“We begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found, already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be.”—Anne Lamott
I recently wrote about giving myself permission to decorate my walls on my own time. It was a relaxing thought, this idea that my mindset mirrored my new house and it was ok to just be, to live in an ambiguous state, to not have to decide what I liked or where things would go. I was in transition in so many ways, and having blank walls in a fresh home seemed like a perfect metaphor (that i got to actually live inside of!) I had all sorts of ideas: weird vintage wall hangings that reminded me of how my grandmother decorated her place, some modernist abstracts (which I admire so much but have a hard time painting myself), PLANTS! Of course this was all in my head. I really didn’t have any extra time or money to bring these ideas to life. And the blank walls have been refreshing in their novelty: lots of mood-lifting reflected light, the illusion of open-space, so much pure potential. Lately, though (and it didn’t take long) that novelty has turned oppressive, and I’ve felt like I’m living inside a swimming pool, with all those unbroken walls rising up around me, closing me in. The tipping point must have come because I decided to take this holiday weekend to finally bring out the hammer and nails and hang something…anything…on the walls around me.
But here is the thing…I had nothing new to decorate with. All that dreaming about how I might like my new habitat to look/feel didn’t really matter because I only have the same things I moved from the last place, the same things I’d moved from the time before, and the time before. Oh there has been some change here and there, of course—I got rid of several pieces of artwork and photos in my grand attempt toward minimalism in my last move—but I haven’t actually acquired anything new, and I realized I really don’t want to, unless something rare and amazing jumps out at me (and it hasn’t.) Four of the six paintings I hung on the dining room wall today have been with me from before I moved them to England. The other two were gifts from Vernon. It was a bit humbling to accept that I’d rather look at the same old things I’ve had for ages than the blank walls of infinite possibility. I have more photos and artwork to put up tomorrow, now leaning on other walls around the house. (I’ve already misplaced my hammer a few times so have given up for now.)
All this has made me think about how little I have actually changed, at least if my collection-of-special-objects gives any indication. Yet for the past year (at least) my mindset has been completely colored by this idea that I’d been so changed by Vernon’s death and all that led to that. I was sure this time was about discovering the new me, someone completely separate from the old me, whoever that was. It was like the rip through my so-called reality had been so extreme that I couldn’t imagine ever reconnecting again. The damage felt too big to fathom. So I only looked forward as if the rope was let go from my spaceship and gravity altogether.
A few other things I’ve learned about have also underlined this new place of acceptance (time will tell how temporary/sustainable this is.) I’ve been interested in reading up on personality types for some time: namely the Meyers- Briggs personality type and the Enneagram (disclaimer: I am apparently the personality type that really gets into studying personality types). I mostly got into this because it helped me understand my children/parenting better and as a parlor game with my siblings as we try to work out our family dynamics. (I wish I’d considered it more in my marriage: I have no doubt I would have understood Vernon better. I’m pretty sure he was an ISFP and probably a 5w4 if you’ll allow me to get nerdy with it.) My advice for grievers or anyone going through a dis-connective change would be to consider reading up on these personality types and finding how your brain relates to the world. I know it sounds cheesy, but when I was involved in grief groups and couldn’t understand why others didn’t grieve like I did, why so few felt the need to be creative with their pain, it made me feel very alienated…but now I understand there is actually some science/psychology to our differences and that none of us are actually weirdos (but we are probably all crazy!) I find comfort in knowing that each of us has a true method to our madness—that it’s not random after all! It’s great to have permission to be yourself…and to figure out who that is.
This is embarrassingly accurate, I’m afraid. Why DOES everyone have to be so complicated? Why? (Find a funny map of your own brain by typing in “your type” +brain in Google images. Disregard the bad spelling.)
In the process of moving this summer, I also rediscovered my MUCH younger self when I found a trunk of old notes and letters, yearbooks, photos from high school and some college that I thought had been gone forever. The most revealing to me in this time capsule was a folder full of poems and essays I’d written as a teenager. They were pretty awful, for the most part, certainly immature and over-the-top, but as I read them, I had to admit that it was the same voice I have now, just a lot younger and more angst-riddled. I was writing about many of the same things I’ve written about throughout my life: similar motivations, fears, dreams, insanities. Ok, I’ve added a few themes to my arsenal like death and loss, but underneath, it was the same voice. I found this rather shocking, and honestly, a little upsetting. Why hadn’t I trusted this voice? Why had I put it down over and over again…when it wasn’t going to change that much anyway, when it would still be with me (even helping me) thirty years later? As much as I thought I’d changed after Vernon died, most of the same stuff is still there after all—and for awhile, that was kind of hard to accept too, but I’m getting there.
