Laying on your beating heart~
My breath like silver thread.
Time, though short, til we depart~
Still lies for us ahead.

Electric fingers play on nerves,
Through the fabric of my jeans.
Strum melodies from mysterious dank dreams.
Bring back from the swamp,
That not heard from, returns.

Laying on your beating heart,

My breath a silver thread,

Time, though short, ’til we depart,

Still lies for us ahead.

The night when souls wander freely is fast approaching. The sky is clear and in this chill morning I can even read the constellations. Lights in sickly orange and violet glow eerily from rustling bushes and the withered, brittle leaves falling sound like footsteps following stealthily and close behind. A black cat steals silently across my path, but I am not startled;  I look behind to see if I am still alone in the black stillness. My gaze reaches out for the lone street light still beyond my rapid shuffle through the dark street. Was the crack in the wall always there or is it just now opening for me. Finally. .. the bus.  “Good morning, how are you?” “Great”, I say, as if nothing has happened.

Mr Bushke was the drug dealer/addict that collided with my Kristi’s car just two years ago. I’m not over it. I don’t think I will ever be. The family attended the sentencing at the Clackamas County courthouse and we were each given an opportunity to say something to him. This is what I said:

Mr. Buschke,

There is no amount of time; no level of punishment that you might suffer that could help you to understand the amount of suffering that you have caused this family. That’s why I don’t really care what sentence is handed down to you. But I need to tell you that you have immeasurably devastated this large family.

Kristi was my little sister. I would have done anything to protect her from anyone or anything that might hurt her. I never could have imagined that her life would end in such a needless and tragic way. She was sweet, funny, hilarious even, caring, devoted and kind.

Every day and every night I cry for her. I cry because you hurt her, you killed her by your negligence. But even more than that, I cry because I don’t have her anymore. I counted on her in so many ways. We were as close as any two human beings can be. We would talk for hours on the phone. She listened to me and offered me her advice. We spent every chance we had to be together. We traveled together. She was my best friend. We shared a past that no one else did and now she is gone and I have to figure out how to live without her.

I would hate to be you. It must be horrible.

Woman killed, 3-year-old granddaughter hurt in Hwy 211 head-on crash

Posted: Oct 15, 2014 9:20 PM PST Updated: Nov 12, 2014 9:29 PM PDT

By Jeff Kirsch

MOLALLA, OR (KPTV) – A 64-year-old woman was killed and her granddaughter hospitalized after a head on crash on Highway 211 east of Molalla.

Oregon State Police say a Ford Mustang being driven by 33-year-old Sean Buschke of Colton was headed westbound on Highway 211 near South Vaughan Road when it crossed the center line and struck an eastbound Honda Accord. It happened at 2:35 p.m. Wednesday.

The woman driving the Accord was taken to Oregon Health & Science University but later died. She was identified Thursday as Kristi Anderson of Molalla.

Her 3-year-old granddaughter was taken to OHSU with non-life threatening injuries. The girl was using a child safety seat.

Buschke was also taken to OHSU for treatment of injuries described as non-life threatening. He was wearing a seat belt.

Police said the use of a seat belt by Anderson is pending confirmation.

The investigation is continuing. No charges have been filed as of now.

Investigators urge any witnesses to the crash to call the OSP Northern Command Center dispatch at 503-731-3030.

The highway was shut down for more than four hours Wednesday.

Copyright 2014 KPTV-KPDX Broadcasting Corporation. All rights reserved.

Many of you knew Kristi as an accomplished educator, administrator and as an advocate for medical research. Over the years, she had gained the respect of friends, family and colleagues. She was thought of far and wide as a wise counselor and trustworthy confidant and was a mother and friend who had the capacity for unconditional love. She lived her life with her head held high, deservedly proud of all she had accomplished through her independence and fortitude. I’d like to share with you what I knew my sister to be and how she became the person that you knew.

