnings, and the intense pain of transition, yet again.  Still metamorphosing, further along in the journey. 


A home, a 'permanent' home.  Longer than a one year lease, at least.  A place to stretch out and regroup, again, in preparation for the actual permanent 'permanent' home, where a grandma age person will spend the rest of her days, to settle, organize, and progress, for a change.  Taking a shot at lost time with a beloved son that really can't be made up, however more than in recent years, to scratch the surface of a rebonding that will take the better part of the rest of my life. 


My mother was this age when she remarried, uprooting herself and relocating for a person she has now been married to longer than my father, who I've not seen since our grandmother passed eight years ago.  My mother is a point of reference.  She's making plans for the rest of her life, and this time nearly twenty years ago she embarked on a whole new life.  If she can do it, I can.  It's not too late for another chapter in the legacy, that my son can very soon again be a part of, and his children as well, when the time comes.


God willing.

Ulysses & His Lady

Cried when it came time for him to go. He was wanted.  And special.  His name came from a Civil War general, not to acknowledge the side the general represented.  It was because of his color and the intensity of his eyes.

He was loved and cherished, and so much more was wanted for him.  For him to have more time out to play, and treats much more often.

He loved to be petted under the chin, and would turn his head to provide maximum surface while enjoying it.

No ordinary chinchilla, a subspecies indistinguishable from others unless compared or held to notice the shorter length of his body.  If it had anything to do with his disposition and uncharacteristic willingness to be gently held is unknown.  What we do know is he represented how unique an individual creature can be.

His housemate had gone to be with another companion the year before. They were more compatible, which was also unknown until putting them together, not unlike the neutering Ulysses was put through made no difference in helping his house mate's inability to become his roommate. Together, there was sadly only aggression from the former lady.

It was unforeseen until on the horizon Ulysses would be going to join his former housemate and her roommate, and as unforseen that Princess Littlepiddles' name would be changed to the same as the wife of the general after whom Ulysses had been named.

After the tears, and Ulysses had been transported to meet his new family, which included a little girl happy to have him, once his large cage was reassembled, it was again confirmed the reunion with his former housemate was not as happy.  However, the other lady he hadn't met was another story.

I wasn't there to witness the meeting, though apparently it went so well that Princess Littlepiddles' name became Julia, the same as the general Ulysses' spouse.

It was easier not to be sad as long. Knowing that not only was Ulysses loved by more people in the same home, he also had a companion that could contribute to a longer and happier life just by being with him.  Along with his new human family, who multiplied the attention he deserved, Ulysses now has one of his own kind with whom to cuddle in a way only the two of them can.

Shadow

Was Grandma's cat's name.  When she got too old to be around anymore, I was very upset to come to the house one day and find her gone.  I had grown up with her, and was not informed when it came time to put her down.  I forgave Grandma in due time, though never quite got over the loss.  Loss has taken a toll many times since then, and whenever a wound is not healed the next becomes more difficult to bear.

It was love at first sight at the pet store.  Had never heard of a lionhead rabbit before.  I had wanted another, that was quickly sold.  My son picked her out the next time we went back.  She was the second, one was not enough.  We had to separate them when they were still very young when one we named Cleo for Cleopatra because of beautiful eyes turned out to be a boy.  We noticed boy parts when they were playing together.  The name then became 'Leon'.

She has been a very lovable princess, who does not often get along with other bunnies.  Except for Leon, after he was neutered.  Shadow was spayed as well.  Bunnies who are not spayed and don't mate have an 80% chance of getting reproductive cancer.

She was always different, including her mornings, when cleanup took more than Leon's, though it was no problem.  We loved her no matter what.

We've all been under stress, and animals feel it too.  I don't know what happened when she was boarded for over a month with another rabbit.  When she was taken back there was a split in one of her ears.  I had to break up a scuffle more than once between her and the female to whom Leon had become a 'husbun'.  Not jealousy, just territorial.  I had to nurse wounds on more than one occasion when one would get out without my knowledge and go after the other.  I managed to intervene before much fur flew, though it was still unpleasant to watch two female rabbits attempt to take each other out.

Now blood is coming out and I'm not sure it's going to get better.  She's not moving much, and it's going to be a long night.  Vet wants too much, of course.  She seems to be in pain; I'm trying to keep her comfortable.

I know I probably could have done better so this may not be happening.  The bible says our days are numbered.  Nothing can change what was decided when we were born.  I wonder if the same goes for animals.  Their importance is stressed in the book as well.

Love you, Shadow.  If it is your time, we must accept, and be able to move on without too much lost.  It's what you would want; easier said than done. 

