It's That Day Again

We've come a long way from three Catholic martyrs to the mess I saw in Walmart (did you know they sell organic Sam's Club brand coffee?) on Sunday 

(not to mention the scary video from Vermont Teddy Bear), but...

Happy Valentine's Day anyway!

Here we will celebrate in the usual way, which is to say 'pretty quietly', also known as "not much". Sometimes at Mr Wonderful's former place of employment they'd sell flowers on V-day and he would bring some home. His gifts are generally met with concern and/or skepticism on my end. "Who drugged you? What did you do wrong? Please tell me these were free." One year I think he did the big dozen red long-stemmed thing, but I think I nipped it in the bud (heh, I am so funny!) early. 

I did celebrate, in a way. I bought myself a skein of yarn, which I am in the process of 

transforming into a gift (not for Mr. Wonderful. All that pink?). 

Yoshi approves. The yarn is Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock, and the color is called New Beginnings. It's the February Limited Edition color at Jimmy Beans Wool, and I may need more of it. I think if it was not for all of this wedding shopping, I'd get some more, because I love it. Love the color, and love the name. It is perfect for this project, which you're not going to see until it's done.

I remember when I was a kid I did not like this day. First, I had to sign all those cards and lick the nasty little sharp-edged envelopes, and then I had to have a box on my desk decorated for the day, and then at the end of the day we all were suppose to see what we'd gotten. I always felt horrible for the girls and boys who got only one or two cards, and so the next year I would begin obsessing early - what if no one in class loved ME this year? They always did, my box was always heavy enough to denote inclusion with 'the cool kids', but I never understood how I was really that different from the kids who got only one, or two. I sometimes wished I got none so those kids would not be so alone. It always made me very sad. I so hope they don't do this any more. When Ravelry did it and my inbox was crammed with them, I panicked and thought "Oh no. Somewhere out there, someone got NONE", and spent the whole day trying to send one back to everyone who'd sent one to me.

I was recently watching an interview about Richard Simmons, famous exercise and diet guru and all around charming celebrity - admit it, you love his sparkly tush, he makes you smile - and the woman being interviewed said, in effect, "Richard doesn't see size or color or gender. He just sees people."

So if we get to have wishes on Valentine's Day, and we should, right?  Here's mine: 

For Valentine's Day, I wish the whole wide world thought like Richard Simmons. 

Also after Valentine's Day, too.

(p.s. - no flower fields or workers were harmed in the production of the above flower. It's made from coffee filters, using the technique found at Wedding Bee. The filters are oxygen cleansed, meaning no chemical bleach or whitening agents were used in their production.)

We'll See

Most of the time when I sit down to write lately I end up talking about things that most people really don't want to hear about.

So today, since Jenn Kinzel of the Woolie Ewe says she misses me, I will post what I've done lately, and try not to be all "Oh, poor motherless me". It's a stretch. My birthday is coming up. Last night I had a dream that my mother asked for her summer clothes, and when I told her she was dead she said "Well. I changed my mind about that. Bring me my shorts..." and proceeded to go into a very detailed list of which shorts and which tops (including the one that I bought that was "...not exactly right, but would do"). If you knew her, you'd know that this conversation could very easily occur, exactly as stated above. "Oh. Well. I changed my mind about that."

But I digress...

Lots of what I have done lately is kind of crazy, really. Not a lot of design, that's for sure. I made a tiny quilt, which I decided I hated and promptly gave to Yoshi, who loves it.

I went on a doll clothing spree. Crocheted hat and sweater...

Knitted a dress...

Vest and top...

Mostly American Girl stuff (or in this case Madison from the Springfield Company who did not cost $100) but some baby doll as well. They're not all pictured here lest you think my cheese has truly slipped from my cracker.

And a crochet spree - hat, mittens, and a square from the scraps (??? No clue, but there it is. A square.)

Oh, and I stitched a London pigeon.

And then a dragon for Lillian at New Fortune, since this IS the Year of the Dragon after all, and my Dragon daughter is marrying a Dragon guy in the year of the Dragon, so I feel attached.

