One Year Of Opus

This blog post is so important that I'm starting it a day ahead of time. It's Friday afternoon. Jay is on a little field trip. Stan is sacked out but (obviously) contemplative. Tomorrow, the 31st, is the last day of my One Year Of Opus. If you have no idea what I'm referring to, you need to read the July 16, 2007 post. Whew. Do I have a lot to talk about. So, go pour a cup of coffee, grab a beer, or make yourself a nice martini. This might take a while.

I did so many things I wanted to do. I knitted hats and made furniture and gardened and made goofy beaded glass candle hangers. I read a lot of books and I saw my own book become real. I wrote poems and ideas and letters. I made up recipes and cooked a lot of food. I tried to drink more water every day and eat better. I made collage envelopes and strange weird wire flowers. I taught poetry at the community college and did a couple Book Festivals. Okay, I even finger painted and wrote a poem on a pair of jeans with a bleach pen. I did not stick to the four-hour-a-day plan of being creative. But somedays I spent three hours painting, two more hours writing, and then another hour tending the garden. I also played kick ball and golf, started walking more and got back to dancing in the living room. I moved. I moved back to my old neighborhood, into my old house, away from bad decisions. I got to go on overnight, middle-of-the-week field trips with Jay. Some of those things I would have done anyway, Opus or not. But some of them I would have felt limited in, guilty or just too tired to do, had I not made rules and a conscious decision to be different.

One of the best things I was able to do in my year was to be with my mom. I got to be present with my mom when she was dying. I got to take care of her and feed her and see her to the end. I'm sure this blog got most of it across, but it was so hard at times. And it was so right and perfect and good for me. I cannot imagine not being there. Sometimes my whole insides felt hollow and empty, like everything had left except the grief. And then my mom would smile or give that little laugh and look at me and I felt so grateful to have that time with her. I would feel so filled up with absolute rightness.

I'll tell you a story....I used to be afraid of her body. I was afraid of how it might look. I didn't want to see her. Maybe it was even just the exposed, naked sense of skin transferring into the emotions. I was just frightened by the thought of sagging and sore parts and mess. The mess of the human body, old. How should one look at 87 years old? I was just afraid. Then one day, I went into her room and she was in the bathroom, just beginning to be bathed by one of the caregivers. She was sitting on one of those little seats. I kind of hung around outside the bathroom door. Then I mosied toward the bathroom and walked in. She was kind of fighting the aide so I just walked up and took hold of her arm and her shirt and help pull it off. I said, hey, I'm here, and she gave me this look like, Get me the hell out of this place, but she settled down. Wow, my mom looked beautiful. Her skin was soft and light. I just soaped up her back, which was as smooth as could be. I washed her hair and then I held her small, wet body to help her out of the chair. My clothes were wet and she was unsure of her footing but I helped her up and got her dressed and just thought, This is my mom, and she is so beautiful. I will never forget the grace of that moment. Like I was the luckiest person in the world.

If there was one reason for my year, I believe it was to be there, present, with her. I still have many moments when I feel selfish about my year. Like, who the heck am I to take time off and not have a full time job!? I know some people think I'm a little out of my mind. I love those people. I AM slightly crazy to have made the choice I did. But I have no regrets, only wonder.

Let's see, what else happened. The move back home was big. Mostly, I made a good decision where in the past I've made a bad one. That was a huge thing for me, feeling rather like a failure AGAIN, and then making and sticking with the decision to move on. And feeling strong in that....albeit, still a bit of a failure. And yet knowing, so KNOWING it was the right choice for Jay and I. This poem kind of says it for me....

The Journey
----by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Another thing about the year. Failure. It's okay. I failed sometimes. I didn't fail other times. Someone said to me the other day that it's our failures that we truly learn from, not so much our successes. I liked that.

One thing that really worked for me was the ban on buying clothes. Or jewelry. Or shoes, purses and ear rings. Aside from one accidental Arizona Cardinals Tee shirt, I did not buy any items of adornment. And it was a huge relief. I saved so much time! I could walk into Target and be done in 10 minutes. I walked right by Dillards and Penney's. It was not nearly as difficult as I thought it might be. It was a good and positive thing. Of course, I did buy a house.....

