In Memorium

 Goodbye and farewell to 2021.

The literal death of the past calendar and the birth of a new. It has as much or as little weight as you want to give it. Death simply is. Change. It comes for us all. No one escapes death. One transition into another. One thing has to end in order for another to begin, and so 2021 rolls out, and here comes 2022. 

I have a pretty neutral feeling about death. I am fairly sure that being raised in a doomsday cult that teaches that when you die you just go to sleep is the main factor in my detachment to death. I love sleep! So I guess it's not like I am seeking it out tomorrow, but a forever nap does sound nice some days. But I also just think this death neutrality might also be attributed to my super practical Midwestern heritage.

Allow me to illustrate.

Exhibit A:
My grandma Vivien was old as long as I could remember. Your classic Midwest grandmother. She was floral polyester and doughy warm arms and white on top like a late season dandelion. Her voice was gravel and softness at the same time. Her specialty dish was white bread with butter on it. Did she make the bread? No, but she buttered it. And you can dip it in some kind of gravy. There will always be gravy. It will be brown, but taste like a hug. 

These are my grandparents. When I dream of them, this is who I see.
My grandpa and I have the same taste in slippers I see. 

Vivien is a good catholic. She has been raised on the edge of the plains during the great depression in Iowa.

She graduates high school and marries Francis. He is a good catholic too. 

Vivien and Francis are in the middle.
Her parents Hampton and Ida are on the left. 
His parents are on the right. Frank and Katie.

She lives her life on the plains of the Red River Valley as a wife and mother. She has ten kids and heaps of grandkids. In true catholic form, her last son is born after her oldest daughter has her first son. If you're following along at home, that means I have a cousin that is older than an uncle. Ooo wee! 

She doesn't have much, but she will always share it. 

Vivien is on the far left. Grandpa Francis the far right. That's his brother and his wife in the middle.

She was the grandma who lived far away. We only saw her once or twice a year, so she was my special far away grandma, but I didn't know much about her. 

Luckily, my dad is a great storyteller. For example, he once told the story about how she would get so frustrated. You see, they grew up in a small town. A very small town. Like, there were maybe 15 houses in the town? And when 90% of the child population lives in your house by birth, you naturally become the hangout, the meet up, and the general congregation point for the rest of the towns children. Needless to say, there were always kids around and not all of them were hers. Dad recalls once they were horsing around, probably wrestling on the couch that was broken and held up by a soup can on one end because of all the Lone Ranger reenactments that had happened on that sofa over the years and this one particular day she had HAD it!

"Stop acting like animals!" she hollered. Which was shocking because she didn't usually yell. But what happened next was even more shocking than yelling.

"How would you like it if I acted like that!?" she announced. Then she took her little bowling ball body and ran across the living room full tilt. Like she was a linebacker sent to crush a quarterback and no one was blocking her, and then she leaps in the air and does a half gainer and lands in the swivel side chair. It was athletic to be sure, but probably too forceful because she flipped the chair over and was left on her back like a turtle her little legs and feet flapping helplessly in the air. She had, as the old folks would say, "gone ass over tea kettle."

My father says all the jaws of his siblings hit the floor at the same as their mother. Shocked silence befell the hooligans for once. They were immobilized by what they'd just witnessed.

"HELP ME UP!" was stern utterance from behind the chair. The stunned children helped right the mother that they had clearly broken this day. But that wasn't going to be the only time they broke ma.

According to my father, the keeper of family lore, an oft repeated phrase from her was, "You kids are gonna send me to Fergus Falls!" You see the state mental hospital is in Fergus Falls Minnesota at the time, and it's not too far from their tiny town on the edge of the plains. 

Once and a while the kids know when they have pushed ma to the limit because she'll just quietly walk out of the house and down the road, and she'd just keep walking. 

As word would inevitably spread among the siblings that mom had hit the highway out of town the speculation among her offspring would begin.

"You think she's going to Fergus?"

"Probably, because of your dumb face."

"She's not going to Fergus!"

"How do you know?!"

"She didn't take any clothes with her. Or a suitcase. If she was really going she'd at least take her pajamas and her toothbrush."

"Nah, my friends cousin said they give you a toothbrush when you get there."

Years later they found out most often she just walked up the road to Mum Mcullum's house. Mum was just an older lady who didn't have kids and was British so she usually had tea on the stove and so grandma would sit with Mum and spend some time away from the hooligans destroying her couch.

This was not the lady I knew. My grandma was just soft. She never yelled. She smelled nice. For me she was only ever warm friendly patience, but that's probably because I wasn't drilling a broom handle into the ceiling like an animal.

I liked to snuggle with her while she read me the story about how there once was an old lady who swallowed a fly.

"I don't know why she swallowed a fly" it went.

"Perhaps she'll die?"

