Finish Line

Here we are, on the 31st of May and this is my 31st post of the month. By my unofficial blogathon-record-keeping that makes me an official runner and not a water-girl. Imagine that.

It's been quite a month in some respects and quite ordinary in others. Spring finally came and has started sliding slowly into summer. Work is busier as it is this time every year. Dave is busier too, as the summer travelers descend upon us. The garden has taken a lot of time...but it's good to be outside and occupied and to go to bed most nights genuinely and honestly tired.

I've spent more time really talking to people this month and am grateful beyond measure for the good, true friends in my life. Even though most of you are far away, you remain as close as my keyboard and my cellphone and I am lucky to have you in my life. And, I've spent more time - some every day! - writing, which is probably the best gift I could have given to myself. Special thanks to are due to my friend Sue for the nudge that finally worked and to dearest, darling Lisa (Happy Birthday, honey!) for being my Tag-along Blogathon Buddy.

I intend to keep this up. Maybe not every day, but most days...just because I like being here and I like knowing that you're all out there. I'm learning new things every day - about the world and about you and about myself. And those are all good things, yes?

To close out the month, here are some pictures of how the garden looks today:

Garden from the front

Garden from the side (note how the cucumber has escaped!)

Garden - Right Side (I really love that frog.)

Garden from the middle


Garden - Left Side

And also, a picture of Mojo, who loves being outside almost as much as I do. He's a good dog.

Noise In My Head

Some days, there is a lot of noise in my head. It's there when I wake up - a low buzzing chatter of 'what ifs' and 'if onlys' and 'whys.' The noise can be deafening and also crippling. I've found there are only two ways to deal with it: constant motion or surrender. To surrender to the noise is to spend the whole day in my pajamas, curled up and alternately crying and sleeping. I do this occasionally and think it helps keep me sane. Today was not about surrender, but motion, and I am tired.

I slept for twelve hours last night and woke with that buzzing in my head. I made coffee and went out to inspect the garden. Not nearly enough work to do there these days...the garden has reached the 'watch and wait' stage. So, instead, I starting moving. I grabbed my mom and we headed downtown. The original plan was bagels and the library. I missed the turn to the bagel place about the same I remembered the new Farmers' Market in The Big Park downtown. So we revised our plan (okay, I revised and Mom - who's very good at going along for the ride - said okay) and headed there instead. The market was small but had a great assortment of vegetables and plants, mostly organic, and the marvelous egg-farmers I met at the GreenFest a few weeks ago were there. I bought a few tomatoes, a bibb lettuce plant to add to the garden and some patty-pan squash which I've heard of but never seen before and they are fun-looking, like flying saucers:



Then we hit the coffee shop at the edge of the park. The Sentient Bean may be the best-named coffee shop ever, particularly since it is also a totally organic vegetarian cafe. Also it's local and they display art from the local art school and have a diverse clientele and it's just all around a better experience than going to Starbucks. Mind, I love Starbucks, but Starbucks is the Disneyland of coffeehouses - too smooth around the edges and I wish I lived closer to the Sentient Bean because I would hang out there on the funky purple sofas and watch people and write more.

After coffee, we scooted back up the street to the library. I found several books about kitchen gardens (always good to read up AFTER you've begun a project, yes?), a good bird-guide for Dave, Christopher Moore's Fool and a couple of Haven Kimmel novels. (I've never read any Kimmel but I am inclined toward liking her work). Mom found some books she liked too, and you cannot ask for much more out of a library trip than that.

I took mom home after the library but I didn't stop moving for long. Home to stash the vegetables and books and then back out to the salon where I got a new, much shorter do. I like it...no pictures yet, though. Then an early supper with Dave, a short exploration of the fancy-pants nursery on the corner across from the restaurant, back to mom's to show off the hair and then home.

My sister, Stephi, came by - which is always nice - and then a little later Anna and Jack and the Parental Units brought their dog to visit Mojo. And on and on and on...until I finally sat down to write this. I'm finally tired enough to sleep, I think. I hope it will be quieter tomorrow.

Family Portraits

Tonight, it's pictures again.