I didn't become a vet from the age I had decided at twelve years old until freshman year at vet school.  I couldn't handle death.  Now is no different.  Praying I don't take this as hard as the first pet that saved my son's life.  They don't outlive us usually most of the time, which doesn't make it any easier.  Praying if this is her time she doesn't suffer much at all, and can join her former roommates over the rainbow bridge in peace and with joy.  And that her loss is felt for only as long as she would want, no longer.

Animals

Every morning and evening.  I'm cleaning up after small animals: my son's pets.  Hands are washed many times before all is done or leaving the house.  I never really thought of it as humbling, any more than a farmer would for shoveling up after horses or cows.  It's just what has to be done, no different than changing the diaper of a baby, as many times as necessary.  You don't think about it when they're your own.  You just do it.

It can be done in an hour if there's a need to leave to get somewhere, though I'm not comfortable being out for more than 12 hours; it's not good for them to either have too much waste around or without fresh food or water, not to mention time out of spaces where they sleep or stay during the day when no one is here to pay more attention or let them out.

There's no smell, even when coming back after a long day, so long as the routine is maintained.  I hope they live long enough to be able to enjoy a full fledged sanctuary for rescue animals, where they can come and go as they please in bigger living quarters and plenty of grass to run in outside.  They've experience it before, on vacation; they have to go along.  Not nearly often enough; it should be part of 'life at home'.

They're important, not just for the 'therapy' of having them and interacting with them daily, though for expanding the purpose of why they're here.  When doing the cleaning routine, it's almost impossible to worry or think about anything else than the task at hand, thus the therapeutic or meditative quality of the care process that takes place at least twice daily.

They know they are loved: what makes being in limited quarters bearable when the openings are closed and no one is around for hours.  They are the first and last things checked upon waking and before retiring to sleep.   All of that said, it's clearly not a lifestyle many would envy, though even with abundance and prosperity and the ability to have someone else do the maintenance, I would still want to do as much as one person can, just like now.   When more have a home on a bigger property, their friends will increase, with two legs, and more.

Reunion at the Rainbow Bridge

Our family menagerie awaits us just over the Rainbow Bridge.  Smandie and Elvis went to join Charlie last week.  Elvis was unexpected, and Smandie followed just over a day later.  It was almost too much, especially with the original owner out of town.

Our remaining healthy younger flirtatious boy, Jack, went to Elvis' adoptive home, with their consent.  They had fallen in love with Elvis as we had.  He tended to nip occasionally, which kept him at pet status, as opposed to being qualified as an emotional therapy pet.  Jack is, and is already bringing love and smiles to his new family, including their dog.

It's sad suddenly with most of our guinea pigs having gone to play over The Bridge, and the last gone to a new home, since they had lost Elvis after only having had him three weeks.  We knew he was old, though not that he would begin to fade so soon and pass just days later.

The boy a guinea pig saved had wanted to keep our oldest remaining: Smandie.  She had brought many smiles in a hotel room after Hurricane Sandy.  Now we have her in our hearts, memories, and photos.  Same for Elvis; he was so easy to love by all who met him, whether he nipped or not.  All of them went to the other side having been in loving arms; none went alone while anyone was away or not with them.  We are especially blessed for that.  It was as if they held on until we were home for them to say 'goodbye'.

Charlie has her two playmates back, as Peaches and Lucy look down from their heavenly perches, singing new songs that all of their pet family friends now understand.  They're all happy and healthy again and playmates as well with the children who skip blissfully among them.

There was little time to cry, and so much the better.  The sooner we move on as our friends now on the other side look on, the sooner the little boy who now almost looks like a man can be at a place to pick the next furry friend in his own time, giving holding such a creature a new and renewed meaning.

Au Revoir, Chuchi; Bon Voyage, Elvis (until we meet again)

Parting is such sweet sorrow.  You are loved very much.  So much that we want you to be with families that want to make you the center of their love for a long and healthy life, with other playmates just like you, and extra time and attention for play and happiness.

There's much going on now that may not allow for much fun in the present or near future, so we had to decide what was best for you.  We will miss you very much, though by now you may realize there's more fun to be had where you are, and you may be missing us less than we miss you already.

You are close by enough for us to visit, and we look forward to hearing about all of the news of your new friends and families.  We wish you plenty of extra treats, smiles, and snuggles by your new friends and humans.

You are both beautiful and special: the reasons we found you.  Taking care of you until your forever families could welcome you may have been part of the plan, as they could not have found you on their own.  We were brought together for your safety, love, and comfort until a place where you could thrive even more wanted you very much, a place that only we could take you to.

Until later, we will have our memories and visit again in our dreams.  You deserve only the best.

