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November 29, 2006

The heart is mostly made of water

If, God forbid, you should find yourself in a position of needing such a thing, these monks make excellent caskets. They also make urns for cremated remains, which is what we got for John's ashes. Yesterday, in the mail I received a package containing three wooden crosses, also made by the monks, three because we got 3 urns, because John's ashes were to be divided- again, sorry if that's tmi. There was something very sweet and reassuring about receiving them, accompanied by a brief note from someone named Brother Tobias. Plus, the monks live in Iowa. You can't doubt the spiritual integrity, somehow. I am seeking comfort where I can find it.

Brief, Somewhat Instructive Observations About The Process of Mourning-

•Sometimes you need to lay in bed and cry. At those times, some would say you should get on with your life. I say lay in bed and cry. If it gets out of hand, you'll know, but you'll probably just fall asleep. Feel free to take a sedative, if you have one, for gosh sakes.

•If you need to burst into tears in the grocery store, do it. Walk around the grocery store crying because you are seized by the awareness that the person you loved isn't eating food anymore. Tell yourself there is probably better food where he is. Don't worry if people look at you funny because the thing is, you crying is probably the most interesting thing they've seen all day. Use the self check-out if possible.

•Forgive yourself for making crazy phone calls and sending crazy emails to unhelpful people. Forgive yourself for not thinking clearly all the time.

•Look for signs and wonders because they are all around and messages will come to you in unexpected and beautiful ways. Stay open to them.
Spirits are all around, whispering to us. Sit still and listen.
Was it Oscar Wilde who said, "Where there is sorrow there is holy ground." Believe it.

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For whatever its worth, one of John's last magazines that he made had a quote in it, I'm not sure where he found it, but I seem to remember him saying something about it being written on a fountain- or was it a doorway?- somewhere. It said, "we step into the circle at night and are consumed by fire."
I also found it scrawled on a scrap of paper on the floor of his apartment, which is now in a box under my bed. Its hard to know what it means exactly, I just like it.
If anyone would like a copy of the magazine, please email me and I can send you one, because I have a bunch and they are rather lovely. He would want people to have them.

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Someday, I promise, I will write about knitting.

Posted by at 02:23 PM | Comments (5)

November 24, 2006

The Big Dawg, gone.

Here's the late, great Big Dawg, looking rather serious.
(Thanks to Noorym for the photo and for everything.)
Its still kind of hard to wrap my brain around the fact that he's not coming back.
Tonight I was sorting through boxes, still looking for a picture of John that I took when we first met, which is my favorite picture of him, but I kept finding more and more other pictures- he and I at my graduation from SAIC, us in his Aunt Jane's backyard, in summer, with our arms around eachother, holding a bouquet of yellow balloons for his niece's high school graduation party, blurry photos of Ray, the orange tabby cat he had when we first met. I also found many that he had taken, including me standing in my studio door at Ragdale, sometime around 1997, and one of Norma, his mother, at my BFA show, standing under a drawing which John later, in a fit of pique, tore up, stir-fried, and mailed to me. Ah, yes. Quite the little drama.
It was complicated, as these things tend to be.
I wonder if this is the correct medium for expressing grief, but I feel compelled.
I'm sorry if this is way too much information, or if this is tasteless in some way, but this is always in my thoughts, and I see the movie over and over again of a darkened room, a very dense quiet, and a familiar form laying impossibly crumpled and utterly motionless.
Often I think about the nature of grieving, and if perhaps some good might come of more public grieving in the world. I wonder if it might create a better world if empathy were brought to light as something to practice and keep more in the front of our dealings with one another.
I think its under utilized.
But maybe I am extra aware of this at the moment, and probably there is more empathy in the world than I realize. Not that I am feeling a lack of it from friends and family, because there has been a great out pouring of love from people who knew and loved John, and I've come to see this fixture in my life- John- from so many different perspectives, and through different sets of eyes.

Gratuitous quotation from Hildegard von Bingen here-

For you see the
inner strength of God
which breathes out from
the heart of God
as if it were a face.

Someone told me John sees with God now. And plus he was fond of Hildegard, that's what made me think of it.
(too heavy for a blog? I don't know. You decide.)

