Its all in the timing

I've just returned home from the Delta. I can't stress how important it is for an artist to return home to their native land once in awhile... it isn't easy - but the payoff is always there if one is open to it.

Sources are so primordial. It all goes back to wandering in the cotton fields when I was so little they towered like trees above my head... and cicadas... and even mosquitoes! I spent a great deal of time dreaming about Bill and Sookie while heading up and down back roads that haven't changed much in close to 100 years.... certainly not in 50... and I wondered WHY am I so obsessed with these Charlaine Harris characters? I am not convinced in the power of pop culture, Dark Shadows and all that.... but still... when I read TODAY that Charlaine was born in 1951 in Tunica, MS, well - now I KNOW. She went to college at Rhodes in Memphis and it is one of the creepiest, surreal cities anywhere - that's not to say I don't love it, in a strange, comforting way... but it isn't American in many ways, anymore than Louisiana.

So, Charlaine, your characters feel like family to me... and now I know why. I thought I might be going through some close to mid-life obession but its just homesickness... and the strange life that an outsider lives amongst the natives. My mom reminded me of how horrible the mosquitoes were - (I had a recurring nightmare as a child that I was being crucified on a cross in that box of mosquites that was featured in the OFF commercials of the day...) so maybe my obsession with Bill the Vampire somehow relates to THAT??? An art historian or shrink could have a field day with that one.

The drawing above is a portrait of Mr dd. No, he doesn't look like Bill the Vampire but I realized recently that one of the first, most compelling things he professed to me during our passionate courting days: "I am Yours, You are Mine." That was a first.

I never waited tables but I always knew the score. I was never seriously interested in those Delta Boys because I think I feared they would take my life away, tie me down and I'd never see the world. Mr. dd and I met each other at the right time and the right place, otherwise, well, there is no telling what part of the world I'd be hanging my art in.

Now I go back and I cherish those Delta Haunts for their resonance... I wound up at Po-Monkey's last Saturday night... a place I visited with a bunch of girlfriends and nere-do-wells (sp?) afterhours way back in the mid 70's. I was maybe 16. I had no idea where we were or if I'd made a mistake hanging out with these night owls who only wanted to drink MORE beer with hopes of getting into our pants. Instead our car broke down and we sat in the dark on a gravel road singing pop songs all night.

I spent last Saturday with a view an the Indian Mound Bayou from my window and wishing Mr. dd was there to experience the wonder that is the Delta. A friend from my youth and I walked through the soybean fields and picked up pottery shards and I realized today they are likely made from the same clay that Lee McCarty has used for 50 years.

words of comfort

Our electricity went out last night along with 43,000 others in our part of the world due to high winds and a utility company that has yet to accept the needs and demands of the 21st C... but that isn't what this post is about. The slipshod routine we've been living during the past few weeks was shattered and as a consequence we spent way too much money sitting at a bar with wifi and while out of my regular loop I misplaced my mobile.

Before we lost our daylight during the last few hours of standard time I spent some time talking to my Dad. He read me a letter my sister sent him maybe a year ago and it just sent me spinning because it was a beautiful letter which expressed my sister's desire to get her life together and for us all, as a family, to be in one place at one time. It was a dream my sister and I shared but as unlikely as Ralph Nader winning the presidential election. Our lives are very different. Spending time with my family is intense... time with us would make the straightest person I know want to drink or take drugs. I don't know why it is so hard... perhaps it is because we are a humorless bunch... or because we rarely medicated ourselves in each other's company??? I've beaten myself up about this and felt depressed about it for more years than I can remember. Finally it became clear that, well, it isn't just us or the people who inspired Faulkner... a dear friend of mine who lives across the country telephoned on Saturday and we spent some time catching up. We grew up together although our families are very different. She is a therapist now and asked me if being with my family had given me any comfort when I went home. When I confessed that no, they hadn't and how it depressed me she went on to talk about how people turn on each other during times of stress and loss. I couldn't believe it to be true but she is a wise woman who has experienced it herself. I have to admit it helped me a bit... putting it in a different perspective.

my baby sister

The southern version of "the lupners" during
the late 1960's at the Bolivar County Fairgrounds.

We were a goofy group of kids. We fought ferociously with each other but would defend the other with our last breath. My younger brother and sister arrived eleven months apart during 1962: my brother born a rigid Capricorn and my sister a generous, socially engaging Sag.

My parents did their best raising three very different children. My brother and I were taught to be very independent and my baby sister hung on to those apron strings like a life line. She grew up to be a beautiful woman who married twice and raised three children until her girls went to live with their father about ten years ago.

