Pen to paper

Initials

She sits beneath
what used to be her tree,
shadows looming high above her hair.

Amazed that she used to be so little,
she traces her initials
now overgrown with moss
and wonders at the need
for solitude,
for altitude,
for bliss.


If only she had known
she would never have been afraid of wings.

A special 55

I came out of retirement to post for you, G-Man,

and for another someone

as an angel who seems to have misplaced her wings.

Saturday in the cemetery with Ed & Bob

I have always had a fascination with cemeteries. There are so many stories here and I'm a storyteller, so I feel right at home. I often make up stories while I wander on the dry grass, on the lush lawns.



The old markers, covered in moss and lichen, are my favorite. I love the less tended spots. I don't, as people often ask, have the urge to clean them up. This is the way they are supposed to be.


Meet Phoebe Hall and Frances McDonald. Phoebe and Frances stand alone a little bit from the rest. Phoebe was older. I wonder why they are so close together and apart from the rest? Were they friends, siblings, something more? Why is Frances leaning so distinctly toward Phoebe? Is Frances a he or a she? I sense a love story with these two...

This was a most beautiful spot. But there was an odd sense of unease as I sat here. It occurred at three different points of the cemetery. Was I letting my mind play tricks on me, or do I sense, just like I do with living people, unhappiness and pain in a place like this?



I don't think this was the best photo I took, but there is something ethereal about this statue of Mary inside one of the crypts. The sun behind her, the reflection of the woods behind me, all add up to an interesting moment. You can almost see me in the shadows.

Ah, Father Sullivan. This, after all, is a Catholic cemetery. Many large and sometimes gaudy headstones show the final resting place of men of the cloth. The sisters got a very plain headstone with their nun name (is that what you call it?) on it. Not their birth name. I found that rather sad.

I couldn't help but wonder how many of the priests had trouble getting through those often mentioned gates to heaven, based on their behavior on earth. But Father Sullivan gave me a different vibe. It looks, at the base of his tombstone, like someone has paced, around and around and around. Like he is the guardian of the good souls, protecting them from whatever else gave me the unsettled feeling on more than one occasion.

The incense left with these flowers was still burning as I passed. It overpowered the smell of the flowers, but not completely. I felt peaceful and restful and calm.

This is the most beautiful cross I've ever seen. Obviously Gaelic, it has carvings of amazing creatures all over it. The bas and walls of this monument are covered with Celtic and Gaelic carvings and sayings. Many of Portland's famous Catholic families purchased stones to celebrate family. I loved it that it was in the middle of a cemetery but was celebrating the living and life.




This marker says, "Devoted mother and Queen of Everything." Her name, by the way, is Linda Love.


Every time I took a picture of this door, there was a sunspot in the upper right corner. Funny, the sun was behind me and there was nothing that could be reflected upon.




Everything in the cemetery is old, except for the cell and radio towers in the background. It makes for an odd combination of peace, solitude and a feeling of still being in the city.

I'll end with a collection of statues. I am drawn to these especially when they have not survived the weather or the hi jinx of people completely intact. Besides, I like wings.














By the way, Bob & Ed are a way of saying you have butterflies in your stomach, along with an elephant or two. Bob the Butterfly. Ed the Elephant. I haven't come up with a good name for the feeling you get when the hair on the back of your neck stands up and you feel goosebumps...yet.

Still breathing... really

There's no time for blogging. I'm too busy being harassed by the IT Monkeys I adore that I'm getting all the glory. Lunching on Chinese.

Life is good.

HI.

We need a break

I'm taking a cue from my friend Rich and skipping the blog for a couple weeks, maybe months, maybe forever. Call it exhaustion, too many irons in the fire or something more basic - feeling I can't write anything without having to explain myself. Maybe a blog is finite and mine has run its course.

Hmmm. Or maybe it's just time for Pheromone Girl, the girl in me, to take her leave and allow someone new and different to come along. My own personal metamorphosis.

Did you know Dragonflies spend most of their lives in the larva stage (up to three years, depending on the species)? The adult, winged stage only lasts a few weeks. So when you see a winged dragonfly, you know it's toward the end of its lifespan. Sad but true.

Adieux.

And then...

...something you says helps someone else.

I'm humbled. If you haven't already checked out Violence Unsilenced, get thee over there. Because most of the people in the world are wonderful.

Salt dancing

I am so much prettier now than when I was in high school. Maybe that's why I didn't feel the need to go to my 20th reunion a couple years back. I'm self assured, relatively successful, have a house full of monkeys and a heart full of joy most days.

