love fiercely

The colors are still brilliant.  The stars overhead are bright, the sun shined today and left a pink reminder at day's end that everything will be alright.  But...my sweet dear Grandma passed yesterday and even though her life was long and sometimes good, I don't quite know where to put my heart.  She's been with me since the day I was born.  She, the eagle in human form would die, of course- we all do.  But it was her dying, her slow limbo like dance between here and there that really got me.  I found myself praying that she'd just go, so she wouldn't suffer and yet- did she or do I?  It's awful hard to let people go, and it's even harder to feel it.  I think I'm fighting the feeling, I'm on here tonight with dinner dishes still stacked in the sink.  Apple sauce waiting to be finished, laundry and travel arrangements, a scanner that won't scan the most beautiful pic I could find of her for the obituary because the printer is shy of one cartridge which I don't even need- I just want to scan.  Dammit.

I will say that I miss her, will miss her even more- will miss that one voice of wisdom that I could count on.  That one wobbly way of standing as she did.  Her voice, her handwriting even...I pulled out an old card, looking for that elusive photo and her handwriting was on it.  Precise.  Upright and as plain as it gets and yet, the quality of the way she signed her name will never be again.  I am lost without my grandma, I haven't held her hand in so many years and yet right now, if only she could take mine and steer a bit, well...my mind seems flooded with images.  All the stories of all the moments ever in my life, included her.  I wish for the world then, a grandma like that.  One who never pretended to know all the answers, one who often encouraged me to simply forget and go on.  One who never hardly ever cried but when she did, it broke your heart into a million little pieces that could not be put back together until she gathered herself up and went on.  She knew that, could see that so she always held together...for us.
I'm an orphan.  A forty nine year old orphan and I want my Mocko...she'd just cluck at me.  Roll those brown piercing eyes and run that forget it line by me again.  She'd probably offer me candy, a pink peppermint tablet or a chocolate star.  She wouldn't have much to say, she always just was...I could count on her just was.  And now she just was was...sounds like a pity party going on here.  Dammit.

Tell me grown up orphans left to fend for yourself, do you feel this way- did you feel this way at a later age and thought you'd handle it better?  For gosh sakes, she was ninety something- she couldn't live forever.  A part of me, the innocent dot of me- very well thought she could.  I guess I have to convince myself that tomorrow I'll rally and all will be well.  That grandma flew to where grandma's fly and gather up all the lost loved ones left before...and I'll think of her smiling and maybe she stands again tall and straight, voluptuous and lovely, kicking up her heels in a hell bent for heaven polka.  Oh I hope so,  I hope she joined with a certain young man that I'll miss forever and said-

"She needs us now, sure hope she settles down enough that we might get through in some pink way..."

Maybe, oh maybe that was her smile in the sunset.  And maybe I won't cry anymore and be so damn bitchy.  Maybe I'll quit licking my wounds and go out and greet the world again.  I've been avoiding it and it doesn't stop you know, not for me or you or Grandma Mocko's passing.
It should though, it really should.  She was something and this world hardly knew her, that's the saddest part of all.  Folks like her, plain and hardworking, soft spoken and private, never meddling yet always ready to steady you.  She knew her mettle but she never boasted about the fact that she could kick any body's butt that needed it and she would if it would help them, otherwise- she didn't trouble.  Humble and proud in an old lady way.  Wore Mocha Red lipstick every day that I knew her...looked this side of seventy and still blushed.
Surrounded herself with things I thought, but those things I see now- were gifts bestowed on a good lady who never wanted for much and rarely purchased a thing for herself except the occasional cookie.
Off she goes then, out of sight.  And I can only reach her now, backwards through thought and memories.

I'll tell you finally then, this.  It doesn't matter how old or young they are when they die, they're just as gone and they take a whole lot of you with them; it empties places in you that will remain so unless you fill them again with the stuff that shaped you.  And that's the hardest part because those who love fiercely give it freely and over fill us.  There's always more and you never even once had to ask for it- you see that clearly the unclearer they get.  Best I can do is be like that to those I love, fill them up overflowing- like she did.
She wasn't a praying woman.  She just accepted everything, pure faith.
Damn.   I wished I would have asked her about that.

