Passing....

Time. Or more precisely, the passing of time. It seems to be a topic I write about frequently, (either blatantly or in more subtle forms)....This morning I can think of nothing I want to write about more than the death of a woman I never met...a woman I always thought I would meet, planned to meet in the future....
My aunt lives on the East Coast; I am in the West. Actually, she is my aunt by former marriage. When I divorced, we kept up our relationship. Even deepened it. She told me that she described our relationship to her friends as, "When they divorced, we took custody of Karen." I like that. My aunt is one of my favorite people on Earth. She is smart, straightforward, funny, kind, stylish, wise. Definitely someone you want to know; an excellent role model. Her best friend, I always imagined, must be like her. They'd been friends many years, I think from when they were pregnant or when their kids were young. It had been a long time....
Like my aunt, her best friend lived on the East Coast. Our visits never coincided but we always asked about each other. A couple months ago when I visited my aunt and uncle with my new "Prime Mate," whom they hadn't yet met, my aunt's friend called the first night to make sure he was a-okay. And I frequently asked my aunt about her friend. I recall when her husband passed away. I recall when she started dating. We traded lots of news...but we never met....I always meant to plan a trip so we could finally meet, but somehow I just never made it happen.
My aunt's friend took ill. Seriously, rapidly ill and the last couple of weeks brought steady decline. When I'd heard that her condition was bad, it hit me hard. I felt for her, for her three grown children. For my aunt, and my uncle, and their son. At first I thought their pain was the only reason I was sad. And then it dawned on me -- I felt that awful cloud which so often shadows our lives...the procrastination which hangs over us, until taking action is no long an option. Until it is too late to do the thing we had wanted to do.
Maybe this morning's email -- one phrase confirming a life is gone, confirming opportunities no longer viable -- will serve to remind me to do now what is meaningful....

Detroit...in Photos....

I want Detroit to be on my mind more than it is, truthfully. I'm too busy, I guess, taking care of the decay and failing systems in my own backyard (literally) to remember to check in on this symbol of the rest of the country....I don't need symbols 'cuz I got the real thing....

But something about the gray skies this morning reminds me to check out Detroit via online Time Magazine. I find a short photo essay by Sean Hemmerle, entitled "The Remains of Detroit." My brain begins to wake up as I click past greenish-gray lit photographs of Michigan Central Station. I insert myself into the photographer's shoes -- mine would be getting wet and dirty from rain and detritus abandoned on the floor of the once crowded station, as I lose myself in the glorious light slanting in where the windows and roof used to be.

What are our values, I can't help but wondering, that we abandon people and buildings and other lovely ideals in favor of money in the pockets of a few who made these decisions? The beautiful train station, designed by the same architects as New York's Grand Central Station, opened in 1913, has been devoid of passengers since 1988. A gorgeous theater, with no less magnificent a name than "The Michigan Theater," built in 1926, now has a few cars parked under its ornate ceilings. Acres and acres of manufacturing space now host a few ratty mattresses under broken windows. And too, there are the neighborhoods, with houses missing and untended yards, looking more like abandoned fields than city blocks. (....If I bought a house there, I could fill the yard with summer crops....)

Anyway, I guess I don't need to make any more value statements....The photographs speak well enough on their own....
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1864272,00.html

Lemon blossoms and dog piss....

I am stretched out, eyes closed, on my chaise. My laundry floats and breathes on the line...in and out, up and down, gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. I give in and close my eyes....A thirty page to do list waits for me; no matter how hard I try to ditch it, that list waits patiently like the puppy my Standard Poodle is not anymore....

The other night I dreamed I needed to drive forward twenty feet, pull across a narrow lane into a parking lot. It was my van, dents and old, dusty raindrops and all. The engine started but when I tried to put it into a forward gear, it would only go into reverse. I tried and tried and then I gave in and raced out, driving backwards, onto a busy, four-lane road, which turned into a freeway, which turned into a one-way highway...further and further from my parking spot. I didn't know how to get back there.

This morning I wake with the commitment to make more time -- to steal the time if need be -- for my family, friends, photographs, and anything else which fills my soul instead of robbing it. So this morning, in between working, I also call my stepmother and my aunt, email a couple of friends, and even sort a few photographs....That's how I came to be reclining, in the hot October sun, in my yard.

I'm out there with my eyes closed, seeing nothing but orange behind my lids. I'm drifting in and out of my yard...and suddenly I'm aware of a sweet and lovely smell which is enveloping me, gently carrying me away....Oh, it's so good....I drift around with it for a bit....I realize, ah ha, it is the sweet smell of the sun hitting the lemon blossoms on my little Meyer lemon tree. My eyes stay closed and I am in my yard and I am also floating past my childhood, acres of orange groves and sweet citrus blooming into the night....It's so sweet and good....I don't move. I want it to last forever. And then, without warning, I smell the strong scent of dog urine. I can almost feel it in my nostrils, the acrid stench. It is unmistakable.