Kristi sprang to life on September 18, 1950… 2 years and 5 days after I was born. Mom said that when she was little she had big violet eyes, from which she could turn on the tears in order to get what she wanted. From an early age, Kristi lived according to two simple principals: I will do what I want and I will do what needs to be done. Kristi tore through life at break neck speed and didn’t need or seek the approval of anyone. She was a gambler and lived on the bleeding edge all of her life.

When Kristi was growing up she was cute with big eyes, she was always quick to laugh, she had strong athletic legs, thick straight hair, a steel trap mind and a zest for life. She gathered friends and dragged them along in her wake. Many of those old friends she was still in touch with when she died.  While I had polio, other than a bout with pneumonia at the age of two, that nearly took her life, Kristi was too fast and agile for health problems to plague her childhood. But because she was healthy and I had polio, Kristi grew up helping me. She buttoned my buttons, hooked my garters, and carried the bulk of the heavy load of being sisters. We were close. We slept in the same double bed until we were in high school. We shared clothes and secrets and a past.

By the time she was 15, Kristi was pregnant. By the time she was 21, she had four children. She didn’t listen to my advice about how not to pregnant while still in high school. In fact, she looked at me as if to say, “Who are you to try to tell me how to live my life. You’re not doing such a good job yourself”.  Kristi was choosing to live her life as she wanted. She never once asked or cared about my approval. She was choosing her own way through life.

Kristi, for all intents and purposes, had 5 husbands. She married the first one twice; that was Mark, the father of her first four children. Mom and dad tried their damndest to stop their baby from having a child and from marrying at the age of 15, but Kristi did exactly as she pleased. Then there was Tom, then Randy, then Don and finally Rocky. With Randy, she had three more children, that’s seven children altogether. All she ever needed or asked was that we also loved each one of these men in turn and all of these children.

Kristi lived up and down the I5 corridor as far as northern California and out Highway 30 as far as Rainier and out on the coast a couple of times. Moving and raising and loving a growing family were what she did. From the age of 15 until she was in her 60’s, Kristi was either moving from house to house or from town to town. She would find a place and fix it up to make a home, casting all care to the wind. She lived in a school bus, in motels, in apartments and in houses. In all this time, she never asked for approval. She didn’t need it.

This type of life was not easy for Kristi and she wasn’t always happy. She always hoped that she would find forever love, a love that cared enough to provide the bare necessities of life:  love and sustenance for her and her children. And though she loved with all of her heart, she never found that forever love; because of that, Kristi struggled to keep her family clothed and fed, but she never lost her zest for life. She danced on tables, laughed at the top of her voice and built community where ever she went; she loved her children, taught them to love and to depend on one another and never lost touch with the extended family. Her house was open and she dispensed love and advice freely. This was advice not learned from books, which was to come later, but it was guidance based on what she had learned about life from her own hard experiences. Every man, every child and ever y town was a gamble that she was willing to take with gusto.

Kristi’s children know that they caused her to worry, as all kids do. As they struggled to find their way, she had countless sleepless nights filled with tears and anguish, but never did she withdraw her love nor did she stop offering the advice that she so often rejected as she was growing up. She wanted them to learn from her mistakes.

Kristi never had a new or newer car and yet she tore up and down the highways to see and care for her friends and family however wide apart they lived. She often would leave my house very late and I knew that she would not get home for many hours, sometimes not until the sun was rising. Usually she would be leaving because she would have some other long drive to make the following day to see one of her kids or pick up a grandchild to take home for the weekend or a week.

On the way to the beach a few weeks ago, I asked her if she wasn’t afraid of driving old cars all over the place, because I always worried about her. At the time we were in my air conditioned car. She had driven to Clackamas to meet me in her ’93 Honda in near 90 degree weather. Only one window would roll down and it had no AC. I turned the air on full blast and she adjusted all of the vents to point in her direction. Her face was flushed and she had beads of sweat on her upper lip. She talked how she was hoping to buy a “new to her” car in the next week or so. In answer to my question, she simply said, “If it starts, I’m going”. Every trip was a gamble, but she was fearless. Just months ago, when the new baby John was born, she called late at night from the parking lot of the hospital where he was clinging to life, and her car wouldn’t start. We talked long while she waited for someone to come and pick her up. She worried that this car, clinging to its life, might be towed while she could not afford to get it out of hock if she left it there. But she was not scared. She was right where she wanted to be, doing what needed to be done regardless of the risk.

