{self portrait tuesday} a first, a last

One of the first pictures of us together. I think about what she must have been thinking, "I am holding my daughter's daughter." I wonder if she realized that she was going to be my first friend. She taught me to give and not worry about what I received in return. Together we would laugh and laugh and laugh. She let down her defenses with me; she let me in. In this picture, she is so young. She always looked like this to me. I used to rub Pond's cold cream on that face; take off her make-up then put it back on for her. How she must have looked after I made up that face. She was patient and fun and silly and honest.

The last picture. The last time I saw her alive. Before we moved to the pacific northwest, I knew we had to visit them. A last drive from Indiana to South Carolina; we stayed for a couple of days. In the middle of the night before the morning we were to leave, I woke up with a wicked flu, so we stayed for two extra days and were there on my birthday. What a blessing. Two more days I wouldn't have had. She took care of me and we talked. She showed me a family genealogy book no one knew she had. We looked through old pictures. On the morning we left I insisted, as I always do, that we take pictures. And even though I was still sick, not wearing make-up, and feeling pretty crappy, she made me laugh and laugh as my husband took our picture. Then I hugged her good-bye; we were both crying. I started to get in the car, then walked back over and hugged her again. I got back into the car, and Jon began to back out of their driveway. If I close my eyes, I can see her standing there waving, crying.

I ache because it was only a few days prior to her death that I really understood the role she had played in my life. Through a conversation with another, I realized she had been the first person to let me be whoever I wanted to be. And I wanted to tell her that I finally got it. To let her know that through this acceptance I had become the person I am now and that she was my dearest friend. And I was going to be able to tell her in person because I was flying for a visit that Wednesday. My visit had been planed for weeks, but she had been hospitalized over the weekend. She was doing better they said, no need to rush your visit. You will get here as she is feeling stronger.
Tuesday morning, 2:45 a.m. the phone rang. My aunt. The hospital had called her, and things had taken a turn; she and my uncle were on their way. "Will you hold the phone up to her ear when you get there? Even if she is in a coma, will you do that for me?" I asked "Of course," she said tears in her voice. She understood. I just had to tell my grandmother what I had realized, but more importantly, I just wanted to tell her thank you.
We didn't know that she had already died.
I know that people say she already knew. But I wanted to tell her. And I wanted one more last picture. One more last day.

(link to more SPT personal history posts here)

some inspirations {AW}

imagining with 52 Figments
listening to the soundtrack from something's gotta give
reading the time traveler's wife
waking up early with mary oliver
eating chocolate
reflecting on brokeback mountain - if you have seen the movie and wish you could talk about it with others, visit the movie's web site. people have shared some of their stories and feelings after seeing the movie.
drinking mug after mug of green tea
taking moments to see the world through the camera lens. but also realizing that sometimes you need to put the camera down and soak up the world around you.
and truly, the biggest inspiration of all has been reading the blogs of other participants in the AW group. I am moved again and again by the stories, honesty, and creativity. I continue to realize that I am not alone.

senses. a movie.

{smell}
The popcorn is the first thing your nose finds. But I am in Seattle, so coffee is the next. There is the popcorn, candy, pop concessions guy and the coffee barista concessions guy. Later, after the popcorn has been devoured, I smell my wool sweater as I bring the corner of my sleeve to my eyes to wipe a tear.

{taste}
Popcorn, of course. And cherry coke. The bubbles, the fizz, the syrup, the way it slides down my throat. My special treat when I go to the movies. Love it.

{hear}
Stirring music that danced with the scenery, the feelings, the acting on the screen. A few moments invited audible laughter, but throughout the story, the people around me were quiet. Words filled with emotion, simple and complex feelings, love, pain, sadness, fear, hope, anger, happiness. A day later, I still feel haunted by these words and the feelings they invited with their resonance.

{touch}
In between my husband and my friend, I am the keeper of the popcorn. I hold the bag in my hand and feel the course fluffs of popcorn in my hand as I bring the pieces to my mouth. I move the bag from one side to the other so they both can reach it. Halfway through the movie I grab my husband's hand, and I do not let go. The sadness invites the need for reassurance. With each breath it is as though the feelings I see on the screen are also felt by me. As though the words of the actors reach out from the screen like a hand, and the palm of that hand gently touches my chest. An understanding. The literal feeling of human emotion as an action inside. Tears, laughter, smiles, a creased forehead. As I get up from my seat and put my coat on it feels a bit like a cloak of protection.

{see}
An incredible old theatre that is now a movie house. The large red curtain opens as the previews begin. The movie we have come to see starts and within the first few minutes my eyes are reveling in the vivid, gorgeous scenery. Right there with them as they ride up those hills. The wonder of new love, joy of hope, fear of pain on the faces on the screen. A glimpse into 60's Wyoming, true love, lies, marriage, a cowboy's life, family. Another time. Would the fear be as wide and deep today? I don't know; my own fear is that it is. A beautiful, inspiring, sad movie that illustrates its truth without fear. We sat in our seats as the credits rolled. Partly because the three of us did not want to move; partly because my friend was crying. And as we saw the last two words on the screen, "The End," the big red curtains closed. It was such a simple moment. The End. The curtains close. The story ends. But we will not forget.