an eagle in human form

We have had many visitors as of late to this little cottage like home.  Some are most welcome and enter in brightly, and when they leave it as though they have left in their wake- intangible remnants of laughter.  People fill a place with their energy I think.  I seem to be overly in-tuned to the highs and lows of folks and often, when an overwhelming feeling of negative crappy stuff permeates my surroundings, I either shy away or step outside and hope they don't follow.   Sometimes, if they persist in telling me all their woes, complaining that no one ever does this, or never visits, or never calls and they're so lonely...it's all I can do to not scream "SNAP OUT OF IT!!!"  If someone is truly in the dumps and maybe their picture of life is just a bit out of focus...gladly I'll encourage them  to perhaps look a little closer, focus on the roses instead of the thorns.  But when my patience is tried and I'm forced to hear-"You should do this and you should do that, and look at me I'm a poor lonely woman, and I'm OK."  I want to say, "No, my dear- you are not.  You seem to get off on drama and past episodes of every wrong done to you...you take me to task because I don't see the world through fearful, regretful eyes."

But of course- I do not say any such thing.  I sigh and listen as long as I"m able, then I simply go outside.  And as life would have it, that's just what I did yesterday- and my thoughts came upon Grandma.  Yep.  She's still kicking, never complaining, no whining either...ever.  I called her and the first words out of her mouth-
"I'm so glad you called."   I didn't even make the call until after lunch...but do you think she'd ever take me to task because I didn't first thing yesterday call her to wish her a happy day, truly as I should have?!  No, she was only sincerely glad to hear my voice, and our conversation carried on about new chicks, gardens and the fact that mine was the first and only call she had received that day.  The equation added up and I came away once again with the best answer of all- my Grandma is such a good woman.  Independent as all hell, loyal as a good old dog and sweet and growing ever sweeter with each passing moment.  She tickles me although I used to be so afraid of her.  I think we all were.  But when you really look at the whole scheme of things- had it not been for her tenacity, independence, boldness, bitchiness, thump on the head occasionally....all of us offspring would have been pretty wimpy.  She never hugged or told you she loved you, never coddled or cuddled.  But she never swerved either in the upbringing- and I feel in her life time, she has taken alot of disrespect that was not deserved.  She has been undervalued and mistreated a time or two. Times being what they were back in the day- if your husband left you, beat you, drunk away all your savings...it generally centered on your shoulders.  And I think she believed she always deserved what she got, but the miracle of all of this- I was quickly going down that same road and she kind of at first- stuck that shoulder crap on me.  But I proved to her, mirrored almost- that was just not true.  I never left, I never swerved- I hung right in there and did what I had to, too.  Between you and me dear readers, I think it helped her to see herself in a new light, I also think she realized what a strength-force she was in my life.  We needed each other in a way that neither of us had reckoned.  We became friends.

To see her walk now, in her nineties- (she will not use a cane or a walker) every step looks so painful.  She shifts all her weight back and forth, as if the whole world lay on her left hip.  Perhaps as it did when she carried that first child there, and then added another, and another and another...even though two were naturally born to her- all of us offshoots have been carried in a way by this good gal.  She's not the kind that you can tell such things too...she says "that's nuts."  Anyway- I feel very lucky to know Mocko (we didn't even call her grandma.  Everybody had grandmas...we have Mocko.  Isn't that a riot?)   to really have gotten to know her- she truly doesn't let many in.   She gave her life for me...but that's another story for another day that I hope comes on her gently, in her sleep.  It's a story, due to my utmost respect for her- I will not tell while she lives.  She is possibly the most proud (with every good reason to be) woman I've ever known.  For so long- I did not understand her.  I still don't fully- I only know that I probably love this woman, who is not my mother-( but always will remain the best one I know) better and more thoroughly than she would ever allow.  But for some reason, she lets me.  What an honor.

So...I wanted to tell you all about me being a new "Mother Hen" and all, chicks came in the mail last Thursday...but I got to thinking about mother hen eagles and how when I take every opportunity to photograph them, they always seem so much like my grandma.  I'll keep her stories coming up now and then...so much to learn, if only I could quit comparing the whiners in my life to grandma, I'd probably do Ok, never knowing an eagle in human form might make me able better to identify with constant complainers and whiners who truly have nothing to be sorry for and everything to be thankful for.   Wish me luck....

Take care.

veers a little south...

