Checking things off a list...

Here’s a list of what I’ve been doing since I returned from Ireland. April sped by so fast.
1. Rearranged book shelves…this is an ongoing project.
2. Cleaned my closet.
3. Downloaded, resized, uploaded pictures from Ireland onto new smugmug page. This took several days, but I think I’ve finally got the process down.
4. Spent time in my studio and finally finished a piece that I am somewhat satisfied with.
5. Finished daughter A’s costume for high school musical…a victorian gown made from acres of fabric, the experince of which has added new skills to my sewing repertoire including the use of boneing and crinoline.
6. Finished two hats for daughter A’s costume for high school musical.
7. Short trips to Eugene, Ellensburg and Whidbey Island.
8. One trip to the skin doctor, (use sunscreen!!) one trip to the physical therapist, three trips to the chiropractor, (I am falling apart.)
9. Patienly endured the college decision process of twin daughters.
10. Wrote checks to said colleges.
In the weeks ahead I will view the spring musical, (and that fabulous hat) numerous times, go prom shopping with daughters and spend buckets of money, prepare physically and emotionally for their high school graduation, and host out of town visitors. Still, every spare moment I will steal away to my studio to get something done. Gaa! I must go there now.

Welcome Home Goodbye

Remember the party game when the host brings out a tray filled with objects then takes the tray away, removes a few items and you have to guess what’s missing? That’s what it’s like living in my house this week. Last week, while I was in Ireland with my daughter’s high school choir, my husband packed up his belongings and moved out. His moving out did not come as a surprise, it’s something he’s been planning to do since January, perhaps earlier, but I’m finding the half empty bookshelves and cupboards a bit disorienting. I look on a shelf or in a cupboard, and know something is different, something is missing, but I don’t know what. One way to look at this is, if I can’t name the missing items, they mustn’t have been that important in the first place. On the other hand, these bookshelves and cupboards are the backdrop of my life and even if I can’t name each particular item, each thing has been burned into my memory. Needless to say, the gaping holes will take some getting used to. So, I’ve started moving things around to fill in the spaces; to change the backdrop. At the same time, I’ve been throwing things away…going through piles of papers and ”things” that have accumulated over the years…using a variation of the “if you haven’t worn it in a year, throw it out” rule. I wasn’t expecting him to leave so abruptly after our return from Ireland, but maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it’s better to make this household adjustment while dealing with the unpleasant tasks of returning from a wonderful foriegn excursion…unpacking suitcases, jetlag and laundry. Sort of like a rough landing. And maybe after my rough landing I’ll emerge with a smile on my face, thankful and happy to be where I am.

The First One Leaves the Nest

I dropped my first born off at the University of Oregon last Sunday. Quack! Quack! My son is a duck. I looked high and low in the bookstore for a “Mama Duck” bumpersticker but the closest I could find was “Oregon Mom”. That just doesn’t have the same ring to it, but I bought it anyway.
This milestone event proved to be more difficult for me than anticipated. We moved him into his dorm room and hung out with him on campus up until just before he had to attend his new-student orientation session. After we said our goodbyes, as we were walking away, I began to well up. And I cried for about fifty miles on the drive home. What’s most interesting to me is just a few hours before I had a scowl on my face and was thinking, “my god, I can’t wait until this kid is in college and not hanging around insulting me!” We had had one of our mother/son tifts and I was actually anxious for him to be off on his own, (Humpf! He’ll have a whole new appreciation for me after he’s been on his own awhile!) But as we were driving away all I could think of was him as a little boy. His life passed before my eyes, (it’s true, they really do grow up fast) and I kept wondering if I was a good enough mom. Did I do a good enough job? Did I damage him too much? And why is it the parenting moments you’d rather forget are the ones that loom largest and most vivid in memory? All week I’ve felt a bit bruised.
In all honesty, I am proud of him and excited for him. College, for me, was a wonderful experience and that’s my wish for him as well. I hope he has fun, makes friends, learns a lot. I’ve been anticipating this event for quite some time now, sometimes with glee, sometimes with dread. In my heart I know it’s time, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