All of her life, Kristi did what she wanted to do. You might say that she sacrificed for her children. Instead of buying new clothes for herself or a decent car, Kristi loaned money to those in need or bought a Christmas or birthday gift for a child or bought extra food for people coming to stay with her. This was not a sacrifice for Kristi. This was exactly what she wanted to do. She didn’t ask what people thought of the risks that she took to show up at all of the family gatherings, sometimes attending a grandson’s or granddaughter’s game, then dashing to make another child’s birthday party, then coming to my house to spend the night on the way to a meeting.

Kristi might have sought your advice or your opinion, but she never once looked for yours or anyone else’s approval. She was not open to acting upon what you might have thought was good for her. You might have thought that she was sacrificing for you or for others, but if so, you were wrong.

The day she died was probably a typical day for her. She had dressed Emma and Bella; given them breakfast, packed them up in the car and driven the round trip of many miles to take Emma to school. She had gone home and might have worked on her Sarcoid Network responsibilities; she had fed Bella, and laid her down for a nap, done dishes, probably put some laundry in, tidied the house, and started preparing dinner or a snack for the girls after school. She had probably called or texted at least one if not more of her children or friends and sometime around 2:00, she buckled Bella into her car seat and headed to school to get Emma again in her ’93 Honda. At 2:35, Kristi came to the end of her life in a car.

In order to believe that she had really died, I had to see her body, I had to know what I was doing when she passed, and I had to see where she died. So Hannah and I went to the crash site. It is right at the entrance of a pristine home, with a perfectly manicured green lawn with a large fountain in the center surrounded by pastures. Down a long lane horses were grazing and across the road cows were peacefully chewing their cud. At the door of the house, two peacocks were perched at the entrance. In the field on the other side of the lane, peacocks were walking and poking at the ground.

We were so struck by the peacocks that Hannah looked up what might be the meaning of their presence at the crash site. Gregory Wilbur, of the Parish Presbyterian Church and Dean of the Chapel at New College Franklin, Tennessee, has a deep interest in how symbolism reveals the nature and character of God. He says: The peacock has been seen since ancient times as guardians of the gates of paradise. And because they lose and gain their feathers annually, just as the phoenix rises out of the ashes, they represent immortality, renewal and resurrection. As well, the peacock often appears among the animals in the stable in Christ’s nativity. Oft seen images of two peacocks drinking from a chalice symbolize rebirth and angels are often depicted with four wings of peacock feathers.

Many have described Kristi in their messages over the last week as an angel on earth. She was truly an angel because you said so. But as a sister, I knew her as a gambler, someone who would take chances and seize opportunities regardless of anyone’s concern. I knew her as someone who did exactly as she pleased.

Kristi tore through life and tore through to the other side. I don’t have her anymore and I wonder what I will do without her. I loved her so much and I will miss her forever.

Karen
“Tannis, do you remember eating coconut cake at 28th and Ankeny and the delicious coffee that we drank there? Oh! My God! That was the best coconut cake in the world. I just drove by that bakery after eating a wonderful, beautiful, fresh, delicious, raw salad because I don’t eat the best coconut cake anywhere, anymore because… because I’m getting old, and I don’t want to drag around this big ass butt anymore. But Oh! My God! Just going by that place and thinking about that coconut cake and spending time out with you. Oh! My God!”

Tannis
“It was yummy. That is Joe’s favorite cake. I don’t crave sweet things at all but the memory of that and the wonderful days of talking and drinking good coffee… I want it back.”

Karen
“Me too, honey.