Mr. dd and I received a telephone call around midnight on Valentine's Day. We looked at each other with alarm. Now that we are grown and married it is rare that we receive drunken phone calls from friends who need to hear a friendly voice... I don't remember who answered the phone but it was my father on the line. He, my mom, my sister and her two daughters were on holiday in Florida. My sister left the hotel around 8:30pm to buy some tums from the store across highway 98. My mother heard brakes squeal and she knew. She ran outside to see my little sister lying in middle of the highway. The car that hit her never bothered to stop. The police are still searching for this felon and the three other drivers that hit her each stopped and tried to help. She died instantly and never knew what hit her.

I will miss her always but then I have missed her my entire adult life, really. Our paths were far apart but I made a point of seeing her whenever I traveled south. She had a great passion for life, friends and family. I'll miss my father asking me "have you spoken to your sister?" I'll miss her smoker's laugh... her persistence of memory... her ability to recall details that I lost along the way a long time ago. She was 45. She was so strong. I thought she might outlive us all.

ancestral ground

The structure above was once a school house that my mother attended for a number of years as a small child. It was literally a "one room school house" begun by one of my uncles many generations ago. I wish I knew more about this side of my family. They are kind and gentle people, heroic - yet humble.

Down the road to the right is the Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church and Cemetery. The church shares its pulpit meister with several other churches. The cemetery is full of my mother's half of the family tree. One day she'll be buried there somewhere close to my beloved sister, my grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. Before my sister was buried there I realized that I considered Mt. Zion to be a place separate from the world I live in... a place that acknowledged a time long gone... but of course it was me that has been long gone.

Just as I wonder how much there is to do and ask how it will come to pass our lives turn on a dime. We are reminded of its fragility... and how everything exists as different stages of ash and stardust. It all sounds so goofy... but physics doesn't lie.

The old school house remains... to remind us of things we've forgotten and lesson's we've yet to learn.

too many words too little time

My sister in '81 0r '82 after the Willie Nelson concert at MSU.

I've missed having time to write, especially since there are many thoughts and questions I've needed to pour into this volumn of words and deed:

Why did my sister survive Katrina to be hit by a car on Valentine's Day? Why does Mr. dd have a compulsion to rub together the satin edging on the blanket at the foot of our bed?? It is as subconscious and one twirling one's hair or scratching their beard... Why do my cats (different in age and breed) kneed the bathrobe my mother sent me for my birthday? Why am I so miserable in my brother's company? Does art matter? Why can't Hillary and Obama get it together and be running mates? How did Foamy survive the journey home for my sister's memorial? It wasn't easy. None of it is easy. I need a drink. Or drugs. Or a good laugh. Or best of all - all three at once.

There are a plethora of words I can begin to answer these questions with but it wouldn't bring my sister back or our democratic front runners together. Instead I've been trying to focus on my students and the immediate matters at hand and on the horizon- art, travel, taxes, my family, thank you cards, my needy cats and maintaining close communique's with my parents. It isn't easy but c'est la vie.

Thanksgiving 2007

menu for those who are left behind or who prefer to travel when everyone else isn't... (for the 6 of us...)

one and half roasted chickens
a turkey breast
spinach salad
gingered candied yams
holiday bread
marencho cheese
cranberry sauce
gravy
bread pudding
pecan pie
several bottles of Protocolo!

a complete improvisation...
and another blessing to be counted. The only thing that would make it better would be to have my parents here with us. It is am ambitious drive for youngsters and a bit much for each of us. I miss them.

Mr. dd's parents will be here but we'll miss seeing his niece. We have two friends who have endured divorces from their spouses during the time we've known them - they'll both be here since their children will be with the other branch of their family. I hope it will be fun.

Shock

Late this afternoon I was working in my studio when a long lost cousin who is my Dad's age rang me up on the telie. I am not sure we'd ever had a conversation before... maybe years ago when we both lived in New Orleans at the same time but were in very transitional periods. Anway - my father encouraged her to call me because our politics are very similiar and now that my family is online I am always receiving propagadistic emails from people who may be related to me - except for her. She sends excerpts from articles, usually critical of the "situation" we've gotten ourselves into in the "big house" in DC, Iraq, et al.. We spoke for a long while and I tried to work in the meantime knowing that I didn't want to hurt her feelings by cutting her off. We were burning daylight as we spoke - my best worktime.

Immediatly after I hung up with her my parents rang up to remind me that my Dad is having surgery on Tuesday... and to tell me that another cousin of mine, one I adored as a young girl - is in critical condition at a local hospital near them! I was told she had sepsis. They asked me questions about it. I don't know much about sepsis except I thought perhaps it was like a staff infection... something that could be fatal. (I watched a great deak of E.R. at one point in my life... I was in traction...) She is in her early 50's and had been feeling sick for the past month. She wasn't able to start the semester last week she was feeling so bad so she was admitted to the hospital at 10pm last night. All of her immediate relatives were gathering at her bedside once it was determined that her situation was critical. I hung up and thought about this sweet cousin and hoped she would get the care she needed to heal - quickly!