Charlie the Lifesaver

She saved my son's life at a critical time, and taught him another form of love.  For a long time, they were regular friends.  A boy religiously took care of her, changing her bedding, food, and water daily.  She got time out of her cage almost daily, too, and a regular memory is a short video of her jumping what looked like two feet into the opening of her 'home' that had her nameplate on the outside of it.

She continued to jump onto the platform of her cage, without the ramp, most of the time with its door open, to the food dish, and down again for the hay and water.  She would also jump when happy, and take short, happy sprints when let out on the floor to cover more ground.

Time changes things.  She has her own personality, and was always loved.  A boy grew into a young man, and trips to and from became too much.  So Charlie's cage remained at Mom's house, and the sound of a young boy's voice became unrecognizable to her, as it went from that of a child to that of a young man.

Mom and the family continued to give love, and not as much time out of the cage as we would have wished, had things been different.  There were other guinea pigs, one or two, that had their own personalities and ways of wanting to be active, or not.  None of them got whatever overtook Charlie.

The vet said surgery would likely not be successful.  Guinea pigs don't do well with anesthesia.  Her belly is swollen as if there's a large litter of pups in there, though Charlie never mated.  She was acquired from the pet store as a pup herself.  She had fit in a small child's hands: the best friend whose life she made different and even more valuable at a critical time.

Tumors, cancer or not, have inexplicably overtaken Charlie's body.  She can no longer jump onto her platform.  Her food dish must be nearby.  She has difficulty moving across the cage from the size of her body.  The vet said to keep her comfortable, so she gets the softest bedding, changed daily.  It's not really enough; Charlie can't move much, though does the best she can...

The vet said so long as she acts like a guinea pig.  She was sick a time or two before she started to get bigger.  She still has an appetite and sounds like her old self, though she doesn't look happy.  Soon we will likely have to decide when to allow her to cross the rainbow bridge.  She may not lose her appetite again, or become so big her unhappiness makes the decision inevitable.  It's sad to see her every day; her body can't be free from the ground, her back legs struggle to move her lower half.  She must be picked up gently to give her vitamin C, and her underside washed to keep her cleaner. 

When one loves an animal or a person, we don't see what they've become; we see what we loved first.  Holding Charlie as she makes her signature sounds only reminds us of when she was little.  We are saddened that her days appear shorter than others like her, and that we may have to decide what her last day is to be.  Miracles do happen.  I pray that something lets go in her body and that she just starts to get smaller again.  If the loved ones on the other side of the rainbow bridge need her more, she will go there to be happy and jump high again.  Maybe before that she can give comfort to someone else who's sick.  Only time will tell.  We love you, Charlie.

Deliverance

Ladies prayer group (okay, 'women's': sexist conditioning kicks in again).  Who knew.  No one showed up the day after the long holiday weekend.  None but one.  The one whose book I'm reading, along with biblical texts, and another on mega giving.  It's all helping.

Getting up today, I had to go; hadn't been yet.  Participating in lots of other stuff, but that. So I went, theology books in hand in case no one was there.  It's a special place, and a school.  The kids there don't know how lucky they are yet, at least most of them.  Some appear to thrive.

Showing up and drawing interest, caring, compassion, enthusiasm.  It couldn't have been just my choosing to go, it was more, much more.  The calm before the storm.  I was accepted, not criticized or scrutinized.  That would be an understatement.  Just being myself and honest, a cheerleader appeared.

Was I kicking someone off the throne?  If I did, I didn't get on it either.  Did I want to feel them at 'my level'?  Perhaps.  Therein lies an argument, that doesn't have to be one.  Is the spirit here, or above?  I argue it's everywhere, at all times, not called upon enough.

We can't wrap our heads around in our tiny human minds that everything is known in advance, though can still be changed by reaching out, to the right places.  As big as we can imagine isn't big enough; we haven't seen it all, yet.

Grandpa's Spring

Seeing daffodils feels like Grandpa saying 'hello'.  Have a photo of him in his Sunday suit in his yard by one of the flower beds he kept up among all the other beautiful flowers in the yard.  It was round.  He stood over a circle almost a dozen deep of rich and pale yellows, or so it seemed.  He was using a cane, or a single elbow crutch, smiling as wide as ever. 

He had been a tough guy in his day, a police officer, Greyhound bus driver, real estate agent, coal miner (leaving school after second grade), among many other things.  The true definition of a 'pillar of the community', more loved and respected than the local, state, and national politicians who knew him well.  He was honest, to a fault, and authoritative in a way that is extremely rare.  When he gave a command, you followed, knowing it was only and truly for your benefit, not his.

He passed nearly eight weeks to the day his 'sweetheart' left us, strong willed to the end, and deciding when he would go to join her, as he did.  Toward the end of his wife's days on Earth, she had declined and to say she was not resembling the young girl he had fallen in love with would be an understatement.  And yet, in a way I can understand, when she passed he saw only that young girl and their best of times, as if who she had just been had not happened at all.  This was who he 'returned' to, and who could blame him?