We are who we are. We change, yes…a lot. Hopefully we stretch and mature, we become more others-focused and compassionate, we might even get to do some lasting good in the world if we keep trying, but we are stuck with our personalities more or less for life. We might as well celebrate them, might as well decorate our living spaces with them or, at the very least, accept them. They aren’t going anywhere else.
(I wrote most of this last night, but when I got up this morning, and I saw some of my old pictures on the walls. They aren’t new and exciting, but I admit I felt more at home than I have yet. Now I just have to find that hammer…)
It’s always a surprise treat when my friend Adrena comes into town from Oregon to visit her family and friends. Although she grew up in the area, I only met her through Instagram about 7-8 years ago, when I wasn’t even living here yet. After I returned, we managed to meet up for a few walks on the beach when she’d happen to be in town. Here is a photo she took of me on the pier the first time we walked… one of my very favorites ever.
I’ve written about Adrena before. She had lost her teenage son (and nephew) in a freak RV accident while on vacation…right before Vernon was to go on to the hospice phase of his life. I remember so clearly phoning on the short drive from my hotel to the nursing home one day, as we both shouted in tears at the awfulness that a friend was in such similar pain. Perhaps this brought us each out of our own numbing shock and we were able to express something bigger for a few minutes. I’ll never forget that phone call. Experiencing something so extreme at the same time bonded us in a remarkably deep way. Now when she comes into town once or twice a year, we try to meet for a beach walk if possible, and its always a very honest, gratifying hour or two—not one precious moment is wasted on small talk.
Yesterday morning we met again. We only had an hour and a half, so I drove to her hotel with coffee and tea and we marched with intention down to the shore. Both Adrena and I are still getting used to living with the post-trauma versions of ourselves. I’ve been seeing a new therapist who is working with me on ‘redecorating’ my head-space, reframing some mindsets that not only aren’t necessary anymore, but are causing problems. So the concept of hyper-vigilance (the fight/flight mentality) that we developed in traumatic situations was fresh on the brain for me. Of course, I knew she would be able to relate. We laughed as we walked, realizing that we are both in places in our lives that we are literally redecorating. I have yet to put more than one piece of artwork on the stark white walls of my new home and she is re-modeling her home of nearly twenty years. It’s okay to take the time to figure out what will serve us best in these spaces as we move into the future…just like its ok to take time to look at our thought-lives and and begin to recognize that much of our coping strategies are not working well for us anymore. For example, we are both becoming aware of the subtle need to be prepared for the inevitable worst all the time. We both struggle with the annoying idea of hope in many ways. We both have a hard time in believing in the best possible future, given that we know so well how the bottom can fall out horribly at any given moment. That’s our experience…so it has become our map. Maybe not a very good map, but one that’s hard to let go of, its been so hammered in to our psyches. It’s quite humbling to acknowledge, to be honest.
HOWEVER….we also have some really great things in common. We both have learned to look for (and find!) the magical moments of connection that bring us joy each day, the small surprises of great beauty that bring us into wonder and take us out of our cynicism. We’ve come to a place of greater appreciation and care of the living people in our lives: our close friends near and far, the children that are still with us. We are grateful for our healthy bodies and try to be active with them. We treasure what good things we have available to us right now. We have learned that life is both/and…not either/or.
Over our hour together, as we walked and shared notes of how far/little we have come since we’d last seen each other, we gathered tiny treasures that caught our attention. Shells and sea-glass mixed with bright micro-plastics washed up on the beach.. We found funny toys strewn in the sand and spotty litter. Part of an animal’s vertebrae (we think.) The natural and the unnatural together. The beautiful and the weird. The right and the wrong. Both/and.