Christmas, 1989

Noon Day Baptist Church, Swainsboro, GA
Harbuck Family Reunion, 1990

Britt's High School Graduation - Effingham County High School - May 21, 2004

The Antidote to Feh

In the last couple of days I've been doing a lot of thinking about what it means to be the mother of a gay child. Musing a lot about the obligations and responsibilities inherent therein, above and beyond the already overwhelming ones that come with with motherhood in general. And the magnification of those obligations and responsibilities now that my girl is gone and cannot speak for herself. It's a lot to get a handle on and when I posted on Tuesday about my disappointment in the California Supreme Court's decision in the Prop 8 case I was feeling more than a little discouraged.

The two days since have been a little bit of a marvelous discovery, though, and also uplifting. First, there's been the response of my nearest and dearest friends. All predictably - but not inconsequentially - supportive of equal rights for the GLBT community. I am fortunate to be surrounded with their love. Second, there has been the willingness of people to discuss the issue and voice their support in some very public spaces: here and at Facebook and at work. And there has also been a lot of wonderful writing on the subject and I rejoice, once again, to be living in the Information Age, where words can travel around the world in an instant and access to them is unfettered by time or location.

The Atlanta Journal Constitution emailed me a news update that was actually NEWS (rather than celebrity gossip or sports statistics) for once: Two of the three major candidates for Mayor in Atlanta unequivocally support the right of gays to marry. The third openly supports 'civil unions' (I'm pretty sure we've tried 'separate-but-equal' before and it didn't work...) but his past comments and actions suggest he personally supports gay marriage but hasn't quite worked out being comfortable saying so on the campaign trail. That's pretty huge for Georgia and I am very pleased. Salon and the SF Chronicle have, of course, had some excellent columns. But the best thing I've read yet is this blog post by author Haven Kimmel.

I encourage you all to read it, especially and particularly those of you I haven't heard from or talked with. Because this isn't about religion, or what you think about homosexuality. It not about what you fear or don't understand. It's about civil rights. Plain and simple. Yours and mine and Britt's.

Think about it.

New Things

This has been a month for trying new things. In addition to the vegetable garden (which is revisiting an old but good thing), I am growing herbs. I am excited about roasting chickens seasoned with my own rosemary and thyme. I am looking forward to bolognese made with the oregano I am growing (and that smells just like Nana, really). Also, I made pesto.

I grew the basil and then I harvested the basil and then I turned it into pesto. All by myself. With email help from Lisa, of course, but she's in the Bronx..not here...and I think that qualifies as mostly by myself. I was smart enough to email her before I started, and I thought of that myself. Or, as Britt used to say, bymyownself.

This is the bowl of basil leaves, after the harvest:
And this is the finished product...yum!


This is the basil plant (sharing its pot with the parsley), after the harvest. Also, after I moved it out of reach of the encroaching cucumber plant.

Feh.

Today I find my disgusted with the entire state of California. Exemptions are granted, of course, to the handful of people I know and love there. Also to the turtles at a particular pond in GG park, because I love them, too, even if they are not quite evolved enough to love me back. All the rest of it is on My List.

The reason, of course, is the decision the California State Supreme Court announced today in which they declined to overturn Proposition 8. They also declined to invalidate the 18K marriages that took place among Gay & Lesbian couples during the short period of time during which equal protection under was actually recognized in California (for which I applaud them, even as I consign them to My List), and thereby paved the way for another referendum/ballot intiative/vote on whether or not California - like so many other state in this country - will continue to deny the rights guaranteed by the 14th Amendment to a portion of its citizens.

Britt did not live long enough to see her country rise above this bigotry. She died knowing that there were people in her own family who thought she was good enough to be in their weddings...but not good enough to deserve one of her own. In her memory, and because I know it's the Right Thing to do, I'll continue to support equality for all Americans. I hope I live long enough to see it.

Memorial Day

I never know what to do with myself on these sorts of holidays. Though I love everything about cookouts, my family are not really 'backyard cookout' sorts. We don't have a Memorial Day parade here in Savannah (why is that? are we not sufficiently recovered from St. Paddy's Day?) and I don't live in an actual neighborhood, so there weren't any block parties to wander to or neighbors' porches to hang out on. An extra day off work (a holiday my company actually recognizes!) and nothing special to do with it.