At first, I'm confused. My brain fights to regain the sweet citrus magic....Where is it? Did I imagine it? Can I bring it back? I almost laugh when the simple truth hits me: the wind has shifted and now, instead of smelling my delicate lemon blossoms, I'm smelling evidence of my dog's business, lifted by the sun, off the concrete....And I realize once again, it's all a matter of perspective....Just a simple matter of where you're standing and which way the wind is blowing....

Detroit Dreams

One of these days I'm going to forecast my trends instead of just spouting them to friends and relatives....Actually, I have some sort of dim memory that was supposed to be a major inspiration for this blog...but then, life got in the way....Well, never to late to hop on the train -- unless it's already left the station....

Quite a while back (months? a couple years?) I read an article in Harper's about Detroit. About how certain people were planting vegetables and other crops in the yards of abandoned houses and vacant lots within the city limits of Detroit. I loved that article. I showed it to those aforementioned family members and loved ones. Told them this I wanted to do too....I was fascinated....A beautiful notion: making things grow where otherwise there was only waste and blight....

More recently I read another article (Harper's? Time? New York Times?) about another "certain people" (the same people? do they know each other? working in concert?) who were buying houses cheap. Like for a coupla thousand dollars -- as in just over a couple hundred dollars -- and were fixing them up, green and nice, and selling them cheap to other like minded people. I think most of these people were artists and they were all moving close to each other. Forming a sort of urban, cold weather commune. And again, I showed the article to my loved ones. Threatened to buy a house there, as my own 'hood is completely unaffordable. Naturally no one thought I was serious. "Detroit?!" they asked. My kids knew I wouldn't leave good ol' Cali while they're still here...but still...it was mighty tempting. Even if I couldn't do it, it seemed like a great idea and I hoped others would jump on the bandwagon....

Then today I pick up the Oct. 5 Time magazine and find the cover article is all about Detroit. The editor's page is entitled "Assignment Detroit." Time has bought a house there -- and from the photo, a sweet looking home -- and the magazine will host various events throughout the year while they check on the health of Detroit. As they rightly surmise Detroit is a mirror of the nation...or as Mr. John Huey says, "we believe that Detroit right now is a great American story...."

I'm jazzed.
Let's keep a watch on poor, beleaguered Detroit. I'm rooting for it -- even if that means I won't be able to buy an affordable house there because the property values take a gigantic leap....
Look back to my blog and to time.com/detroit to see what's happening....My next fantasy is that Time magazine will invite me to their "D-Shack" for the benefit of my West Coast observations and ideas....It's always good to keep dreaming...so go to it Detroit!

Dad....Still Here....

Weeks have gone by, danced away, lazed away, drained away...gone, just the same, and I have not added anything to this blog of mine, which looks like it is becoming a yearly thing, certainly not daily....
I've thought about it....Opened the page. Left it sitting on my desktop. Had a vague idea of what I might say....But the page sat blank and unused.
This morning, it seems obvious, after I send an email to my brother and sisters. Everything looks clear. And it is okay....My mind has been preoccupied...and, actually, that's a lovely thing....

The email:
Dears,
I must admit, it is a lovely morning (especially because we had thick night fog, which is burning off, and keeping the heat wave reasonable). I sit here working on a transcript; it is boring but I am busy, engaged.
What I must admit, is that when my mind looks to what is there, in the back, in the front, in the parts I cover up with work, I am thinking of Dad....
It has been like this for me since Sunday -- well, probably actually for five weeks...well, probably actually, for the last several months!
I miss his presence on earth terribly.
I am not reconciled with the fact that he actually is gone.
I have had a few brief minutes here and there to reflect on what a tough year and a half it was....His initial throat problem (when I knew intuitively it was cancer and it was bad...), radiation, surgery, steady decline, though all the while, hoping that what the doctors assured was true....And all the while, Dad the same as always -- though, actually, changing in some subtle and some overt ways -- Dad, the same, not making it any easier to be close to him....
And anyway, the sun now is coming in the window where I work, and maybe it is Dad....Like he told me a few weeks before he died: he will be like Orion in the sky, I can't see him (without the aid of a very powerful telescope -- and, of course, he knew the exact magnification necessary), but he is there just the same....
So...I'm crying now but will try to dry my tears and return to work.
my love and good thoughts to you all,
KSJH

Endings....

Summer is, I guess, officially over...though the season doesn't expire for a few more weeks....Two of my children started high school yesterday -- my daughter, my baby, took that leap towards adulthood with a smile and her usual centered attitude. My middle child, who grew into an even taller, guitar playing, stringbean over the summer, is now a high school junior. My oldest returns to college next week...no longer a freshman....

The other day I came home to find my two boys reclining in the yard, books on their laps, oblivious to anything except the world created by the words their eyes were devouring...ah...such is summer reading....Ignoring dishes in the sink, phone calls to be returned, bills to be paid, I plopped down between them, no book, but I closed my eyes and my thoughts wandered....What had happened to summer? Where had it gone? Down what hole had the days drained? Summer started with a bang and a wake up call when I returned from an exhausting visit with my boyfriend's family to find that my house had been the locus for a frat party populated by fifteen and sixteen year olds. I arrived home from the airport -- tired and grumpy and glad to be home -- and couldn't cross the living room without my feet sticking to the old wood floor. Every step restricted by beer residue (and God knows what else). Two rooms had more than traces of three-day old, teenage, vomit....All in all, it wasn't a very relaxing way to ease into summer.