Here is a little still life we made with our collected gifts of the sea. (I especially love the hyper-vigilant army man ready for the possibility of a dinosaur attack—which can CLEARLY happen, here is photo proof!)
“I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable.”
― Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea.
“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between them, there are doors.”
― William Blake
I’ve been thinking about the word “threshold”….because we crossed a big one this week. According to the dictionary, not only does it mean a kind of doorway, but also the magnitude or intensity that must be exceeded for a certain reaction, phenomenon, result, or condition to occur or be manifested (which, I suppose, is a kind of doorway…but so much more!)
Not only did we move into a new house with a completely different feel (yes, I’m still finding my way around it) but Maki got his driver’s license! The American Youth’s official rite-of-passage (I remember my own well, just as my dad, who taught me to drive, remembers his.) As of Tuesday morning, the first day he left early to get a parking spot at school, drove himself to work afterward, and then went to visit his girlfriend. That’s it…he’s got wheels. He’s independent—a thing I’ve long been encouraging him toward— and with that, we have both crossed over a threshold. Here’s a text after his first drive alone:
He loves it. I love it. Friday he doesn’t work and he’s already told me he will pick up groceries for me after school as well as pick up his sister at her school. I know he’s a good driver because he’s been transporting my other two prized possessions (Justine’s body and mine) for six months. (Why should I worry? I won’t.) And by the way, both our first cars were VWs, which to me is kind of sweet. Thanks to his lovely mother, Synnove, for going in on it with with me. It was nice that we were able to do this thing for him together. He’s happy…even though he has to take care of all the expenses from here on out. He’s very positive and understanding on that end too (so far…)
This was the day I’d been looking toward for so long…and for all the hours spent at the DMV on Monday, I honestly wasn’t quite sure it would happen. After a wonderful summer of entertaining visitors and making sure we had a fulfilling holiday as a family, we started school, but then almost immediately, we moved house, and many of my professional obligations got pushed back further yet. It was great, I loved the season of being full-time family, but I knew I was shirking my financial responsibilities. So here we are…suddenly I feel I have one less child to raise. I can attempt to feed Maki and make sure he has a place to lay his head, I can listen to him, and I can even advise him (on the days he lets me.) But once a kid is driving…and working…he’s a part of the greater world, not just the one adults have offered him. This was my experience at his age, and he says its already the same for him. I’ve never been more proud (of either of us.)
Immediately, that very first day, I could feel the difference in my world. This was the day I’d put on my calendar as the day to get back to the grindstone…and I did. I still have to finish organizing an office and setting up the painting studio, but this week, I was able to get back to those things with clearer intention and momentum. And within another day, I could see the dominos that have been waiting for that push, start to fall down the line: some commissions, interviews, etc. Everything has been waiting for my assurance that Maki is ready for the road. And here we are. I have no excuses anymore. 🙂 We are both filled with relief and potential…and responsibility.
Right on schedule, this week is already turning in some delectable fruit. Yesterday, I went to Chapman University in Orange to visit a type-design class (same as last year) and speak about Vernon’s work. This time, I was treated to the fact that the students were designing posters for a display in the library to honor his work. Here are some photos of the process:
The Type Design professor is hoping to do a greater exhibit of his work next year, funding pending. In the meantime, she introduced me to a co-ordinator who is interested in my own painting work I was offered an exhibit next year, hopefully with a panel from the Women’s Study’s dept…I’ll keep you posted. (The University setting is something I’ve imagined for awhile, and the shared ideas are exciting!) We donated Vernon’s treasury of alphabet source-books to the university library a few months back, so it’s nice to have a continuous connection to this quality school. I’m thankful for every one of these doors.
We are now in our future. And that feels good. There is space, there is momentum, there is focus. I like where we are going.
Vernon has been dipping in and out of my consciousness lately in a different way than usual. He hasn’t been as present as the early days, but just like I’d been warned by those who journeyed this road before, one should never be surprised when the grief and/or memories show up. In these moments, it’s almost palpable…at the least, like a sci-fi hologram. I was about to close up the other house the other day, doing the last bits of cleaning, and all of a sudden, with mop in hand, I leaned against the stove and looked out on the empty kitchen. I could imagine Vernon as if he were also there, leaning back on the opposite counter. It’s rare that I speak out to him, but it does happen, and those moments can be cathartic.
