Writing is a deeper sleep than death.
Just as one wouldn’t pull a corpse from its grave,
I can’t be dragged from my desk at night. – Franz Kafka

Typical family gathering.

Mom got grumpy and uptight because there were a lot of people in the house. She had to do everything, but not because we didn’t offer, more because she doesn’t trust anyone to do anything to her standards.

Even though she has serious health problems, and really shouldn’t be on her feet.

Still, Dad bears the brunt of her ire, and the rest of us just sit helplessly by and listen to her spew venom that she doesn’t really mean to a man that deserves none of it.

The little ones are oblivious, for the most part, and play incessantly, either on the old Nintendo NES in the bedroom (ah, those classic NES games…), or running about in the yard… with the podling who DOES know, but chooses to entertain the younger ones because it’s easier and gets her out of the line of fire. The older nephews read, or watch tv with the munchkins.

The rest of us (my brother, his wife and I) sit around and alternately try to be useful in the kitchen, or stay out of the way and talk… about… life. He’s a teacher. She’s a stay at home mom. I’m back in school. We all have our little anecdotes to share.

Snippet of conversation from the dinner table (please don’t ask how we got to this point):

Dad: Well, maybe you should get a cattle prod… that might work on those students. Those don’t leave a mark. (said jokingly)

Bro: Yeah… maybe…

9 yr old nephew: (unintelligible – mouth is full -, yet approving shout of agreement at this tacit threat of violence against someone)

me: Good idea, but you’ll probably want to test it out before you take it to work. (meaningful glance at nephew who shouts with his mouth full)

6 yr old niece: (much giggling) YEAH!

9 yr old nephew: (having now chewed and swallowed…somewhat): Not ME! Why don’t you use it on K (6 yr. old niece). SHE’s not the princess everyone says she is all the time!

6 yr old princess-niece: *I’M* a princess. (complete with fluttering lashes… not jokingly. This girl is serious.)

me: Oh, you keep working that, K. You’ve almost got it perfected.

6 yr old niece: (grinning… and believing me. She knows it. This child is going to be trouble in about 8 – 10 years.) I AM a princess!

Yeah, that’s the princess. She can’t help it. (Yet. She must reach an age of reason, first.) She’s the youngest child with 3 torturous older brothers. Give her a few years…

So after lunch (the main meal) the kids went out and sorta, kinda, raked leaves for Grandpa…

I’m not sure how efficient or effective they were, but it kept them busy, and I think it helped at least a little.

The afternoon and evening were spent just hanging out and talking. That was nice. After the evening grazing (nobody could handle a REAL meal at that point), we did the traditional playing of the cards. Sticking to rules, and not talking across the table are NOT really important during these games. It’s more an excuse for us all to be in the same room at one time, talking.

Oh, and the snacking.

Later we got to talk to the other bro in Montana… though mostly we all took turns talking to his oldest daughter. (7 years old) Now THAT is a child with the voice of an angel. I think it’s probably the sweetest little voice I’ve ever heard… and I’m partial to my podling. But this niece… she sounds like spun sugar being proferred by the most beautiful and delicate of fairy queens. Sweet child.

I need to find my way to Montana and visit that brother and his family. Of everyone I’m related to… he’s the one I miss the most. And, of course, he’s the one that managed to escape the farthest.

Someday.

All in all… well, it was a good day. They’re still family, and I still love them, no matter how dysfunctional our relationships have been over the years.

I’m pretty sure holidays are going to be weird for a while. The dust still hasn’t settled, and after the kind of upheaval the end of a marriage causes… I can’t expect it to.

At least they’re all still speaking to me, regardless of what a bad person they think I am.

You are The Tower

Ambition, fighting, war, courage. Destruction, danger, fall, ruin.

The Tower represents war, destruction, but also spiritual renewal. Plans are disrupted. Your views and ideas will change as a result.

The Tower is a card about war, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth. The Tower stands for "false concepts and institutions that we take for real." You have been shaken up; blinded by a shocking revelation. It sometimes takes that to see a truth that one refuses to see. Or to bring down beliefs that are so well constructed. What’s most important to remember is that the tearing down of this structure, however painful, makes room for something new to be built.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Like… somewhere other than in the shower or in the car. Maybe… in front of people. With music. Idunno. With the right mood.

Oh… yeah. The songs.

Planet Caravan – Black Sabbath

The Queen and the Soldier – Suzanne Vega

Killing Me Softly – most memorably by Roberta Flack, though I’m partial to the Fugees version as well.

Why Don’t You Do Right – Remember Jessica Rabbit’s debut in Who Killed Roger Rabbit? Ouch.

Can’t Find My Way Home – Traffic

There are probably more, but these are some of my favorites, because I think they could just… I don’t know.. be so personally interpreted. You know?

marzipan.

Just sayin’.

