Pavement Pictures

Pavement Pictures

A photo taken two years ago and one taken last week…(both in Laguna Beach.)

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“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”—Oscar Wilde

Who’s Counting?

Who’s Counting?

“The future came and went in the mildly discouraging way that futures do.”
― Neil Gaiman

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It’s 6:15 am on Friday, May 12. I remember when we used to count Fridays as notable markers, beads on an the abacus of time. “It’s been five weeks since Vernon’s accident…t’s been 16, its been two years, etc”…all tethered by Fridays. Stringing the Fridays together, they gave us a framework that reminded us how far we’d come, even though no clues were given on how far we would have to go. Eventually we moved to the same street that Vernon had been hit at the corner of. Every morning, as we waited at the stop sign, before left-turning across “ground zero”, we’d silently think about it, but especially on Fridays, when I’d say it out loud. I still do that sometimes, but I’ve lost track of the number. There are too many of them.

Like parents of newborns, there seems to be a code of counting the weeks that only other parents of young ones understand: “How old is your baby?” The answer might be, for example: “seven and a half weeks”…or “15 weeks.”

I used to wonder why those parents couldn’t just round it up for the convenience of others. Just say three months already! Of course when I had my own, I understood. So much change can happen in a week, I wouldn’t want people to undervalue a single moment of what we’ve been watching in this child’s development. 15 weeks is different than 16 weeks. Or so it feels in the thick, slow, always-vigilant early days.

Then we move to months: “How old is your baby now?” …“Oh, 14 months.” Ok, that’s just ridiculous—why can’t you just say a YEAR? …..Because it’s not a year. Those extra two months have been counted in spoons, watchfully, heartbreakingly. Eventually, the parent comes out the other side, into the greater society of counting their child’s age by years and half years (or if the child insists, quarter years.)

So here we are…now 6:35 on another Friday. I’ve forgotten the number of weeks now, but I’m sure I could figure it out with little effort.* It’s two short of three years. Three years! Every May is heavy with an underlying awareness that the milestone of “the night” is rolling around again. Like a birthday, this brings some extra reflection and mood swings (for all of us). It’s been a tough month…as it should be. The greater the loss, the more honor it deserves. And it was a very great loss to this family.

While we are on the subject, Maki’s half birthday is in three days. He’ll be 15 and a half: old enough for a driver’s permit, just short of sweet 16. And Justine turns seven in three weeks. We celebrated her fourth birthday soon after the crash. I keep trying to remind her that she’s six still, holding on a little longer. But now so close, that begins to seem pointless. Lets just round up already. I am 45 (and a half, more or less.)  We keep ticking through these Fridays, growing up together.

*PS…It’s been 154 weeks, officially, today. Wasn’t that hard to do the math, after all.

Anni Albers

Anni Albers

Here is a post I put up on my Groundbreaking Girls website last week. It happened to be National Widow’s Day. Don’t feel bad that you didn’t know this. It’s a new thing, I think. And new widows are the first in the know—given the responsibility of spreading the news. I don’t know if there is a Widower’s Day on the rise…or whether it is something they would even want. ANYWAY…here’s the post (and a little art history.)

“Being creative is not so much the desire to do something as the listening to that which wants to be done: the dictation of the materials.” —Anni Albers

Anni Albers (1899 – 1994) was a German textile artist and printmaker. She is perhaps the best known textile artist of the 20th century. Rebelling against her comfortable upbringing by choosing to become an artist, she attended the modernist Bauhaus school, where students lived with challenging and impoverished conditions. For a woman, there there were very few options for further study after the foundation level so she entered the woman’s weaving workshop, but she quickly embraced the process and materials of an art form that she would come to revolutionize.  While at the Bauhaus, she met her husband, Josef Albers, who would become a master instructor at the school as well as one of the foremost artist/educators in the world. Anni eventually became the head of the Bauhaus weaving workshop herself.

When the Nazi party pressured the school to close (which it did a year later) the couple were invited to move to America and teach at Black Mountain College in North Carolina. Though the Albers had never lived there, they embraced their new chapter of life, sharing their understanding of modernism and art to a new generation of American students. Over the years, they continued to make their own art and collect others’, rarely making work together but always encouraging each other’s creativity with deep understanding.

In 1949, Anni Albers became the first designer to have a one-person exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Albers’s design exhibition at MoMA began in the fall and then toured the US from 1951 until 1953, establishing her as one of the most important designers of the day. Through her long life, she continued in her passion for design as she wrote books and moved into the field of printmaking. She is credited for establishing Design History as a legitimate area of academic study.

