Author: eyeamdust

And now take the time to write, knit, weave and crochet... I eat good food, I walk the dog and I care about what people think about everything. While I have shelter and sustenance, I am calm and peaceful, but I'm not assured that the serenity I live in now will abide if I were to lose my income and lived under a bridge. I do not live under any illusions that life is fair. I have had too much heartbreak to believe in justice and so have you.

The Christmas Boats Parade

Every year Mom went to see the Christmas boats parade on the Willamtte River. Lil’ Mil’, as we called Mom’s friend, Millie Sargent, owned a houseboat just north of the Sauvies Island bridge.

We went with Mom for a few years. What fun! There was spiked eggnog and clam dip and lots of other snacks and a lot of shouting and cheering and waving our arms about. We dressed in warm coats and hats, gloves and scarves and sat outside on the deck. The river there is narrow and some boats come so close it felt like we could touch them. Some would do circles and drills in front of us. We’d wave and laugh and shout just to see the revelers wave back.

Those days are gone. Lil’ Mil’ and Mom have been gone for years now but the memories are just as clear as ever. Before my sister, Kristi, passed on, Steve, Kristi and her daughter, Shauna, and I left my house to relive the joy of being at a parade with Mom one more time… the Christmas boats parade. We wanted to do this for her.

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind was howling and blowing the rain sideways but this was not going to stop us. Lil’ Mil’ had sold the houseboat so we could no longer enjoy that wonderful place and we did our eating and drinking at home.

We went to Cathedral Park in the shadow of the St.Johns bridge. There were a few other brave souls out. We walked to the river’s edge and walked the steep plank to the dock. The river was rough and the plank and dock were bucking up and down.

We shouted and waved as Mom would have and cried and held on to each other as the boats passed and circled round and round. We stayed until the last boat passed.

We were drenched and happy because we did it to remember Mom. She loved any parade, no matter how small and that wasn’t the first time that she took us out in the worst weather… remember February steelheading? The muddy, slippery, rocky riverbanks. Claming at the beach even before daylight in the pelting rain? Well, that’s a different story.

I miss you, Mom, especially this time of year. You made everything fun.

What is the Lifespan of a Bug?

Last night late, I was lying in bed watching a Turkish series that I’m into. For some reason a big black insect of some kind caught my attention. It was on the ceiling. It walked until it was almost directly over me. Suddenly it dropped onto the bed and started scurrying towards me. It was heading directly for me, probably for the light that my phone was giving off. I quickly jumped up and tried to catch it in the covers and I thought I did.

I don’t like to squash insects but I thought, I don’t want that big thing walking around on my bed, around on the floor where it can get back up on the bed or on the walls or on the ceiling and drop on me again and perhaps bite me.

I thought I captured it and squished it between two folds of the blanket. I have killed bugs like that and I hate the feeling of the crunch and then the squish and I think insects have every right to live out their lives.

When I slowly opened the fold, I expected to see a squished bug but I found nothing, not even a carcass. So do you think I could go to sleep? Of course not. I kept thinking that I was feeling something crawling on me or in my hair or coming towards me on the bed. I thought it might be on the floor and that it would eventually come for me. I couldn’t sleep until I unknowingly fell fast asleep.

When I woke up this morning the first thing I did was look for the bug and now I keep scanning my surroundings. The big question now is, what is the lifespan of a bug? I don’t hate insects I just don’t want one on me.

I’m laughing at myself but I’m dead serious.😟

This is How We Do It. ‘Tis the Season.

I guess each and every one of us has our own experience and perspective. My perspective is one of myth and fairytale. Drawing names for gift giving and putting heart and soul into creating handmade gifts of wood, clay, wax, paints and pencils and wool threads, paper and fabric, each item made with a particular person in mind.

We’re grateful for a warm place to bake and for creating special foods. We invite family and friends to sit at our table and around the cozy fire. We read books and share stories and warming drinks.

During the season we gather evergreen boughs and leaves and branches with berries from parks to make wreaths and garlands to decorate the house and to give away. We hide small gifts and candy to fill the stockings for Jul morning and pretend the elves have visited through the night.

We’ve spent hours creating our special gifts, hiding them behind our backs if someone passes by unexpectedly. We don’t even share who’s name we’ve drawn… so there’s an air of anticipation… if John drew my name, I might get a painting or something sculpted of wood. If it’s Ivan, I might get a bonsai, if it’s Laura, maybe a knitted scarf or small bottles of homemade bitters. If it’s Joannah, there’s a million possibilities, and from Jerald, handmade candles or a handbraided dog leash or something of leather. From me, someone will get something knitted or a hand-made book.

We use hand decorated brown paper for wrappings and jute ribbons or recycled papers and ribbons from last year and hand cut paper snowflakes. Cards are made from John’s lino-cut designs, or made from recycled cards I recieved last year, repurposed for this year. This year I bought some from UNICEF.

I’m an anti-theist, if a label is required. God doesn’t play into the season, for me. I love the magic of stringing lights and singing and bringing a tree in the house… a tradition that pre-dates what we now call Christmas, Xmas, etc.