I have spent the greater portion of my life fighting against the name that was given to me at birth.

Things I have felt were embarrassment at being given such a perky little name and a sense of dread that I would never be able to live up to it.

It is time for a change.

This is who I am.

I am Joy, whatever that entails, so I will be Joy in my life.

How many people, after all, can say they ARE the thing they wish to have in their lives?

How long has it taken me to figure that out?? Good gracious.

It’s time I get crackin’ on taking advantage of that gift I was given when I was born!

The following, I wrote a LONG time ago… but it fits here.

I am.

Real, manifest, product of generation upon generation of woman.

I am strength.

Endowed by the Creator with the means to endure adversity of many kinds, I am the willow in the wind, rooted deep, but supple and flexible.

I am majesty.

The lion paces with grace and power, as well through the tall grass as in a cage. I will not be diminished.

I am knowledge.

The gift and responsibility of choice is mine, to learn from experience and the experiences of those who have gone before. My mind is open, ever-seeking truth and beauty.

I am passion.

I am the wildfire of abandon; the surging expanse of sea cresting to break upon a rocky shore; the still, blue flame burning white-hot, searing in intensity.

I am love.

Let me enfold you in the warm embrace of my shadowy soul. Be soothed by the rhythm of the universe that is my heartbeat.

I am the feminine.

I nurture. I protect. I provide. I encourage. I discipline. I teach. I learn. I give. I take. I listen. I hear. I speak. I wait. I act. I indulge. I forsake. I need. I desire. I respond. I laugh. I mourn. I sing. I dance.

I am Alegria, Farah, Ananda, Laetitia, Kamaya, Chara, Rinnah, Gembirah, Hari, Tuwa, Sevinc, Simche…

I am Joy.

Yes, Rogue show creation frenzy is in full swing. “Joy, can you find this music? Have you had a chance to look for these…?”

Not that I mind. It’s one of the fun things… but really…WHO KNEW there were so many versions of just one of MANY songs needed.

I have, so far, 16 completely unique versions of just this one little song, and that’s only because I weeded those out from among many others. These are just the ones *I* like. (That’s one of the perks of being the go-to girl for music for the group. I get to screen some of the more heinous little ditties before anyone gets their hands on them.) So now I present the choices to the girls and they give their input, but we all know who has the final word. She is, after all, the one who has to listen to it and come up with some sort of interesting dancing to go with it… so… whatever inspires her is what we end up with.

Yeah… so one song down… sort of… only, um… well, a bunch more to go. An hour’s a lot to fill. And though I’ve already chosen my own solo, it’s not more than 3 minutes… so there’s still a lot of temporal ground to cover, babeeee…

For the record, the Chairman may be one of the greats singing this song, but I do find that I’m also quite partial to the Nina Simone version, and also the version from Neon Genesis Evangelion sung by Eva Cassidy. But that’s just me.

It’s been on my mind a lot, lately.

I’ve been thinking of the period of time where I knew I was losing my grandmother.

It’s more difficult to think of it now than it was to live it then. It wasn’t a picnic then, but we were in the moment, living it, doing the best we could. We were distracted by surviving the sorrow and pain, bogged down in the details.

Now there is only hindsight. “If I’d only known…” “should have…” “could have”…

I miss her. I miss her almost every single day. There is always some facet of my life that brings to mind something she said, some advice she gave, or something she pointed out to broaden my perspective.

I wouldn’t be the same person if I had not had her in my life so much.

I’m desperately chasing the things I saw in her, and in her life, for myself.

But I keep missing them. Or ruining them.

If I could just find a way to experience the satisfaction she always made a point to get out of everything she had, I know I would be successful as a human.

She was remarkable.

This is why it’s so hard to revisit those last hours, days, weeks and months.

Loss of memory is a nasty, nasty thing. I can say “At least it wasn’t as prolonged as it is for some people”. And that’s true. Until close to the end, she still knew her grandchildren, and mostly remembered her great grandchildren, even if she forgot things like how to tie a shoe, or couldn’t remember simple procedures to accomplish the basics of caring for herself.

When it got to where she didn’t know where she was, who was with her, or would talk about things and people that weren’t there…

We were ready for her to go, perhaps more ready than she was. She was always a stubborn woman, and she knew how much her family, her “kids”, needed her. Or, at least, she thought we needed her that much. And we probably did. I know I still do.

So she didn’t want to go, and I think that’s why she was with us for so long. Even if she couldn’t remember WHY she had to stay, or who the people were that needed her, she just held on… but we wanted her to go, not for our sakes, but for her own. Her life was no longer pleasant, it wasn’t fulfilling, and she was denied even the smallest joys of existence. It was time for her to move forward and join the husband she had loved for so many years, and lived so very long without.

The day of her funeral I mourned for myself, and absolutely celebrated her.