My parents called me a few hours later - 9:30 or so to tell me she died of Septic Shock. Her family thinks it was from some catfish she ate earlier last month. Is this possible? Who knows? I haven't seen this cousin for quite awhile but we have emailed each other in the past few years. She was always a bright light on my Dad's side of the family... once cute as a button: a giggley teenager and a cheerful, charming young adult. She attended college in my home town so she and her suiters would visit our house and I was always very impressed by her. It is very hard to impress most kides at that age... was a preteen who looked to her for guidance and as the oldest, believe me, I needed it. Was I a bridesmade or flower girl at her wedding? I seem to remember an illfitting dress made for an occassion that could only be a wedding. Everything was illfitting for me at that age... and maybe even until I was old enough to buy my own clothes.

My mother and I really only argued about one thing during those years... the length of my skirt. There is a mole on my thigh which I used as a point of comparison. If the skirt or dress covered the mole, it was TOO LONG. If I remember correcly my sweet cousin backed me up on this. She was, after all, a college student and could offer an unbiased opinion. My mother disagreed. I guess she didn't like the idea of her oldest daughter showing her ass in public... a legitimate concern since I was the definition of a clutzy teenager and a late bloomer, I hope. Have I bloomed yet? The jury would stil be out but I cannot deny the fact that I may go to seed very soon. Tis the season.

As I watch my sunflowers being devoured each day by the goldfinches, ants and bees I am accutely aware of the lifespan of a flower that is taller than I. I think about my family and the distance between us. I am sad that my beloved cousin is no longer here to bring joy to her two sons, husband and silblings. Her doting parents passed away years ago which is a blessing for all. I worry about my grandmother. She is in her 80's and this will hit her hard. Her family will mourn and wonder how this could have happened - how?

Why did she wait a month before she went to the doctor? I DO understand this...(which terrifys me even more...) I am not a big fan of the medical profession or insurance companies these days. I've had some t e r r i b l e, life altering exerpiences due to inept practicioners so I don't go running to the doctor at the first sign of a flu or cold or whatever. I hit the internet. It is my doctor until it is necessary to seek additional help; Who knows what would have happened if she had received help sooner...and according to my reading Sepsis is not something a middle age woman in good health would be suseptable to... unless she was exposed to a horrible toxin - like the one floating though the mail back in 2000 or 2001... one I won't even mention here it is so dreaded. Of course that is more than unlikely... and still, we are baffled and just sad.

Septis is one of the top ten killers in the United States. Maybe Bronze John would know that but did you? I didn't. I found a great deal of information on the web but the link in the title of this post was the most helpful: "Septic shock is the nation's 10th most frequent cause of death and the leading cause of hospital-related mortality."

floating

Mr. dd had his hernia repaired this morning at 6 am. This means Mrs dd was there to hold his hand and ask the surgeon how long we should wait before we resume conjugal rites. He acted like he had never been asked that question before. What is this world coming to?

Of course my mister isn't worried about such concerns at the moment. I walked into the post op between his curtains to find his bare shoulders on view as his gown hung around his white rabbit torso. His thinning blonde hair was everywhere - and the tubes and monitors mimicked its chaos as they disappeared under the blankets and bed. His watery blue eyes were lined in red and slowly blinking with the awareness that he didn't die when he went under. He was a muddled mess since he was up until 3am the night prior with a deadline he promised to meet before his surgery and medicated bliss.

I like knowing he's here where I can look after him. Hospitals terrify me for good reason.

He's in bed now wearing a large flannel nightshirt my grandmother gave me many years ago.
It has tiny red crowns with the word princess in a continuous pattern all over it. Most men would balk before letting me slip such a thing over their head. Mr. dd is putty in my hands as long as he is on his meds. Actually, he's lovable putty most days. I'm happy to know he won't be hurting anymore. Now if he'll just accept the fact that he shouldn't lift anything any heavier than our youngest cat or an armful of art books...

DIng Dong the King is Dead

Most of my friends and colleagues have no idea of my personal relationship with Elvis. It is something we don't talk about - like one's personal relationship with God. I was born in 1960 and grew up two hours south of Memphis on hwy 61. Elvis was a presence that could not be denied. Every morning the Memphis DJ Rick Dees would do funny impressions of Elvis giving away Cadillacs to forlorn housewives or forgotten vets... I had a framed picture of Elvis on my bedroom wall. It was torn from the Parade Magazine and featured a cerulean blue background.

During the late 1960's or early 70's the Ellis Theatre would feature a double billing of Elvis movies for the pre-teen matinee crowd. I was there with my girlfriend Meg who was was present every Saturday in order to flirt with the boys. I was there to look at Elvis. Yes, yes, the movies were dumb - but it was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon in Bolivar County.