This for some reason was my favorite book. I don't know if it was the weird artwork, or the sing-song yet matter-of-fact way my grandma read it in that gravely honeyed voice, but I always requested that she read me that particular book and she always obliged.

Her husband, Francis, had died and it got her thinking about her own mortality I suppose, as it would. I have a distinct memory of going to her little senior living apartment one day some time after grandpa had died. I was maybe 8 or 9? For sure not double digits yet. She pulled me aside and in her soft but gravel voice she said, "I want you to pick out something you might like."

"Like?" I wasn't following.

My grandma said, "Well, when I am gone. Is there something of mine you would like? Maybe a candy dish, or this letter opener? Or a book?" My grandma didn't have much, but she wanted to make sure whatever I liked, I was sure to inherit. I didn't quite get it but as an opportunistic kid, I was just thinking, "Cool, grandma is giving me a present!"

And she was.

I looked around her small apartment, what would an 8-year-old want? I remember walking down her small hallway and seeing these little paintings that had metal gold frames around them. I fancied myself a bit of an art snob even back then and I thought these were the most priceless heirlooms in the whole joint, so I said, "I really like those", and pointed at the little portraits. 

She smiled broadly and said, "Ok, yes. Those are very nice. Let's put your name on them!" And she got a little sticky piece of tape and wrote my name in her shaky little print scrawl and we taped it to the back of the pictures and went back to the kitchen. Probably to eat some gravy. Or beans? For sure white bread though. 

Exhibit B:
This isn't a phenomenon exclusive to my family either. My best friend and I have always joked that her father is the same practical man. That there were many occasions where he would pull her aside solemnly and say, "This is probably worth something, so if I die, you make sure to come get it."

I laughed, picturing her father uttering that phrase in his thick Minnesotan accent.

Then one night when we were in our early 20's we stopped in to visit her folks. Her dad was very excited because they were going on a trip to do some snorkeling and he got a new underwater camera. He was extoling the many features of the camera, how the case was pressurized to so many feet so if it fell off the boat it may survive to a certain depth. I was nodding and impressed when he said it. The magic phrase, the one she'd told me he was prone to speaking. 

"This is probably worth something, so if I die, make sure to come and get it"

I almost choked on my pork chop, but there it was. The stalwart practicality of it all. It was a real nice camera.

Back to Exhibit A - My Grandma Passes
My grandma ends up living several more years after my grandpa passed. I am a teenager when she finally passes away. I didn't get to see her before she died. We knew she was failing in health and in the hospital, but I was in the school play. I have a performance. Plus, I am working at the local gas station. If after my shift, I can get away I might be able to drive up...but she passes. I didn't get to say goodbye. I have regret. My part in the play was literally one line, I didn't need to be there, anyone could have covered my shift at the gas station, but I thought there would be more time. I have regret.

I go to her funeral, and it's weird. She's in her coffin, but it doesn't look like her. She's not there anymore. I don't know where she is, but this isn't really her.

At the funeral, there is some incense, I don't like how it smells. This is one of the few times I have been in a catholic church. It is wild to me. So different from a kingdom hall. So ornate and dramatic. I secretly love the theatricality of it all. I have been told the catholic church is Babylon the great, so I am pretty sure I am getting a one time pass to be here from God because it's my grandma, but I am a little twitchy because it would be just my luck that Armageddon happens while I am in the belly of THE BEAST. Thankful the end of days was not happening that day.

We have these amazing scalloped potatoes in the church hall afterwards. All the things that people say about Midwest funeral food is true. It's potluck heaven. It's the bland balm your soul needs to deal with the fact that your very bland grandmother who found ketchup to be a bit on the spicy side is no longer with us and you know you're going to miss her. Oh, and those little dollar rolls with butter on them. She'd have loved that. Cream of something soup is the blood that courses through all our veins in times of tragedy.

After the funeral we gather back at the tiny apartment she lived in. All the grandkids get a quilt. She made "crazy quilts" of old scrap fabric and there are enough of them that we all get one. I pick out a silver teapot to keep, and my aunt Mary hands me these little gold pictures.

Sophistication

I had forgotten all those years ago that we had even had that conversation, but the memory flashes back to me as I flip them over and see my name in her handwriting.

"She must have wanted you to have these your name was on them. She labeled a lot of things for everyone."

I smile. They are priceless. These paper and metal portraits. They are the most expensive thing I own.

Exhibit C:
My parents have already pre-paid their cremation plans. They already have their little boxes for their ashes in the closet. My mom bought some stickers with gold foil like the kind you'd have on a mailbox with their initials on each of their boxes. I appreciate the forethought, because as a libra I am mentally incapable of making decisions easily, so this is a huge relief to me. The practicality. 

Exhibit D:
When our geriatric cat started getting creakier, we saved a shoebox for him. Turns out a men's size 13 will fit a 10-pound domestic shorthair quite nicely. We were sad to see him go this fall, but glad he went before the ground froze. It's like we live in a goddamn Willa Cather novel.