I went to Vogue Knitting Live! in New York, and had a ball. I went up to the marketplace only very briefly to see Ron and Theresa Miskin of The Buffalo Wool Co. (formerly Buffalo Gold). I just visited them for a bit. Big groups and moving crowds just were not where my head was at right then and I give myself permission to hide if I think I need to. Things moved really fast here between November and now, and it will take me a while to recover, and that's ok. But again, I digress. Anyway, Ron gave me some yarn, which I fell madly in love with. it's called Sexy, and was hand dyed by the folks at Koigu. And it is SO beautiful! I immediately designed a shawl,

 that sort of has become a wide scarf, and I knitted half of it, and I wrote it all down, and I even named it!

And I was totally on a roll, designing something! First thing "since"! And then... And then I got project ADD. So I knitted these baby pants, and then they needed a sweater to go with, so I started that and....

Most of the time I think I need a sample knitter. Just a simple slave, willing to knit for the sheer joy of it.

I have also been very busy with Girl's wedding preparation things. Now, the wedding is not till fall, so you'd think I had scads of time. The truth is that the "best" venues and ceremony locations get snapped up pretty quickly, and things cost much more than I expected or remembered. As a result we are doing a lot of things on our own. Whoever it was at Vogue 2011 who mentioned the Off-Beat Bride website? You are my hero. This wedding is so DIY it's not even funny. Or at least right now, to me, with DIY wedding things covered half of the surfaces in my house, it doesn't feel very funny. No pictures yet, but I promise a big report after the fete. We must give Girl her privacy... to a point!

So that's it for me for now. Except this - Valentine's Day is right around the corner, and you know what looks great tied around a gift box, or draped around the neck, or a Shiba Inu? Birthday Girl, a crocheted flower chain available in my Ravelry shop for the low, low price of $1 (Shiba not included)!

On Closure (the beginnings of)

I had been feeling for a while like I needed the ashes to go to Maine. Thing is, I had kind of planned that a few people would come along with, and arranging it felt too complicated. Who can go on what day, and at what time, that sort of thing. And how do we all get up there, and do we stay or not stay? And should we go now, while it's cold, or wait until it's warm?

Yesterday, Saturday, I woke up feeling this pressure on me. It had to be NOW. I was anxious and snappish and cranky, and finally told Gene that I needed to just take them and get it done. I think I would have gone alone, but he offered to come along as driver and assistant. And off we went.

But Mom... you make ME share...

We brought along my comfort animal (we call him this because he is!). This was his longest car ride to date, and his first trip to the beach. My mother would have appreciated that he rode the whole way there on top of her ashes which were in between the front seats of the car. When we stopped for a break, Gene got himself "a snack" at McDonald's. There was some debate about who should have what part of the "snack". In the end, Yoshi only got a tiny tidbit.

I got a coffee. It's about all I will eat from McDonald's. Newman's Own, black. Iced in summer, hot in winter. When my mother was asking for frappes (caramel!) all the time I always got myself a coffee to be companionable while she sipped. It was ironic then that when we got to New Hampshire, Hampton Beach, I used my empty cup to tote ashes across the crowded beach. There were lots of people out with dogs and kids; life and activity all around. There was this lovely family playing touch football in the sand. Couples hand in hand, dogs chasing balls.

Convenient ash-hiding cup

But that really made it all the more perfect. We came here as a family when I was a kid, and on the last trip to Maine she had asked me to leave ashes here. And so I did. Being behind the camera was an excellent cover. I did not cry much here.

 Hampton Beach

I just waited for the ashes to wash out to sea, mingled with the sand.

Last bit

We headed north into Maine. First we stopped at Bob's Clam Hut in Kittery and split a clam platter, gluten and all. She would have liked that. She probably would have liked it better if I'd added on chowder, eaten the fries, and asked for extra tartar sauce, all washed down with Coke Classic. I went with six clams and one fry - enough to say I'd had it, but not enough to make me too horribly sick from the wheat I hoped. They do have gluten free options, but it is just not the same.

Then we headed to the coast. First we stopped at Long Sands beach. We stopped at the southern end of the beach where it's very rocky and there were no people. Again I used the camera as a shield, snapping away and keeping distant emotionally.