Neither of his daughter's daughters succeeded in finding a mate that could even begin to come close to who he was and represented.  He became an impossible act to follow.  The great grandson he never met said he missed him; the legend remains strong decades later.  The presence is still felt at times.

In these days, the family legacy continues in his memory.  He is smiling down on us in ways we can often feel, while holding the young hand of our grandmother, and hanging out with our other grandma as well, another legacy in her own right. 

If only all children could know and enjoy such people, the world would not be what it is, or our society would be much further ahead.  They are the ones sent to show us how it's done, and there seems to be always too few of them.

Alive, And Well

The day has come, and passed, and I can not only walk: it's almost the same as before, with a corrected spine and no risk of damage for walking further or beyond the point of pain.  It was not easy; it was terrifying, and I had to prepare for the worst.  It was almost a surprise to wake up in ICU from an incomplete blood transfusion with low blood pressure; there was no memory from the time I was first injected with sedation until waking in ICU/recovery.  I didn't know I was in ICU at the time; I only knew it was over, and that I could feel my legs, and everything else.

The next few days into the next week were rough; I was out of ICU two days later, on Wednesday from Monday.  We had taken a 3:30 a.m. train to arrive at 6:30, an hour late; the ferry only ran hourly at that time, as if I didn't know.  It was too hard to remember everything.

My son had called the night before and I didn't get the message until days later, when I checked messages.  Phone reception where we've been has been less than ideal, though only one of a few drawbacks from being in a better place.  It's still a blur, and I'll be taking pills for awhile yet.  The new 'normal' is yet to be known: will I have to keep taking pills for pain, even if only over the counter?  Only time will tell.

Today, it was hard to take one medication that prevented taking anything for pain until a bit later, though I had slept the longest yet, to wake up to the reminder it was past time for 'help' with pain.  Now, I'm pushing time as long as possible until taking a pill or sleep is necessary: quite the spectrum.

It would not have been bearable without family.  I was impressed with their endurance, enthusiasm, good spirits, energy, and cooperation.  It was so much more than I could imagine.  There were multiple miracles over a two week period.

Missing was my son, though close in our hearts, as he was staying in touch more than usual from an unnatural distance.  That was the most painful, even more than the pain that set in at the peak time following the procedure.

I'm 'regrouping' now, as able as I wanted to be, happy that it became a reality from living scared and in the unknown on top of everything else for many months until what had to be done was finally finished, successfully.  'Grateful' does not capture it; it's much more than that.  A life was spared to continue a particular purpose, not least of all to keep a family together, and perhaps help others to do the same, for starters.

Age

Was sincerely attempting to write last night and the internet didn't want to work.  Two major storms followed (only a couple of yard ornaments knocked over that were easily put back with nothing broken).  In the past I've gone out for the specific reason to write 'on time'.  Last night, 'the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak'; couldn't fathom going out 'just' to write.  It's age, or aging, or a combination of things too personal to go into now. 

This entry was going to be Books, Part II.  It's a month later and still not everything is in its place.  Many of the shelves that had seen their last days were left behind, not worth bringing along due to wear and tear, and there was no space for them.  I kept one, in my son's room.  He was just about a year old when I brought them into our first home together, one at a time, walking fifteen blocks from the closeout store where they were.  A long box in one hand, my bag on the other shoulder, and my son in a front pack, facing forward, for a total of six times.  He was between walking and crawling; the babysitter saw his first steps. 

I'll never forget when I unpacked the shelves he helped me put them in place by patting them with his little hands the flat part of the shelf so the ends would go all the way into the end grooves or spaces.  Every time the shelves were transported and set up again, the memory returned.  He had watched me from the higher shelves how it was done, so by the time we were down to his level he made sure the bottom shelves were in place as they should be himself. 

He was to be here almost two weeks ago.  We're still waiting.  It's been four months.  The massive library for an apartment that took up all of the six shelf units is now essentially 'shelfless'.  I'm on my way to the first donation dropoff with ones I know will be of use to someone else well before I'll ever get to the utilization of their content. 

My son noticed my lifestyle didn't match the titles awhile ago.  When I was much younger, maybe.  Now there is too much to do that tiny crafting tasks do not seem remotely part of the picture, even while recovering from an illness, in the remaining years of my life, which could only be half over.  With what I've experienced the first half century the world needs more than making jewelry with seed beads, however beautiful.  It's for someone, just not me. 

Beauty has been redefined of late: from the calming effect of feeling the weight of beads in the process of creating adornment, to watching small hands help finish setting up a new bookshelf.  There is no comparison.  Nothing compares.