In Conclusion...
I come by it honestly, this detached objectivity about the inevitability of death. Like I said, I am not looking forward to it, but I just like to be prepared.

And so don't be surprised that I have already started telling friends, "Do you like this?! You can have it once I die!" Who else is going to want my stuffed unicorn head? I also have a stuffed Dragon head. And a stuffed squirrel. Oh and I don't know if it matters but the squirrel is flipping the bird. There could be a fight over it, so speak up early for the good things. I don't know, but if you put your claim in now, I can put your name on it. Otherwise, there will be a hell of an estate sale. I am going to need a label maker. If you want that...I guess I can put your name on it...

2021 in many ways felt like it didn't even happen. Another whole calendar dropped off and it feels like it's still 2020, but it's already 2022 and I don't know how that happened. Another one slipped away, and I am grateful that I made it to this new calendar flip. Not everyone does.

Even Betty White. 

I have such a fondness for this woman who I have never met and yet feel like I knew her. What a joy and a treat she was. Betty was once asked if she'd ever re-marry,  after her husband died, and she said "Once you've had the best, who needs the rest?" Later she was asked what would she like God to say to her when she walked through the pearly gates, and White replied: "Hello Betty. Here's Allen."

I hope you're hugging Allen

We lost some tremendous people this year. Some of them you'll never have the pleasure of knowing, and that's a shame. 

My uncle Harold just passed a few weeks ago. His mom was Vivien. I really thought he'd get one last Christmas with his family, but cancer doesn't always work that way, and it's not fair. My dad got a call at 4pm that Harold was going to hospice and that he had 24-48 hours left, but that morning he left at 4 am. My dad didn't want to drive at night, he has bad eyes now - and I am glad he is cautious. But it meant he didn't get to say goodbye. I had to work. I didn't get to say goodbye. I have regret.

I also have so many fond memories. Uncle Harold to me was quiet, but always smiling. He had a deep soft voice, and big smile, and craggy hands from working so hard his whole life. He was one of the uncles who was always at the fishing opener. He loved to fish. He was my dad's older brother. The oldest brother to be exact. My dad knew a different guy in his younger years, but I will always remember the gentle voice and the large smile. He looked so much like my grandpa. 

If there is an afterlife, I hope the walleyes are biting
When I dream of my uncle Harold, this is how he will look to me

If you've lost anyone this year, I can't imagine how difficult that is, but I do know enough about grief to know that it can be very challenging. We're all doing our best. And I am here if anyone wants to talk. 

I love you all and remember this time of year is about reflection not only on what we've lost but also what we gained. I have plenty to be thankful for yet again. I found myself laughing more days than I cried, and on the days I did both it was truly a gift to be able to experience the gamut of human emotion, so on the whole...can't complain.

Gabe got a new job. It's in his same field but aligned with a cause he is truly passionate about, (ecological restoration) and I am so excited for him, but it will be a big change. Back in an office, back to commuting for a while. I love my big ape husband, but he loves change about as much as he loves picking up fossilized animal turds, which is to say, not so much. I know this change will be tough for him, but I am still so excited for him none the less. He will rock it because he always does. He has blossomed into a data unicorn and that is literally what they named their taskforce to find the person to fill this job: Operation Find the Data Unicorn Taskforce. I think he's a pretty special unicorn, and he's got plenty of experience dealing with unicorns living with me.

This time of year is also a chance to discard whatever doesn't serve us anymore. I've done plenty of purging and organizing in my house and it feels so good. 2020 and 2021 were pretty rough on me. I like my alone time and I am an introvert, but I really feel like I have been in a depression of a rut for the past few years and am just now clawing my way out. So for 2022 I guess I just want to keep sluffing off that which no longer fits me and what I want for myself...but man is that way harder to do than you would think. 

The other thing that's fun about this time of year is the chance to birth something new. Plant seeds of hope for the future. This spring we'll start planting our meadow. We've been visiting the arboretum and Gabe has been pouring over the internet studying about native plants. We decided this year to take the plunge and make our own meadow. This fall we killed the pointless turf grass and it will slowly turn to dirt over the winter. The roots of the turf breaking down into dust. This spring the turf will still be dead, but things will inevitably blown into the future meadow zone, so we'll have to spray again to kill the "winter weeds". Then a few weeks later, probably around Beltane we'll be able to sow our seeds. 

I CAN'T WAIT FOR ALL THE CRITTERS AND BUGS THAT ARE GOING TO BE IN MY MEADOW!

She won't be much to look at her first two years, but eventually I hope to have a little pocket meadow sanctuary and you're always welcome to come stop in and see her progress. I'll pull some cards if you want. We can sip some tea. It's things to look forward to.