eulogy to Dorothy Claire

One would think that death gets easier with the fourth grandparent. Then you realize that each grandparent brings something different to your life – something you can’t replace with simple substitution. Who was grandma to me? If only I had a one-word answer – I might actually be able to read this. To me, Grandma was: the snake in the grass at bridge; she was the witty wizard at scrabble; she was the lover of fish and chips, not to mention the ocean. She was the one who always had an extra sausage and gravy on the stove. She gardened, she danced, she traveled, she shopped, she invited, she hosted, she boasted, she listened, she encouraged, she laughed, she nurtured, she liked cats, she did crosswords, and most of all, she loved.

I feel so lucky. Traveling with Grandma, the world was our oyster. England, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, New York, Yellowstone, Bandon, gardening in Etna, and Sacramento for the Scottish Games were some of our most legendary times. We even spent almost two months in a car together. To see her giggle over wine in Covarubbias, Spain, or relax along the Algarve in Portugal, or stare at peace into the ocean over Bandon…I realize I have had the privilege of knowing her true spirit in a way that most kids never know their grandparents. Enough people have tried to discount my grief because it’s only my Grandmother – what they don’t know is that my Grandmother was not just the one with pink and white animal cookies in the orangey-prismed cookie jar. She was she there for my whole family during multiple times of need, she was a second mom, a force behind my first car, a funder of my college education, and one of the reasons I escaped the torture of being grounded for my first and only major house party.

As I compose this, I realize the sticky on my keyboard is from salty tears. Now, while I may be crying at our loss, at the seeming injustice of the last few months, I’ve had the rare privilege of seeing my family at their strongest. It’s at those moments of despair when I realize how much of Grandma has already transcended the wooden coffin that keeps her safe below ground. I realize her legacy is more than long life, story telling and hospitality – it’s the very fabric of our being.

I look at her eldest, my Aunt Terri. In her home, I find music, style, a love of dancing and entertaining
I look at her twins. My Aunt Gail – there is no place that welcomes more. The Farmhouse is always the place of an extra sausage on the stove or a pie to satiate afternoon nibbles.
I see my own parents’ house and realize they are carrying on Grandma’s sense of adventure, and her crazy ability to throw the kids in the car and go – anytime, anywhere.
In my cousin Tricia, I see Grandma’s attention to detail, her supportive motherhood.
In Stephanie, I see her love of the beach.
In Nick, Christian and Matt, I see her love of music and dancing
In Todd and Kyle, I see the skill of drawing and designing
In Tyler I see the artistry and the skill of cooking & baking – as well as the soul that is often misunderstood and sacrifices some dreams to conform to what the world has demanded.
And in myself, I see the performer, the achiever, the lamenter – wishing that I had taken the time to do a late in life photo project of her. She was always so beautiful – and loved the spotlight – I wanted to bring it to her.

I’ve heard it said that Grandmas are moms with lots of frosting. Indeed, for grandma as well, I think the relationship was sweet like no other. On her infamous 12 cylinder Gold Cadillac that got 6 miles on a good day downhill, Grandma used to sport a bumper sticker: “If I knew grandkids were this much fun, I’d have had them first.” I always wanted to tell her: If I had known Grandparents were so influential, I would have asked to be born sooner so I could know them in their youth. Then again maybe Grandchildren are blessed with the timing of their arrival – by their birth, Grandparents have finally gotten to a point in their life when they’re people worthy of influence.

Every ring on a tree, every dent in the bumper, every scar on the soul. Each wound defines ourselves and our legacy. But in remembering the luck and love that Grandma’s very spirit and presence has borne, I understand my birthright. I realize that the trauma of her death is not her defining moment; the spirit and love that she’s passed on to us is…

thoughts on the 240D

My first awareness of riding in a car happened in my parents’ 240D Mercedes. It had a cream exterior, and a brown leather interior – the kind that always burned your butt and legs after swimming lessons during brutal Chico summers. But most of all, I remember the sound of that car: a low rumbling engine sputter that signaled the countdown to Mom coming home. It meant that we could finally build forts with the couch cushions. The babysitters were always worried about us tearing up the house, but any and all creativity got an endorsement from Mom.

That low rumble also meant is was either time for dinner, or, if my Father was home, it was time to kick off our shoes and slide across slick, polished wood floors with our “boogie shoes”…a.k.a. our socks. The big treat would be eating dinner at the kitchen table instead of the dining room so we could turn the T.V. to watch M.A.S.H. It also meant we could sit down for dinner without first having to find three places on the globe and naming three state capitals without looking. But the ultimate treat was a spontaneous trip to Swenson’s Ice Cream Parlor. We usually got bubble gum; sometimes we got mint chip. Dad always got Wild Mountain Blackberry. We’d try and run through the big fountain with our ice cream but that never lasted long. Running on slick cement meant trouble.

My first memory of a lightening storm is tied to that Mercedes. It was one of those perfect nights when Dad suggested Swenson’s but I was scared to go in the storm. Dad pulled me up on his lap and promised me that the car was one of the safest places to be during lightening; the tires grounded the electric charge of a lightening bolt. That was all I needed to hear.

But every silver lining has a cloud, and my first cloud was going to see my dying Great Grandmother at the hospital, in our car. I don’t remember her speaking, really. I remember yellow. Most of all I remember that my Mother always filled our pockets with Three Musketeers bars to give Great Grandma. “They’re her favorite.” If only the whole world ran on three musketeers bars! I remember being scared of her in the bed as I snuck her those candy bars. For some reason I don’t remember her before the hospital, though I know she knew me. I’ve seen us together in pictures.