Christmas 2006

My sister says Christmas is just another day. My cousin says Christmas was invented to oppress women. During the holiday season I find myself in each of their camps. The latter when I am busily trying to get everything done, the former when I realize the world isn’t going to end if I don’t get everything done. But I did manage to get a lot on the to-do list done this year, and found a whole new respect for ‘working moms’ in the process. I trimmed a big, beautiful tree, (my favorite aspect of Christmas), I made cookies, I bought presents, I even helped in making a happy Christmas for my sister’s kids by finding a Wii in the return cart at my local Costco and keeping my hand on it until the store manager gave the all-clear that I could indeed buy it. I planned and prepared meals, I delivered cookies to my aged neighbors, (although I did have to leave them on the doorstep because I don’t think they heard me knocking). I attended friendly get-togethers, I made a Christmas print, scanned it, made 100 cards and got them mailed before Christmas. (So what if the design was an interpretation of a 12th century painting of the Annuciation and who cares if I had to drive to the post office on December 23rd to make sure they got in the last pickup of the day? I got it done!) And I worked my three-day-a-week job at the church where, let’s face it, Christmas is a pretty big deal, a very busy time. Yes, I spent most of December frazzled and feeling oppressed, and now, here on December 29 with all the hubbub behind me, I realize that Christmas is just a day, a special day to be sure, but a day just the same. We spent the day they way most families do I suppose…opening presents, interacting in some fashion with said presents, listening to Christmas music, eating too much, napping, hanging out together, watching movies, making and recieving long distant phone calls from family far away. What makes Christmas more than just a day for me, besides that it’s a monumental marker of time, is that it’s one day that my kids don’t mind just hanging out with the family doing said things on the list above, in fact they expect it. It’s a tradition…like the tree, the presents, the cookies, the music. It makes them happy. Which is why I do what I do each December.

i Heart Halloween

Recent activities have vaulted me into the holiday spirit. I’m talkin’ about Halloween. Today my daughters and I roamed the aisles of Costume and Display trying on hats, masks and wigs. It’s spirit week at their high school and each day is devoted to a different hollywood movie theme…Monday is Pirate Day, Tuesday is Cowboy Day, Wednesday is Super Hero day…and so on. How fun that spirit week takes place in October…so close to Halloween. It took some doing, but I finally convinced them to wear just one thematic item of clothing each day, otherwise, I told them, they’d wake up one day in the future filled with regret and screaming, “why, oh why didn’t I dress like a pirate when I had the chance?!” Not that I’d know anything about such regrets. After picking out amongst other things, a sheriff badge, a pirate sash and a Robin Hood hat complete with yellow feather, we stopped by the blood and guts aisle…fake warts, puncture wounds, scabs, abraisions and severed body parts. It sort of creeped me out. I must admit, I prefer happy jack-o-lanterns and smiley-faced ghosts to anything remotely reminiscent of Freddy Kruger or Linda Blair. After an hour of shopping we left the store with two bags of Halloween loot.
A couple of days ago I visited the Frye Museum to view the Henry Darger exhibit. Jeepers, what a strange dude! But what a wonderful and fascinating exhibit! I love the nine-foot long, double-sided story scrolls, and I love how he altered and rearranged pictures taken from magazines, comic books and catalogs to create his “realm of the unreal” a world that is equal parts fantastic and horrifying. The contrast between the brightly colored world, the ringlet headed little girls, and the violence portrayed was astounding. I roamed through the exhibit in much the same way I roamed down the aisles of the costume shop this morning, delighted one minute, disgusted the next. Isn’t Halloween a mixture of gaiety and terror? If so, then in a way the Darger exhibit ushered me into the Halloween season, for in his work I saw those things, and more. The exhibit runs through October 29, dangerously close to Halloween, and I plan to view it again.
Thursday I visited the Darger exhibit…today I got my glow-in-the-dark white afro wig…now I need to dig out my pumpkin-shaped twinkly lights and plastic severed hands.

Lists

On the door to my studio is a list; 28 Secrets to Happiness. I found this photo-copied list while sorting through a pile of papers, (a chore on my to-do list) and thinking it might be helpful to both me and my family, posted it for all to see. I like lists, especially ones that promise happiness and/or a well-lived, no-regrets, life. (I’m sure you’ve seen that one by the Dahli Lama that circles the internet like Halley’s comet.) Wouldn’t it be nice if finding happiness was as simple as checking things off a list? Of the 28 Secrets I can check off the following:
1. Live beneath your means and within your seams. Check.
2. Return everything you borrow. Check.
20. Reread a favorite book. Check.
23. Understand and accept that life isn’t always fair. Check.
I have yet to check off the remaining 24 and doubt I’ll ever be able to check off #14 (Don’t argue) and #25 (Know when to keep your mouth shut).
Next to my computer I have a pad of paper that chronicals my personal to-do list. I enjoy looking back through the pages and patting myself on the back for all I’ve accomplished. Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly wonderful about myself, which is in direct contradiction to #22 (Be humble) I add chores I’ve already completed to the list, just so I can then immediately check them off. It’s a little sick, but so satisfying. In addition I have a list of movies I want to see, CD’s I want to buy, books I want to read. I save the Christmas lists written by my children. I once had a small book devoted exclusively to grocery lists. Heaven help me, I just made a list of lists.
I came across an interesting list while in San Francisco last month. At the de Young museum was an exhibit entitled Crown Point Press, The Art of Etching. The exhibit included a wide range of etching techniques from a variety of artists including Chuck Close, Wayne Thiebaud and Laura Owens. The pieces were organized around thirteen creative prinicples created by Crown Point founding director Katha Brown. While the etchings were beautiful and interesting what I found most intriging were the thirteen creative principles…Cultivate sensuality…Use a lot of time…Get into the flow…Have an idea…Don’t know what you want…Know what you don’t want…Stick your neck out…Use every tool…Use every source…Become skillful…Take yourself lightly…Go into the ether…Own it. She calls these principles “magical secrets” and writes about them in her new book, Magical Secrets about Thinking Creatively: The Art of Etching and the Truth of Life. Can you imagine? A to-do list that provides a magical path to more creative thinking AND the truth of life! Why that’s two things to check off at once! I simply must get my hands on this book!