I feel so blessed by the folks in my life...those I see, and those whom I'll never even meet. They stumble in, check my pulse by the words I write- I just want you to know that it means more than I can say, truly.

There is an old Bluegrass song that has always been one of my favorites

"I Want My Friends To Pray For Me".

I never gave it much thought the first time I heard it, the title seems a bit selfish, wanting a prayer said for you...but the song goes on to say how affirming it is to be able to hope, perhaps never truly asking- that someone might lift you up in prayer by speaking your name.

I think that just might be the beauty of blogging, perhaps it is the very thing that we all need, the net of amazing graces found here. Some vent, some wail, some seek, some find I suppose, a sympathetic ear...but I can't help but wonder if it is more than that. Perhaps it is like that old tin cup attached to a string that you ran from your garage as a kid, to your neighbors upstairs window and you spoke, "Hello!" The sound waves traveled through the string up and over and through the hedge to a listening ear that heard the voice or felt the vibe. It was exhilarating as a child to feel that- as if the wheel had just been invented by two knock-kneed kids with fruit cocktail cans held up to their ears.

"I hear you! I hear you!" And then we'd drop our cans and meet at the bushes and smile... beaming grins from ear to ear.

Hear I sit with my old rusty can, the string a bit tattered and worn, but...I hear you! I hear you!!!!

-how sweet the sound...

(Hoping upon hope that I get to bring Grandma home today, or- tomorrow. Home being the optimum word, she's in better spirits, accepting all and anything, took me a bit to get there. But, once again- she's taught me that some things might rob you, some things fulfill you and some things...just have to be. And some things, the best ...aren't really things at all.

She said (after all the indignity she has suffered, the pokes and guinea pig explorations),

"...you have to forget all that and just go on."

Oh grandma, I'm trying you-old-sweet-pain-in-the-rear-sometimes-always-grand-dame, I am trying.

(I may have to live as long as Grandma Mocko to get the lessons right...or wrong and "just go on", as she has advised. Darn it. She can come right out of the haziest fog, look me straight in the eye and be so damned righteous...ooohhhh, she goes right for my throat, veers a little south and pokes me in the heart.)

Mother's Day...tears and laughter, joy and pain-

this day will be the one that really brings it home...

What it means to be a mother,

to be mothered and to be... Grand.

the beauty and the bones

Well friends, in case you haven't noticed...I haven't been up to much blogging lately. And this poor old blog here, the truest calling I've ever known that lets me lay bare the beauty and bones of life- has taken a back seat to all the goings on recently.

I have just driven home from the hospital, the one I took my grandma to this morning, this early AM. She called around 7:00 and was pretty shook up and bleeding. I raced over there as fast as I could, got her into the hospital, to the good hands people- and set to twist and wring my hands right along side her all day. She's about four years behind her actual age in the telling, so we'll just keep letting on like she's 88, that's what she'd want you to think. Anyway- we sat, I worried- not because she hasn't had a long life or a good one for that matter. She's a strong women, never was much of a loving sort, but I knew- yes indeed, I always knew. She's the independent type and I've tried my very best to keep her in her home, safe and secure. She's been feeling pretty feeble for quite some time now, the early morning call was one she did not want to make, especially to me because she thinks I've got my hands full and then some. After 12 long hours of laying, in pain, blood tests revealing internal hemorrhaging somewhere and no health care to speak of there in that hospital. Just false hopes...I didn't say a word, just carried on with her like everything was going to be OK. Finally, I made a mental note that if the IV, the blood transfusion, the promised hospital room wasn't employed in the final hour of 9:00 PM, I was going to talk to somebody, matter of fact my mental note was a zinger and somebody was going to listen and then act. I stood around the nurse's station, not wanting to vent- I could see with my own two eyes how busy every one seemed. But- I made a promise to my old girl that she could trust me, count on me when the chips were down. Again- no verbal promise from her lips to my ears ever in my 40 plus years was ever made- but I knew, I always knew she'd look out for me. So, finally I locked eyes with a sensible looking young nurse and I asked her this question-

"Do you have a grandma?"

"Yes" she said.