I dont care what other people do. If they want to celebrate as they’re told by media advertisements and to go into debt and to get stressed during October, November and December, they can go ahead. I don’t care. We’ll be over here creating and welcoming the darker, colder days with good cheer. This is how we welcome the ending of this year and the beginning of the new with family and friends.

I understand the bah humbug spirit pervasive in society. There’s good reason, of course, but for me it’s deeper and richer and full of meaning. There is the harvest, then the darker and colder season that engulfs us all as we turn away from the sun for some months.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I also know that there are the less fortunate who don’t have the ability to create such warmth and good cheer, and for that I lament. We’ll do what we can.

In the Dark of Night She Kills

Eres

Looks can be decieving. Eres, the sweetest sleepy calico during the daylight hours.

But in the shadowy hours of night, she tangles with the dark, evil rodent forces; severing heads, leaving only hindquarters and tails, wreaking havoc and chaos and fear in her wake, leaving behind not a drop of blood.

She is a warrior, a terror, fearless and hungry always for blood and guts, bringing her spoils to us in the night, seeking the approval of her dominators and providers of shelter.

Therefore, she is one tired kitty.

There was Shawndrae

A memorial day

There was Shawndrae for 27 years on this earth, then he was no longer here.

He was a kind, sweet child. The best kind of cousin, nephew, son and friend.

He grew with ambition. A talented computer artist who shared his passion.

Today, I will attend his memorial. Grief is beyond measure. His voice will no longer be heard. We will no longer see him.

Nothing is left to do but the crying. Nothing left to hear but the wailing, keening and sobbing.

I only know that in time we won’t cry as hard or as often. It won’t hurt so bad. This you can only know if you’ve lost someone before.

His mother’s life is changed forever. Though we have to, we should not have to bury our children.

You will live on, Shawndrae, for as long as we remember you. It’s hard to say goodbye. It’s so hard.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? Long time passing…

This was a weird summer for annual flowers in my yard. We planted lots and lots of annuals to add color to the ever thriving perennials, like all of the shade plants like hostas and ferns and Japanese grasses, rhododendrons, azaleas and mosses and succulents, besides the sun loving roses and lilies, berries, lavender, sage, rosemary thyme… you know.

The 5 ancient maple trees suffered the most in our two waves of unbearable heat, while all the while, doing their best to keep us cool. They will survive unless this drought keeps it up.

Oh, and I can’t forget, as usual we had a major display of kiwi blossoms but no fruit. I know, I know, male and female but now we can’t “bear” to separate these two gigantic specimens who are apparently happy being childless and just hanging out together in their splendor.

But back to the geraniums and fushias and begonias. The pansies and lobelia did fine, but what happened to the firework flowers of, red, pink, orange and fushia colored blossoms? They made a weak showing but nothing to make me dream of Italian cobbled streets lined with terra cotta pots festooned and overflowing with bright geraniums.

And what of my favorites, the begonias? The squirrels, crows and raccoons kept digging up their bulbs, so they at least had an excuse. The sticks, twine, and stones were not a deterrent. Three of my bulbs survived and bravely produced nothing more than some bedraggled and chewed upon leaves. I’m used to big, thick and juicy stems struggling under the weight of giant blossoms of every color and humongous leaves shading those seemingly delicate flowers… but nary a blossom.

Two shy, late-bloomers

That brings me to these two shy fushias blossoms. They didn’t show up until the party was almost over. Of all the fushias invited to the garden, only these two came appropriately dressed… but too little too late. But I have to say that they are welcome, nonetheless. The days are dark, wet and a little cool for such attire, but they made the photo shoot afterall.

Thank you for coming dear fushias. Our party this year was a bit under attended, which makes each guest this year that much more precious.

Here we are in autumn with its own special beauty. Bye, bye summer. We’ll dream of you and wait to buy more geraniums, fushias and begonias next year. We’ll hope for a better showing of bright and exciting blossoms. You are always welcome in the garden.

A Loss Beyond Words

We’re hurting, exhausted to the soles of our feet because she’s grieving. We’re not hurting because it’s our experience. It’s her lonely path to walk. We stand by useless, offering words, our hands, our hearts. But it’s hopeless.

But she’s grieving outloud. She’s gut wrenching, heart rending, soul tearing, screaming, sobbing at the sky, to the dirt and to those who are listening.

There’s no words to describe the sounds coming from her mouth. There’s no words that can describe her tear soaked face, the horrible sorrow in her eyes. This drags us down to the depths of her indescribable sorrow.

She wants us to know. She wants to unburden, crying out. But she can’t, though she tries, it’s just too painful. We can’t save her from this agony.

The present is too much to bear. The loss too profound. She wants to tell us her beautiful, terrible memories to comfort herself but the stories only bring with it, heartache… sorrow is too gentle of a word. This is worse than anything.

I light candles for her. But nothing I do will help. I answer her back. I tell her that I hold her in my heart. I tell her that I care and that I’m crying, too. But what good are my words. They fall leaden, heavy around her and blanket the ground… of no help at all.