INTERMISSION
If you need to go warm up your coffee or make another martini, go ahead!!!
I have so much more to say :)

What next? WHAT NEXT!?!?

The next year...... From June 1st to June 1st. Now what? Holy Cripe. First, I've decided I want to have a year every year. A purpose, rules, ideas, goals. There were things that I thought about this year but didn't put into action....I could do those. Part of this is just how I am. Being a round peg, I can't fit into those square holes. I guess It's about time I realize that. When I graduated from high school my mom took me out to Macy's and bought me a suit. The soft brownish linen. The vest and jacket, and the skirt that came down to my knees. I thought, at the time, that was what I was supposed to do. Wear the outfit and get a job. Be a secretary. But I failed. I went to L.A. to be an actress. I drove n ice cream truck. I had mediocre, at best, relationships. I never made a dime at anything I did. I loved to dance. I loved to write. So I wrote. I liked to work retail and chat with folks. When I opened up my wine store, I did so because I didn't want my son to be in day care for 9 hours a day. That's all. I got out of the bad relationships before they killed me. (This all might be too much information but this is the last day of my One Year Of Opus so I get to spill). So, here's my next year....

It's the dragonfly year......

Dragonfly symbolism crosses and combines with that of the butterfly and change. The dragonfly symbolizes going past self-created illusions that limit our growing and changing. Dragonflies are a symbol of the sense of self that comes with maturity.

They are fantastic flyers, darting like light, twisting, turning, changing direction, even going backwards as the need arises. They are inhabitants of two realms - starting with water, and moving to the air with maturity, but staying close to water. Some people who have the dragonfly as their totem have had emotional and passionate early years, but as they get older they achieve balance with mental clarity and control. They gain an expression of the emotional and mental together.

Dragonflies are old and adaptive insects, and are most powerful in the summer under the effects of warmth and sunlight. Their colors are a result of reflecting and refracting the power of light. As a result, they are associated with color magic, illusion in causing others only to see what you wish, and other mysticism.

The are often represented in Japanese paintings, representing new light and joy. To some Native Americans they are the souls of the dead. Faerie stories say that they used to be real dragons.

Dragonflies are reminders that we are light and can reflect the light in powerful ways if we choose to do so. "Let there be light" is the divine prompting to use the creative imagination as a force within your life. They help you to see through your illusions and allow your own light to shine in a new vision.

I have a dragonfly doorbell and a dragonfly wind chime. Other than that, I am NOT becoming some cosmic whoo-ha. I'm still average and regular. And I am not going to start collecting unicorns and/or mermaid figurines (not that there's anything wrong with that).


So, actually, I just realized that it's still, technically, my One Year of Opus. Tomorrow, June 1st. I'll give you the rules, regulations, and hopes for the next one. The Year of the Dragonfly....

Marigolds and Beautiful Fear

Great weekend. I planted marigolds in pots. I can't decide if my front porch looks kitschy or hip. You be the judge. But, either way, I love the marigolds. That flower always reminds me of my mom. When I was a kid, we would spend several days in the spring planting marigolds and petunias. We would sit at the side of the house, amid clover patches, and dig holes in the dirt garden and plant. It was a patch of dirt probably three feet by twenty feet right up next to the house. Earthworms would writhe about and we always had a coffee can to put them in for my dad's fishing. The house next door had window wells and my friend Kristy lived there and we usually had a toad or something wild that we had made a house for and stuck down in that windawell. The sun would be bright and my mom would let me help. I think about that when Jay wants to help and I think, No, I Can Do It Faster (and better). Instead I try to remember that it's okay if it's not done perfect or even, always, well. I know I didn't dig good holes or plant those marigolds straight, but it was so good to sit in the green grass and have dirty hands. And now I can dig good holes. I used to like to take a single marigold flower and pop it off the stem. You could peel the green bottom away and there would be a million marigold petals with their own white little stem with the black tip. I thought if I flung them out in the air, marigolds would grow in everyone's lawn but they never did. I only realized a few years ago that they had to dry first.