Still in all there were many things to be thankful for, this Thanksgiving. The love of family- and of course our newest family member, Lucy, who is wonderfully healthy- and friends, a place for Marcel and I until our new place is ready- more about that later- at Mr. Goddamn Sunshine's house aka La Maison Vert, watching Dan play with my youngest cousin, Gracie, who is a sweet beautiful angel if ever there was one, having so many places to go and so many people to feed us, (and feed us Pie!!!) meeting new friends.
Then going home and curling up with Dan and Marcel, snug in La Maison Vert.

Posted by at 05:33 PM | Comments (2)

November 18, 2006

care of the dead

There is so much to say, so much to sort, when you have known someone, as well as their own family knew them. Your perspective shifts every day, every time you come through a bout of sadness and crying you feel washed a little, polished a little cleaner, this is a great gift since it is because we love that we grieve. There's an ocean of sadness, which sweeps you up in a great tsunami, a thousand smaller waves following. The best thing I've found to do, when these waves come, is let go, and let them take you where they will. Eventually you will be set free, gently.
I've been seeking spiritual guidance where I can find it, my senses tingle and I feel I have been stripped to raw nerves at times, and at others am completely and utterly numb.
Time, that ever present and inscrutable accordion that it is, breathes then stands still then breathes again and I am moving through it, being pulled by its currents, running in each direction.

A small poem I found early on in a book of Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies- Some Thoughts on Faith ~ which wasn't what I was looking for in the book but made me think of John anyway.

Late Fragment
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

John never knew just how beloved he was on this plane.
What I do know is that he sought a connection with god in his work and in his own unique way.

These are all very incomplete thoughts but I want to remember them.

Today I was searching for a picture I took of him when we first met.
I didn't find the picture, but I found a postcard he made and sent to me, with a poem on it~

when I wake
she brings me cherries and strawberries
and holds me softly, feeding me.
later in the rain,
fog rising from the streets,
still being fed,
still being held softly.

I want to thank everyone who has commented, and offered kind words and condolences, in particular, also, those who came over from David's blog to offer comfort to someone they didn't know. It means so much to me. Thank you.

Posted by at 08:40 AM | Comments (2)

November 14, 2006

Rest In Peace

The Big Dawg, aka John R., my Library Boy. 1961-2006.
A huge hole in my heart.

Posted by at 07:40 AM | Comments (18)

November 09, 2006

bien sur

For your viewing pleasure, the painting I finished today.

Don't let the french-çais frighten you off!
Because! Mine is also tres mal! But what it means is the birdies are saying, its a good idea, if we give eachother little kisses on the cheek, and the bear is saying, of course.

And plus, Marcel may have been pleased to have a new green corduroy coat, which he graciously modeled today in the garden~

We played in the garden sweaterless too.

Posted by at 05:39 PM | Comments (1)

November 06, 2006

Marcel n'est pas un parapluie!

Il aime Le Grand Chien!

"Le Grand Chien! J'adore!"

Fin.

Posted by at 05:55 PM | Comments (3)

November 04, 2006

parce que! (because!) - just a quickie

Verily, dear readers, you have not lived, have not lived! until you have driven over the Skyway Bridge in the picture postcard sunset (big round orange ball striped with lavender-grey, surrounded with shell pink sky), the industrial splendor that is Northwest Indiana hulking, rusting and grinding below, shouting along to the Beastie Boys Rhymin' and Stealin'.

p.s. I have it on good authority that the inherent cuteness and possibly the subtle irony, but really, the pure and beautiful functionality that is the lovingly hand-knitted hat with earflaps (with strings, with small, not too girly pom-poms) tends to go unappreciated by some 10-year-olds. This is not necessarily a surprise, as I seem to remember a time when hats were more goofy than functional in my world, too. So I'm trying not to take it personally. And plus the recipient appreciates it, and has, in fact, requested an entire union suit knitted from Manos del Uruguay. Slightly cost-prohibitive. Raising one's own sheep (with Marcel as sheepdog! He could use the exercise. Hmm.) would maybe be a less expensive option, and also fun. But we are also considering Monkey the Persian cat, who grows another Monkey or two every couple of days. Once I learn how to spin look out, it will be like the finest cashmere. Stay tuned for developments.

Posted by at 09:08 AM | Comments (0)