*puke*

I know, I know. Shut up already! "She's one of THOSE people, always happy..." Well, sue me.

Why would I want to spend a momentous occasion - the reminder of 20 years removed from gym class, popularity contests that I never won and straight A's? - with a bunch of people who weren't very nice to me the first time around?

So I didn't go. But that doesn't mean that I don't celebrate things in my world. I'm not big on anniversaries and spend most of the hours of any given anniversary reminding myself how much I've grown. Go me.

Christmas is a cute holiday. I celebrated in church for many years and came to realize that even at church it was about presents. The church wanted presents in the form of big fat donations from all the extra sheep they drew in for the guilt factor (you have to go to church or you'll rot in hell - now get out your checkbook and we'll make it all better!!) Not that all churches are like that, just this particular church that shall remain nameless. LAME. Besides, EVERYONE gets to celebrate Christmas, everyone gets gifts, everyone is the center of attention.

BIRTHDAYS, however, are different. Birthdays are a really, really big deal. A birthday is a special day, just for you, where everything is about you. I spoil on birthdays. Birthdays are never forgotten. Birthdays are very, very special. I will make you dance in salt.

Back when I was a kid, in the 70s, we had some wonderful neighbors in our neighborhood. My parents were friends with everyone. The Rackanellis were a large, fabulous Italian family. The Brewers were rather odd but their kids still hung with my crew. The Teckenbergs got divorced and I used to babysit their kids - plus the oldest was my little brother's best friend and they caused lots of trouble together. The Williams, Lena and Art, were like grandparents to me. They yelled at me a lot the way good grandparents will do. "Get off our fence" or "don't you dare go stomping through my rose beds" and especially "give me back my boxer shorts!" They hung laundry out on a line to dry - they never had a dryer, and I was notorious for putting Art's brightly patterned boxer shorts on the bird house. Little minx that I was.

Anyway, my favorite neighborhood family didn't speak a word of English. I believe their name sounded something like Braunschwager. They were Russian Orthodox with the lace on their heads and everything. Their kids were amazingly well behaved - except when their parents were out of earshot and they would cuss in Russian and spit. I learned to spit very far the year they moved in.

My birthday is smack dab in the middle of winter. It's almost immediately after Christmas. Yes, I got combo Christmas and Birthday gifts. At the time, it was very upsetting. Now, I think my parents taught me a very good lesson about expectations. You see, the most meaningful gifts for me are the ones given from the heart. A note, a card, a box full of silly things that cost nothing and mean everything. A receipt saved from a special moment together and mailed to me weeks later. Dancing in salt.

Did you have to read that twice? You see, my birthday was often forgotten, usually celebrated with leftover cupcakes from some Christmas get together (which is probably why I dislike eating any dessert themed green).

But I digress.

The Russian Orthodox family had a strange but cool birthday tradition. At the appropriate moment (he exact time of birth), on the appropriate day, they would celebrate in a small way. The box of Mortons (or Leslie, since Art worked for Leslie salt forever and we all got boxes and boxes) would come out. A line would be drawn all the way across the room in thick salt. Not a space would be left - that would be bad luck. And the birthday boy or girl, man or woman would dance around the room to the clapping of the adults and step ceremoniously over the line of salt, officially becoming a year older. We'd all laugh and drink homemade lemonade. The salt would be spread from one end of the room to the other because everyone would join in the dance.

When I was 11, I celebrated with them and had my first salt dance. I also realized, accidentally, that the lemonade being enjoyed by the adults have Vodka in it and mine did not. Also that I didn't like Vodka much at all.

So for years, as a kid, I'd celebrate my friends birthdays by forcing them to cross a line drawn in salt. They all put up with my silliness because they knew they'd also get homemade cake. Made with Rum. Now rum cake was nothing like Vodka. Trust me on this one. You never wake up in the morning with a rum cake headache. The cake would be hand carved in the shape of something meaningful to the person. For Jodie, it was a fiddle, Jill got a piano keyboard, Todd the face of a character from a play (did I mention I hung out with the geeks?) Sean got a helmet with his favorite football team's logo and colors. I had a crush on Sean. I spent two weekends practicing the carving. He wasn't all that impressed and said crush went away quickly. Especially after he said "I'd have preferred a cake from Albertsons". Ouch.

Anyway, happy 39th to a most important person in my world. Where'd I put the salt...?