Upside down shattered and scattered

This is the story of just a few events of the day.
The children, adult and grandchildren, are home - all 8 adult and 7 grandchildren.
The house is full, the refrigerator empty. I go to the grocery store and stop by the
last day of an estate sale and am first in line at 8:30 a.m. it opens at 9:00 a.m.
There is a mirror that I wanted the day before and it was too much...today it will be half price. The line grows and the door opens. I go to the mirror and am about to pull the tag and the lady right behind me is on my tail, "NO! you can't have that! I reserved it yesterday and am here to get it." Well, because I am not going to fight over a mirror with a mean old lady, I let her have it. I thought about that all day long. Why am I such a wimp!

The kids are all having a blast outside and Jody, Robert and Griffin returned from playing golf in the Hancock Tournament in 100 degree weather, they paid to play in 100 degree weather. Egan's birthday is about to begin, Jody's asleep, do we wake him up? no we will just make enough noise that he will have to get up and so we proceed to prepare for the party to begin. I have a pink strawberry cake specially purchased for the event, with 3 swirly candles ready to be lit and on my brand new cake plate purchased at an auction for a lot more than I should have paid...TRIP at the door and plate and cake flip, crash and smash. Strawberry cake, upsidedown, with shredded pink glass everywhere, literally, and it smells so good... Jody is now awake. Lizzie goes to Sunflower and buys another store bought cake, actually much cuter than the pink strawberry, with Egan's name on it and bright flowers too.
She is happy, I am too, after 3 margaritas. Jose Cuervo you are a friend of mine.

How fast time flies

Lizzie just reminded me that I have not posted anything and that she actually misses my
blogs, imagine that. So this is for Lizzie, daughter, Elizabeth, named for sister Elizabeth also called Lizzie.

The whole family is home, for no reason, except just to be here. just like Christmas, except in August, and no gifts, just lots of family. Family, everywhere you turn, each with their own set of stuff, food, clothes, toys, baby seats, sewing machines,computers, books, golf clubs, cars, sippy cups, baby bottles, wine bottles... and on and on and on. The kitchen counter overfloweth.

I absolutely LOVE IT. The giggles mixed in with baby cries, voices, very serious and voices, just talking, but voices, familiar, all of whom I recognize. reminds me that In very quiet moments I can call up voices from the past - my grandmothers, my father, Fr. Egan,are just a few. The sound of a voice and certain expressions they love to use, has a gorilla glue affect and just can't be unglued from my brain. But today, the voices I hear are all here, and thankfully so. I am soaking them in for recall when I need to hear them again when they have all gone home. This is all I need for today.

Time for a new page

I'm not the best at posting, there has to be a "happening" to report on and I have a new one that is exciting to me. Its all about an art and crafts workshop that I am planning to happen in July when it is too hot to be anywhere but inside. The event will be named
"Thou Art Inspired". It will be a 3 day event and in these 3 days teachers of art and crafts will come together to teach and inspire the students to create art based on an inspirational quote of their choice. Using paint, pen, calligraphy, needle and thread, jewelry and sculpture, the student will begin a series of classes and learn how to turn their favorite quote or scripture passage into a piece of art. Voila!

Just like the t-shirt of LOVE THY NEIGHBOR, these classes will give an outlet for the Yazoo community to come together in a positive way and work side by side to create their art piece. When the workshop is completed there will be a reception to show or sell art works by the students and teachers... I'm crazy excited about the possibilities that can come from this. Imagine someone getting to learn a craft and take the experience home with them and create more. I know I'll have to have help from sponsors, there will be some people who could not afford to come and supplies have to be paid for and teachers, and venues... all is possible, and I know it.

Another Dream

My friend Patty is in the hospital at St. Dominics. She is dying of complications from a strange disease. She lies peacefully, breathing slowly but with labor. I stood next to her and traced a cross on her forehead, kissed her sweet face and walked away. Its not fair. Last night when I went to bed and turned off the light,the last image I saw was this picture "Love Thy Neighbor". Then I went to sleep.