Long Sands

This was maybe my favorite spot for the ashes. They were quickly swept out to sea, the smaller bits dropping down between the rocks, which felt very organic and beautiful; the ashes blending with the foam. I think I would not mind if my kids brought me here when I am gone. We came here when they were small and camped at Camp Eaton. We played on these very rocks in the evening at low tide. But I digress.

Next we went to Nubble Light. By now I was over the whole coffee cup thing. There was too much left to fit in the cup, and this was where she really wanted the bulk of the ashes to go. I just grabbed the bag and went. We clamored on the rocks for a bit; Gene trying to get me to head further away from people, and me insisting that I be in front of the light and "who cares about the people, anyway". Guess who won?

Right where she wanted to be

Not having the camera with me here changed things. I couldn't manage camera, ashes in a bag, slippery rock and get any decent pictures, so I handed it off to Gene. I went from observer to mourner in a heartbeat. As the ashes fell from the bag and floated around me in a gray cloud, I felt the pain of loss and the relief of the absence of someone who has eaten up so very many moments of my life. Now, I feel free and clear and clean in a way I never have before. Sometimes I resent the loss of so many days and years of my life; particularly the ones when I was very small. I wonder what I would be like if she had been more stable. Would I trust people more? Would I be more open with others?  Probably. Other times I realize that if she had died earlier I would not be who I am today. And that would be a loss in its own way.

She's in there

I put her exactly where I'd planned since our last visit, in a crevice that faces the light. She approved this last fall when I took pictures down here and showed them to her.

Here, I cried. I sat with Gene for a bit up against a rock and just was sad for a bit. This place is changed for me now. I don't know how that will affect me in the future, but then every pebble that drops in our life makes ripples, and this was really more like a big rock being dumped on one of my favorite places.

Then we took Yoshi up for his portrait. This is a tradition that really began with my kids and extended to Kioshi and now Yoshi as well.  He is most handsome. We met a few other dogs here, and he played nicely but not a lot - no fences, so no racing and running and jumping. He makes friends easily.

Tradition

Today I am sore which I think is from the gluten, and tired, but I feel a bit of healing. Less raw, I think, and definitely liberated in some new way. I wrote a lot the other day, and I will write more in the future; the things she wanted me to write about her life and about mine. In the end, when her own acceptance of her mental health issues became more real to her, she was adamant that I get it down. And I will.

She's in my car...

But for now the big question - do I vacuum? Or just pretend it never happened and leave her there?

I feel

There are words coming, and I actually think they may be about knitting and stuff. Wild. Stay tuned. It could totally happen, I could totally blog something!

At Peace

I don't have a lot of space in me for words right now, so this will need to do. They are my mother's words, the obituary she wrote for herself nearly a year ago:

Priscilla Avery Morgan, 68, of Greenfield died Sunday, November 13, 2011 at Charlene Manor Extended Care Facility after a long illness. Priscilla was the daughter of James and Eleanor Avery. She grew up in Leyden and Greenfield. She attended Greenfield schools. For many years Priscilla worked at Crocker Communications and The Franklin Medical Center as a switchboard operator, both jobs she enjoyed very much and took great pride in.

 She is survived by her daughter, Melissa Morgan-Oakes and her husband Gene Oakes of Bernardston; a grandson, PFC Daniel Adams and his wife Sarah of El Paso, Texas; a granddaughter Megan Oakes; a very beloved great-granddaughter, April Ann Adams of El Paso; two sisters, Patricia Haselton of Swanzey, NH and Prudence Carnahan of Greenfield, and several nieces. A brother, Francis Avery pre-deceased her.

At the request of the deceased there will be no services. Disposition of her remains will be at the discretion of the family. In lieu of flowers, it is asked that donations be made to Hospice of Franklin County; 329 Conway Street; Suite 2; Greenfield, MA 01301 and the activities fund at Charlene Manor; 130 Colrain Road; Greenfield, MA 01301.

The "long illness" was a lifetime battle with depression, suicidal ideation and borderline personality disorder. If you or someone you know struggles with suicidal thought, PLEASE CALL the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

I know, I said I'd be right back

I probably said I'd be positive too. I don't have it in me, sorry. But I do have some honest reflections of a trip I took a day ago.

