a few words for my grandma

My Grandma passed away last November. The amount of stress and work going on the past several months has meant that it's taken a bit longer for me and a some of my family members to process our grief. But I feel like I would be remiss without putting down a few words about Grandma and what she meant to me. 

I'm still a little stunned that she's gone at all; I think we all unconsciously felt that she would live to be a hundred. She was always able-bodied and mentally sharp. At my daughter's baptism in October, I remember noticing how put-together Grandma looked in her plum-colored peacoat. She just never seemed "old." If anyone aged gracefully, it was her. 

Grandma was a woman of great faith and integrity. She prayed and read her Bible constantly (my dad said the pages of her Bible were "fluffy" from so much reading), and she was always quick to serve and give. But she was never abrasive about her faith; it was something deep and authentic, quietly reinforced with action. Grandma sewed baby blankets and burp rags for charitable organizations; she volunteered at the polls; she served as church treasurer. And you could always call on her to bake a batch of her famous "Melting Moments" cookies. Grandma was a do-er.

She was a wonderful hostess and made feasts for dozens of people look easy. Holidays at Gramma and Grampa's always featured kids tearing around the house, uncles dozing, and everyone lounging around in a food coma. Gramma was good at making people feel at ease, and making sure we were full. She showed us grandkids the wonders of Kraft Mac n' Cheese with little smokeys, and I think we all owe her our love of butter. I remember Gramma joking, "I just need some bread to put my butter on!" Amen. 

Gramma had a great sense of humor, and was a wonderful storyteller. She remembered everything; dates, locations, people. Some of my favorite memories are of my dad making my Grandma laugh. She had a wonderful laugh.  

She was also generous, trustworthy and constant. My mom often told me that, with the loss of her own mom, Grandma made up for it. She and Grampa would drop everything to spend time with us. If we invited them to an event, or to share a meal, they would come. If they had something else going on, they'd cancel it. They were a regular part of my life, for my whole life. I realize, now, how rare that is, and how special.

Exactly two weeks before she passed away, Grandma had almost all the grandkids over for dinner. True to form, she sat down last to eat. I'm compelled to add that, at 81, she figured out how to make a gluten-free, egg-free, nut-free meal that all of us with our various food allergies could enjoy. (Enchiladas!) She was a little unsure about how it came together, but I was impressed. Even DG, eleven months old, ate the meal with gusto. 

We didn't know it would be the our last meal together, and we had a great time. I think Gramma would have wanted it that way. She never wanted to be in the spotlight. She loved to provide a means for her family to share a meal and enjoy each other's company. I think it was God's gift to all of us that she was able to do that once more. 

Grandma she gave me a million memories and a steadfast example of what it means to be a virtuous woman. I am blessed to carry that with me for the rest of my life. 

were it otherwise

The past few years have been so hard, but I think they've cultivated deeper empathy in me that wouldn't be there otherwise. I still have a long way to go, but I think I understand now why Rilke says:

Do not believe that he who seeks to comfort you lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good. His life has had much difficulty and sadness and remains far behind yours. Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find those words.

I need to remember this when others try to comfort me. Sometimes encouragement seems to come too easily and blithely, but I know that everyone has their own deep longings, suffering, and pain.

illustrator: isabelle arsenault

Love this French illustrator: Isabelle Arsenault.

I love her simple objects and creatures, as well as her creative scenes. Her application looks so effortless, yet every line and brushstroke is in exactly the right place.

illustrator: penelope dullaghan

Love her work: Penelope Dullaghan. These are a few selected pieces from her portfolio. Playful, earthy, fresh... love the line quality and color placement.

a pinhole of opportunity

"What if DG never sees me draw?" I thought the other day, with a pang. I got out the crayons. We colored a bit, drew some doggies, some kitties and a ball ("ba!"). I couldn't help noting that we needed better crayons, with richer colors. 

Old me would notice something like that. 

I hate that it is hitting me now, with a family and a day job, no stability or money and no clue of how this is going to pan out, but I think I'm ready to pursue illustration. 

Part of me thinks this is the way it has to be. I have less free time and more responsibilities than ever before. But I've also taken a bigger bite of that thing called human experience. Suffering, longing, sacrificing, giving, taking, losing. I think I have a better idea of what I want to say. 

I don't mean that I know what I'm doing. I fully admit that my plans are vague, hatched from inspiration, sleep deprivation, and a yearning for more than the status quo. I know I have a lot to do and I know the odds are stacked against me and that I'm not the greatest artist out there and I might not get anywhere. 

But I also know that I'm not using my gift. I've been waiting for my window of opportunity for too long. What if life is always way too hard, and there's never a window of opportunity? 

I guess I'm creating that window. Well, call it a pinhole for now.

mysterious wisdom

God in his mysterious wisdom decided that the mundane things would have a proportionately bigger presence in my life than the deeper, more profound things I yearn for. Why?

I think to myself, maybe He knows. Maybe God knows that I need that heavy lifting, life experience, and deep, deep tiredness to force something small but lovely and utterly true out of the heap of clutter I call my life.

a poem for today

J sent this to me today and I thought it was wonderful. Coincidentally, one of the few optimistic poems of Philip Larkin's:

On longer evenings,

Light, chill and yellow,

Bathes the serene

Foreheads of houses.

A thrush sings,

Laurel-surrounded

In the deep bare garden,

Its fresh-peeled voice

Astonishing the brickwork.

It will be spring soon,

It will be spring soon --

And I, whose childhood

Is a forgotten boredom,

Feel like a child

Who comes on a scene

Of adult reconciling,

And can understand nothing

But the unusual laughter,

And starts to be happy.

Philip Larkin, Coming

to be loved

I have been reading this book by Tim Keller with J called "The Meaning of Marriage" and it's one of the best books I've ever read. I can't really compare it to other books on marriage because I have never read any, but it's really good - because it's not just about marriage, but relationships and loving people. At the risk of being cheesy, I'm posting a quote which I found to be profoundly true:

“When over the years someone has seen you at your worst, and knows you with all your strengths and flaws, yet commits him- or herself to you wholly, it is a consummate experience. To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything. It liberates us from pretense, humbles us out of our self-righteousness, and fortifies us for any difficulty life can throw at us.” 

letting the year go

I have always preferred posting about what I'm thinking, rather than what I'm doing. Unfortunately, inside my head hasn't been a great place to explore lately. So we're kind of at an impasse, my mind and I.

I ponder and wait for the clouds to break. Hopefully I'll have more uplifting things to report, soon.

Violent Hope Is Real, collage, a surprisingly telling piece from college days