a dead cat and a female fire fighter

I saw a dead cat yesterday in my back yard.
it broke me into a million pieces.
lying, deep permanent sleep on the ground
It was old and perhaps had lived a full, yet difficult 9th life




saw a female fire fighter today on the street.
I was filled with pride and admiration
confident, as her pony tail, blond locks floated through the air
she was young and surrounded by men who worked in tandem with her.
















(I will comment more on the death of a cat, and what my fucken brute of a landlord did. Gawd. I wish I could take this guy's brain and shove it up his ass. It would probably work better that way...)

Happy Birthday B

she would have been 89 today

Happy Birthday B.
I can't think of a more fitting tribute than to have your postcard and your story touch other people's lives around the world. For starters, you have already visited Brasil. Next stop, the town you came to call home...


A book about death


(click on images to see full size)

Front and back

Front

Back

Front - no back

Mr. Fyst, you were right...

Mr. Arty, you were right. The painter man was spooked out by death. Wrote me a long email explaining what happened with his mother when he was small - came close to the big D word. Flipped him out. Then one of his best friend's sister died. He loved them to bits, but still could not bring himself to the funeral. Says he still beats himself up for it, has tried to change his character but can't seem to do it. Change his attitude that is.

Up until my grandmother died last March, it had been a long time in between deaths. The last one being my best friend who offed himself in a hotel room. I wept for days, then off and on for weeks, then off and on for months. Even to this day, I still shed a tear.

I mourn the loss of one of the best friends I have ever had, mourn the loss of the possibilities for him, the lives he could have touched. The world would have been a better place with him still in it, but on the flip side, when he was on this earth, so many people were touched by his life, love and laughter, and i was one of the privileged.


I remember seeing his ashes in a beautiful burgundy box on the altar of a small chapel. Our gang sat around it - 5 on either side. His cegep family, and his blood family. Back then, the idea of cremation freaked me out; but today, my grandmother's ashes is right beside our wedding picture. She could not make it in person, but at least she was there in spirit. Technically, she is here in person, but in a different and smaller more compact version...

So that closed door is now re-opened. Happy about that, but i tread with caution. I have begun to guard myself, but begun to question wether i must now lower my expectations of my friends and their behavior and what i will accept as "acceptable behavior".

Still now word from She. Not even a  "well, bitch, if that's the way you feel, fuck you", which is what i expected. At at least that. Latest post on fb says that she's going on vacation. Posted on somebody else's post that "I'm sick too and nobody is taking care of me!"

well girl, you made your bed, now lie in it...

but it still hurts, and it hurts my attitude towards my art and myself.

I looked at my latest frame series. Not a lot of activity on it. Received one private message that said it was brilliant - and i had reached a new pinnacle in my creativity.

Really?

why does it feel like i am rotting inside? Why do i feel as if I am slipping away?

but anyway.
The hurt will eventually turn to annoyance, and from that, minor irritation. There will be a scab, but to heal entirely, i must avoid picking at it. That is why i have removed her from my news feed. Removed all her old emails from my inbox, put them into a folder called: "I don't care anymore".

Same with my father. E and i are drafting the final email. His attention span is the size of a pin head, so being concise is key. Looking for a one two punch. Then walking away from the fight for good.

It's windy outside, snow rolling by like ice capped waves. Snow. That used to equal skiing. Father and daughter time on the slopes. And that was lots of fun. But in order to move on, i must forge new memories, new experiences.

one step at a time. One hill at a time.

So mr. Fyst - you were right, as I knew you would be. I felt the same way and knew that A was a kind heart, yet tormented soul, but for the others? Well, they have their own demons to wrestle with, but there is a difference between being self centered and centering the self.

onward and upward. On the page and onto the screen our words will go.

anchor

I have not been here in a while

when we were going through my g.mother's things yesterday, we came across her journal. She kept one right till the end. I guess that runs in my family. Grandfather loved to write, so did she, and here i am, fingers dancing on keyboard . A word is a word is a word. I find comfort in that.

this is my anchor.

Like memories, Words never really go away.

the following is a letter to a friend who is on the other side of the ocean, with family, friends and her home.

I hope that you are home - having a wonderful time, taking in the nordic air, taking a dip in the ocean, knowing your life is complete and on the right track without the ghosts of the past, one in particular perhaps very near where you are...

Well, on my side of the ocean, just got back from the clinic.
they are so full of shit. ONLY one problem at a time is their thing. The doctor turned up her nose when I told her about my pit - so my stomach took priority, meanwhile, my armpit is going numb and the scope traveling up and down my arm and into my breast. I go for a mamo 2mrw but won't get the results for weeks...

so had to fork out 200 for bloods (that's plus the 100 for the ultrasound on friday, plus the 250 from three weeks ago for those bloods that found nothing...)

I'm falling apart,


And it's so weird knowing my grandmother is gone. Mom said :

"Funny, it's like we expected her to be around forever - we almost forgot that she was almost 90!!" 

But it's still weird. I know you know what i mean...

We had a nice dinner - my mom, her friend b and e - remembered the qirky things about her - how she liked to keep stacks (and i mean stacks) of napkins "just in case". WW2 remnants of that mentality. 

And how she used to pencil in her eyebrows like huge arcs over her eyes. 

How I was her special granddaughter - the first. 

And how my doing my greek impressions she would always laugh and laugh. 

I wish I had a chance to talk to her one last time...

She said a few things to the nurses a few days before - "How will I know my daughter (m - her daughter who died of cancer last year) if I won't have a body.?" and when asked if she needed some Myoflex for her joints, she said "I won't need it where I'll be going..."

Funny how they just know.

Did she give up? Or just give in ? we will never know...

The hardest will be on thurs for the viewing. and then the funeral on friday.
Mom will fall apart more or less depending on what she finds out wedensday. God I hope to high heaven that the cancer has not come back, let alone spread...


I am going to nap. Round two with my eye doc at 2:30pm to see if I'm losing my sight and/or will need surgery.

It's snowing here - big fluffy flakes.

just when we thought spring was finally here, the sky opens up and cries soft tears...

goodbye

it was about 6:30pm when she died - a heart attack. Quick and silent, and apparently, without pain. She was surrounded by the wonderful women at the nursing home where she stayed - her "home" away from home. She loved it there, and they all loved her. She was one of the most lucid people in the whole building.

I was asleep when e woke me up to tell me. 

I'm still in shock.

It was just a few days ago we were talking about what she was going to wear to my wedding.

she loved it when i did my impression of the greek woman in the house next to my mom's. 

she loved it when i laughed

she loved it when i sang "sing with heehaw vandoosh" - apparently vandoosh was a name I heard somebody say on the radio, and at 3 years old, you couldn't tell me that it was not a real word.

38 years later, it still made her laugh so very hard - we all did.

What a wonderful memory. One of many...

So very sad. I wanted nothing more than her to see me walk down the isle - her first granddaughter.

Goodbye Starenka.

Hopefully, you will find many vandooshes to sing to you in heaven and may the souvlaki and greek music fill your days with sunshine.

I will love you and miss you terribly.