I just liked the way he looked when we were both SO young. He resembed a Greek God and I didn't even know what those mythic figures looked like in 1972. It is an aesthetic I continue to embrace today though the origins are closer to Rome or Greece, via Paris and NYC; than Memphis.

As time passed poor Elvis became a joke to everyone but the most dedicated fans. When we had 50's day (very big when I was in junior high) the loyal few would come dressed as the young, cool Elvis and his entourage. When I learned of Elvis' death thirty years ago today I was standing on a scaffold which was installed on top of the roof of our high school. I was painting the 1978 class motto on the top of a smoke stack in the hot Mississippi sun. It's amazing what one can take when one is young because I know I didn't drink a lot of water back then. Mostly light beer and diet coke - though not on campus! Drinking age was 18 back in the late 7o's. I remember being amazed when my German cousin told me drinking age was like 14 in her hometown... but, I digress.

I was expecting to be "spelled" by a few of my classmates that afternoon but they failed to show. It seems Ward and Meg had taken off for Memphis to attend Elvis' funeral. They weren't the Graceland types - but they understood Elvis and wanted to show their respect. I remember Ward's interpretation of Elvis - who was blonde - and he died his hair black - and wore levis so tight that they split up the rear when he arrived at school. He had someone paint "I love Elvis" with lipstick on the white underpants showing through the split. He wore a while short sleeved button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was a big hit. Still, I am surprised he wasn't sent home. Ward was a preacher's son. He was pretty outrageous - even for the 70's - even for the Delta! I think he's a lawyer now. I'd love to see him in action.

As always - I finished the mural, such as it was. I contemplated what Elvis' funeral must have been like as I sat on my front lawn in the late afternoon haze. The cicadas were buzzing and between their cycles one could hear David Bowie's "Spiders from Mars" and Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run" blaring from of my bedroom window via eight track tapes.

Elvis' presence and my Delta origins became less prominent as I weathered six years of undergrad and graduate art school. Finally in the late 80's I attended a SECAC conference in Memphis. My incentives? Professional Development... Travel money from my department... AND the final banquet was to held at GRACELAND! I'd never been to Graceland though we'd driven by its gates many, many times during my childhood. Christmas Shopping and most any occassion that took us to Memphis would take us right past those famous musically noted gates...

The banquet wasn't that memorable because there was an open bar and in true Elvis Fashion I indulged in too much vodka. I think. Bloody Marys, maybe? Before my turn on the dance floor with Bloody Mary I was able to tour Graceland with a group of about a dozen art professors. Voila! It was authentically fabulous in every sense of the word. I'll always remember his zebra decor in his lounge... everyone's mouth was hanging open.... I think because it was all so real and so fake and so Elvis. No one knew what to say. Needless to say the next day I woke up in my colleagues room, which we were sharing with art students- with one of the worst hangovers of my life. I have no idea how I made it to the plane or how I kept from spewing all over the people surrounding me on that flight.

I remember seeing a few familiar faces on the plane but I don't think they recognized me because I was literally green. (Still, I didn't drink enough water. I was still young and stupid although, like Elvis, I was old enough to know better.)

Finally, as the years passed I found a mate who finds my Delta origins to be exotic. They charm him when things are right with the world. We were married in 1996 and his wedding present to me was a signed photograph of Elvis french kissing a mystery woman in the Mosque theatre in Richmond, VA. To this day no one knows who the woman is. No, it isn't me!

Mr. dd met the famous Albert Wertheimer while researching this mythic image and asked him to sign the print he purchased for me. Elvis story is one that can be read from so many perspectives. He was mythic, tragic, bigger than life, naive, a force, a waste, mislead, etc. Still, they broke the mold. There is no other. We can enjoy the brilliance he inspires in others with fake Elvis, rockabilly, kitch, etc - as long as we appreciate someone who if nothing else was authentic.

Neither photo is a film still!
Elvis films werevery candy-coated.
These were taken by Albert Wertheimer
who Elvis allowed to shadow him on his first big tour of his
career. No one has ever been able to identify the woman
in the black dress. oooh la la!
Mr. dd purchaced the one on
the top as a wedding tribute to
our bliss.

A dark and stormy night...in the middle of the 80's

Last night a girlfriend I met my freshman year of Uni stopped in for a visit. She is traveling with her godson and they were wearing the same uniform - t-shirts and jeans - or khakis.

She's a genuine character: an army brat who has lived by her own rules since the day she left home for college. Truly. Last night she told a story I'd heard long ago and now I'll relish its retelling since I fear I'll lose it again if I don't tell it now.

