a mitzvah

My mother's mission style couch has finally found a loving home. It's a very nice couch but the wooden arms are not good for leaning up against while writing my blog, watching movies, or drinking a steaming mug of coffee brewed from beans my very own brother roasted for me. I'd passed it on to a friend who used it for a bit but decided she no longer wanted it. Kyle and Matt, my neighbors, have little in the way of furniture so I offered it to them. They were delighted even though there are a few nibbled bits. Ember, my mother's akita, tended to nibble couch cushion corners whenever she'd been scolded for some reason.

I saw yesterday's date today, we were both at the same place by happenstance. He spoke to the dogs quite a while before speaking to me, confirming my suspicion that he likes them more than me. No problem, I like them better than I like him, too! :-)

Another Mother's Day

Another Mother's Day has come and gone, my second without the mother. I'd spent Friday and Saturday feeling poorly, so opted to begin my day slowly, seems to be my regular routine on Sunday anyway. I had been wanting to cut some fabric to sew a new t-shirt. I finally cleared all the old family photos off the sewing machine where they'd been since my return from Colorado. I flipped through a few of the mother and then set them aside so I could locate the pattern and the proper piece of fabric. Something nice, but not so nice that if the project failed utterly I wouldn't be bummed at ruining a piece of fabric I really liked. I choose a piece she had marked for a nightgown.

I traced the pattern onto pattern tissue paper and pinned it to the project fabric. So far, so good. Last time I tried to start a similar project I burst into tears and was unable to continue. That was around Christmas time. Time for a little background: My mother loved fabric and all things relating to sewing. Fabric was her vice, if it could be called a vice. She belonged to a number of fabric co-ops where roll ends would be purchased at fantastically low prices and those savings would be passed on to the co-op members. She regaled in telling me about the $30/yd wools that she bought for less than $5/yd! And she bought vast quantities! I'm sure she had countless projects in mind for herself, my brother, and me, and then there were the pieces she bought because they were lovely and the price was great with no idea what so ever what it would be used for. When I helped her move from California to Colorado there were no less than 30 plastic totes filled with fabric. After she passed I looked through all the carefully prewashed and folded fabric (she would prewash each piece as soon as it arrived, fold it and place it on the shelves) recognizing some pieces that were purchased with me in mind. Some of which gave me pause, what *was* she thinking?!? Five yards of pink denim and five yards of pink and white striped denim? Now I like pink, don't get me wrong, but what did she have in mind for 10 yards of pink denim?

And now back to our story ... I got the fabric cut, selected the nearest approximation regarding thread color because I didn't have a proper match, and read the instructions through two or three times. It was time to begin assembly. Sewed the shoulder seams, no problem. Attach the sleeves, no problem. Sew up the sides/armpits, hmm, not sure this was in the correct order, but no visible problems. The collar looks challenging, I think I'll hem the sleeves and bottom, no problem. Now, all that's left is the collar. Harumph. I re-read the instructions, wondered how it could possibly work. I finally pinned it into place and stitched it on. I ended up hand stitching the collar at the base of the v-neck.

It fits better than I expected, I was quite pleased. I had cut the sleeves a couple inches longer than the pattern called for, that worked well. The shirt length and fit around were good. Next time I'll have a couple new tricks for the collar and I plan to make the sleeves a bit larger around; these were not too tight, but I'd still like them to be a little bit larger. I can't think of a better way to spend Mother's Day than doing a sewing project in homage to the mother.

The Mother, the yartzeit

Not sure how to include everything that's been happening keeping me from posting. It's been a busy week. It was all leading up to my trip to Colorado this past weekend. Finishing all the work I'd had stacked up involved working far past my bedtime too many nights last week. My flight to Colorado was Friday at 7:20 am, who booked this flight and what were they on when they did it?!? I had to be to the bus stop at 4:45 am to catch the Metro bus into downtown Seattle where I transferred to another bus to SEA-TAC airport, got there around 6 am. All for $1.50, which was a heck of a lot better than the $40 or so it would cost for the shuttle service and I figure I'd have left at about the same time.

I got the suitcase checked in, didn't have much in it, a few clothes and empty bags for bringing things back from Colorado. Once through security I made my way over to the Ivar's for a breakfast sandwich (the one with the smoked salmon is awesome) and then to Dilettante Chocolates for a mocha (did you know they offer sweet or dark chocolate for your mocha?!?) before heading down to my gate. I had only 20 minutes or so before they began boarding. I pretty much fell asleep immediately until after we touched ground in Denver, coming in and out of awareness only occasionally during the flight. Landed in Denver around 11 am. Rachel, my sister-in-law, picked me up and we went into Denver to buy kosher wine for Passover and then to the East Side Kosher Deli for some kosher for Passover foods. I may not have mentioned this before, but my family is Jewish. With our shopping completed, Rachel and I headed back to Boulder.