Yesterday I took my mother to Maine and New Hampshire to visit places she has loved for most of her life. Places that hold memories, places I simultaneously hoped and feared would trigger something in her emotionally. They did not. I am further reminded of what her mental health diagnosis really means. She has what we in the biz call "flat affect" lately. No expression of emotion, positive or negative.

For me there was a lot of protective sarcasm laced through the day. I expected to be sad, and was almost surprised that I was not. But, like a good daughter of "a borderline", I took my emotional cues from the woman who gave birth to me and reared me, and saved the juicy crying and stomping parts for when I got home. I quipped to Gene via text about "the day in food" - excellent for the diabetic body - beginning with a large Strawberry Coolatta (with whip!) in Keene, then oysters, clams and fries, fish chowder, three tubs of tartar sauce, crackers, and a Diet Coke (of course!) from Bob's Clam Hut, and ending with a large Orange Julius bought at The Mall of New Hampshire.

In general the ocean was a place where my mother could be counted on to be mostly relaxed and at peace - rare in that she was for the most part emotionally consistent when we were there. As a result, I have only positive memories of time spent at the beaches of New Hampshire and southern Maine. Other places in my life are more conflicted. I think this makes my feelings about her decision to end her life more complicated as well.

Although I worked in long term care and spent a lot of time caring for people who were dying, and helping their families to come to terms with the terminal changes that were occurring in their loved ones state of being, when it is a close relative the balance shifts. I knew this, and expected it, but knowing and experiencing are two very different things. You find yourself feeling and thinking all of the things you've allowed and encouraged others to express to you in the past. You try to give yourself the same permission you gave resident's family members to be angry, hurt, scared, etc. Some days this is more effective than others.

Because there was technically "nothing wrong with her" when she stopped taking her meds and started refusing treatment this is a slightly more perilous and painful journey for her family and friends than it might otherwise have been. Knowing that it is a choice - and now, with the dramatic changes in her medical status as a result of those refusals it seems a slightly more logical one - makes it difficult to comprehend. Her sisters struggle with it, one admitting that she just cannot deal with the concept, and the other an expert in belligerent denial. My kids struggle too in their own very separate ways - ironically much like their great aunts; one denies, the other grumbles. My father, my mother's nieces and close friends; everyone is confused, hurt, angry, sad - some or all of the above.

Some of us know the whole truth and understand how much of what she has said to us has been manipulative or attention seeking. Others don't, and for them I think it may be easier in a way. You can deflect the anger onto others if you don't understand who and what she is at her core. You can say "How sad that she is all alone and abandoned!" when the truth is so far from that sad little world she has created.
I, most of the time so far anyway, am sad. But there are stages to this process, and I will hit them all in the end. Thank God. It means I am healthy and normal.

The rest of her chosen path is before her. She moves toward an ending, or what she hopes will be an ending. I could analyze the spiritual side of suicide, passive or otherwise, based on her religious beliefs, but that hurts my head too much. I move toward something unknown and undesired - a future in which I live with the knowledge that my mother killed herself.

In a while - months, years, who knows when death will take her - I will retrace the path I followed yesterday. It is not likely to be soon. Her body has proven to be much stronger than anyone could have anticipated. I will, I hope, be accompanied by people I love and who love me. We will stop along the way and I will plunge my hands deep into a box of ashes and spread them as I have been asked to at all of these places she says she loved so much. I expect it will be painful but cathartic. I pray that it heals some wounds of mine and of others around me and around her. I pray that she has peace in the end; a peace she has struggled to find in her life but has never quite been able to achieve. I pray that in her eventual death there is meaning, some kind of meaning, for the people she leaves behind. Mostly I pray that when the time comes, it is quick and without pain. For her. I know it won't be for the rest of us.

Well, that WAS an absence, wasn't it?

Hopefully I can get more regular in the old blog entries. Just don't expect it to be consistent, or knitting related all the time. Beginning today. If you're looking for an upbeat happy little yarn post, forget it. Soon, though, honest!

It is summertime. Gerbil and Girl are engaged to be married, which makes me so very happy. By next September, all four kids will be married. My how life flies by!