"What would you do if you found her bleeding, took her to the hospital and sat with her while she worried and wondered, after 10 hours- if someone in the medical profession was going to look after her. Could you sit by much longer and wonder if the transfusion was ever going to come, or wonder dreadfully, thinking what if this is it? Her life just slipping away in a hospital no less, and you're just standing by letting all that happen? Could you look her in the eye and tell her all will be well, when not even one nurse had peeped her head in just to say how are you doing? Could you just sit and take all that knowing the poor thing hasn't been able to eat or sleep for days, unable to keep anything down or anything in? And somehow found the courage to make a call that would take her to a hospital she might never come out of? I know she's old, I know maybe she's not top priority because of her age, maybe you folks feel she's a bit expendable, but she's my grandma. She's a good women, worked hard all her life, never asks anybody for anything. And the one time she does, she gets to lay in a bed that no one attends and slowly bleed from some unknown place in her belly because, well- that's what I need to know. Why aren't you doing anything for my grandma?"

I didn't get mad, I guess I got really sad, felt powerless, felt that there had to be some good reason that folks just like her get treatment like that because, well- because they don't whine, they don't whimper- they never even squeak. They just take it, like they have all their life- doing the best they know how to do and one day, they grow old and hell, doesn't anybody care anymore about the plain and simple people?

The nurse listened. (And thank goodness, acted.) That's all I wanted I guess, not to be right- at least to be heard. When I left the hospital, and believe me you- that was a very hard thing to do, leave her laying there- I guess I took about the longest quietest ride home I ever took. And I thought long and hard on how we don't notice one another anymore- how we don't really care to be bothered by the bonafide goodness of one soul, but we pull out all the stops for the ones who don't give two cents for anything of value, they demand the best and give the least. Time for me to head to bed...maybe say a little prayer for the whole wide world, somebody's got to say something for the lack of love in the all too many these days.

And one last note to my family, if you're reading or listening to a retelling of this story. Time to exchange the wishbone for a back bone. Grandma needs us all and I'm tired, and I'm spent and my back bone is getting pretty sore. You could learn something or two from this old lady who's done so much for so little.

Thanks for listening and giving a damn, take care-

True grit

Good Morning to you und you und you...Went to confession last night (Grandma's house)-felt like airing my soul out, guess I needed to. And she needed some chores done-I felt like I should put everything on hold to aid her, because-well, I'm a good person. Just kidding, my house is a mess after the "Big Day", and my priorities shifted real quick when she called, I was more than happy to attend to her needs and leave mine wholly undone. We got to talking, me mostly-and we shared what only women share between them-this lady is an independent one, always has been. She use to scare me, for you did not want to make this one mad-she could reduce you to a puddle with a stern glare, you did not want to go beyond that glare...total evaporation of what one might feel is a childish right to screw up now and then. Ha! She'd set you straight and nail you like a ten penny. Anyway, she's a hero of mine, I like her more everyday, and I love her like no other. We have to attend a memorial Saturday and well, we don't want to go really...we don't do sad well. But the service is in honor of a beauty, a lady who remained so all her life, top of the tree type-so for her and her young un' we will go. And dress the part. Grandma at such and such an age...cleans up real good, and I look so unfamiliar dressed up that, well...most people comment. "Geez, look at you! Didn't recognize you!" Then I get all red in the face and pretend like I'm a natural grown woman, and I start to make weird noises that sound alot like excuses, look at my hands alot, notice my nails aren't quite as clean or manicured as a ladies should be, shove my hands in my pocket and start to whistle. "Oh, there you are!" They say, now they notice me, only a bit more decorated but still Terry, the tomboy. And my dad will go too, he's driving-he's a tough old tender bird, and he'll cry-the man would rather fall out of a tree stand than tear up, it is hard to watch-does his pride no good to be seen like that, so...I'll look away. And the family, my favorite part of our vast bloodline, will be there-for them too, we'll go. And eat, drink, and believe it or not...at some point we will all be merry together, for Pat who flew away a couple of weeks ago. She taught me more about being a woman than anyone who comes to mind. "Stand up straight, stick your chest out, chin up-stick your heiney out too girl. Don't look at the ground, eyes up front, look 'em in the eye, Terry-don't forget that, look 'em in the eye." At 11 or 12, walking down a back road along the little Wabash river-getting life and posture lessons from a woman who cared enough about my timid little tomboy soul, to set me straight. To this day, my posture is good. Thanks Pat, you made a good difference here-how bright the heavens must be now, how less lit up it is around the little Wabash...but the memory, the shapes drifting down that road, bright as ever. Take care-