Such morbid thoughts I’ve been having.

It doesn’t help that this time of year brings her so clearly to mind, with the strained sunlight, crisp air and honeyed palette of nature. She was such a vibrant fixture in my life during this season. Cotton being harvested, walnuts and almonds being shelled on the steps outside her back porch. Comfort food was back, too. Chicken and dumplings, roasts and gravy… “You put your coat on before you run on out there! It’s COLD outside, missy!”

It doesn’t help that I know someone I care about deals with watching the deterioration of a grandparent. I think of him daily, and worry for him, and hear nothing.

It doesn’t help that I’m flipping through channels and happen upon that horrible, horrible, sappy, painful film “The Notebook”. (The people who made that film, and the writer who wrote the story, should all be lined up and shot for making me hurt so much that I would cry. It’s unkind.)

It doesn’t help that the holiday season fast approaches, and I’ll be alone. I find myself wondering how she dealt with it. At least her solitude was thrust upon her with the death of my grandfather… she didn’t choose it, and wouldn’t have. She adored that man with every part of herself.

I’ve chosen this, in a way, and that seems to make it worse. WHY would anyone choose to give up that human connection during the holidays? After all, something is better than nothing, isn’t it? I mean, I may not have had that soul mate, that one great and final, all-consuming love that she had had… but I did have someone who loved me dearly.

I could say, “What would she have done in my shoes?” But I can’t really know. My shoes would never have fit her. She was never in this situation.

I never really GOT to see how she behaved within a relationship. I only had the photos of her gazing adoringly at her husband. I only had the wistful, longing, and very loving remembrances of him that she would share with me.

I never saw, really, how they interacted. I was very young when he died.

The only relationship I saw was that of my parents. And I wouldn’t recommend that ANYone model a relationship on that. It’s unhealthy, and isn’t right. They’re still together, but that’s about all I can say for it. I love my parents, but I don’t want any part of having a relationship like theirs.

So I miss Grandma, because I wish I could ask her. “What would you have done? What would you do?”

It doesn’t mean I would take her advice, but at least I would know, and I could have the comfort of her voice and her thoughts, sharing her opinion because she loves me.

I miss her.

I regret so much. (And I rarely regret anything. Ever. I make it a point to avoid regret, and to spurn it when it does come. But this…this I regret.) I regret not spending every possible minute with her, to feel her spirit, to enjoy her comforting, loving, unconditional, unjudgemental presence. I could only hope to be a fraction of that kind of serenity to other people.

God, I was so lucky to have her. She is the best woman I have ever known.

So I woke up this morning from a very vivid series of dreams.

In these dreams I was her, but myself. Myself AS her… or her as me… living a life that wasn’t her life, wasn’t with her people, but it had the things I remember that she had in her life; that sense of place, that sense of truth, that sense of confidence that she was where she belonged with the people who should be a part of her life. She lived honestly and simply, because she belonged there. She made her reality, and it was good to her.

I was her, she was me… “we” were in a life with a person that, well, when I look at him I can feel what those photos of Grandma looking at Grandpa feel like. It feels right, like a puzzle piece locking into place, like magnets clicking together. It echoes the adoration in her eyes, the confident smile on his lips, the sense of trust between two people.

I spent the early morning hours, today, living that life of belonging, of contentment, of love and happiness, in my dreams. It wasn’t perfect, by any means. It wasn’t bliss, in the sense of the heavenly, ethereal thing where nothing is average, or ordinary. It was all VERY ordinary, with people and places that were, in the dream, familiar and unremarkable… and that’s why I want to go back. It was ordinary, but so right. It felt like a good life.

I don’t think I have ever awakened with such a sense of longing and dismay that it wasn’t real.

So, I wish she were here, because I want to ask her, “How do I get that? How do I achieve that?”

I know what she would say.

“Just don’t you worry about it. If God means it for you, it will come to you. But you have to make sure you’re ready for it. Be yourself. Be honest. Be true. Be a good person. Love everyone, just like God does. You do your best. That’s all you can do. And while you’re doing your best, you enjoy what you do have, and be thankful for it.”

After all, God had given all that to her… and then taken away the center of it, yet she wasn’t bitter. She was still herself.

There’s a lesson there, I guess. Somewhere.

I’m still me. Or, at least, working on it. So… I’ll enjoy what I have. I AM thankful for it, moreso now that I’m in the center of a maelstrom of change and uncertainty.

So.

I will go through my days trying to identify the things for which I AM most thankful, and I will cherish them and care for them. All else will fall away. I can’t get distracted by the unimportant details.

Live honestly. It’s time. Time to integrate my many selves that are displayed to various people.

I miss you, Grandma. I don’t know if you’d be proud of me or not, but at least I can take the example you were and try to make my life better because of it. I want to be the complete woman that you were.

She’s in here somewhere.