{and know}
Beauty can be found in the spectrum of human emotions...beauty. Do not be afraid to feel.

waking up {AW}

So far, the artist dates are my favorite part of AW. A scheduled date with just me. And a time when I have to stop my usual patterns and do something different. Get out of the house. Take a pause when I am working. Think of myself. Let go of answering the phone, email, pleasing everyone else.

This week I went to the zoo. One of my favorite things is to just stand and watch the sea otters play, swim, eat. I could watch them for hours. My heart fills with joy and I feel lighter as I watch them. I envy their ability to swim, float, play, tease, share, pause and groom one another. The laughter bubbles inside me and flows out in a giggle as the daughter otter steals food from her mother. Over and over. The mother tries to teach her to share by giving her a bite but eventually the daughter wins and takes the entire piece of food. I have to stop myself from talking out loud to them (well, I must admit that I do when no one is around).

I did not accomplish the morning pages every day. And I really appreciated that others were honest about this on their blogs - this was harder this week. I did do them four out of seven days. And I will keep going. I see the benefit to the extent that I am kind of afraid of them. This may be silly, I know.

As I looked back through AW on Friday, I was stopped short by Cameron's section on attention. The way she wrote about her grandmother. The tears came to the surface in the middle of the cafe where my husband and I were sitting. Partly because of the letters, notes, and cards I have from my grandmother, but also because I am beginning to notice that I am finally paying attention in my own life. This began to happen before these two weeks of AW, probably when I started my blog last fall, and AW is reinforcing this. I feel like I am awake. Awake in my own life for the first time in a long time.

Good morning.

a breath, a blessing

Sometimes when you let go of the expectations that surround a relationship, your thoughts can become just quiet enough to hear what the other person has to say. And every now and then what they have to say will amaze you.
This happened to me this morning.
A peak inside the soul of another. A meeting of two spirits who do not always understand one another.
A blessing. A blessing.

A reminder to take a breath and quiet the mind just a bit before I speak, before I listen, before I judge, before I let my anxiety take over, before I give in to the pain of the past, before I move, before I pick up the phone, before I forget.

neverland

Another glimpse into this idea that is forming in my head.

In the movie Finding Neverland, Johnny Depp's character talks about that moment when you are no longer a child. That moment. Do you remember yours? I tapped into mine this weekend. Found it in the morning pages. That moment. When some of my dreams, hopes, ideas seemed to die.
But I have realized, these dreams have just been dormant. My brain was so busy and full of the responsibility of being an adult that my soul could not whisper these hopes loud enough for my brain to hear, to remember. The idea that my dreams retreated; maybe they went to Neverland for a while. The hope inside me is that I can begin to sift through the memories and find these dreams again.

A scene from Finding Neverland...
J.M. Barrie: It seems to me that Peter's trying to grow up too fast. I imagine he thinks that grown-ups don't hurt as deeply as children do when they...when they lose someone. I lost my older brother David when I was just Peter's age, and it nearly destroyed my mother.
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: James, I'm so sorry. Your poor mother. I can't imagine losing a child.
J.M. Barrie: She didn't get out of bed for months, she wouldn't eat. I tried everything to make her happy but she only wanted David. So one day I dressed myself in David's clothing and I went to her.
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: You must have frightened her to death.
J.M. Barrie: I think it was the first time she ever actually looked at me, and that was the end of the boy James. I used to say to myself he'd gone to Neverland.
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: Where?
J.M. Barrie: Neverland. It's a wonderful place...I've not spoken about this before to anyone- ever.
Sylvia Llewelyn Davies: What's it like, Neverland?
J.M. Barrie: One day I'll take you there.

the seed of an idea is planted

The journey of grief, loss, death becomes a journey of living...more on this in the morning when I am not so tired...until then, words of another; words that resonate within this idea that has been forming inside me.

living eulogy

she danced
she sang
she took
she gave
she served
she created
she dissented
she enlivened
she saw
she grew
she sweated
she changed
she learned
she laughed
she shed her skin
she bled on the pages of her days
she walked through walls
she lived with intention

-mary anne radmacher

This sits in a frame where I can see it while I work. A gift from a dear friend. Write it on your heart. Live it.

honesty {AW}

The morning pages: a place to find the honesty.
This was what I learned this week. Writing stream of consciousness invites a letting down of the guard...a space to let the thoughts float to the surface and live. The fear of feeling is quiet. The truth I would not write about began to bubble and vibrate in the morning pages. The sketchbook I used for the tasks was too nice, too clean, too pretty for the realness of the words I needed to write. I did not want to leave a trace of my true feelings about those who did not support the creative spirit of my childhood. What if they found it? What would they think? I did not want them to feel hurt or sad or angry. But really, would they ever see? No. Still, the fear was there. In the morning though, looking at that plain notebook paper, amongst the "I don't want to do this" and the "I am hungry and my hand hurts," I began to write my truth.