I don’t know… but regardless of how the kids complain about the way that they were raised, they… and me and you have had wonderful lives. And once the kids were gone, we still had fun together and after our divorces we still had fun. Oh, how we enjoyed going out for coffee and talking and talking and talking. I don’t think we could even count how many wonderful turkey sandwiches we ate… how many pieces of coconut cake. We cried until our eyes ached; we laughed at nothing… at ourselves, at each other; we grumbled about injustice, inequality and inequities and stuff we could not change; we rejoiced at small victories and told innumerable secrets and kept them secret by our promises.

You were and still are my treasure, my most precious friend. My memories are full of you and oh, how we kept each other strong when we thought we might die of anguish. What patience we had and forgiveness we gave so freely, though rare but deep were the offenses. We healed, with profound love, the too painful wounds of broken hearts. We helped each other to stand when we most wished to die in the gutter of our sorrows.

And now dear friend, we age. And though our images do not reflect the beauty of yesterday, our eyes shine like hard, glassy obsidian… razor sharp, indestructable because we have survived fire, ice and time and have done so together.

We still have years my lovely friend to love each other until death do us part from this earth. I lay me down tonight grateful for the unbelievable love, never-ending compassion and pure empathy that you have given me during these past 40+ years.

Tannis Hanson, McKee, Henry, you mean more to me than gold and even my life. Our memories will last forever… as long as our souls shall live.”

I left in the gloaming; my favorite time of a summer’s eve. There is that in the glowing sun already hidden behind the horizon turning the hills before it into black silhouettes… this, before the sky turns dark.

The that for me is a deep and  unsettling yearning. This, feels like there is something that I am missing. This, feels lonely. And it always has. So I walked.

The heat of the day lingered as a strong breeze sang through the grand chestnut, maple and walnut trees that line block upon block of this historic neighborhood. This is a neighborhood of homes that were built to hold a family of twelve and staff and some, only some, of more modest design.

I thought, as I wandered, that I would see folks on their wide, spreading porches, couples walking, children reluctantly returning home.

But doors and windows were shut tight, the streets and yards were empty, the only sound was the whirring of air conditioners nestled beneath windows and tucked behind bushes. Only two doors stood open of the many that I passed. Only two couples walked by. Only two people sat on their porch.

The trees, bushes and plants gave up their fragrance as I walked by, some so heady and alluring, I buried my face in their blossoms. Walnut shells, cracked open by squirrels, crunched under my feet.

The sky was turning the darkest of night blue and stars began to appear. I turned towards home still enveloped in this strange yearning that comes with the gloaming of summer’s eve. This is that.

OK. So I’m starting to feel stupid. Maybe it’s stupid to feel stupid; I don’t know. I’m just trying to correct a mistake that I made, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

If you read my last post, To Create the Man of My Dreams, you already know that I met a man named Joe at a café a week ago last Sunday. After he asked me several times,  I gave him what I thought was my correct phone number.  But since he has not called in over a week now, I am assuming that I made an error… a typo. I am also trusting my intuition that the guy was sincere and that he really did want to talk to me and he even thought that maybe this chance meeting might be the beginning of something meaningful.

You also would know from the last post that I thought he was ideal… ideal for me. Right age, intellect, looks, etc. The problem is that I now have introduced a new anxiety into my life that makes me think and act like a foolish teenager. You know. You’ve been there too. All of those silly little imaginings: “He didn’t really like me. He doesn’t really want to talk to me.” And then, worse yet, to embarrass myself by talking about our meeting incessantly as if there’s anything significant to say. And asking stupid questions like, “Do you think he will call? What should I do?”  I’m a bit embarrassed to admit to all of this and me at this advanced age and all. Blech! Do I really need this?

But 99% of the responses I received to the post said “Go back to the café. If you can find him, see if there was anything there.” I have to say that you have given me courage but also fear that I will make a fool out of myself in front of you and him. But should I leave you hanging? After all, I am the one who started this. As they say, “Curious minds want to know.”

I’ve been back to the café . Granted it was nearly 10:00 pm, but nonetheless, I went. Actually, it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t go at a time that the chances that Joe might be there were greater. My plan was to go at 5:00 and I was there at 5:00, though I was parked outside, I didn’t go in.. I still maintain that it wasn’t my fault..