Sunday was the mother's yartzeit, the anniversary (as measured by the Hebrew calendar) of her passing. Among other things it involves the recitation of the mourner's kaddish with a minyan (a group of 10 or more Jewish men) and my brother is now allowed to visit the mother's grave site whenever he chooses. It is challenging to get a minyan together in Boulder so we went in to Denver where one would be gathering. Then back to Boulder to visit, first, my grandmother's grave site, she passed away May 2, 2004, right around the time the mother had decided to move to Boulder. The mother thought long and hard and finally decided she wanted gram's ashes interred in Boulder. The mother is buried in the Jewish section of the same cemetery. This was my first visit to her grave site since her marker has been put in place. It looks really good. My brother remarked how peaceful it felt there now. He'd been there three months after her passing for the burial of a friend who had passed unexpectedly, and felt it was very unsettled at that time. It was a lovely day, but the wind was biting. To get warmed up we went to the Celestial Seasonings tea room for a hot cuppa tea, only a five minute drive away.

Later in the afternoon my brother and I went through all the family photos to choose a few to scan before I left Boulder, the rest could wait until after I'd come home. Revisiting all those memories was both fun and draining. And there were stacks of photos of people we didn't know, some of which may be identified by my grandmother's brother, Leonard, who lives in Olympia, others we'll likely never know who they are. I had to smile when I saw this photo of my brother with his batman belt and airplane. And he had the nerve to ask who was in this photo!?! In order to post the batman belt photo I had to agree to post the photo of the 'unknown person' with the tennis racquet. Done.

In all it was a really good trip. It had the potential to be really unpleasant, there were many emotional land mines strewn liberally about and my brother and I managed to avoid them. There was some sadness, we would both have preferred to have visited gram's grave with the mother, instead of visiting both graves, but there were good memories shared and laughter recalling some goofy things.

We called her 'the mother', kinda cute how she got the nickname, actually. I think I was 15 or 16 and it was Mother's Day. Gram, the mother, the bro, his wife, and I went out to brunch, the waitress came around to take drink orders and asked "Who's the mother here?" It stuck, even her AIM login was ThemotherC. And it seemed the most appropriate thing to include on her marker. I think she'd like it that way.

A Period of Darkness

I had a good, hard paddle with the 50+ guys Tuesday night, just over 9 miles. It was just four of us, Doug, Ed, me, and Clem steering. Another beautiful night, it was still light when we slipped the boat into the water. And for a surprisingly long time afterward parts of the sky seemed to remain illuminated as if from some other worldly light, back lit almost.

We went over to Kirkland as we did last week and then south towards the 520 bridge. It was down near the bridge just as we were beginning to turn back towards home that I was hit with the realization that it was this time last year that I last saw my mother alive, was really able to interact with her. It was really hard to keep paddling, I was barely able to keep count and call the changes while the tears streamed down my face and the ache of grief clenched my heart. I did keep paddling and with only one exception was able to keep calling the changes. That one time Ed, sitting directly in front of me, was the only one who heard me and he called the change again so the others would hear it. A while later, perhaps 5 minutes or so, the wind we created by paddling so hard had dried my tears and my grief powered down some for the time being.

We finished our paddle, got the boat put away and I felt as though I'd gone much further than our 9.1 miles. It was definitely time to go home, shower up, eat supper, go to bed early. If that night is any indication I guess I can expect the next month to be an emotional roller coaster.

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Our Wednesday night paddle was a good workout. We had a full boat, a nice change for a Wednesday night. We sat Minnie, Ernie, Nancy, me, Dave, and Neil steering. Nearly 15 minutes into the workout Alan cruised up alongside in his spiffy new OC1 and gave us some coaching tips. I love being coached, I want to improve and being left to my own devices so much of the time I'm not sure whether I'm developing bad habits that need to be broken.

On the left side I was feeling really good, smooth, rotating properly, entering and exiting the water nicely. On the right side, not so much. My timing was good, it just didn't feel as good on the right, it didn't have the same flow as the left side. I was having to think about it more. I think that was my problem. I need to work the right side to the point where it just happens, without having to think about it. Alan was saying with outrigger it's 90% mental and the other half is physical. I think I've got some work to do...

What's in a name?

Now I have to start this post out by saying I am not copying Fran, our minds just seem to be in sync here. I came up with the same idea after I finished yesterdays post and she posted her's 1/21/08.

Gus' registered name is lame: Skiak's Paws-n-Effect, he was one of the Paws litter. The others were The Paws That Refreshes, Paws-a-traction, and Paws-a-bility all of them dumb, in my opinion. She wouldn't let me use this for his registered name but I chose Angus Mac Og for Gus, the Irish god of youth, love, and beauty. I'd have called him Angus except his breeder kicked up such a fuss, he'll be fat if you name him after a cow! Funny, I always thought it was more about diet and exercise. And what about Angus Young of AC/DC?!?! I relented and went with GusGus, the chubby mouse in Cinderella. The breeder had a much better theme for Llelo's litter, they were all named after James Bond movies and I got to choose which movie. Llelo is officially Skiak's Goldeneye. Desmond Llewelyn was the name of the man who played the character Q in all but the most recent Bond movies. Also, I'd been reading the Sharon Kay Penman series, which begins with Here Be Dragons, an exciting trilogy of 13th Century England & Wales. Llewelyn was the name of the last independent Welsh Prince before the conquest by Edward I. As a boy, at least in the books, he was called Llelo. And for those wondering Skiak is the breeder's kennel name.

