A Life Remembered

It was a matter of life, then death.  My son in law Jack, semi-professional photographer, amateur astronomer, teacher for remedial students for eleven years, rock hound, punster, and husband to daughter Juliet for 18 years, died suddenly of heart failure on April 29. Within minutes Pastor Jeff Lingle sped to their home and was with Julie.  Friends stayed with Julie in York, SC (she is bedridden) until I could get to York.  Within 12 hours after Jack died, my brother John and I were able to be with Julie.

Like Julie, Jack also was born with spina bifida.  They shared common physical problems but they were not alike in age.  Jack was born in 1947. Julie was born in 1970.  That 23 years of age separation was never a handicap.

He lived to the fullest, and then God must have decided it was time for him to take eternal rest.  I think he just wore out.

Jack had one leg removed in 1998 after a four month hospitalization in Grand Junction, CO where they were living at the time.  But that did not slow down his arms propelling his wheelchair, kept in motion as he attended church events, fairs, museums, dance recitals, all the while keeping his camera shutter blinking open and closed, recording events in the lives of others.

When my brother and I were with Julie in those three days after Jack died, we breathed deeply and kept moving on with things. Then on the fourth day after Jack died, Julie had another medical crisis necessitating an ambulance ride to Piedmont Medical Center in Rock Hill, SC where she remains presently, being treated for pressure wounds. 

The physician in charge knows how important it is for Julie to attend Jack's funeral today, and the medical village attending to her in hospital has gathered round and all are working in their own special ways to get her a two hour suspension from the confines of her hospital bed so that we can drive her to Charlotte, NC to see Jack's casket lowered back into the earth. Ecclesiastes 3 will be read, at her request.  There is a time and season for everything, and this was his time to die.  It will be a hard day.  Your prayers for Julie are appreciated.

The end of this week contains many appointments for helping get their affairs settled and toward the ultimate goal of getting Julie back to Grand Junction and settled there into Mesa Manor, a skilled nursing facility.

Until I write again, God be with you and keep on with the enjoyment of what you like to do. Smell those lovely spring flowers, enjoy the rain and sun, wind and sky.  I am doing the same.

During natural disasters two enemy animals
will call a truce, so during a hurricane
an owl will share a tree with a mouse
and, during an earthquake, you might find
a mongoose wilted and shivering
beside a snake. The bear will sit down
in a river and ignore the passing salmons 
just as the lion will allow the zebra
to walk home without comment.
I love that there are exceptions.
At funerals and weddings, for example,
the aunts who never speak nod
politely to one another. When my mother
was sick even the prickly neighbors
left flowers and cakes at our door

"Natural Disasters" by Faith Shearin from Telling the Bees. © Stephen F. Austin State University Press, 2015

Only the Necessary

Going through my closet, discarding clothing and deciding that I need only a dress or two, a funeral dress or a party dress, for both are indeed the same, decisions were made.  Good Will received a portion, but the garbage pile also took on am embarrassingly large accretion of tee shirts.  Today's wardrobe, for me, consists of pants, long in winter, cropped in summer, and long flowing tops of linen or cotton.

So why on earth did I still hang on to that suit jacket from 15 years ago?  I will never again have an office job, nor will I ever don that expensive wool suit, for I am not of that generation, although time and age is creeping me onward.

A man who has at length found something to do will not need to get a new suit to do it in; for him the old will do, that has lain dusty in the garret for an indeterminate period.[....] I say, beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes. If there is not a new man, how can the new clothes be made to fit? If you have any enterprise before you, try it in your old clothes. All men want, not something to do with, but something to do, or rather something to be ... Henry David Thoreau

For I have found something to do, something to love, something to look forward to and some place to be in my old and comfortable clothing.  Gardening, volunteering, reading, writing and painting need only replacement items.

Even our dead wood and other debris placed on our front curb, set out for the annual "Fresh as A Daisy" pickup by the city, funded by tax dollars, was eschewed by several clunker type bashed up pickups.  This was after the old wrought iron paraphernalia and plastics were previously snatched by recyclers seeing gold in our discards.

One decision made last summer regarding our garden was that I would never purchase an accessory for the outside that was not made from natural materials: iron, clay, stone, rock, wood are all acceptable.  Look what I found yesterday while clearing off fallen leaves from our cottonwoods.  It is a tree stump hollowed out over the years by little ants (carpenter ants?) that turned the wood into "frass," something that looks like sawdust.  When I moved the stump and turned it over, the bottom portion turned out half eaten and decayed, a perfect place for planting pansies.  How fortunate when turned upside down, a lucky benevolence!

And now nary a piece of plastic to show in the wildflower garden!

This week a friend whose husband recently passed away gave me a polished rock from his collection.  He was a lapidarist with a massive collection of rocks and equipment that she donated to Ft. Lewis College in Durango where he taught for over two decades.  

This rock has snails embedded in the fossil.  I looked it up and found it is called an "ammonite" and the snails could have lived as long as 415 million years ago.  I am wearing it today and thinking of her and her lovely garden.

My last writing class in April 28, and I will have some readings to share during May.  And for all you Garrison Keillor fans of "A Prairie Home Companion," Sharon Olds will be on his show tomorrow evening, April 25, live from Town Hall.  We have read some of her work in our writing classes, so I am looking forward to hearing her.

Measure Twice

After watching a YouTube tutorial by Irmgard Rawn, I decided to paint a rose in watercolors in an impressionistic manner.  Or two or three, or maybe even a whole bunch.  They turned out pretty well, so I recycled a matt, glass and frame to use as a wall hanging.

But I cut the danged watercolor paper too short to correctly fit inside the matting.

So now I will cut up all the roses on the paper and use them for note cards.  And I will start over on another painting, this time ensuring the size will correctly fit into the matt before cutting the completed watercolor.

This was 140# paper, soaked for 15 minutes prior to stretching.  The predominant color is "Opera," which gives a punch to the usual pinks.  Although Irmgard produced a magnificent piece, and mine won't compare, that is really not what painting is about.  Let's put it another way: painting is all about what makes one happy.  The roses made me happy.  And I get to try again and make even more impressionistic roses, and perhaps they will actually get framed.  We shall see.

My friend PomPom whose blog can be accessed here, talked about slicing up lemons, layering them with sugar and refrigerating them until the juices seep out sweetness.  A friend of hers from the Ukraine taught her that trick; I did just that a few minutes ago and cannot wait until this afternoon to try some in iced tea.

Happy spring, all!  Time to go play pinochle and have coffee with friends.