Just when I think I’ve made peace with his absence…that’s when he shows up. Or rather, another piece of myself shows up—a piece that still needs closure or healing or whatever—sometimes that is even more shocking than the ghost-talk. In this moment, I was able to more deeply say goodby to the memories in that house—a house he never visited himself, a home that brought the rest of our little family through a difficult season. So many good things happened there as well, but I can’t forget that he was hit on the same corner we drove out from every day. It was ALL there: the good, bad, the ugly, and the beautiful.
Now we are embarking on a new season. And just as life seems to go, things are difficult in different ways. I admonished the Vernon of that kitchen day for leaving me alone to cope with all of it without him. But I also know that what he taught me has helped me cope, so there is that. I also understood in that moment that we’d surely be a different couple now (if he’d lived) than we were five years ago. We were a different couple at every stage of his life after the accident, so there is no way of knowing who we would be now. Trying to imagine it is like losing a thread in a tapestry: impossible.
A few days earlier, while I was still in the slow stages of moving out/clearing out, a crew of fireman rushed to the door. My friend Mary and I sent them next door to the correct address. Not long after, we heard the news that our neighbor Jack had passed away in his sleep. Jack was the last (and only) neighbor to say goodby to us on moving day, and waving from our shared mailbox patch, he said: ” Oh bummer, you are moving! I was hoping to hear more music from the teenagers in the garage. I loved that.” Jack was the first neighbor we met when we moved in nearly 4 years before. He was fun to talk to, and though he couldn’t hear well, he always had a surfer’s stoked smile, a wave…he was always up for connecting. I used to send Justine next door first if we needed to ‘borrow’ anything like milk or sugar. Actually, Jack was the only neighbor I had any basic conversations with at all…it was not a community-spirit street.
I went back to finish the work at the house a couple days later. On my way out to the car, Jack’s son (that I’d never yet met) crossed the lawn to chat. He was so sad, but he clearly wanted to connect. He wanted to show me a video on his phone: his dad in his fun and glorious heyday. He’d only discovered this video when someone had sent it his way the day his dad died. He’d never seen it in in all the years he’d been online, but since he’d received it, he’d watched it one hundred times. It was great to see him young.
I remember how we too had discovered a video of Vernon speaking about his font work in Istanbul (of all faraway places) the day he went into hospice. We couldn’t believe the timing either. Some things, I guess, we aren’t meant to find till the right time. It was eerie that two strangers had such similar technological experiences in thier time of loss.
So its with added sadness that our family left that street—an extravagant end to an era. Now both Jack and Vernon were the bookends: yet another reminder that life (and death) happens when/where you least expect it. I hate to make this a recurring theme, but sorry…its my experience now.
Jack’s son invited us to the paddle-out for his dad next month. We won’t be here…we’ll be in Hawaii, of all places. But I told him that if I have a chance, I’ll take a moment in the shared-Pacific water to remember our lovely neighbor. Here is the video Jack’s son showed me. He told me his parents had met at age 15 (mom is in video too) so things will be hard/surreal for her for awhile. 🙁 RIP Jack Baxter. We are tied to you forever…like all our best memories of the best people. Thank you for gracing us with your smile..
Over and out Avenida Cornelio. We are grateful for our stay. After all, where would we be without you?
We are moving house again. Our landlords gave us lots of time, graciously, but a place in a neighborhood I like came up this month, and it seemed right to grab the chance. I want to stay as close as I can to Justine’s school so she can at least have that consistency for a few more years. We are moving about a ten minute drive north. I’m looking forward to living in a closer community and being able to walk to the cliffs to watch the sunset. Justine is looking forward to adopting a cat, which will be in perfect timing after dear Benson’s sudden demise. (Maybe he knew we’d be moving? I wouldn’t put anything past him.)
But it’s going to be a quick move. We can be in on the 21st of September, a little over a week. Of course things are chaotic here, with boxes everywhere, but I think we’ve got a good pace down now. I’ve moved so many times in my life, but this is the first time since Vernon died. We got rid of most of his stuff (except the things we loved) in the past nearly-four years we’ve been in this house. But I’m still finding the odd things I never made decisions over…a book on Italian Design, cycling gear, football (soccer) jerseys. Not to mention my own box of old journals and childhood artwork my parents had brought over from their garage at some point. A life packed in a garage. Amazing what we accumulate in a few years. I do like packing up because it reminds me of what I can live without….and reminds me of what I have.