Artist’s Note:  Did you know that today is National Widow’s Day? Neither did I, till a friend let me know. Since I’m a widow myself, I thought I’d look up “widows in the art world” for my painting inspiration. Anni’s name came up. Josef (who was 11 years older than his wife) died in 1976, leaving Anni as a widow for 18 years. The two of them were famously close colleagues, having met in art school when they were young, enjoying a deep intellectual understanding with each other. I didn’t meet my own husband till I was 35 and he was 40, but we had both been educated in our own art colleges, and were still making when we met…and then, of course, after. I recognize the closeness of having two like-minded individuals making a life together. Especially, I think, as artists, its a rare thing. And yet, they weren’t making things together. They each had their own area of interest. My parents are like that too. My dad is a painter and my mom is a printmaker…and I admire the together/apartness of choosing to live that way as a couple. Like Josef, who developed two important alphabets through the Bauhaus, Vernon was a type designer too. I miss him. That’s why I chose to paint this picture from a photograph of Anni and Josef together. I imagine they were intrinsically entwined.

Bright Star

Bright Star

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My wonderfully sensitive and gifted friend, Belle Logie, gave me the above painting for my birthday last year. It’s a “Waterloo Sunset” with Vernon and me up on the bridge.

This week, she sent me a song she wrote about us. She said it was okay for me to share it here. I think its beautiful and sad. Sometimes, that’s the best kind of song.

 

Eulogy and Photos

Eulogy and Photos

I finally downloaded the great photos that our talented friend, Scott Hendrix, took at Vernon’s and my “10th Anniversary Party/Memorial”  last September. I love them so much. What lovely reminders of a special evening. We were going for a relaxed, southwestern feel that he felt so at home in, even though he’d only spent a tiny part of his life in California. I know he would have loved it too—I know the parts of him left in me did.  I want to share some of the pictures here for those who weren’t there…and to delight the memories of those who were. This was the yard we were married ten years before, so it had to be a little more intimate….but it was important for me to do this here, even if Vernon no longer cared about stuff like that. (Thank you, Patti and Richard for lending us your backyard again!)  Along with that, I have a transcript of what our chaplain, Derek, had to say that night. I think it is particularly poignant, as he had known Vernon before the accident, but also drew close to him at times through his ‘recovery’ and especially at the end, when we chose his hospice company for the job. It seems fitting to add this all to the time-capsule that is this blog.
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From Derek:
  • Good evening, I was blessed to know Vernon and to be able to visit him these past
    couple of years, and accompany him and Allison, as he came on hospice care.
    Alison asked me to share a few thoughts today….
    I had heard a thought expressed recently that made me think of Vernon and ponder his
    reality: “We are all spiritual beings having a human experience…..”
    The idea resonated with me…. and yet, on this side of eternity, it’s easy to think and
    behave as though the opposite were true…
    That we are simply human beings seeking some kind of spiritual experience……
    And so it is in our search for meaning and understanding that we try and attach
    significance to the events in our lives, and a reason for everything we encounter…
       However, sometimes bad things happen in this life that are completely random, with no
    rhyme or reason,…….with no apparent or satisfactory answer to the question “Why?”
    Tonight we are not focusing on the question “why” but the question “Who?”  Who is the
    one holding Vernon in His loving arms…..Who is the one sending his “new mercies”
    every morning?
    We are here not only to celebrate Vernon’s life, but to celebrate his union with Allison
    and the love they shared! The depth of that love has been on full display. For instead of
    withdrawing, Allison embraced the dire circumstances with remarkable courage,
    honesty and vulnerability and allowed it to shape her in positive ways. In so doing she
    blessed and honored Vernon and has left an indelible mark on us all.
    Allison, I think of that moment in the hospital when you were sensing things to come
    and were overcome with emotion. You truly embodied the song we were singing at that
    time…… “When evening falls so hard….I will comfort you…. I’ll take your part,
    oh, when darkness comes…..and pain is all around……
    Like a bridge over troubled water I will lay me down.”  For Vernon you were truly a bridge
    over troubled water, allowing him safe passage out of darkness and into the light!!!!
    I remember having some meaningful exchanges with Vernon in the past when our
    friendship was first cultivating. I think he discovered I was a sort of safe person for him
    to discuss his beliefs because I had lived in France so many years and was well
    acquainted with and influenced in a positive way by a European worldview.
    Vernon had more of a philosophical, intellectual, and pragmatic approach to his
    spirituality, and was somewhat skeptical of organized religion. He wasn’t looking for pat
    answers or a neatly packaged belief system, rather, he was someone who was thinking
    outside the box…..Someone who was comfortable with having more questions than
    answers! Someone who could respect ambiguity, uncertainty and mystery.
    Some may have questioned his faith at times, but to me, with Vernon, the waters ran
    deep; and I saw evidence of a deeper spirituality. The kind of spirituality that was
    necessary to see him through his darkest times and it resurfaced again in reassuring
    fashion in those final days and hours as his body, metaphorically, labored to birth his
    spirit into eternity.

    So, I reaffirm that Vernon is a spiritual being, who had a human experience!

    And in the big picture, he had a wonderful human experience filled with love and
    laughter, shared with his devoted lover and partner, enriched by his son and daughter
    both of whom he cherished, enhanced by fulfilling work, meaningful friendships, a
    supportive family and a loving heavenly Father who has taken him home……
    It was a life well lived and we were all blessed to be a part of it.
    Rest in peace Vernon!
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