This sorrow she will carry forever. She is changed and every breath will hurt for a long, long time. All of the plans that were laid are splintered, crushed. And anger walks with sorrow. She can’t help but to ask, “why”?

She beats the air with her fists. She strikes out at strangers, friends, family. She says, “don’t talk to me. I have nothing to say”, when our hearts are swollen with unspoken words. It’s all we have to offer. We have to step back, hurting for her, silently begging her, “be brave”, as the abyss of grief threatens.

But this is a loss beyond words.

PS~ I can still hear Grandma saying, “We shouldn’t have to bury our children”. But bury them, we do.

You Know You Wish You Knew This Before.

Sometimes people walk away from love because it is so beautiful that it terrifies them.

Sometimes they leave because the connection shines a bright light on their dark places and they are not ready to work them through.

Sometimes they run away because they are not developmentally prepared to merge with another- they have more individuation work to do first.

Sometimes they take off because love is not a priority in their lives- they have another path and purpose to walk first.

Sometimes they end it because they prefer a relationship that is more practical than conscious, one that does not threaten the ways that they organize reality. Because so many of us carry shame, we have a tendency to personalize love’s leavings, triggered by the rejection and feelings of abandonment. But this is not always true. Sometimes it has nothing to do with us.

Sometimes the one who leaves is just not ready to hold it safe.

Sometimes they know something we don’t- they know their limits at that moment in time.

Real love is no easy path- readiness is everything.

May we grieve loss without personalizing it.

May we learn to love ourselves in the absence of the lover.

(~an excerpt from ‘An Uncommon Bond’, available at any bookstore through Ingram Distribution, and on Amazon (Kindle, Paperback, audio) at https://www.amazon.com/Uncommon-Bond-Jeff-Brown/dp/0980885957/)

Some days!!! If it’s not one thing…

OK, so it’s not even 8 o’clock on a Monday morning and I have 2 big problems and on top of that, some contractor is up nailing on a roof near by and he started like half an hour ago, argh!

Problem#1: Yesterday I changed my bed and took my mattress cover off so that I could wash it and Yum Yum, the dog, threw up something yellow like curry on the sheet without the mattress cover underneath. Now this wouldn’t be so much of an issue except that I have never slept on this mattress without the mattress cover until last night. There’s not a bump or a tear or a stain on it anywhere. Does this upset me? It’s a small thing right? I think what hurts the most is that I rarely have the mattress cover off of it and then here I am with the mattress cover off and Yum Yum throws up on it!

My lovely… now not so lovely mattress

Problem #2: Well, I don’t think I would be as affected by the mattress thing as I am except that I did a big booboo yesterday, and because of it, I couldn’t sleep. I was out grocery shopping, when I saw a message from Dhillon and thought that he had just called me and I missed his call, but no, it was a message from last week on Wednesday. From the message, I thought he was asking me to go out with him again this week. But, no. Here’s where the problem begins: I called him back and said, Yeah, sure, I’d like to hang out with you again. I’m free on Thursday and then, of course, he acquiesced but he was probably confused. This is cringe worthy. When I thought about it later I realized that no, he hadn’t asked me to hang out again. That was an old voice mail. So, now I’m so embarrassed and I don’t know how to correct it. I want to call him and tell him I made a mistake but then how do I do that? “Oh, sorry Dhillon, I thought you were asking me out this week but you weren’t, so we don’t have to go out if you don’t want to.” That sounds so lame, and it sounds like I invited him out. What would you do?

Oh, yeah. I didn’t sleep last night and here’s another reason why.

Problem #3: I’ve been making raspberry trifles for many years. Issue number one is that I couldn’t find my trifle bowl. OK. That’s OK. Not really but I do have another glass bowl, even though it’s not a trifle bowl and it’s not the right shape, it will do. So as is my custom, I make the trifle the night before. Instead of making the traditional pound cake or angel food cake, I make a vegan pound cake using coconut sugar. It tastes identical except because of the coconut sugar it is a beautiful shade of caramel. OK. I can live with a caramel colored cake and not the pure white of angel food or creamy yellow of pound cake. I can accept this. The vanilla pudding turns out perfect and I mix in the whip cream and the frozen raspberries have thawed and I have the fresh raspberries to add in. I layer the cake, the vanilla cream and whipped cream and berries to make a beautiful trifle. It’s not the traditional shape but again, I can live with that. But then during the night all I can think about is my problem with Dhillon and that the cake is going to dissolve into nothing and I’ll have a crumbly mess instead of a beautifully layered trifle. So, I didn’t sleep at all and I have these problems and it’s Ancel’s party tonight. This wouldn’t be so bad except that at the last family party, I managed to make soupy potato salad. Who makes a soupy potato salad? Too much pickle juice, I think.

Not so pretty

Oh, there’s a problem #4: the handyman bailed on installing my new AC because it weighs 80lbs. and it needs to be hauled up to the 3rd floor. Now what? It’s late July and the temperatures are climbing.

The monster AC

My life right now! I just want to crawl under a rock. I need coffee. ☕😟

I guess I just have to laugh. ☺️