Two in one

When I was growing up in Chicago, in the mid 1960s, at Easter time you could go to the regular grocery store and buy lamb butter -- that is, butter in the shape of a lamb. Lamb cakes, too, were readily available; vanilla pound cake baked in a lamb-shaped mold with white frosting from a star tip artfully applied. There was kind of a resurgence in lamb cakes -- or at least in the availability of the molds -- probably thanks to Martha. But lamb butter is a bit more elusive. My mold came from here, should you be wishing for one yourself (scroll down the page to find the lamb). And in the spirit of true disclosure: none of us has yet had the heart to cut in to the lamb, so here we are nearly 2 weeks past the holiday and he's still living in the fridge.

Also thanks to Martha, now that I think about it, is our tradition of buying two packages of Easter egg dye. For years we have been making brighter colors by putting 2 tablets in each cup instead of one. The wrinkle this time was that Dean didn't want to put 2 of the same color in each cup but instead he wanted to mix his own colors. I admit that this is still one of those times when I have to take a deep breath, think about who it is we're coloring eggs for in the first place, and let go of "how it should be." Sure! Mix away! I did feebly recommend that he think about what colors he'd be creating before putting the tablets in, knowing that this wouldn't be his approach. He's a process guy, not a product guy.

So we had two of the same mix, and some pretty intense mixes, and found interestingly that the dyes don't combine consistently with each other the way they do with two of the same.




And his favorite part, still, is playing with the colors afterward. Success, then!

Easter was also Dean's birthday this year, so we had an elaborate plan for celebrating both -- starting with a morning that was all about the eggs and the basket.

THEN it was birthday time.

Followed by an outing to spend some gift cards that were burning a hole in his pocket.




A sweet and successful day. Twelve seems at the same time an impossibly big number and exactly right. We celebrate who this amazing person is, how much his arrival changed our lives, how unimaginable life without him would be. He enjoys hearing stories on his birthday about how his birth day unfolded -- all those hours of labor, all that joy when he finally arrived, all the attention that our beautiful little boy received from the hospital staff, how very sweet he was right from the start. I do feel that we're turning a corner as a family as Dean steps into this new, older self. We struggle sometimes to find the balance, the flow -- to readjust our relationships and yet hold on to what's core for us. I try not to think ahead but to revel in the now.

If you have no daughters...

...give them to your sons! Hot cross buns. I was inspired to make up my first batch and we all loved them with our hot morning beverages. I see that other recipes seem to call for an overall glaze plus the cross; maybe next time I'll do an egg wash for the shiny appearance (Dean says an overall glaze would be too sticky to deal with). I love foods that are associated with certain holidays, and I love how ancient (*pagan*) traditions got incorporated into Christian traditions in order to make the new ideas hold -- at Easter just as at Christmas. (The old belief here was that cutting the cross shape into baked goods helped ward off evil spirits that might interfere with the baker's success.)

While mulling the cross form, I am endlessly fascinated with the way the paint wears away on the storm drains on our street; these always look beautiful to me.
So much to see in such a small, usually overlooked place.

A tiny, tiny pebble, trying to impersonate an egg, I think.



And tiny buds, waiting breathlessly to unfurl.

I've got photos and stories from the birthday/Easter combo just passed and will try to get caught up this week.

Twelve

The Lottery

We buy lottery tickets. Ken keeps an eye on the jackpots; there are a couple of different state lotteries, and then Massachusetts is part of a multi-state mega jackpot lottery. Every once in a while, we'll have a dinner table conversation about what we'd do if we ever won $5, $10, $200 million dollars. Ken is kind of a *lottery savant* -- tell him the jackpot amount and he'll tell you the lump-sum payout and the take-home after taxes. (It's a gift.)

Anyway, we all enjoy thinking about not just what we'd do for ourselves, but how we'd take care of family, friends, and causes that are important to us. It's worth a dollar or two to foster these daydreams, and someone has to win, right?

And the other reason we don't feel we're senselessly throwing money away is that we actually like the fact that our dollar or two is making possible someone else's dream come true -- that we're contributing to someone's most unbelievably awesome day.

Still, it would be nice to win -- Team Paradox would certainly have it's money problems solved!