So, I puttered around the yard some, cleaning up the debris from the rain. I puttered in the garden some, finding new things for the cukes to climb on and moving the pot that holds the basil and the parsley out of reach of the cukes. I inspected the rose bush and cut a few dying fronds off the small palm out front. And, I harvested basil and made pesto from my own garden. (That's a special excitement that involved a lot of Googling and a few emails to Lisa.)

I hung out with Dave a lot and- of course - stayed up too late. Tomorrow, it's back to work.

Under Water

Britt loved a good storm. Long ones, short ones, violent ones, quiet ones. It's been raining for almost two weeks and though it's starting to make me a little nuts, she'd be loving it. Not that she didn't love the sun, mind...being on the beach or in the river on a sunny day was one of her favorite things. But, seriously...she would have loved these puddles.

Cousin

Britt has a lot of cousins. There are a cool dozen of them and she loved each one of them* in the way that perhaps only an only child can. But, though she had so many cousins, she had only one Cousin.

Cousin was what she called my nephew Christopher. Christopher is nine months older than Britt and for years they were inseparable. They went to school together, played together, and got in trouble together. And when she died, his heart broke right along with ours. The years since have been hard for him.

Today, I spent a few hours editing Cousin's college application essay and talking to him about his plans for the future. Britt would love the idea of him off at college...of him making plans. I love it, too.

*Britt never met her littlest cousin, Jack, but she would have loved him to pieces.

Memories

Sometimes, a picture (or five) really is worth a thousand words.

This Is The Story

Today's post is brought to you by my friend, Lisa, normally found over at Mappa Mundi. The rules say we have to blog every day...but they don't say where!

This is the story of how Debi and I got to be friends. We met for the first time when I came down to Savannah for her wedding, which I realize is kind of an odd order to proceed in – usually you're friends with someone first and THEN eventually you go to her wedding.

We knew each other online in a casual way for a couple of years through Readerville. We had corresponded, but I don't think either of us could have picked the other out of a lineup. Still, when she put out the informal invitation, something called to me. That year I was single after a long spell of being attached and I was rolling in the freedom, the feeling that I could go wherever I wanted and do whatever struck my fancy, and that after a long stretch of child rearing the child in question was not only old enough to fend for himself for a long weekend but take care of the dog as well. I was ripe for an adventure.

And since I had no money, that expanded the definition of adventure because it meant… ROAD TRIP! I don’t even remember how the details got worked out. The whole thing snowballed, and suddenly I had plans to meet up with friends in Philly and drive down to Savannah from there, and hook up with a fourth friend who was flying down from Massachusetts and who had enough Marriott points for a free luxury suite. I could wear stockings with seams and maybe have a fling. It just sounded like fun: that was enough. I made her a marzipan wedding cake topper. I made a road trip cd. I was set to connect.

When I cut out of work that Thursday evening a blizzard was brewing, and took a bit too much time at the post office mailing off a package of books to a guy I liked. By the time I hit the road it was snowing like crazy, and I can honestly say that ride down the New Jersey Turnpike was the scariest drive of my life. I played the road trip cd nonstop for the entire 2½ hours it took me to get to Philadelphia, singing along the whole time, much of it in a tiny, quavery, scared voice.

But I made it, and we hit the road early the next morning and sailed down the eastern seaboard. I had driving amnesty for most of the day because of my horrible trip the night before, and I sat in the back seat, joyously eating Cadbury Crème Eggs and feeling really pleased with the world.

We hit Savannah sometime after dark and met up with Debi’s party, and there was no drama, no heavenly chorus. We’d all had internet friends before and eventually gotten together with them face-to-face, and we were all, as I remember, pretty blasé about it. The first time I ever met an online friend in the flesh we had to make the requisite jokes about axe murderers and crazy stalkers and all that, even though we knew we were both normal as could be. But by 2005, sitting in a smoky bar in Savannah, where I’d never been before, talking to a bunch of people I considered friends but had never seen before, it felt normal.

And I think that normalcy is what cemented things for us. We didn’t have to waste time fussing around with axe-murderer jokes. There was nothing strange about meeting Debi’s family – her mama, her wonderful Nana, and Britt. Looking beautiful in her robin’s-egg blue dress, with her tattoo and her irrepressible smile – in retrospect, I’m just thunderstruck with thanks that I got to a chance to talk and laugh with Britt on such a bright, happy day. In retrospect, what was great about all of it – and why I think Debi and I are friends now – is because it was all rolled up into a solid ball of slightly sweeter-than-usual averageness. A special day, but at the same time it’s just what we DID, out of a freeform desire to have adventures and make friends and have some stories to tell.