GF happened to be hanging out in my hometown with two young men I'd known since grade school. They were walking on the levee smoking homegrown, no doubt. I was away at grad school and missed these middle 80's years in the south.

At the end of the evening she planned to drive back to campus, an hour or so away. The weather had turned since she's left home that morning. Folks from the Delta generally take the weather in stride. Farmer's anticipate the worst and compensate for it. Delta rats are accustomed to the black, blue or green skies of tornados when the rain can be like sheets of broken glass. Add hail to the mix and it is be a recipe for danger and fear. Funnel clouds are like large spinning dice. They are most terrifying because one never knows what they will hit and or do. They can pick up cars or houses or rearrange them in an elemental, implosive way.

Most Delta natives tend to take tornados in stride because of the low elevation and a strong levee system. It was constructed in the early 20th C by the army corp. of engineers before it was fashionable and acceptable to cut corners. Tornados are a game of hit and miss so the locals stay inside as far from the windows as possible.

My girlfriend has little experience with dramatic weather since she grew up in Germany. She's an excellent marksmen and very independent but she was terrified. The radio warnings and sirens convinced her she should stay the night. She didn't remember how she found the house I grew up in but she did. She knocked on the kitchen door, soaking wet with a six month old puppy in her arms. My grandmother, who spent weekends there since my mom left, opened the door. GF said she was a friend of mine and that she was wet and scared and asked to come in. My grandmother said sure. GF dripped into the kitchen only to see a handgun on the counter. She then realized that she was truly terrified. She asked my grandmother if she should be scared! "Oh, no." My Dad was still at work. It was a dark and stormy night.... My grandmother is and always had been a god- fearing, gun-toting Baptist who won't take crap from anyone but my grandfather who'd died in the 70's.

GF asked if she could watch the television to see where the storm was headed. She was, to say the least, freaked. My dad finally came home and while my grandmother prepared dinner for them both my father held court - which is what he does best. When he learned that GF's father was at the same Uni, the same time he was, he broke out the yearbook and looked up GF's Dad.
"He pointed his finger at my father's face, god rest his soul and proceeded to tell me many things about my father that I didn't know." My Dad said of her father "This man shot a lot of pool and played a lot of cards."

It turns out GF's father, who I knew as a man of the military, put himself through college hustling pool and cards before he enlisted. GF said they shot pool once. He hadn't had a stick in his hand in 20 years and he never missed a shot. He was the real deal.

My Mamaw made sure GF was comfortable in my old bedroom upstairs. At some point during the night GF was awakend by her hysterically barking pup. She got up out of bed and looked down on the mezzanine level of the "suite" I called home during my teenage years (my ivey tower, according to my Dad.) "There was a man wearing a top hat and 19th C clothing looking at his pocket watch on the landing. He looked up at me and then turned and walked straight through the closed door into my closet." Ghosts? Hmmm.

GF says that the night she spent with my family was one of those pivotal points of her youth. Although I was raised by a very colorful family I think my GF may have enjoyed some exceptionally strong weed with those college boyfriends. STILL... it makes a great story.

I'd left home by then. When I left for Uni I lived in the independent state of moi and when I left my home state for grad school that was it. I wish I had known then what I know now and that I hadn't always been in such a rush to grow up.

I was the oldest child and fiercely independent. I could have lived at home and gone to art school on scholarship - but no. I made my own way and paid for it with grants, other scholarships and a great of work study.

le Execution of Marie-Antoinette

A distant cousin who is my father's age, has been corresponding with me via email. She sent me a surprising link today. Its only surprising because I've never imagined I had relatives whose political persuasions were somewhat like mine. All of the family I spent my childhood surrounded by were good, occasionally frustrating people but we usually didn't share the same political point of view. Religion, art and politics were definitely not dinner topics. We don't see each other very often so why would we want to spend our time in heated discourse?

As I've gotten older I've realized that I am not an alien. There ARE folks in my father's side of the family tree who see the world from a perspective that I can relate to. Hurrah!

My cousins response to the link above paralleled my response to the painting of Marie Antoinette's beheading when I first discovered it during March of 2006 in the Musee Carnavalet. Like my cousin, I consider myself to be against capital punishment but part of me, despite myself, believes that one of the reasons the French Government take care of their constituents and "listen" when the PEOPLE protest is because so many heads have fallen there and so much blood has been spilled on the cobbled stones of Paris.

If our leaders ever considered they could be held accountable for their sins and indiscretions
perhaps they'd at least listen to their consititents! In France when there is a protest or manifestation people of all ages and class either take to the streets or hide in their flats - because the government responds and believe me, I've been there. It isn't that different than most any Mardi Gras!