Happy Friday

The Wild

Last weekend, Dean discovered tree climbing (see him in there?). The combination of physical strength, a healthy degree of risk-taking, good sense about how to approach it safely, and a desire to be up in his own place culminated in many happy hours spent in the activity. We have pines like this all over our yard which really are just perfect for climbing; the branches start right from the base of the tree and fan out, all the way up, in just about boy-sized intervals.

It's fairly private in there, too. I have these plans in my head for how it would be possible to build a small platform up there, just big enough for 2 people to sit, with a pulley for bringing up the books, beverages, and snacks. Nothing as grandiose as a "house." And I actually think it would be safer without a railing (because I think that would give a false sense of safety and encourage standing when sitting would really be the purpose). I'm trying to decide if this is a case of my trying to over-engineer something and if it's better just to let Dean make his way in the trees as they are, or if having a perch up there would make for a more magical summer.

The forecast is calling for very cold temperatures toward the end of this week and into the weekend. The upside would be proper conditions for one more fire in the fireplace; the downside could be the shock to the poor plants that have been brave enough to send up shoots....

Warmer

This Friday we welcome the vernal equinox. With open arms. I am completely awed by the miracle of spring that's unfolding all around me; I think I am especially reveling in it because I especially need it this year. Rebirth. A fresh start.

It's in the quality of the light, the return of the birds, the bits of green coming through all around.

And it is in the absence of snow. There is still a bit of snow around the edges of our driveway, where the drifts were once as tall as me. But it's disappearing steadily.


Christmas Club members, I will be giving you a reminder and admitting that I wasn't up to it last month. I've been sewing quite a bit lately -- 2 pairs of fleece pants for Dean (yes! just in time for warmer weather.... Oh well!), a jacket for me (the wrong-season thing doesn't matter as much since I won't outgrow it, and I'm not talking about the silly one from my previous post), some small bags, a little quilt and bedding for a doll bed that's going to the school auction. Although none are for Christmas, they've got my sewing/crafting energies flowing and the Christmas stuff WILL follow. I'm going to attempt to learn to make ties -- one for Ken, one for Dean, and more if they work out all right. I've been saving up tins to decoupage for use as gift containers.


Dean's birthday is coming up in a few weeks; I've never been so far behind in getting ready for that. It's fortunate for me that planning a birthday party for a 12-year-old is a lot less complicated than those pony parties I used to give for him when he was younger, but I still feel bad about not being as on top of things as usual. His birthday is the same day as Easter this year, which also has to be prepared for and celebrated.


We were supposed to be heading to Chicago next month as well, to visit my brother and his family and to carry out a memorial service for my mom. For many complicated reasons, it's not going to happen -- my brother and I came to terms with the reality that the service we were envisioning wasn't going to happen (disheartening beyond words that the church in the parish where we lived for 20 years, where the 4 of us went to school, where my mom taught and worked tirelessly on behalf of the church just isn't interested in having us hold her service there -- one of several roadblocks). Also some very complicated family issues in play. I had been so focused on the service as the means for processing my grief, for celebrating her life and moving ahead, that I'm struggling now to figure out what to do with all of this instead.

The thing about me is that I am an intensely private person. I process the big stuff internally. Not even Ken has a clue as to what I've been going through for the past 5 weeks. The benefit of an open, public service to me would have been a way to bring it out and put it someplace in a healing way. We didn't have a service for my dad (also a complicated family issue, revolving around the same person who's made it so difficult this time) and I know that's left a piece unfinished for me all these years. So once again, I'll be dealing with this in a private way for my mom, not working it past my own head and out into the light. I was the one to scatter my dad's ashes and perhaps it will come down to that again this time. One of my brothers was with me when I fulfilled my dad's wish to have his ashes scattered in the Gulf of Mexico. Perhaps the other brother will be with me when we figure out the right thing to do for my mom (unlike my dad, she hadn't said that part).


Well. I am back to the beginning, so entirely grateful for the miracle of spring -- for the arrival of it just when I need it most.

Yes

People keep asking me how I'm doing. And I appreciate that. I appreciate the concern and the care. I just don't know what to say. I'm all right -- I get out of bed every day and I get showered and dressed in clean clothes. I go to work and I actually accomplish things -- I do my job. I've been doing better at making dinners. I'm eating. Sleeping isn't great, but that's not news.