Everything around here is alive and growing, and some days I take a moment to look.

The garden is completely overgrown, and the house is an unmitigated disaster. Oddly, the result of this is that we have a huge number of tomatoes about to turn red, and enough dog hair to spin, once I sweep it all into bags.

The ducklings are growing and the turkeys now gobble. We've thinned down the layers, getting rid of some lazy girls and some boys big enough to eat and five ridiculously noisy Guinea Fowl. They are very tasty, moreso if you sit in relative peace and quiet on the deck while eating them!

But mostly, I am a bit low of late, waiting for my mother to die, or really still adapting to the idea that she's chosen to die. It's a harder thing than I expected in some ways. I try not to let myself rationalize it. It isn't rational and that alone could drive me bonkers trying to sort out. I have been very internal, and am just now staring to be more external again.

I went to the beach with an old friend and laid in the sand and ate lobster and steamers. I met up with my first boyfriend and shared old times and pictures and reconnected not in the old way, but in a new way, as friends. I've been turning to the past to help figure out the future and make sense of the present. Old friends, people who've known me since long before I wrote a book, people who knew me when I occasionally had orange cheese and cable television in my house, are the people who remember that my mother has always been "like this", and I find comfort in that.

Trying to decide how to "handle" this situation is difficult and fraught with pitfalls. If I do too much, I am giving in to the insatiable demands of a person whose mental health diagnosis makes her impossible to please, and in some ways makes her demand more.

Doing nothing leaves me feeling as if I should do SOMETHING, I should try harder. So I walk a fine line. I do enough to ensure that I feel like I've done as much as I could, but not so much that I give in to every whim and demand. Some days I say no. Some days I say yes. Some things I run to the store and fetch. Some things I say she doesn't really need right now. It's like parenting. I know we all meet a moment in our lives when the parent becomes the parented, and that's a normal part of life. In my case, I have been parenting this person for most, even all, of my life. I was reared by her to believe I was responsible for her comfort, for her emotions.

It's part of growing up with, living with, and caring for a person who has Borderline Personality Disorder. When you are an adult, you can separate yourself from a person who is manipulative or who is hurting you. When you are a child, and that person is one of your parents, you don't have a choice. You are not old enough to separate. You see yourself as an extension of the parent. As an adult, you can make choices to limit the damage that person does in your life, but there's always that residual feeling of responsibility. It isn't an easy row to hoe, and not one I would wish on anyone.

It is natural for me to feel responsible for others, and regardless of how that came to be, it is the way it is now. Over 40 I can look at it with different eyes, and make the healthiest choices I can possibly make for myself. Imperfect, but the best I can do for now. The good news is that even as a tween and young teen I knew the relationship was wrong. I really believe that helps now. it's not as if I one day woke and said "Gee, this is not good at ALL!" Instead, I always knew in my gut that most of the things she did and said to me were wrong, and unacceptable. I even related that on at least one occasion to "trusted adults" at a school I was attending. I was told that if it was really as bad as I said it was, I wouldn't have said anything, because truly abused kids never tell. I wish I could confront the adult who said that to me. I don't think she has any clue how much damage that statement did or how much shame it caused me. But I digress (into self-pity, just for a moment, for little 12 year old MMO, the poor kid!).

My mother is an astonishing person in one way. Her very existence given the present circumstances amazes me and many of those who care for her. No insulin for months. A diet that makes the standard American one look a little low in the carbs and refined sugars department. Refusal of all medications for all of her varied medical conditions. She's now limiting her fluid intake to sugar-based fluids only, and is trying to limit the quantity; orange juice, Coke Classic, ginger ale. Her blood sugar is through the roof. She has chronic infections of varying kinds. She has difficulty walking and talking. And yet she is still alive, against her will and wishes, she is alive.

Yoshi goes to visit regularly. The residents love him. He is very good around wheelchairs and in the elevator now. he can walk between closely-parked carts of varying size and shape without batting an eye.

Because he is JUST that perfect.

I am working on two projects for two people's books, which means that I will only be able to share swatches and snippets, but I hope to do that soon, now that you're caught up on most of the crappy stuff! ;) More soon!