The hospital visits always ended awkwardly as far as I could tell, and then we headed to my grandmother’s house to console her. She is so strong but the less I see her, the more I realize how fragile she’s become. I always hesitate to leave but I’ve got places to go and people to see. I don’t remember leaving the condo, but shortly thereafter we pulled out of a parking space and took a turn for the worst, literally, right into the bumper of an oncoming car.

Of course we were going maybe 2 miles an hour and no damage was done to the 240D. After that moment, I always felt safe in the Mercedes. When my mom told me we were selling the Mercedes, I told her I would go with it. She declined, I protested, and ultimately forgot about the car I loved – at least vocally. Yet, there’s not a 240D that rumbles by that I don’t think perhaps that’s my Mercedes.

The weirdest twist to this chapter is that I learned of my great Grandmother’s death in the 240D as well. We were backing out of the driveway and my Mom stopped the car to tell us that great Grandma Birdie was gone and wasn’t coming back. I don’t remember if I understood. I do remember I was sitting Lucky Cosette in the middle of the back seat. And I realize that still at this point in my life when I’m confronted with overwhelming emotions, I tend to concentrate on the minor details like the number of tiles on the floor or the symmetry of the designs on the ceiling. The accumulation of loss is maturity and it seems right a child should naturally resist its worldly baptism into adulthood– at least for a while. Leonard Cohen got it right: no one aches in the places they play.

one of those sleepless nights...

You realize in a crisis exactly who your personal guards are. but that's always exciting -- that always comes with a story of heroism and bravado as a reward. Then, there are those times when everything just seems in excrutiating limbo. you're boring, you have no stories, and more than oft you have only complaining to do. tonight i realized that it is the second kind of support that defines a true friend -- the one that sticks around just to make you feel better or listen to you rant or give you wine to wash it all down. i've been in that state for the last three days and i have had two friends, a beau, and a close brother show colors even i had never seen before. caring, supportive, honest, championing...i have to put the hands high in the air for them. i would be lost without them in all honesty and have no idea how to tell them just how much i love them without words. i'll think of something and let you know. :-)

btw

realized it has been almost a year since my first post.


i'm feeling cheated that time has moved so fast, and feel relieved that i am in such a different space....that space is ALASKA!!!! viva el iditarod!!!

Alaska like you've never seen it.

I've done it.

I am in Alaska for the Iditarod. Yes, the Iditarod. THE 1100+ mile sled dog race across the Alaskan tundra. Working with the best. New friends, awesome dogs...just had dinner with last year's champion Robert Sorlie and the potential champion of this year: his nephew Bjorner (I need to learn to spell his name). It's fairly warm, at least now in Anchorage, and I'm still marvelling that I am here. HERE. This is an adventure and a roller coaster and I am waiting for the ride. So cool. So fucking cool. One of my favorite moments in my life so far. Interesting fact I learned yesterday: did you know that more people have climbed Mt. Everest than have finished the Iditarod??? Yeah, me neither. I'll make it as far as Skewntna and then real work calls...ah, to love and have loved before.

I love Alaska. I love the frontier. God forbid my life ever stops holding adventure.

poetry on the page

tumbling through obscurity
i'm reaching for a wall
but with no safety in the black
nothing breaks my fall

it's a song with more to come...but jazzy jazz, write me. i miss you.

to a jazz of its own rhythm

a test.
one of many.
a driving compulsion to make you happy
i'm a people pleaser...and can't help it.
but i want you happy
and can't tell you what
your trust means to me
to my soul
to my sensibilities.
thank you. thank you.

hi josh sorry you've no idea of my loyalty
and jas, love, i know you took the heat for tonight
but i'll take the heat for tomorrow
'cause you're a friend
tried and true
put me to the test
please...again...
i want to rise to the challenge
i am a people pleaser
and more than anything
want to please you
please you
is it messed up?
am I?
wanting to sear the words
the lyrics
then remember you love the smooth voice
of monsieur tupac
chocolate fondue voice
a love.
scandalous, maybe?

renewed love of writing.

sitting here while you're there
call me white girl -- dare you.
fun times too many
but won't trade them for anything.
monday lunch...don't forget.
we're thinking of you --
promise to think of us.
with love.

likes.

a solid, uncomfortable gaze.
cuddling.
laugh lines.
yellow light of candles.
wine.
well-made stationary.
smell of new books.
legs in a mini skirt.
loose sleeves.
dogs.
semisweet chai.
forearms.
the sound of cable snapping.

to two loves.

the moon behind the clouds on a sunny day...a bittersweet vestige of night hangs captive...

in the plane i watched you both until the mist in the sky was too much. Maybe it was the mist in my eyes. I can't tell and it doesn't matter. Suddenly aching in the places I played. Home is a faraway memory ready to come back full center. Focus forward my heart stays behind craving a simplicity I can't seem to allow myself to seek. A simple poetry in the simultaneous distance and proximity between you. And even though I'm only on vacation there is a tug of war between the two of you, and here and home. In a short time the island will be the memory and home will be the present. But I feel here more often the kind of woman I want to be and a different one to each of you. How much is true and how much is emotional residue I can't separate but saying goodbye seems only harder the second time.

I never told you but I sat by the truck while you locked up the adega. I inhaled the crisp ocean air and licked the salt from my lips. It was a small moment yet somehow I sensed things are going to change before the next time. Something much bigger that I cannot or will not be willing to overcome. Mabye that change will be with one of you. And you're both right about no promises and I make none to you. But that won't keep me from tucking a little piece of each of you as you are now as I am now in a memory box that will hover like the moon in the clouds -- a lingering vestige of night times past. com saudades. siempre.