The thing I can tell you about the pain of losing a parent is the acute sense of grief does ease with time. It gets to the point where you can acknowledge out loud, even to people you hardly know, that your mom passed away, and that, yes, your dad died a few years ago. But the fundamental hole in your heart does not go away, and it's another level of depth, of sadness, once you're an orphan.

Even there, I know I have been fortunate. I know people who lost both their parents when they were much, much younger than I am -- people for whom "orphan" was really true in a more fundamental way.

So here I am. I get through the days and sometimes I smile and Dean makes me laugh pretty regularly. Just figuring out what comes next, and how I get there.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to catch up on all the things I've let slip. I started falling behind in December, to be honest, and am not quite out of that hole yet. I'm trying also to clean up and clean out stuff in the house.

Can you blame me, really, for culling a bunch of scraps to make this jacket? Do you dare me, actually, to wear it out in public?

Yes, we still have that much snow. No, it's not too cold today -- about 40 degrees f. Yes, I'm smiling. (Photography by Dean)

Words, and pictures, though not necessarily connected

We've all been hearing for a while now about how chicken soup has real medicinal qualities, that eating a piping hot bowl really will help cure your cold.

I now also firmly believe in the emotional healing power of baking chocolate chip cookies, and eating some while they are still warm out of the oven. Taking the time to bake with Dean was big; I just haven't been able to rally for much of anything lately, haven't been cooking much, haven't been very hungry. But we had a snow day yesterday and I knew we needed the project together, AND the cookies. Wow. What a world of difference.


Here's an interesting place I've just arrived in mourning the loss of my mom. I have regrets -- many regrets. And that has been crushing me, the weight of those regrets. But then, I suddenly realized, she had regrets, too. We both had things we would have done over differently. So now that we can't -- neither of us can without both of us here -- I can move ahead knowing that simply we still loved each other deeply. That even with our imperfections, what stood up over time was love. That's what I need to focus on. What lasted and remained true, regardless.

Sigh.
(Try clicking on this one to see it larger -- "Outbound to Wonderland" -- my favorite sign in the entire Boston public transportation system.)

I'm thinking about my relationship with Dean very much in all of this experience.

We were both born in the Year of the Tiger (1962 and 1998) in the Chinese calendar, and this is the Year of the Tiger (2010). I'm trying to think about how to celebrate that, what we can make of it. Seems like an opportunity worth seizing, somehow.


And speaking of having been born in 1962, it was just my birthday last week. Natalie sent me flowers -- wasn't that a wonderful thing for her to do? They are still a breath of spring, brightening the whole kitchen.

In the overall birthday department though it was pretty crappy, given the timing. And, how can I put this -- I'm wondering why it is that both my parents had to pass away right before my birthday.

I used to truly love February. It featured my birthday, which I always used to adore, it has Valentine's Day, it's the time of winter when you do start to see signs of spring -- even if only the lengthening of the day. Oh sure, most people find it hard to say nice things about February, but I was a staunch supporter. Now.... Not so much. I find myself dreading my birthday, and not because of the aging thing (that's never bothered me a whit). I don't want to have to face February every year and these two sad anniversaries. Oy.

There are 11 other months of the year, I have 3 siblings all born in various months -- couldn't the grief have gotten spread around a little bit? It has been hard for the past 11 years to work my way past the anniversary of my dad's death in order to feeling up for anything by my birthday, and now I just can't even imagine. Oh well. Maybe it was time to grow up about it.


One good thing that happened on my birthday is that after Dean and I finished his observation of seahorses at the aquarium (for a school report), Ken came to meet us and after lunch,


we went to see Ultimate Wave Tahiti in Imax 3D. If this film plays near you (especially in 3D) I highly recommend you go see it. I don't imagine that I'll ever get to Tahiti in my lifetime, but this film gave me such an incredibly real sense of the place. I wouldn't say that I have an interest in surfing, but the film made it fascinating. It very much highlights the spiritual culture and beauty of Tahiti. I'm still waiting for my birthday margarita, for my birthday dinner at a Mexican restaurant, and my birthday cake. Hopes are not high.


I'm tired. Are you tired? I am deeply, could-fall-asleep-at-any-minute tired.

Dave, with whom I work at school, is the skip of his curling team. How cool is that? He brought in his rock and broom and shoes (and even his special pants and his special jacket with his name on it and his championship patch). Trying to imagine how we're going to handle Olympic withdrawal.