So when things did get very bad, we had that bridge – a combination of unexceptional motivations and at the same time, that desire to connect.

And here we are. These are funny times. We have the tools to relate deeply and at the same time to hold each other at arms’ length, our choice. Me, I’ve done a lot of connecting. I didn’t have a fling at Debi’s wedding but now I’m living with the guy I mailed those books to, and it’s probably a good thing that none of us know the future. It’s definitely a good thing when we take the chances we’re offered. That’s all it is, really – taking chances. That leap of faith. Going on a crazy road trip to somebody’s wedding, laughing with her daughter, driving home again. And here we are.

(I don't have a picture of us either! We need to get together and fix that.)

Fearless

My friend Lisa and I were talking about bugs earlier (we're odd that way) and it made me think about all the times that Britt, who was my self-appointed bug killer, dispatched large - and sometimes flying - creepy-crawlies that had made their way into our house. That made me think of all the many ways in which Britt really was fearless...in ways that sometimes scared me when she was young and that I learned to admire as she grew older. Those thoughts, in turn, reminded me of a conversation I had last month with one of her professors (who has become a cherished friend) about some of the ways in which the experience of losing has changed me.

One of the biggest changes is the absence of run-of-the-mill anxiety in my life. About 12 years ago (give or take a few years...time is so fuzzy these days) I was robbed at gun point right in front of my house. A horrible experience all the way around that left me with intermittent panic attacks and a random free-floating fear of almost anything. Being alone, strange places, strange people, new situations, large crowds, being out after dark...you name it. I was just afraid all the time. These days, not so much. But I never really thought about it until last month when I went up to Statesboro to have lunch with Laura. Our conversation was somewhat disjointed - we see each other rarely and tend to hop from subject to subject, trying to say everything all at once - but at some point she mentioned getting nervous about something and I heard myself tell her "That doesn't happen to me any more. After all...what could possibly happen to me that could be worse?"

Ever since, I've been turning that over in my head. How should you live a life when the worst possible thing that could happen has already happened and you're still standing? What might be possible when you really do know that you can survive the worst possible thing? And what obligations come with that? It's a lot to ponder and I welcome your thoughts.

One other thing: I mentioned earlier in the month that I was jumping on my friend Sue's coat-tails this month and unofficially joining her blog-a-thon by committing to posting once a day during May. My friend Lisa, who posts over at Mappa Mundi, is coat-tailing with me. Sue's post for today alerted us to the blog-a-thon's 'Guest Blogger Day' tomorrow and Lisa graciously invited me to swap with her. So I'll be posting at Lisa's place and she'll be posting here. I hope you'll visit both and say hello.

More Gardening

Today was one of those days. One of those took-everything-I-had days. So, in lieu of anything deep or pithy, here are the shots of the garden today. (Yes, I take pictures of the garden every day. Doesn't everyone?)

This is the first beginning eggplant - Britt would say 'eggplant in training.' Look at the beautiful color on the backs of those leaves.

These tomatoes are destined for caprese-land.

Future squash...

The tiniest hint of a bell pepper:

And, an extremely rare shot of Mojo, being still. (Mo is part Border Collie and part German Shepherd. Stillness in not in his genes.)

Twenty Questions...Or Even Just One?

Lots of people read this blog. Not I'm-gonna-get-a-book-deal lots, but way more than ever post responses. I know this because you write to me about a particular post or I start to tell you something and you say 'I know...I saw that on your blog.' Which is fine, better than fine - it's great. I know you're out there and you know I'm over here and it is, as Britt would say, all good.

But, still, I'm over here sometimes wondering what it is you're not saying. What it is you're thinking about all these words I'm throwing out there. Is there something you want to know that I haven't talked about? If we call it 'free pass' day, is there something you want to say? I'd really love to hear. So, I'll make you a deal: if you can be brave enough to ask the question, I'll be brave enough to answer it. Or if want to tell me what it's like to live over there with me over here...go ahead. I'm all ears.