Since I had this epiphany that March I've realized that people here have spilled blood for their beliefs and, to my dismay, it seems to be the good guys who get the bullet. Lincoln, the Kennedys, MLK, Malcolm X... whether you agree with their politics of not these men worked hard and paid the price for standing up for their beliefs. Are there any honorable politicians in Washington? My fear is that even if they go in clean they'll get their hands so dirty surviving their compromises outweigh any good work they manage to do while in office. Are we fukced or what?

Summer Vacation 1967

While the rest of the world was experiencing the summer of love I was on a family vacation with my brother, sister and parents. I think we were stopping at most any tourist trap between the Tennessee Border and Chicago but the destinations are fuzzier than the journey, as it often the case with me.

There are "Lupnereque"* photos documenting our experience in Santa's Village where I watched a chicken peck out a Christmas Carole on a mini piano in the deadheat of summer. I remember an underground waterfall somewhere between there and Independence Day. Most of all I remember the humiliation of stopping at some fast food place because they were offering free burgers or ice cream to all the kids who could recite the Pledge of Allegiance from memory.

It was the 4th of July but I don't recall my family - or the nation in general - being in a very patriotic mood! I was asked to go first, as I was the oldest. Stagefright or disinterest got the best of me and I faltered before the end. My brother was distracted with hunger and also failed the test. My 3 or 4 year old sister, who was often told me looked like Mama Cass, recited the entire thing without fail and was the recipient of a patriotic, flag decorated scoop of ice cream.

Everyone was stunned that one so young could recite something so effectively. I was slightly humiliated but most of all surprised. Little sis had many talents we never got to see very often. She grew up quickly and married young. I miss knowing her as a child as I know she must miss knowing her girls as children. I think we should rewrite the Pledge of Allegiance as an anthem to families. The rest of the nation was distracted by another pointless war, sex, drugs and rock and roll, as depicted in the video posted below.


*I've always feared that the writers of the Lupner sketches on SNL somehow knew my family. They are very accurate depictions of the life of DD.

hug the ones you love

I follow a number of photography blogs though I haven't updated my links in quite awhile. I just read this post and feel such empathy for this family. 2006 was a terrible year for so many people... but time doesn't stand still and as much as we make plans that anticipate future events it is, at best, at feeble attempt.

Life is short. Art is long.

Good Friday 1984

I was a grad student in Ohio in 1984 - madly in love with a young man from the region, and sharing a big bungalowish style house him and4 or 5 other people. We worked late on the previous night, Thursday. Not unusual. I was up all night every other night for most of the early eighties since I was a full-time student and usually working two or three jobs in addition to my classes and studio work.

Early that morning someone knocked on our bedroom door. We ignored it thinking it was one of our roomates. They knocked again, saying tearfully, its me, P. (my boyfriend's younger brother). I can't remember if he came inside or not. The futon took up most of the floorspace in that bedroom and we probably weren't wearing PJ's. All I remember is BF's brother telling us of their cousin's death the night before.

Tracey was a lovely 19 or 20 year old, the favored cousin of all the brothers in BF's family. She had been hit by two trains in a freak accident. They think she saw the slow moving train but not the fast moving train. She crossed the tracks and the fast train knocked her car down the tracks and then the slow moving train knocked it the other direction. I can't imagine the pain her mother must have felt in identifying her. She was a very beautiful girl... inside and out. Total goodness... gone.

The BF is long gone from my life but I think of his cousin Tracey every Good Friday and wonder how her family is doing. They were one of those unique families that enjoyed each other's company. Her parents and practically grown siblings would get together and play cards or board games around the kitchen table and laugh all night. They didn't drink anything stronger than diet coke. It was an alien experience for me at the time... but I admired them tremendously.

My family members endured each other's company growing up. Contempt for each other is sort of built into our genes. Its unfortunate, really. I love them all and I know they love me but we don't share much in common. C'est la vie.

moi mamaw

My grandmother is 87 years old today. She's a tough bird, as described in the link embedded in the title to this post. Her father, who I never met, is described as being a lot like her - very ornery as he crept into his 80's. My Dad said he would bitch and complain all the time but was always productive. He would sit on the back porch and snap peas and kill flies with a fly swatter (He called it a fly flapper!) After he finished snapping peas he would collect all the flies and feed them to the chickens!

My grandmother is so ornery because she spends her days sitting under flurescent lights with a
drop ceiling and a TV set. She uses a walker to get to her meals and she plays bingo several days a week. She wins a lot and always gives the money back!

I called her today to wish her Happy Birthday. She's a little deaf but we had a great conversation anyway. She's always inspired me to be a better gardener (I am a lazy gardener) but I must admit I love it. She would be less ornery and feel better if she could garden... if she could put her hands in the dirt. She told my dad she felt closest to God when her hands were in the soil. I love that about her.