Regarding fear. I am so afraid at times of so many things. I worry about driving back to Kansas. Will there be a tornado? Or a driving rain storm? Or a blow-out? Or a fifty car pile-up? Will I stop at a rest stop at the same time as a deranged psychopath? At the same time, this is the cool mystery of life. The other side is; will we see a herd of antelope against the setting sun? Will I stop at a Wendy's and find a twenty dollar bill? Will there be a light rain sprinkle that makes the air smell clean and then a triple rainbow? Will someone I know, at the last minute, say Hey, Can I Drive Back To Kansas With You? Will I buy a lottery ticket in Albuquerque and win 27 million dollars?

But still, fear is around. I think about it because I've talked to four good friends of mine in the last week who have brought it up. Fear. Of getting older, of the employment conundrum, of gas prices and how to make ends meet. Of making relationships work, and raising kids, and parents getting old. It's so real and big. It's not like a phobia. It's just that general feeling of, Holy Cripe, what if this happens? What will I do? How do I make my life work? I'm glad the people I know talk about it. I think there is no solution except that.....talk. Sometimes I think I have mild agoraphobia. I just want to sit in my house writing and painting and never travel and never climb a ladder. But then I get in my car and head out to Kingman for the Bookfestival or plan a trip to Kansas. I climb the ladder and change the light bulb (note; I'm only on the third rung) and my hands shake and I think about the screws coming out of the rungs (I am a dork) but I really want the light to work.

I see those "No Fear" stickers and I think it's such a good idea and the stickers are cool and motivating but, man, fear can be overwhelming. And it's useless more times than it's useful. There are times when it works, or could work....like in those Friday the Thirteenth movies where the girl goes BACK into the house after finding her friend skewered on a coat rack. That b**ch needs to USE her fear and get out of there. Same deal with lumps. You find a lump or a patch of skin that has turned odd and speckled and you feel fear; take that fear to the nearest phone and make an appointment to check it out. Useful fear. Actually, it was fear that made me start my one year of opus, Fear that I would waste this life. That fear motivated me to live more, take more heart risks, be more real.

But most of the others, I think you just have to dive in. Get in the car and drive. Say what you mean. Approach your parent about assisted living. Climb the F**king ladder (Uh oh, that's my second use of veiled profanity in one post). I suppose I'll always be afraid of stroking out, or people I love going away, or getting a flat tire during a tornado near an asylum. But it's not going to stop me from dancing.


Do one thing every day that scares you.
----Eleanor Roosevelt.

Snow

This is Flagstaff today.....

And, because I seem to be unable to stop writing as of late....

I was reading a little Vonnegut last night in bed and I remembered this quote (see below), from my 67 pages of quotes in my "Quote" file. Then when I looked at it this morning, I thought, and yes, it's also cold in the summer. And then, reading over my blog from last night (see below), I was feeling interminably grateful for all the wonder in my life, all the simple things like having a bed and food and a boy doing homework in the kitchen and a dog on the couch, and it made me think of all the scary things out there and all the people going through really rough times - the earthquakes and tornadoes and just the plain, hellish lives some people are living. Then, I felt so helpless in wanting to help SOMEHOW but not having a clue as to what to do to make a difference in the world. THEN, I decided (back to this quote) that while I'm trying to figure out how to help and how to be a better person and how to make a difference, probably being kind is the best way to start. Talk about stream of consciousness......

Hello babies, welcome to earth. It's hot in the summer and
cold in the winter. It's round, and wet, and crowded. At
the outset babies, you've got about a 100 years here.
There's only one rule that I know of babies – Damn it,
you've got to be kind. There's only one rule: you've got to
be kind.
--Kurt Vonnegut, from "God Bless you Mr. Rosewater"

A New Low

I'm going to do something I said I'd never do. I'm going to stoop so low I may even lose a few of you to better and more interesting blogs. Yes, I am going to blog about....my dinner. It's over now. I have finished my dinner and am now basking in the after-dinner glow. In fact, I just finished eating several bites of Jay's Dreyer's cookie dough ice cream right out of the container. I am not normally an ice cream person so the ice cream is Jay's. But, in my post-dinner joy, I dug around in his ice cream and ate the chunks of cookie dough out of the regular vanilla surrounding them. He's going to be pissed. But, back to the dinner.