The Adventures of Snapple S. or SnappleS

Red Bellied Parrot, which is really dark orange with all of the colors of the rainbow where it isn't orange below the breastbone, and expressive amber eyes; handsome. He was named Snapple because when one of the pet store employees would go out for their Snapple iced tea while this one was out on the counter, he would go for it quickly and take a drink.

Snapple had been in the store nine months when a manager who had seen my son and me for supplies and talking about our birds said Snapple 'would be good with us'. Little did I know then Snapple didn't take well with most of the other employees apart from two people, including the sales-adept manager. Another employee was happy to see him go when I finally went in to get him for a reduced price, which still wasn't cheap.

He's a medium parrot, though he can draw blood, I later found out after he became territorial in his new space, though he's compliant when he's in unfamiliar surroundings. He's done more major damage to furnishings than me, and fortunately my son has stayed clear.

Over this holiday weekend, as most mornings, Snapple has been repeating words the pet store manager taught him, mostly when I'm not in the room and can't hear all of them. 'Snapple's a good boy' is one, 'Hey, baby' is another, with chuckles and whistles added in. What I say that I've heard him repeat up to now is "No".

Staying in for a long weekend to get needed housework done, I resorted to using instant tea in a wide rimmed plastic cup (Tervis), to avoid going out for more preferable drinks. Snapple was on my head. I'd seen him on the rim of my coffee cup before when walking back into the kitchen, so I offered up the cup at my head, unable to see.

My son had even purchased tea at Dunkin Donuts in a styrofoam cup. We didn't know the rim surface was a factor. Snapple hadn't gone for it. Yesterday, as the cup was at my forehead, I felt the weight shift from my head onto the cup. I was able to bring the cup down to see what was happening.

Snapple was going for the tea, and doing his bobbing dance he had also learned at the pet store, or that's where it started. After taking a couple of sips, he looked straight at me and said "I love you." for the first time, in the same room. It was only the second thing I'd heard him say that was from me after "No". And it was only a few moments later that he bit me again, leaving welts (not blood, this time) that sent him back to 'his room'.

When my son was born, I exercised the option of giving him his father's last name, who was in the room during the birth (regrettably, I would have rather had a mirror at the other side of my crotch to see what was happening myself, without him). It was my choice, the naming thing, too. It was a courtesy of consideration and acknowledgement, after he'd signed the paternity papers, in the event anything happened to me 'in the short term', for the baby (had I only known...).

Snapple's behavior reminds me of just one reason why we're no longer together. One way in your presence, another with others. Nice one moment, cruel or inconsiderate the next. Breaking or carelessly losing things of value, and using sometimes irreplaceable resources. Since being with my child, omitting my last name from the child's name.

So as of this last 'I love you.' moment to moment episode Snapple has become SnappleS, as in 'Snapple's a good boy'. Well, it depends on whom you ask, and when.

Family Secrets Saga, 'Concluded'

"...when I first started to school it was two large rooms. then they built another room upstairs. it was where the High School is now. my first Teacher was Miss Sadie Kincaid, a fine teacher and then Miss Ella Bailey. then her brother Henry Baily. Mr. Groves and our Teachers would have Prayer and singing be-fore we went in-to our classes those were good old days. I always hated to miss a day. but I dont I ever did get to go to school a whole week at a time with out missing a day or two. as I was the oldest I always had to stay at home on wash day after I got large enough to help her wash. of course that was on the washboard method all day some job. I sure praise the man that invented washing machines. and how. I never went only through the fifth grade. in those days they didn't compell you to send your children to school so I am glad I got to learn what I did as I said after we moved from Sugar creek. to Packs Branch where we lived in that air conditioned house. I went the last three months at Packs Branch School. and did I enjoy going. My Teacher was Miss Martha Susan Windgrove. and I loved her very much. those were good old days. and some of my old School Mates are still around there was Jack Rhodes, Mark Rhodes Emma Cusick, Clara Pack. but Some have passed on. lots of pleasant memories. In those days we had to walk to School. we had some very deep snows to go through but we didn't mind it abit it was fun. we never had cars to go evry where in then like we do now. I remember the first drive I ever took with my boy friend Dock. he went to the Livery Stable here in town and hired a horse and buggy to take me in so we went driving over to Oak Hill to have dinner with his sister Pasa Tucker. I sure got a kick out of that. over dirt roads and bumpy. we had no hard roads much then. well things have sure changed since this episode.