Holiday Bis es from around the world

Ah, so nice to see a friendly face from the other side of the globe.
Dear Sal saved me from my self Christmas of 2004. It was one of those dark winters when everything seemed to be going wrong with the technology in my life - starting winter solstice, as a matter of fact. She was there for me sharing her holy water and digital media until I could return home and visit the genius bar in the Apple Store.

Even more interesting than her willingness to help a new friend in need is Sally's performance work which can be viewed here . Her blog is linked in the title bar above and it includes links to many of the inspiring Australian's and Canadians whose paths mr. dd and I have crossed during the past two years. One thing I am still laughing about is how we image things based on our own experiences. I remember Sal being very homesick that Dec. We were both far from our homes and partners and it was dark and cold in Paris. She made arrangements to leave her residency early to be with her friends and family. She spent her last night in Paris on my floor and we talked about what we were missing. I remember picturing Sal with her rabbits, hubby, etc on Boxing Day, by the fire with a hot toddy. What I didn't envision was the hot sun of summer in Tasmania - which is what Christmas is for most of my Aussie friends. I can't imagine it, really. The "sanity clause" Marx brother's joke really hits home!

Anyway....Merry Christmas to all... and to all a good... (is it Christmas there already? Here we have one more shopping day!)

We won't get to celebrate with her or the other amazing Australians we know but we will be enjoying Australian leg of lamb tomorrow. I am sure I'll enjoy it but someone please tell me why we have to import our lamb all the way of Australia. Is is cheaper because of currency differences? It is probably more organic... has the beef lobby just elbowed out any other options here? Sorry if I've offended my vegan friends with all this but it is the season of carving turkey, et all. And to all a good night.

The Fog of Memory

Post #101

I've been participating in an art project with some artists I don't know. Their project sounded interesting and now that I am in the thick of it I have some real memory work to do.

I've been asked to answer one or both of the following questions:

Please tell us about a happy childhood memory

and/or
Please tell us about a traumatic scene from your past.


It's a lot to think about... so I don't know what stories I'll choose to tell.

My siblings and I fought a great deal... There were a few run-ins with glass doors and such... my sister threw a hammer at me once - with great force! Luckily she was a terrible shot. I fell out of a tree sneaking out the window one July 4 or 5. There was the time the ladder collapsed with Mom on it and my Dad, who is handicapped was trapped holding the lapper up with spilled paint over his head.

Of course none of that compared to the stigma of being the weirdo arty kid in the public school system. The traumas of junior high and highschool scar some people for life: friends betraying friends, bullys making fun of others... being picked last for any team sport... even my beloved husband suffered as a boy when a young black kid threw rocks at him (and he was a very good shot).

Weirdly enough the traumatic memories flow like a river but I have to dig deeper for the happy ones. My siblings and I loved the Beverly Hillbillies. We were somewhere between toddlers and preschool in age range when this program was broadcast weekly. My mom would use it as a reward for good behavior. As soon as the Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs theme song started playing we all three would go beserk! We would wiggle all over the floor and do belly rolls... jump up and down... it must have been something to see - and this was when the world of television was black and white! Oh, there are more but few are as sweet and pure as that one. I do remember being so excited about Christmas that I literally couldn't sleep the night before.

Addendum:
Its hard for me to think of anything in my life as traumatic compared to the horrors I read about in the paper. The Harvey's, Katrina's wrath, the tsunami... one thing I wish the news could do is make people realize how friggin lucky they are to have food, shelter and the freedom to do whatever they want in their lives instead of blaming "the man" for their lack of happiness or success.

Thankfulness

Blessings
wonderful musicians and music, often free, most anytime we can take the time to listen
a loving, honorable husband
loving, caring parents
a grandmother who would still be gardening if she had the choice
strange siblings who try to connect with the person that is me
an extended family of cousins and inlaws that give us great comfort
beautiful nieces and nephews who are surviving the realities of my strange family
a few good, great friends
talent that has been the seed of an interesting life
a big, vintage house that we can grow into even if we can't afford to heat it
a nice wardrobe and excessive shoe collection
(everyone has to have a vice)
the opportunity to travel and find my muse
two loving felines
a few good students
a great library in our home
a lovely neighborhood we love walking in with a great vintage
theatre for second run films around the block
and FINALLY
democracy in action evidenced when Americans finally decided to kick those
bonehead arrogant Republicans out of office earlier this month.

Walking in circles always helps

The weather has been encouraging so I've been meeting a friend on the vita course not far from our house. I was last there on a regular basis during Katrina. I guess its during times of crisis that we need it most. Its here. We've always loved it and don't know why I don't go there everyday. Something else to add to my list as we walk out the door to mail our father's day cards.

Speaking of which - my dad recently retired and decided his new hobby is calling me several times a day. He must have a great long distance plan. I am happy he wants to talk to ME but usually we talk about my SISTER and her children who are always in need of parental guidance.