Jay had Boy Scouts tonight and he ate dinner there. That left me on my own. I used to make this great pasta and I had not made it for ages. It's very simple but also filling and hot and yummy. So, I started by cooking up some whole wheat angle hair. While that was cooking, I put about a quarter cup of olive oil in a sauce pan, pressed about four cloves of garlic in there and put it to simmer. I had two brilliantly red, ripe tomatoes so I cut them up into the oil and garlic, added a bit of fresh basil and fresh parsley. I let it all simmer together for 20 minutes or so. Drained the pasta and added the pasta to the saucepan with the sauce. I had some real Parmigiano Reggiano that I grated all over the top. Then...THEN, I opened a half bottle of Duckhorn Merlot, 2002. O.M.G. I sat in my father's recliner and watched the news while eating. Jay sat in the kitchen doing his homework. After I sat down and placed my wine next to me on the table and looked down at my beautiful pasta, I must have laughed because Jay hollered over, "What are you laughing about?" and I realized I was giddy about my food. I was so enamored by my dinner that I took a picture of it.

After having been on both sides of the stick, so to speak, I never take this shit for granted.

Now, I am going to go read Jay a chapter out of By The Banks of Plum Creek, clean up the kitchen, and drink my second, and final glass of Duckhorn. And next time, I'll try and have something a bit more interesting to write about.

We must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind us to the fact that each moment of life is a miracle and mystery.
--H. G. Wells

What's So Fun(ny)

(Still immersed in my parentheses fetish)

Did I mention that I love The Office? I love it so much that it makes Jay angry. I say, on Thursday nights, If you want a story, you better be in your bed, teeth brushed, by 7:40, cause I'm watching The Office at 8:00. And, if he stalls and pokes about and gets in bed at five till eight, I have to throw it down....Sorry, dude, my show's coming on, turn your light off when you're done reading (kind of in the vein of Don't Let The Door Hit You On Your Way Out). Then he says ten-year-old-boy things like, I Wish The Electricity Would Go Out Right Now And Then You couldn't Watch The Office And You'd Have To Read Me A Book. At which time I fling back, Still Couldn't, No Lights Dude.

And for another good laugh, I had my celebrity look-a-likes configured. I found this on my friend Tyge's blog (okay, we've never met, but my theory is that if I like someones writing, and they make me laugh, and they have any musical taste whatsoever, they must be a friend). It appears that I look like lots of cool people. I wonder if Don Rickles or Ruth Buzzi ever pops up on these things. I especially like that I look like Rob Lowe.

MyHeritage - free family trees, genealogy and face recognition" target="_blank">

On to the fun. I have been listening to a new band (new for me; they've been around for awhile), Widespread Panic. I put one of their songs on my Ear Candy so check it out.

Jay and I went fishing again and I got the Blue Heron picture.
And Jay caught fish. Two trout.

The Kingman KABAM was very fun. I read my poems, worked in the high school and just had an overall good experience.

I don't know if I'm reaping in some karmic goodness, or just being a lucky s.o.b. right now, but I'm experiencing all these good, kind, full-of-heart, interesting people. I'm having some great experiences and supreme, groovy, joyfullicious (new word alert) moments. So, whoever I need to thank; the universe or god or my mom and dad, I am so flipping thankful.

I've been writing a lot lately. Trying to work my brain before I have to (Aacckk!) go check out the "real job" arena. One-sentence poems have been my new personal assignment so I'll leave you with one of those....



o.s.p. 4 heron
From here I see
the wind tousle
the smoky feathers
that give you flight
and I hear
their sound
as you rise up
in the still
sky, whispering
freedom.