Anyone? Bueller?

And, because I've become addicted to posting pictures on the blog, here's a picture of Britt's 6th birthday party. She lived her whole life this way...surrounded by people she loved who loved her, too.

Tantrum In My Head

Here's something you might have guessed: some days, I am very angry. Pissed off, perturbed beyond all reason, beyond annoyed with absolutely every one and every thing. Inside my head, I am a three year-old in full blown tantrum mode and I want to scream and hurl myself to the floor and kick things. I want to say out loud all the angry, hurtful, hateful things I am thinking and smash things into a million little pieces.

Of course, I don't do any of those things. I get snappy and snippy and start fights with Dave over what's for dinner or the current temperature of the air indoors as opposed the air outside. I mow the grass at a breakneck speed in the face of an approaching storm and ponder, abstractly, the odds of being struck by lightning. I do laundry until there isn't a single thing left in the house that needs washing. Then I wash things that aren't dirty. And I cry. A lot. Because it has to come out somehow and that full blown tantrum isn't going to cut it.

People will forgive a lot, I know. But there are lines that really cannot be crossed, words you cannot say because you can never unsay them, things you cannot put together after they've been broken; and so there are times, and places in my head, where I'll always be alone. And that is just one more thing that pisses me off.

On a cheerier note, here's a picture of Re-bar Chicken. I bought him at a roadside junk store about a dozen years ago. I saw him and just had to have him. Britt was the only person who ever understood the attraction. I miss how she really got me.

Best Laid Plans

I had given myself permission to make Saturday my Wordle day. So, I made a wordle...but I cannot make it show up here. It worked last week and now it won't. So, instead, you get more pictures of the garden, which is fine. This time in the vegetable garden was Britt's favorite: every day something new has happened. We have itty-bitty cucumbers; she would like that.

Modern-Day Dilemmas

Today I heard a bittersweet story about an old man and a digital picture frame. The old man in this story has early onset dementia and having pictures around helps him to remember faces he might otherwise forget. It also helps his caregivers to have a glimpse or several of the wonderful life he lived Before. So, in this very modern age, his daughters thought a digital picture frame would be a wonderful gift for him. Makes sense, yes? After all, space is limited in those assisted living places and there are only so many surfaces and so much wall space to accommodate frames. With a digital frame you can have hundreds of pictures...perfect. Only, not so much. One day, the daughters noticed that the old man had covered the picture frame with an article of clothing. Not one casually tossed, but one carefully placed to hide the pictures. When questioned, he explained that the picture frame made him uncomfortable. He'd look and see one picture and them look at it again and it was changed. And then changed again. He thought his mind was playing terrible tricks on him and he couldn't bear it.

I have one of those digital picture frames, too. I mostly love it. It was a present from Dave and he has loaded it with hundreds of pictures from the last last twenty-something years. It sits on my desk at work and every morning I boot up my computer and turn on my frame. Like most things that are there all the time it's mostly background after a year; like the pictures on my bookshelves and the framed certificates on my wall, I don't spend a whole lot of time just looking at it. But, every once in a while, I happen to glance over at it and am struck by the image on the screen. And every once in a while I am just felled by one and have to leave my office and go outside to the little smoking patio in the back and talk to the lab cats and collect myself. Like this one, of Britt crabbing on Kilkenny Creek. This one gets me every time.

Some Days, That's All You Get

Today, I am wiped out. Hintings and hauntings and trying to keep my wits about me. Some days are easier than others, but today was a hard one. So, while I take myself off to bed early, here's another picture for you. This is one of my favorite pictures of me and Britt:

What It's Like

I've been spending some time looking at old pictures lately, partly because it's something to do while I wait for the garden to need me and partly because pictures are a good way to remind me of the many things I want to say here. (Also, they make my posts look longer and give you something to do here if I'm babbling.)