Arthur was named for King Arthur. He was the first orange tabby cat I've had. I had been reading a book about Guinevere that began with her learning of Arthur's death, don't remember the title, though. Arthur is always described as being fair and blond or red headed, it seemed to fit the orange cat. He could pull off a regal bearing when he sat in the sun, not so much otherwise. Nemo was a pound kitten, very tiny when I brought him home. He was at the pound back in the day when they kept many cats in one cage. Each time I went to visit him he was all wet, the adult males tormented him and he tended to get backed into the water dish. He needed a nautical name, what better than the captain from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, which I still haven't read. The photo was the day I brought Nemo home, I was 18.

Hamlet was a Russian Blue cat that showed up at our back door. The mother said I couldn't keep him if I named him something stupid like Nemo! Who knew?!? My brother and I suggested this name and that name, she suggested Hamlet, we kept trying other names which she poo poo'd, hence Hamlet. A sweet but very twitchy cat. Tigger, well, I was only 9 and he was a grey tabby. He was the grouchy old tomcat, but I could do anything to him. I have an old photo somewhere, he is laying with his head on a pillow between 2 teddy bears and covered with a doll blanket. My first pet was a calico kitten that I named Tuna Fish, after my favorite food. I believe I was 5 or 6. Tuna disappeared before she reached adulthood and I couldn't eat tuna for over a decade. The mother had a grey tomcat named Brother Violet. He was 3 yrs older than me. The story behind the name: my mother though it was a female and had already been calling him Violet. There was a tv show with an Uncle Elizabeth so Violet became Brother Violet.

My brother over the years had cats Psyche, Rose, Kuan. We also had Freyja. Psyche was the great hunter. She'd bring home kill for Brother Violet when he'd reached advanced age. Freyja was the little match stick girl, her fur was always rather rumpled and looked as though she needed a good shampoo and blow dry. Rose was a cat of very little brain. Kuan had entirely too much.

When the mother was growing up she had cocker spaniels. I remember tails of Buzz and Zzub, who came after Buzz. The dogs would go along for ice cream cones and would get their own. And at least one of them was trained to wipe it's feet by running in a circle on the door mat. She had Helga, the german shepard, when I was a baby. I learned to walk using Helga to pull myself up. Whenever I became too annoying she would lick my face until I went kerplop on my diapered bottom.

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. -- Roger Caras
If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went. --Will Rogers

I have to agree with these statements with the caviat "cats, too". Ear rubs and tummy scritches to all.

Life's too short to drink bad wine, but bad beer is probably ok ...

That was the screensaver on the computer in the lab where I did my graduate research, on the old 486 running Windows 3.1. Life is too short for a lot of things and if people remembered that I think, as a people, we'd all be much happier. I was miserable living in Rhode Island in a job that made me very unhappy. Life is too short to live that way so I quit my job and moved to Seattle. There were a lot of twists of fate, ultimately it felt like bad things would have happened if I hadn't moved forward on the opportunities presented. I have been much happier with the various ups and downs life has presented since moving to Seattle.

Life is too short to wear clothing that makes you feel ugly, even if it's only your self perception. My mother passed away last March and I took many of her clothes including the two cashmere sweaters. The pale aqua cardigan makes me feel good and happy, the olive green crew neck makes me feel down and dark. I gave it to a co-worker who really likes that color. She really didn't want to take it from me. I finally insisted that even though it's a great sweater and was my mother's I was never going to feel good wearing it, life is too short to wear things you don't like, regardless of how nice they are. I have plenty of other blouses and sweaters that I will never part with, the colors and styles make me feel good, why do I need one more sweater that I don't like.

Life is too short to vacuum the apartment every day. I'd much rather take the dogs to the park for a fun run around than vacuum all the time. I'm ok with some dog hair, a lot of dog hair, in my life. The joy it brings me watching Llelo sprint like a mad man around the park with a handful of dogs racing after him and Gus swimming for his ball makes neglecting the housework all worth it.

Life is too short to sit back and watch it go by. My mother's passing really was my wake up call. I believe I had fallen into the watch it happen trap, to a degree, and now I'm working hard to get out there and be a more active participant in my life. I realize that I have spent far too long waiting for Mr Right to come knock on my door, I need to get out there and look for him. We all know guys can be resistant to asking for directions, maybe he's out there looking for me and has gotten himself lost! I've been on a few online dating sites, I've answered a few craigslist ads. I've gone on some dates and met a some nice men and a couple that so weren't Mr Right. I'm still looking, it doesn't have to happen today, tomorrow, or even the next day/week/month/year, I just want to enjoy the journey, be an active participant. So, if you know of any nice single guys ... Life's too short to not have another first date!