Mother's Day

I wrote this poem for my mom several years ago. I was reading it today, thinking about her, wondering, again, where in the heck is she? Then I looked at Jay, and I thought, well, there she is. I looked at the curio cabinet in my living room and saw this teeny, old teapot, one bitty cup and half a lid to an equally tiny sugar bowl (all that's left from her set from when she a child) and thought, there she is. I looked at these cool Asian pictures on my wall, ones that my dad brought home from some war, and remembered how, when she was early in her dementia, she would come over and take them off the walls and put them next to the door because "these are mine and I'm taking them home" and then by the time I'd take her back to The Peaks, she would have forgotten them, and damn, I thought, there she is. I thought of all those nameless things, how on Friday I gathered a bunch of canned food up and stuck them in a bag next to the mailbox because there was a postal food drive, and I did it because SHE would have done it. So, I kind of found her today, and although it's not the phone call I really wanted, it's enough.

Here's the poem, and even though I had it in an older blog, it seemed so right for my first Mother's Day without her.....

Care

I would stand in the circular drive
at McEachron elementary school, my hand splayed out
above my eyes, watching
for the Olds.
When it pulled up, I would struggle
with the heavy door against
the Kansas wind and settle my slight
ten year old self
on the burgundy velvet bench seat.
We were going to Bike’s
Burger Bar for thirteen cent hamburgers
while all the other kids sat
at the gray formica tables in the stark gymnasium,
eating beef-a-roni and drinking milk
from tiny red and white cartons.

Every other Friday at exactly noon
she came to get me;
the only one leaving school for lunch, the only one
having a Bike’s hamburger with french fries
and a pop. Sitting at the speckled table,
my mother would listen as I talked in-between bites;
she would ask questions,
and make sure I had enough ketchup.
I don’t know what we talked about; recess maybe,
a mean boy or how my cat, Tony,
could meow the loudest of all the cats.
And before she took me back
she would dip her napkin in the cold,
sharp ice water and wipe my face.

On Saturdays she would let me
polish the philodendrons with a cotton ball
and a plastic cup of milk and mayonnaise.
She would vacuum,
and iron sheets and handkerchiefs
while I knelt on the floor
and cleaned each soft green leaf.

Now we are walking down a sidewalk
where nothing is familiar
to her. Not the cars passing, not the house
where they have lived
for seventeen years, not even me. I think
that I would like her to take me to Bike’s Burger Bar
again, or mix the milk and mayonnaise
with an old tarnished spoon
and let me wash the leaves
for her. I would like to sit together
by the side of the house, planting marigolds
and petunias, dropping the pink, writhing earthworms
in a Folgers Coffee can; the scant grounds
of coffee left in the bottom
for food. I would like to go somewhere with her
and have her listen to me, and ask questions,
and make sure I have enough ketchup.

She will not ask any questions today.
But the hand that I hold is the one that once held
the damp napkin and washed the lunch from my face.
It is the one
that held the iron
and planted the marigolds, the one that
opened the Folgers and turned off the light
before I slept. As we keep walking, I settle
myself against her slight frame,
draping my arm across her shoulder,
and hold tight to the body, living.

Change

I used to rearrange the furniture in my house all the time. Every other month or so, I'd spend an evening moving the couch, putting the plants in different places and changing what tables the lamps all sat on. It made the place feel like a new house. I used to experience change by moving to a new town or going to a different school. I still love change, but in smaller doses. I love the change of the seasons here. I love the house I'm in, the town I live in and the friends I have. So, when I moved this time and after all my furniture was put where I wanted it, I looked around and thought, wow, I like this layout. I thought, I might not change this furniture around for a long time. So, now I think I'll be fairly content with changing my blog look occasionally, switching out my eating utensil drawer (that's a funny one when people are used the spoons being in one place and then they have to hunt for them...it makes them think they're CRAZY), and moving the outdoor furniture around on the back deck. And I put my music back on too. I'd gotten e-mails and comments about it...and I missed it too. Now it's up to you to turn it on.