Well I must say a few words about my Uncl John;s family he and his wife Aunt Leleia were both fine people. us cousins would love to visit with one another. there was Glennie, Cara, Myrtle, Dola - Oakie, Garnet, Elmer, Georgia, Jessie then there was Uncle Charles and Aunt Anna Sinks family. we all enjoyed be-ing to-geather abd we did have some good times to-geather. There was 12 children in this family. George [dead] Clyde [dead], May, Maggie Sadie Goldie Earl Sammie, Ambrose [dead], Gertrude [dead] Edith Glayds. at the time we all grew up togeather they lived at McDonald. May and Gladys still live here in Mt. Hope now they moved from McDonald. into a home of their own and have lived here ever since Earl and Sam live on Maple Fork they both have nice homes over there- well any way some live one place some another. it is strange but true. Oh wll we are all going down the other side of the mountain."

Well, that concludes thirty nine pages of Grandpa's sister's family account of life in their time where I grew up. We are all grateful to her for her permanent contribution to our family history...

Serenity

I look forward to being serene again. Today is blog day. It's annoyingly unseasonably cold in New York. Where is it more serene? In the valley or at the top of the peak? The water is where the river is: in the valley. I'll go wherever it's warmer. I miss the four even seasons of a childhood in a much friendlier place. I'm not staying by choice now; I was left here.

Better days will come; they have to. So many children robbed of their childhoods. I can only help so many. One hand to help myself, another for another, with no less purpose.

The books are so heavy and take up so much space now, and I'm writing one. Three times over I've replaced the desired wall of tomes, upgrading the quality over time, yet not voluntarily; the other two libraries were lost to destruction. One by a flood, another by giving more than taking, with yet another taker to replace the one before right behind him.

No more. The child will not be the same. The role model for lack of a comparison cannot stick. Screaming into the wind or a black hole will cease, and the child will thrive again, unafraid of what anyone else thinks from one moment to the next, unlike the way it was, for too long.

Wherever I am at that moment, serenity will return; my hand will be there when he reaches out for it, whenever he wants, as it always has been. The barriers will be identified and broken down, their source understood, maybe even addressed.

All that matters immediately is that what remains of a childhood can be lived out to its fullest. The buried memories will return only as they are useful, and with minimal further harm. Then, if not before, we will be serene, and a family again.

Anniversary

Looked in other posts for this same month for the life of this blog; it has to have been mentioned before, though not necessarily.

On this day twelve years ago someone else was told besides my mother a child was on the way. A blessing, a gift, an intervention.

That child is out for the holiday tonight, dressed as Homer Simpson. The temperature is only slightly cooler than the night was when the announcement of his upcoming birth was made. It seems like a long time ago, though some feelings are like yesterday.

He is the inspiration for everything now, having given life a new purpose just by existing. His personality and natural gifts are still developing, yet already he's exceptional, and not just because of who he became the child of.

It was in another post my inability to speak when he made one of the most profound statements I've ever heard to the effect that no matter who or when he was born to, he would have been the child I had, regardless of when, how, or with whom.

He probably doesn't remember saying that now, though I will remind him. I'm not sure he realized what he was saying then, or where it was coming from. He's too far away now, geographically that is. It can't last long. It has tested our bond, yet more of concern are the realities of the way things have been that do not recognize why there has been so much that's presently not only unnatural. It's a test of strength and nature, imposed by flawed humans blind to all but potential profit.

Children are not commodities, yet they're traded every day with no regard to what may be imposed or await; how it affects the child and family irreversibly under even bearable circumstances, as if there was such a thing when profit trumps human life. It happens in this country in less obvious ways than the media allows common households to see.

So every year when this day rolls around is bittersweet. What happened within the week after the announcement, and in the years that followed have taken more than one life in a completely different direction. The child has not been the centerpoint, or there would be more health, peace, and sense of family, for everyone involved.

Entitlement and conditioning blinds some that others exist that their decisions and arrogance affect, which cannot last. Elitism that what one must have or control above all else and at the expense of others also goes against nature and must diminish and bring to the forefront those they have sought to diminish, in the short term, only for nature to eventually bring the lesson around at some point. A childhood cannot be lost from the simple will and domino effect of poor intentions and incentives.

This would not be wished on an enemy. Part of the purpose is to bring it to light, so that other lives will not be bartered, sold, or diminished.

The child remains the light, with a soul that's true, a representation for what comes next: their legacy. In the tradition and by the example of those he is familiar with yet hasn't met, his life will continue the legacy of those who existed so that his life would be richer and that he remains strong.

Another day in another year, each irreplaceable, each significant, each a holiday, as is every day he laughs, smiles, and understands his own definition of love as it evolves with time, experience, and exposure to everything his life will touch.

Uncertainty...

... is a reality, daily. We only really only have one day at a time, and making the most of every day is a duty for some, and unrealized by others. It can become taxing, however, when knowing this becomes the routine, and packing in as much as possible so as not to procrastinate and get as much done as possible takes its own toll.