Two and a half months have somehow passed, thankfully with no more shocking parties. There haven't really been any lazy days either....The beginning of July brought my dad's 80th birthday, complete with a giant party and a reunion of out-of-town friends and relatives. My dad attended, though to me he seemed propped up solely for the festivities. By the end of the month, his doctor told him he had only two weeks to live. The cancer which everyone had assured him was gone, was certainly not gone and instead was ravaging his already weakened body....My mind played over all these events which had comprised my summer....

In the yard with my boys, as the sun warmed my cheeks and my closed eyelids, the only sound coming from the windchimes and my boys turning pages (because I've trained myself to tune out the afternoon traffic), my mind meandered over the summer days....A school ending party, children reading, children taking giant -- sometimes dangerous and inappropriate -- steps, my father leaving us forever, more family gatherings, hikes and swims at ten thousand feet, and then, school starting up again. I realized that immutable truth: life ebbs and flows, some things end, some things begin, but always, while we live, there is change. There is sadness and sweetness, a tangy mix for us to savor....

Summer....

Summer....I'm an adult...what is summer to me anyway? It's not like I get a summer vacation. Not like I look forward to a break from school work. Not like I'm going to camp....Except for the fact that my alarm can go off an hour later than usual, not much else seems different.

My kids are all home for the summer. My oldest, back after his first year at college. My middle, not working, like he did last summer. My youngest, anticipating high school. It's not like they need me around. I'm not arranging any play dates or dropping them at any nifty day camps. (Eight years ago I enrolled them all in Shakespeare camp. They were totally game. My daughter, several years under the minimum age, held her own. An impressed counselor, on summer break from the drama program at Yale, told her she should become a costume designer. Something about that camp really seemed like summer....Shakespeare performed by children in a WPA park, with its small outdoor theater....In my fantasies, it seems the quintessential summer experience....)

This summer I meant to help each of the kids get a job. Months ago, in vain attempt to plan ahead for success, I told them all, "You need to get a job this summer...." We did a little brainstorming -- but I guess that's all we did....A friend asked today about the kids and I told her the kids wanted to work this summer. She emailed back: "This summer" -- it IS this summer....Ooops, she's right: this summer is full upon us....I might have to give up on the idea that they'll earn money and/or be productive before school starts up again in the fall.

Trying to broaden the scope beyond mere, practical capitalism, I've also talked to each of them, individually, about accomplishing anything at all this summer. (I even gave an example, "Is there anything you want to do this summer? Not only working...but also...like if you wanted to set a goal to get outside for at least a half hour each day....") In my daughter-of-a-Marine kind of way, I didn't want the months to evaporate without some goal set and effectuated....

As for me, I thought that I'd work every minute before they get out of bed. And I have tried a bit of work here and there. But I am finding that my work is sandwiched in between making them breakfast -- peaches from the farmer's market are an irresistible centerpiece for them to eat and me to offer -- washing dishes, taking them on errands...and...well, talking to them....

Trying to stick to my plan, keep up my work ethic, I found myself leaving their smiling and relaxed company to steal upstairs, to stare determinedly into my computer screen, to escape the sound of their music, to be just out of reach of their voices....And then...it dawned on me: This IS summer.

It happened while I was in my room working. My sunny yard beckoned outside my window. I took a break just so that I could go outside. I found myself, (to escape the pull of my computer), cleaning up dog poop and spraying off the side yard (yes, using precious water in the process). Anything to stay outside, in the summer weather. And when I finished my task, I gave in to irresistible temptation and lowered my now heavy body onto the chaise lounge and closed my eyes for five minutes. My oldest son wandered out and we talked about his adjustment from college life to returning home for the summer. We examined the tomatoes growing in the barrel and tried to out-guess each other as to when they'll ripen. Later my sixteen year old asked if friends could stop by and he entertained two boys in his room, strumming on the guitar and playing Scrabble on the computer. When his friends departed, he actually asked for my suggestions for a five letter word, starting with the letter "i." At bedtime, my daughter asked, (thinking that I'd decline for certain), if I wanted to play cards. We played a couple of games of rummy, on a deck we'd gotten years ago on the ferry up to Victoria....When we grew sleepy, we planned to play more games tomorrow....

I think I get it now: This IS summer....This is the time my kids are here. Relaxed. Talkative. Not needing anything too desperately. Just existing in the warm sun and cool breezes of our summer....

So that's it....I have tried to teach my children something about goal setting and accomplishment and in very understated fashion, they have taught me something about relaxing and letting go. It took me three days to write this short piece. First there were the vague thoughts, coming slowly into focus. The realization that it is so difficult to get something done when gravity is pulling one onto the chaise lounge....Next came the interrupted attempts to turn on my computer and formulate words....And I think I'll have to omit the last step -- no time to read over what I've written, because my daughter asked me to wake her at 10:00 and I'm already thirty minutes behind schedule....

Enjoy your summer days.....