Family Stuff

I’ve just returned from another quick trip to California. Last week my father’s big brother and only sibling, passed away. It seemed important for me to join my parents in Sacramento to provide some sort of support. I did what I could…I stood by their sides, helped my mother in and out of cars, got flowers to take to the funeral home, took my father’s place when he said he wasn’t up to doing a reading during the service, snapped a picture when he was presented with the American flag that was draped upon my uncle’s casket. In stressful situations, give me a to-do list and I’m a happy girl. Well maybe happy isn’t the best choice of words in this situation, but at least I felt useful.

It also seemed important for me to be there to represent my siblings in paying our collective respects to an uncle we all loved and admired. I loved my Uncle Jack because he was my uncle; my dad’s brother; family. He had a dry wit, and a good sense of humor, (just like my dad) and when he smiled his entire face joined in; his eyes curled upward just like the corners of his mouth. He was our family doctor when I was a kid. He poked me and my siblings more times than I can remember; he made house calls when one of us was burning up with a fever; he prescribed the antibiotics I took endlessly during my early adolescence for my chronic tonsillitis and he yanked those tonsils out once it was clear I wouldn’t be cured. Like my dad he could be ornery, and just as a smile engaged his entire face, he also wore a frown from forehead to chin. And he had that fabulous knack of making a person feel as though they are a very important person, worthy of being listened to, a joy to behold. Perhaps that ability accounts for his success and reputation as a doctor. Unfortunately, that was the capacity in which I knew him best. Once having my uncle as my doctor became too embarrassing I only saw him at weddings, an occasional holiday and the times he’d stop by our house to visit with my dad.

My uncle and his family lived directly across the Flint River from us, probably only a mile as the crow flies, in a house I always thought looked like a ski lodge; which was apropos for I remember their Christmas cards always included a family portrait taken on the top of some double diamond ski run, my uncle, aunt and three cousins all wearing really cool and fashionable ski wear. We grew up in close proximity, but miles apart in other ways. Fortunately my dad and my uncle remained on good terms all their lives. I think they really liked each other.

My uncle’s first marriage ended in divorce. In the early 80’s he married a woman with six children of her own. Soon after, they moved to California and purchased a house on a beautiful piece of land. My dad tells me that living in California had always been Uncle Jack’s dream. Once settled there, he resumed his medical practice, worked on his ranch and became step-dad to his new wife’s children. He seemed happy in his new life. I visited him there ten or so years ago. He and my dad took my son for a walk in the hills around his home. I saw again how he could make a person feel special.

Families can be messy; people who love one another don’t always act like it; people who are wounded sometimes find solace in unhealthy things and acceptance with unhealthy individuals. Sometimes people who love one another say things they wish they hadn’t. In the last few months there has been some drama in my uncle’s family. I don’t know details. It was likely drama of an historical nature that bubbled and boiled, and then, due to the stress of my uncle’s failing health, spilled over ultimately involving my father. My dad tried his best to be a good brother, providing advice, trying not to violate boundaries, but it saddens him to know that, in the end, things weren’t resolved between Uncle Jack and his children. A part of me likes to think my siblings and I will never find ourselves bathing in bad blood, but perhaps we’ve never been tested. I spent some time with my one cousin who made the trip to his father’s funeral. We had a lifetime of catching up to do. It was good to see him and get to know him as an adult. But I could see how isolated he felt in his grief. There were moments when my heart ached for him. Sometimes the family drama distracted me from my purpose and I had to refocus my attention to my parents and their needs. On our way out of town my dad said he was grateful for the care, the love, the honor and the respect his brother was given in his last days. Uncle Jack’s step family did everything they could to honor his last wishes. And they were very kind to my dad and mom. In my mind the line between our families blurred. They aren’t blood relatives, but clearly they treated my uncle as I would have expected anyone to treat a beloved father. What makes a family? Is blood thicker than water? Can the two ever mix or are they like oil and water?I think it will take me a while to sort through the myriad of feelings I have resulting from the past few days. I’m doing a little yin/yang exercise to organize my thoughts and feelings…sorrow/joy, regret/delight, birth/death, forgiveness/blame…it’s amazing how one can recognize so many things at the same time. For now I’ll just wish my uncle a loving farewell.

John Alden Best, M.D.
November 11, 1922 - August 30, 2006

And did you get what you wanted

from this life, even so?

I did.

And what did you want?

To call myself beloved,

to feel myself beloved on the earth.

Raymond Carver