Our discourse on what my sister should or shouldn't be doing with her life is time consuming and pointless. I was sold on the nature/nurture research years ago (based on identical twins separated at birth). It concluded that humans are born with their own unique wiring and regardless of what parents do or don't do their kids are born prone to certain traits: narcissism, addiction, cheerfulness, martydom, generosity, rightousness, grumpiness, etc...

I don't know if there is a darn thing we can do to help my sister and her two teenage daughters. She has never taken responsibility for her decisions and her daughters are very much like my sister and me. Both are stubborn and willfull. The oldest takes responsibility for herself and her decisions but pretty much does as she damn well pleases (she's 17) and the younger tries to figure out what you want to hear, tells you that - but then does exactly what she wants to do as well. Their dad doesn't believe in parental guidance. (really) The younger of the two is 16. I adore them but worry about them all the time.

I've always done things my way (for better or worse) but am harder than anyone on me when I come discover the error of my ways. My husband puts up with it better than I would. I am old fashioned in that I believe in accountability - in all our decisions, too (!) and I don't interfere... much. I do have a habit of telling people what I think. This isn't a very popular way of communicating in the 21st C. Many people poll their friends to see what they should think. I lack the kind of filter or security system between my brain and mouth that many people have. Oh well...

When our government can't take responsibility for the error of its ways why should my sister? Until she can embrace her mistakes she'll keep making them... just like our government! Maybe its a Rush thing. She always liked him. We are about as different as two women can be who share the same genes, same parents, same family tree. Its a mystery. Nature vs Nurture... nature wins.

number 9

It's been almost a week since Mr dd and I celebrated our ninthsummer solstice as a married couple.

He took the afternoon off so we could have an early dinner and drinks on the deck of a local bistro before we headed to the pedestrian bridge. A yellow moon rose over the James and I was reminded of how much I love this man and this river.

I wouldn't say the direction of my life has been determined by the course of a river but their mythology and force has certainly shaped the regions where I've spent most of my time. Literature and recreation aside, I have known rivers to take what they want when they need it and there isn't anything one can do but watch and get out of the way.

When I was 17 or 18 I was waiting for my friend and classmate Antonio to come to work so I
could take a break. Antonio was a smart, athletic classmate of mine as well as a co-worker. We were in the same chemistry class and may even have shared a lab station. I went up to the office and asked when Antonio was due to arrive since it was past the hour I was expecting him to walk in the door. The office manager whose name I don't recall said "Oh, didn't you hear, Antonio died!" I just shook my head, assuming he was being a smart ass, turned on my heel and went back to my register.

A while later I went back to the office and asked another office manager when Antonio was expected to arrive and the man behind the counter told me that Antonio had drowned that day...he was swimming in the Mississippi RIver with his girlfriend. She swam to the shore and waved to him. She looked away for a second and then back and he was gone.... I attended his memorial service in a small Baptist church on the other side of town. It was the first and maybe only time I have attended a service in an African American church. The music was like a salve, with his sister singing a solo in the choir...until her voice cracked, she crumbled to her knees and started wailing uncontrollably. It was almost more than I could bear...I wept for Antonio, for Linda Buck, for everyone that has ever had their life taken in their prime.

I took ballet lessons throughout grade school. My teacher was very exotic and true and always seemed to say whatever needed to be said. My sister and I started off taking classes in a studio in an old storefront. We were children sharing the floor with long, tall girls in tights and leotards. Elise sat in their laps while they braided her hair. I watched what I was sure must be a real ballerina, a girl named Linda. She was tall and dark and serious. She practiced all the time and rehearsed without regard others. Their was a general air of girliness that permated the rest of the studio.It was a field of Delta Belles, with only a few exceptions.

Sister C. was her mentor. She was Sister C's star. Several years later I remember this as I studied the bronze toe shoes that were all that was left of the brilliant Linda Buck. She had been at a party on a sand bar in the Mississippi River with other kids her age - they were either highschool seniors or young Delta State students...and she suddenly disappeared. Drowned... Gone.

I have a Red Cross certificate in water safety (WSI) and have been a swimmer all of my life...but my feelings about the river's I have known is that they are places to be admired and respected from boats, rocks or water's edge. I don't swim in them and would prefer that most everyone else stay out of them...they are exquisite "roadways" as much as anything else and I don't care to get into their way. The Army Corp of Engineers will spend millions trying to make the Mississippi mind the course they set for it...and it will...until it changes course.

Mr dd and I love the James and I hope we will be able to spend more time there celebrating its beauty. He doesn't know the Mississippi. I hope we can spend time on its waters while it's minding its current course. New Orleans may be N. America's version of Venice soon and I'd like to take the ferry to Algiers with Mr dd one more time.