This is a great picture:
It's Britt (second from left, for those of you who didn't know her when she was small) with her cousins, Chris, Bobby, and Megan. In case the giant mouse head on the lawn didn't clue you in, it was taken at Disney World where the cousins (and my sister Stephanie and I) had a grand time, marred only by the approximately three minutes that Megan - the youngest of the bunch - was lost. At Disney. The story had a happy ending (Megan's off at college preparing to be a doctor now) but anyone who's ever lost a child at the mall or the playground or in the house or at Disney knows what those three minutes were like. Panic. Fear. Dread. The overwhelming need to do something, to fix it, to make it right. The knowledge of the rightness of knowing that everything else must. stop. until this nightmare is over. The surge of adrenaline that makes you know you would do, could do anything...and then the crashing waves of relief when you see that tear-stained face, rushing towards you. You can breathe again and the anvil that was on your chest disappears and life. is. good.

Now, imagine - just for a moment - that the crashing wave of relief never comes. You will spend the rest of your life just inches from that place. Panic, fear, and dread live just below the surface of every minute of every day. And the world doesn't stop and the nightmare is never over but you have to find a way to breathe anyway. That's what it's like.

Riding the Wave

Not long ago, I was completely undone when I spotted a ladybug in my garden. My girl loved ladybugs and used to bring them to me whenever she found one so I could make a wish on it before she let it go. I never knew where she got the idea for making wishes on ladybugs. I asked her once when she was about eight and she just shrugged and said 'I've always known that.' It's been a long since I've paid close enough attention to spot something as small as a ladybug and that one took me by surprise and not in a good way. For the first time, though, the aftermath of a sneaker wave wasn't all bad. A lot of good memories came in on that tide. I think that's progress and to celebrate, I'd like to share the gift that David gave me for Mother's Day:


Take that, Wave. I'm learning to tread water.

Camping

Recently my friend Lisa mentioned camping and I realized how very long it's been since I slept outside. Back when Britt was young, she loved being a Girl Scout and we camped a lot. Her high school years didn't leave a lot of time for camping; she was busy singing and dancing and acting and writing. But the last time I talked to her, two days before she died, one of things we talked about was camping out on the dock of the new house I was moving into that day. Summer was coming and the time for sleeping out and laughing and talking into the night was nigh. It never came but I wish it had. She was an excellent camper.

Perfect Timing

In mid-April, as my least favorite time of the year hit with a vengeance, I threw myself into making a garden in the backyard. I broke sod, dug a plot, shopped for plants, and hauled mulch. I borrowed tools and robbed Peter to pay Home Depot. I raided my mom's yard for odds and ends and statuary that she's been holding on to for me for years.

This is where we started, four weeks ago on April 19th:

And this is where we are today:


Mother's Day is drawing to a close. This year, I did not scream at anyone except Dave (who understands and whose turn is coming); I did not hear from everyone I thought I would and I heard from a few people who surprised me in the best possible way (that happens every year on these hard days and I probably shouldn't keep that tally in my head but I do, and I probably shouldn't be surprised and disappointed each time, but I am).

Darling Anna and Jack came to visit me, courtesy of their parental-units; here they are, sitting on the coffee table with their beautiful mother:


Every one is at home now, and the planting is finished. After four weeks of spending every available minute of daylight working/digging/moving/sweating, there's nothing to do now but water when the rains are delayed and wait. Couldn't have worked out better if I'd planned it.

Mother's Day

If ever there's a day that's fraught with landmines and potential sneaker waves after you've lost a child it's this one. So far, this particular one has been pretty smooth. (It's early and I hope I haven't jinxed it.) I've been bustling about, catching up on the chores I've been neglecting while I've been obsessing over the vegetable garden and just letting the memories come as they will. One is especially sweet.

The year that Britt was seven she asked if she could throw a party for 'ALL the mommies' in her life. She invited me (I was flattered), both her grandmothers, my grandmother, and her aunts who lived in town. Everyone accepted and she was very excited about hosting her first grownup party. We had pastries and coffee and iced tea. There was lots of laughter (she graciously allowed her father to attend and eat some things but not some of everything because, after all, he was NOT a mommy). The best part, though, were the gifts, because she'd worked so hard on them and was so proud. She presented each of us with a strawberry pot filled with impatiens. Mine was larger than the others (flattered again), but they were all lovely and I was very proud of both her accomplishment and her sweetness.


Being Britt's mom is still the best gift ever. This pot was a pretty great one, too.

Lots of Words...But Random

My friend Sue over at A Life Divided had these cool Wordles on her page today, so I made one, too. I tried to make it bigger, but finally gave up. If you click on it, it's easier to read.