This is my dream.
I am in the same hospital room that Patty was in but I am the one in bed and I cannot move because I am dying, just as Patty. I feel how hard it is to breathe and I am hot, no I am cold. I hear music and there are earphones in my ears and the music keeps changing. I hear Tys voice saying I'm changing that music, she doesn't want to hear that, and he flips it over and over again until I want to scream, but I can't.
Then all is quiet and I feel different. I want to get out of bed and I turn and can move so I sit by the bed and see everyone there but they are looking at me lying in bed. I stand up and I stretch and it feels so good. I realize I am floating, close to the floor and I go to the door and look out and the hallway is the same as at St. Dominics except it is sterile and clean and no one is in it except for some people standing, sitting or leaning against the walls, separate but together. There is a presence next to me but I don't see anything. I wonder who the people are and the voice says "They work here". As I pass them I see faces that I recognize - some are familiar and some are very vague, but a face I have seen. Some are beggars, children
play in a corner, the old man who rides the bicycle around town who wears a paper sack on his head stands there. The lady who begs for money on the shopping street in LA who I gave $5.00 to, the crazy man in the window who stood and stared at me while I ate lunch...Cyril, who walks around with his rake looking for work. I reach the end of the hall and the voice says "You are being sent back, to do it right this time."

Now, I am a newborn baby, naked and surrounded by thousands of other newborn babies all different nationalities, all suspended in air, warm and waiting. This time I am
black. I wake up.

I think again of Patty, she worked at Manna House, and helped acquire money to keep it running, she took care of others, in the way she knew how. I will try to live the bible verse "Love thy neighbor" better than before. I will not turn away, for I do not know the people who are being put before me each and every day and I need to be more conscious of their needs and less of mine.

reality again

After reviewing my last post, it struck me how petty my worries are. We do not live in a war torn country where my family would be in danger and freedom would not be word but a dream. I take for granted the clothes on my back, food, shelter and all the vanities that I require. One day in Egypt or the Arab world would bomb my ideas of what reality really is. I have a privileged life, it is better than I deserve,but it is mine - it is for this reason that I must wonder how I am spending it, what will I say to God? or as we say in the Episcopal Church, "what have I done or left undone?" Will I spend it playing tag and being "it" forever? Surely not, the stage is too large and I'm tired of running. Its time for a small stage with only one backdrop - is it possible?

Reality

Its a rainy Saturday. The kind of day that requires a good book or reflection. The first two months of the year have been quite busy, putting mother in an assisted care home, bringing another grandchild into the world and assisting her young mother, my daughter Catherine, with all the things that a new mom can't do on her own, without help. My new role in this stage of my life is - helper. It is all I can be as I have found that I can't be more than that. I want to do all and the reality is that I am not capable of it.

Reality is finding its way into all areas of my life these days - in my life as an artist, as a wife, as a mother, a daughter, a friend. The backdrop behind my stage is constantly going up and coming down, its half and half right now and looks in quite a mess as I see it. Is it an organized mess? Well, I suppose in some respect it is, but much like my dining room table right now, I seem to be the only one who knows what is going on. Sometimes.

As much as I would love to clean it up, my stage has to stay that way for a little longer, as with me; my life, my world, my existence. I don't have the time to sit and figure out where all my pieces are going and I loathe puzzles, despise them. I must take one role at a time and set that stage- play that role,and act the part (yes, acting is often required). I am looking forward to the day that I get to be part of the audience and watch someone else perform. Right now the reality is that I'm it, with the leading role and I'm not sure I'm ready for the next act.

Changes

Winter and memories, for some reason they go together. This season of winter is no different. Mother is moving into an assisted living home, needing more care than she can get with part time help. She has agreed to go. Yesterday I went to the house I grew up in with 2 brothers, one sister, dogs and two wonderful parents, to pack up some of mothers belongings. The house is so quiet, and so cold. I stood in her den where she sits and what used to be my bedroom, looking out the same window I used to stare out while lying in bed watching the radio tower light make its loop. Nothing is the same now. Mother will not return to the house to help select what I will bring to her, she does not want to see it, she wants to remember it as it was. She is so much stronger than me, she understands changes for better or worse. I pray this change is for better. But I cry when I think of some of the changes that face our family as we make this move with mother. It hurts my heart. I don't want to give up all that was, but the memories. I want to be a little girl again dressing to go out the door on another winter day to play with the Nelsons down the street and feed the
goat that lived right next door and see Papa smoking that horrible pipe and mother snaping at him because he plays too much golf, but getting a glimpse of them kissing in the breakfast room later on. I want to hear the sounds of all of us fussing and playing and eating on the door that papa turned into a breakfast room table so there would be enough room for everyone to sit. I want to hear Mother playing the piano for Papa to practice and then to hear her play Moonlight Sonata for herself. To hear her say just one more time that she had a degree in music from Ole Miss and therefore she had the right to refuse to vaccum. I think I'll call her right now and get her to tell me that so I can begin to feel better. sweet memories, sad changes.