I don't know when it happened, but it did; there are hundreds of times that triggers were set off, when having too much adrenalin in the system at an elevated level for too long had its effect. Statistics already in one way, there is no intention to become one in yet another way.

So the willingness to really live continues, and has taken on yet another meaning. It's all for my child and the next generation. I do deserve to live, and to have a good life as well, to be able to enjoy my child while they still wish for my presence, and perhaps enjoy grandchildren, too. If not my own, then others'.

I can take this, it's almost easy compared to the slings and arrows of years and months past. I don't understand those who thrive on news of others' misfortunes; there's enough to go around for everyone, and everyone can do something that others cannot. The world is still in a very primitive mode, where it could otherwise prosper in many ways.

The only dream now is real quality time with my child and family, as much as possible for as long as possible. For that to happen, things must change.

There's no reason not to think this won't happen; it's just taken so long, and so much. Mistakes have been made that have harmed others sometimes with no knowledge on the part of who was responsible for the domino effect. Others knew exactly what they were doing and didn't care. What goes around comes around? I'm not sure it's true or if it happens in time. The casualties cannot be brought back to life; the time cannot be replaced.

If it's all happening for a reason, I hope to find out before long. My child's laugh and smile are renewing, and make work so much easier and rewarding. Focus and concentration are of so much better quality when it's certain he's safe, whenever those moments happen. Those in between can seem like an eternity. He was put here for a reason, as was I, there is still much we have to do, together.

" Interest "

My feet are on the ground. I've begun to watch as time permits episodes from a half century before when I wasn't even born yet the amazing talent of someone I've respected and admired from 'far away' for most of this lifetime.

The opportunity has existed many times; simply never thought of it until the writing became 'official', which is selected very strategically in terms of audiences and exposure in paving the way for multiple venues and greater exposure at a managed, momentum building pace. There's a method to the madness.

I thought we had so little in common before, apart from thinking the same things are funny. One of us was born with an irreplaceable talent to actually show the world what funny really is and somehow took the opportunity and initiative to exploit that talent at a very early age. He has helped so many with so much, if only to make more smiles happen; hundreds of thousands. It's an enviable legacy, from a living legend.

The other of us simply became aware of the former in elementary school, or after, to be accurate. Rolling in the floor laughing in front of the television as if there was nothing to worry about, forgetting whatever there might be to run from or be afraid of. I was transported to a world of other possibilities that had not been known before. No one else has ever had the same effect before or since.

It was all but completely unconscious. A seed was planted, and the memories carried me through difficulties, from simply watching television during more innocent times when the media was not so proliferated with things that today are more that keep people away from participating in life than showing them there's another kind of world out there where things can be discovered and lots of clean fun can be had. We were shown what fun could be by a master, born with a special gift, who could share so much of their talent and energy in the right place at the right time. Was the talent and timing luck, or destiny?

Showing the world many unique and irreplaceable gifts came with a price. I'm not sure at this moment if it has been worth that price, as a personal opinion from the source, not that I would agree or disagree. He has been given many more years than his contemporaries, for which I am extremely grateful, as are countless others.

What disappoints today is that not enough who are alive now appreciate the sacrifices of those who have given of themselves so much with more talent in their eyelashes than most who attempt the craft in the years that have passed since, and actually gotten publicity or made a decent living in comedy or entertainment who pale in comparison to the depth and breadth of those who carved the paths they take for granted, with far fewer gifts. Even more amazing is that some have become well known themselves by exploiting or packaging what the media currently sells at the expense of innocence, pure clean fun, or life affirming, respectable abilities.

What ever happened to exemplary? Where have all the role models gone? Even if the talent can't be matched, who inspires us to find and use what we were born with that can't be replaced? Where has that integral value gone, or why is it so suppressed in what generations since have been saturated with? Deconstructing this has become personal; my legacy will be taking it back to the future, or I'll die in the doing of it, content that the purpose was discovered from the inspiration of those like a master who had it and took it to the limit.

I'm usually not blunt, and negative only when absolutely necessary; the truth has to come out sooner or later. Sometimes the truth can be funny. It is when done well. And so few really can. There are never enough of those with that kind of talent. To expose the truth in a way we can handle it, while making us laugh at the same time or close enough to matter.

I have talent, though not that kind. I can expose the truth, though not make you laugh at the same time. Once in awhile I'll hit it. It's usually unplanned and spontaneous. In the right place at the right time, though no one could have known ahead of time.

There's still no comparison to my original inspiration, on many levels. It's everything to do with where I am now, and where he is too. Earlier I wouldn't have known what to say, or ask, other than the stuff he's already heard so many times from others. Why didn't I think to ask before? Timing. Also a secret of great comedy.