So my only recourse, I thought at the time, was to leave a note on a receipt tablet with the baristas, that read:

Joe

(red round glasses)

please call

Karen Peterson

503-309-5501

And even this makes me cringe a little as I think back on it. I don’t want to seem like a stalker or some desperate middle aged woman. But I only want to make right what I may have done wrong. One person said, “Oh, the old give the wrong number trick.”  You know, when you really don’t want someone to call, so you give them a phony number? I’ve done it a bunch of times.

So, that’s it. I’m done. I’ve done what I could short of hanging out at the café all day everyday, but that’s not my way. Maybe this is how it will end. I’ve been through enough in my life that I have learned not to struggle too hard to remedy something that is not meant to be, and to relax in the idea that if it is meant to be, it will happen. And what have I lost… really? Nothing. My encounter with Joe and his sister-in-law was pleasant and stimulating, but in reality, I am not losing a great deal except the hope of something that might happen in the future. There is nothing certain about the future, anyway.

My dad and my sister were taken out of my life suddenly. My mother has passed on. Relationships have come and gone. As far back as I can remember are the people I have loved, my grandpa, my grandma, aunts, uncles and cousins, and many of them are gone. All I have left are photographs and vague recollections. The past no longer exists except in memory and the future never really comes. What we do have, and it slips through our fingers, is right now, this moment.

My life is short and when I am gone there will be just two generations who will remember my face and will recall what I did in my brief time here. My photographs will mean nothing to my grand children’s children. “Oh, that was Grammy”, Ancel and Enora will say. But what will they know of me. All I will leave them  are images and my writings; but how long will those things lie around gathering dust and taking up space until one day while cleaning their files, the closet and the attic, out they will go and all signs of me will be gone forever.

We are stardust. Beautiful, beautiful stardust. We know nothing of what will become of us when these lovely bodies return to dust. But for now, we have life. And we can live well or we can live unwell. I choose well. For now I will sleep in the moonlight. I will listen to the sounds all around me and marvel at sight. I will cry for those suffering. I will always long for love and look for it around every corner. Perhaps it is looking for me, too.

Rain. Windy. Trees blowing. It’s getting dark. Tears. Sad. Cement and green grass.

Protestors. TV cashed in. All of us were sold out.

Love is all there is.

Wrinkles. Rhythm. Dance over him. Go slow. Get in love. Let it down. Get high.

Feel what you will. It’s not too late.

It’s wet. It’s cold. It’s too much. I can’t feel and I can’t stop.

I want to sleep. I don’t want to eat.

Clouds. The moon’s still out there? The sun will still come up? Confident to plant.

To have babies. To believe in god. To see yellow and purple and green and blue and every shade of red.

To write.

Wine. I need wine. I want wine. I want coffee at a cafe looking at them passing by on the sidewalk. To read poetry.

To have him touch me. To wipe a babies bottom and kiss his sweet lips.

To believe that there is good in the world.

To listen to music and have it touch way down inside to the place where it hurts the most.

To hear words that stretch your heart strings to the breaking point.

To know what it is to hurt. To really hurt. For all of us to have the chance to love and be loved and lose it and still get up crying, bleeding, singing at the stars.

Knowing that you are energy incarnate no different than the universe. Ghosts and the dead at your heels. Screaming in your head… “you’re not alone; you’re not alone”.

Tired backs. Tired bones. Sick at heart. Sick in the head. Sick of it all. Tired to the bone. Splitting headache. Broken heart.

Smelling pleasure. Rocking inside. Splitting wide open it feels so good. Groaning, it hurts so bad.

Scared. Brave. Blind. Alone. Lonely.

Um. Life. Shit. Shit. Goddamn it.

Me. You. Them. Us. We. Him. Her. Mine. Yours. Theirs.

Oh… Listen. Listen. Listen. We are crying. Can you hear it? Are you listening? I hope so.

I love you so much. I’ll always be here.

Karen –  12/16/2012