Adrift

I just wanted to say that I am here, and how deeply thankful I am for all your kind words. Even saying that you don't know what to say but that you care is meaningful and comforting. I haven't been able to bring myself to do much of anything for the past 6 days, but I'm trying to get myself moving today.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

It's hard to find the words, or even to think of what to say. Deep breath.

Yesterday morning, my mom passed away. This was not what any of us was expecting. She'd been in the hospital because she'd been having difficulty breathing, but the doctors were delighted with the progress she was making. (We learned, once she was admitted to the hospital, that she had COPD -- none of us, including her, realized that.) I had mentioned how difficult January was -- my brother and I had moved her from Seattle back to Chicago (where my brother lives, where we are from) because she'd been left just completely alone and unable to care for herself. But it all seemed to be working out -- she was now living with family who loved her and doted on her, she was able to be with her great-grandchildren, and we were all working together on plans for visits. My brother called an ambulance one morning because she just wasn't breathing well at all.

She was scheduled to be released from the hospital yesterday to an interim care facility, to help her transition from the breathing support/therapy she'd been receiving in the hospital to the level of care that could/should happen in a home setting. My brother had been asking the doctors from the beginning if I needed to fly out right away at any time, and he'd been told there was absolutely no need and that she'd be back home again soon. But in the early morning hours yesterday she had difficulty breathing, and as they were working to set her up to receive oxygen, her heart failed.

I spoke with her on Monday. I had just no idea that it would be our last conversation. I told her I loved her -- I always told her that, and she told me she loved me too, as always. The hole in my heart is unfathomably deep. I feel utterly adrift. My brother has so wisely been talking with me about all the hidden blessings -- that we got her out of her apartment in Seattle where, without care, she would have died alone, that she didn't have a long, drawn-out period of suffering, that she knew how very much she was loved and that she did have her last 20 days on earth surrounded by family.

But I didn't get to say goodbye, and I know how hard that's going to be to have to live with. I'm glad that I did call her every single week, that I'd send her pictures and packages, that I never missed a birthday or holiday. But it's hard not to think of how much more I could have done, and to regret not simply going out to Chicago just because she was in the hospital.

In my dream, we are going to spend the day together at the Art Institute. We'll wander the galleries, we'll have lunch, we'll browse in the gift shop before heading outside to hold on to the lion's tail for a moment to feel the vibration from the traffic on Michigan Avenue (which we know is REALLY the spirit of the lion). We'll remember how many times we walked up and down this particular stretch of the city, back and forth to ballet classes, to Christmas shopping at Marshall Field's, and that time I first got glasses in 7th grade and was so overjoyed and amazed to see that you could ACTUALLY see all the branches in the trees on the street. We'd have years ahead of us.

You make the call

Dean tells me that "skedaddle" and "hootenanny" have been officially dropped from the dictionary. He feels that "skedaddle" is a loss but feels no pain over "hootenanny." I think both cases are tragic; such colorful, uniquely American words being lost. I'll just have to try to work both in to as much of my conversation as possible. (You have been warned.)

Meanwhile, if you haven't seen this yet, please watch it. For me, for yourself. It is a TED video of Stuart Brown, talking about the importance of play. Better, even, than the Ken Robinson one (but do watch if you haven't seen it).

Then tell me when you're going to start playing.

[edited to add: I should have said up front -- to 'skedaddle' is to leave quickly; a 'hootenanny' is both a party with music and dancing -- usually folk/square dancing, and it also means the word that you can't think of at the moment -- as in, "hand me that hootenanny over there!" People now more commonly use "thingamajig" or "whatsit" or "thingamabob." Also, my further research has shown that while some references put 'skedaddle' as a term coined during the American Civil War, other sources put it as having derived from earlier Scottish/Irish/English terminology.]

Still one of my favorite pictures

I miss you, dad, and I'm thinking about you today. I think about you every day, to be honest, but this anniversary is always a hard one.

Daily mail

I realize that I've been trying to send more things, real things, in the regular mail so far this year. Notes, letters, tokens of affection. Things that can leave my hand and arrive in the hand of a loved one, a dear friend. I'm behind on a few packages, but working away at it. Did you know that "checking the mail" is still one of the daily things people most look forward to, even though it fairly rarely delivers real treasures? How's that for the strength of hope?