The Storyrain Blog

We haven't done that old throwback Thursday thing in a while. Here's a b&w pic from 1964. I was something around a year, give or take some months. My mom's smile is so uncharacteristic for photos of her from that time that I feel like I'm looking at someone else's mother, some other baby. Of course, they really are other people, from long ago, now long gone, except in some memories (those reliable old things), persisting sense triggers, and the relationship I still have with my mom, the love I feel.

My mom's 80th birthday is in April and my sister and I are looking for engaging things to build into the celebration--party games, art activities, what have you. I don't want to surf a bunch of icky, ad-laden sites, so, dear braintrust, any ideas to float?

A while back an email from a member of my family gave me some pause; it said, among other things, that my writing was not their cup of tea, but of course they wished me all good in my chosen career (not the words used, but the general sentiment). It also said that they suspected we shared neither politics or values. On my writing not being their cup of tea, no problem, that's the nature of that beast, and no big deal. On the politics, yes, agreed. But the values thing has stuck in my craw ever since and I worry at it periodically.

My values. What do I value? I value, first, compassion, kindness, and love. These, I believe strongly, are the most valuable and highly evolved of humanity's ways of being. Second, I value creative productivity of any kind--meaning the arts, yes, but also other creative endeavors from city planning, architecture, and community organizing to cooking, farming organically, and creating a good restaurant--that deepens, enriches, betters and/or makes more enjoyable the lives of those it touches.

What I don't understand is how compassion and kindness are not everyone's values.

Here is my mom, April of last year, with me, my sister, niece, and step-dad.



My mom has always been more the waterwoman mother (also known as the dragonfly mother) than the earthwoman* mother. I've had abandonment issues, as it were, since six. But I love her very much, and I'm very glad she's in my life now. And really, would I be the me, and the writer I am, without her? No.

*from the poem by Denise Levertov, included under the cut
( if you feel like a spot of poetry )( from those Levertov poems (sans proper spacing, sorry) )

( if you feel like a spot of poetry )

Recently, as recounted to me by my mother, my step father went to his doctor because his ear bled during the night after he tried to clean it out. His doctor took him down to see an ear, nose, throat specialist, who looked in Andy's ear and was wtf? So Andy explained that when he'd been in the military, he'd fallen out of a helicopter and then been in an explosion, and the military doctors had never really treated him for it.

So this doctor uses a magnet thing and extracts bits of shrapnel that have been in my poor step father's inner ear for 42 years.

Also? This kind of explains some things.

Notes from a week in the woods...

Brother's large garden provided a bounty of salad veggies, lettuces, beets, green beans, cucumbers...so good.

My dad shuffles around with his cane. He's had some cognitive loss, but he's still in there. He's very intent on food; he enjoyed our lobster meal immensely. But the biggest smile he wore all week was when we got him to use his walker (which he is not resigned to using yet) to go outside in the deep dark night to see the star-heavy, Milky Way swathed sky and spot Perseid meteors with us. He announced every one he saw. (To be fair, we all did.) We saw quite a few. No northern lights, though.

My nephews, both in college, one a classics major who's making extra money doing translations of ancient Greek philosophers, the other in his first year as a government major, were lovely. They and my sister and I all discussed how much we love The Daily Show, and how we were all fans of John Oliver, in addition to Jon Stewart.

Swam in Cathance Lake (the lake on which the lake in my story "When the Ice Goes Out" is based), used the hot tub, stargazed, napped, and read, in addition to spending time with dad and going into Machias to check out the veterans' home he's on the waiting list for.

Read Gail Carriger's Soulless, and now reading Changeless (b-day presents); really enjoying them.

Excellent dinner alfresco with sister in Portland Friday evening, at King of the Roll. I did most of my undergrad in Portland, and I still really like it. A small, lively, arty city, with buildings of a nice age; there's always a scent of salt in the air, with gulls coming up into downtown from the port.

Some pictures from the woods and my sister-in-law's flower garden. A few more if you click up to the Maine gallery.

 

 

 

Was a lovely, low-key birthday weekend. Took Friday off, took care of the usual Saturday chores and had an awesome nap. Gotten out of bed Saturday morning by phone call from a friend singing HB to me. Went to breakfast with usual Saturday peeps, got many phone calls, tweets, facebook, and email birthday wishes. Dinner with N&C& the kids that night (chicken mirabella, my request); the kids all made cards and they gave me lovely presents and made me feel very loved; then we had strawberry shortcake and watched Coraline, which they hadn't seen yet and I was happy to see again. Sunday, friend and neighbor B took me out for brunch; we went to the Woodland (where I really want to go for cocktails sometime). Spent the rest of the day reading, cooking, and writing, capped off by viewing of Trueblood w/B. Had a couple of good convos with my sister, who called me several times instead of the traditional one. (My poor mom, who had the flu, lost track of time, thought today was the 8th and called yesterday.)

I feel quite refreshed. Who knows how long into the dayjob week it will last, but still, yay.  (Plus, this is short week for me, Friday being the first day of ArmadilloCon. And impatientape is in town and will be coming to stay later in the week, so, yay!)

And, you know, there was cake.

I want to share the bit of Pablo Neruda one beloved friend sent me as a bday wish:

Today, this day was a brimming cup,
today, this day was an immense wave,
today, it was all the earth.

Fortune in my brother's cookie last night: There is a nice cake waiting for you. I kid you not. I appropriated it for my own.

Tomorrow we have an appointment with Reverend Sun to see our old house. Philadelphia feels like Philadelphia.