Book Festival #2, etc

Hey, I'm doing another one. May 15 - 17, I'll be at the Kingman KABAM.

I'm planning on doing the Oprah show in the fall, although I haven't heard from her yet. Silly.

Jay and I are also heading to Kansas in June. Holy Schmoly, I forgot, I bought a flipping house in Kansas. What was I thinking?! We're excited. I love road trips and I think it will be a beautiful drive. Plus, not a bad time of year weather-wise. Aside from the massive, driving-rain, swirling tornados.

My family is having a memorial for my mom and dad back there in late June. It's very hard, sometimes, to believe they're gone. I think a lot, probably too much, about that. Where are they? I don't know exactly what Heaven I believe in. I want to know for sure but there is no "knowing for sure". It's helped me at times to read what other people think. I've found some books and quotes (of course) that make me feel a modicum of comfort. There is one that I loved that talked about how the body is the womb for the soul. How, when the soul is born, it discards the body. I liked that one. I get mixed up sometimes between hope and faith and grief. I would pretty much be satisfied by only one thing....if they would call me on the phone and say, "Hey, It's your dad (mom) and I'm doing fine here. Now go get a real job" That last part would assure me it was really them.

I want to put some of this in a book and I'd love some help, so.......
If you could send me an e-mail that says, in a few paragraphs or so, what you think happens when we take that very last breath....and into the next few minutes or hours or years (or is it timeless?). What happens? What happens. Where do we/you/they go? Send it to jilliebug@aol.com - If you can get anyone else to write, do that too. And if you are a close personal friend of Bono or Obama or Cher, or even somebody from American Idol or your local City Hall, have them give me their thoughts too. Or the Chinese man at the bakery or the woman with the big blond hair at the gym. Really.

I'm thinking about writing books and doing the documentary about my mom. I'm thinking of finishing up the furniture and getting my garden started. I'm thinking of filing an extension for my One Year of Opus....... uh oh.

Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at the moment. -Eckhart Tolle

Updates.....

Bookfest - Wow. That was so much fun. I met so many very cool people. I heard Tim Seibles read (Tim, I really meant it when I asked if you could just call me at night and read me stories) and what a wonderful voice and presence he has. I had a student in class today that said that when Tim read, "you just want to melt into your seat and realize how right everything is in the world." I also listened to Dorothy Allison (what a great woman) read a story that has stuck with me since the reading. She made the room resonate with her characters and power. Oh, and then there were about three dozen more awesome writers that made my weekend. If you missed it, you are a fool! The only way to redeem yourselves is to go to a bookstore and buy books and lose yourself in those books for a WHOLE F**KING DAY. There. Go do that.

Field Trip - You may not know this but, at 7:00 am, the day after the Bookfest, I went on a two night field trip to Kartchner Caverns with my son. And THAT was so fun too. There were 19 fourth graders and 10 adults. Kartchner was beautiful, and we went on hikes and swam and sat by the camp fire. Here are a couple pictures from the hikes. Note - there is a bee in that yellow flower. I am, as a matter of fact, not scared of bees. And, if you click on the red ocotillo flower and make it big (maybe even make it your desktop) it looks so cool. It's the clearest, sharpest close-up I've ever taken and it should be seen enlarged. True confession - we stayed at a KOA. It was kind of somewhere between camping and a hotel. There was swimming, mini golf, and all of the tents were about six inches apart. But it was funnnn. I love night time when I'm camping. I have a new sleeping bag and it was cozy and soft and wondrous. I curled up in there and read Bookfest books with my little head lamp and listened to the wind and worried about monsters from the ghost stories. Luckily, there were other people in other tents a mere twelve inches away from my head. Oh, and...there were showers. Yes, we were living in the lap of luxury.

The quote of the day today has relevance to nothing I've written here. Sometimes they relate but not today. I include it only because it makes me laugh. For two reasons; one, it's funny, and two, it's said by "Mango." What is THAT all about?

"Life is hard. It's even harder when you're stupid."
--Mango

Okay, yes, I have had moments when that would apply to me :)