Is there such a thing as losing time? Often. When is it meant to be? I'll be pondering that question for some time to come. I see so much suffering from so many innocents; it's become part of what I do. A big part. It's been part of who he is since before I was born. Only when I realized this is a common purpose from different perspectives did the light bulb go on, as if it weren's happening for awhile already.

He had the spark that lit the fire, back when I was only a little pilot light. I didn't even know it at the time; he may have even kept me alive. I promised my grandfather's spirit I would carry on his legacy. Especially because he wouldn't have expected it. For this same reason, and in the same spirit, the candle will be brighter to have been lit from an original. Lights will be brighter because they were combined.

At this moment, it's nice just to know it's possible, and that's there's an interest in doing just that. It isn't happening until it's happening. I remain grateful, and look forward to being close to another great light, toward the inspiration of generations that follow us.

Letter to Sun

Hello, oh producer of all things light and wonderful in our world; I send you greetings, love, hugs, and kisses in whatever order you prefer today, or tomorrow, or yesterday;

You’re a light, wherever you go; rooms change when you enter them, most always for the better. You know your power more often than not. I hope you’re able to laugh as quickly as much as possible, and provide warmth of spirit for others. You’re always a gift; your existence was decided long before I knew you.

I hope this is harder for me than it is for you; there’s never been so much time before now that we haven’t seen each other. It feels very strange, and sometimes sad. If you feel I’m there whenever you need me, there could be some comfort in that, if it were entirely true. It may be enough at times, though not others

Someday there will be more to understand; someday it will be easier. Now just feels like the caretaker of your domain is doing their job, amongst all the talismans of where you came from. I’m the curator of your treasures, some material, some irreplaceable.

I’ve also not written you a letter like this before now. It probably won’t be the last, though the style will vary according to what’s going on. I hope sometimes what I send you causes you to smile or laugh; I do miss that laugh. Like you, it’s the best.

This isn’t typical necessarily of the way I write; just wanted you to know how close you’re felt at heart. You are at my heart always, part of all thought and conversation in one form or another. This the closest I can be for the moment to shouting from the rooftops how special you are. If I really did that, you’d likely pretend you didn’t know me, maybe.

Right now, just a hug might be good enough. I hope you can let me know if your’re hurt or scared in some way, for any reason. I promise to answer, or call you back as soon as I come out of the subway; please keep in mind that if you have to try to reach me in some way from a number I don’t know, it will likely go to message, so please leave one or don’t hang up.

Of course, wishing a hug isn’t good enough most of the time. When we’re apart for now, I hope you can feel a little better knowing you are the sun, and all that is light and exceptional that same way in our world.

Yesterday, today and forever,

Your Planet,

inhabited by flowers (especially daffodils: Grandpa's favorite), bunnies with floppy ears, faeries with sparkly smooth wings that glisten from your warm touch, and your favorite treats on lots of blooming trees and plants, including hugs and kisses from your mom.

P.S. When hugs and kisses can be picked from a tree or out of the ground whenever you want, what do they look like?


Written to a child far away who has related their environment is ‘unresponsive’ compared to the home where they grew up.

Memory

This exchange with my son has stuck since before the last entry, when he wanted me to share his paper airplane skills. Prior to that weekend, we were in our home; he was going through a 'jewelry box', and the subject of old boyfriends came up when I told him what might have been in the box that wasn't anymore.

He asked why I didn't stay with someone who I thought I would be with 'forever', before I'd met his father. I said 'If I'd stayed with that person, I'd not have had you.', partially in an effort to avoid telling any more. What he said next left me silent, as I looked at him just as he was looking back at me. 'You might have had me anyway.' had just come out with little or no hesitation.

It's the deepest thing I recall his ever having said, and there have been plenty. It was if he was coming from another consciousness, direct and certain. Had it been someone else, he was saying perhaps that the gift that he is and always has been would have come into existence no matter what. The same spirit. The same soul. The same incredibly special boy would have come into being as who he is, my son, only a different way.

'You know,' I muttered to him when I could speak again. 'you just might be right about that.' He looked back at me in the same way as the moment before: something that reflected or I had noticed maybe for the first time, something deep within that was separate from just a little boy in a human experience talking to his mom. We were almost completely across the room from each other, though his eyes were both penetrating and infinitely wise, for lack of a better description, as if we were face to face, suspended in time. I hesitate to say or describe where his words came from, only that in a way I knew he was right. It was a transforming moment that was unforgettable, and if it were possible to have regrets on what we were discussing, they may have crept in then and there. It was in part an awakening, and it was shared, over as quickly as it began, yet unchangeable.