.We learned to be a family of three in this sweet little house. We became an official unit of our own. One of the best things about living here is that I was able to have a detached studio, which I took to complete advantage. I truly got into the discipline of painting everyday because I had a separate place to work. I made so main paintings…now what to do with all the ones I don’t like? Paint over them, I guess. Maki also expanded his musical talents in this house, he’s going to have to downsize some, unfortunately…but that’s ok, he’ll soon be driving and he can visit friends who have room for drums. 🙂
We have been so grateful for this cute little house, we’ve loved it. Incidentally, we moved to this street after Vernon was hit because the house had potential wheelchair access…not that he ever came home. But every day, we have to turn left on El Camino Real, pulling out from exactly the same stop sign that the people who hit Vernon did.. We don’t think about that corner as acutely as we used to, but the cloud, the awareness, is still there. I’m hoping a weight lifts from all of us with this move. There is sudden momentum. The future is happening.
I feel like a reverse-hermit-crab…looking for a smaller shell, so I can go into the future more streamlined, less burdened than before. After all, I have two youngster hermit-crabs I’m bringing along.
“Music does a lot of things for a lot of people. It’s transporting, for sure. It can take you right back, years back, to the very moment certain things happened in your life. It’s uplifting, it’s encouraging, it’s strengthening.” Aretha Franklin (May she rest in peace.)
I’ve been listening to music non stop lately, mostly my own…music that I listened to before Vernon was hit, or at least before he died…I’ve also been listening to Maki’s collection of music with more appreciation as it know it will keep me ‘young.’ And I’ve been listening to suggestions from friends that coax me in and out of my musical comfort zones. The best thing is that it keeps me from paying attention to the news, which for me is emotional Kryptonite if I’m not in a healthy place. Vernon’s most effective medicine came from music…and I see that in Maki too…so why shouldn’t it be for me too? It just seems to be panning out in surprisingly different ways. I will always love the music that attaches me to Vernon…but its been connected with so much sadness and dashed hope that it doesn’t feel great to listen to those songs for long, so I just stopped listening all together. I heard some awesome brain-bending podcasts in that period though…hit me up if want some links.
Anyway, with all this music in my mind, I thought to ask Maki to find something by a singer I suddenly remembered while I was driving him to his after-school job this afternoon. Her name is Missy Andersen, and she used to play sometimes at a restaurant in town. It’s a small southern-themed place, they have great music and can draw a fun crowd…plus they give out Mardi Gras beads for free, which I would bring my small daughter as gifts/penance for having fun without her. Vernon and I went together one night to see Missy play, probably only a couple weeks before he was hit. I had so much fun dancing with all the others who were also having fun dancing. Darling Vernon, forever British and shy about that sort of thing, watched from the bar. I wasn’t disappointed, I accepted this about him. I was just happy to do something sort-of together. We had our own understandings.
I was starting to tell this silly memory to Maki as I drove this afternoon, but I found myself so overcome with sudden emotion that I couldn’t talk. I was grateful to already be wearing sunglasses, at least. I talk about him to the kids all the time without feeling. But today, it was his sentiment that killed me.
I remember him smiling at me when I came back to him from the dance-floor for air. For the first time in seven years of marriage he said this thing: “I want to learn to dance. I want to be able to have as much fun as it looks like you are having.”
“I don’t think you learn,” I told him. “I think you just go for it! Just move your booty and try not to care. Maybe you learn not to care.” And of course, we couldn’t have known, but he wouldn’t ever dance again…he soon wouldn’t do a lot of things ever again. It was nice to see he wanted to, though. This is thing thing about music and memory: they aren’t just sad and blue when wrapped in song—they can be poignant, and maybe remind you of the lessons. We only have today.
So…who wants to go dancing with me! Doesn’t this idea of fun sound FUN?
If you like Missy Anderson’s vibe, here is her southwestern schedule. She’s great. And she encourages dancing! (Here are some random videos I found:)
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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