Loving Blind

Every year I write a poem for our Christmas Eve get-together at Mom's.  Typically composed of bad puns and play-on-words that could at best be described as "a bit of a stretch," these holiday-themed ditties rely on questionable rhyming schemes and an ever-present pool of Turner mishaps. This year, however, I did a little something different. Remembering all the old tapes I found in Dad's barn office over the summer, I decided to make a compilation CD with songs from each of the tapes.  While the wonderful Terry Murphy took my handwritten playlist and magically turned it into a finished product (I still don't download music), I worked on an accompanying poem that served as this year's Christmas Eve reading.

The fact that I find most modern country lyrics to be about as kitschy as my holiday poems...and thus had an avenue of critiquing things like "country girl, shake it for me," was just an added bonus.
***

Luke Bryan is ridiculous.

Many clichés find home in the lyrics of country songs...

a plethora of American flags, rusted tailgates, and tragic "loves gone wrong;"

throw in some beer, maybe a football game or two and radio success is sure to follow,

with windows rolled down, drivers passionately mimic phrases that seem unfailingly hollow.

And, you know, maybe songs from our past were much the same,

simplified versions of small towns, chock full of double names.

Being part and parcel of our memories, however, they inevitably rank higher,

gaining significance as we subconsciously elevate them out of a lyrical quagmire.

Songs like Loving Blind and Forever And Ever are permanently etched in my mind,

perhaps a testament to an authenticity often lacking in the contemporary kind;

or maybe it's that I see my dad in the words of Willie Nelson, Garth Brooks, and Lyle Lovett,

in songs that embody cross country road trips nearly any daughter would covet.

I see him as the stoic cowboy in a Chris LeDoux song;

the Simple Man Ricky Van Shelton insists others got wrong;

the devoted father who taught his girls to Keep it Between the Lines,

the man with an unintentional legacy who will be Always on my Mind;

the concert-goer and chauffeur at the Kentucky State Fair

(a night spent with George Strait and the five pre-teen girls in his care);

the young man with a touch of outlaw in a Johnny Cash or Merle Haggard sort of way;

the jack-of-all-trades dreamer who Kenny Rogers would've played.

And so on this Christmas night I celebrate not the choral hymns of the holiday season,

but the Guitars, Cadillacs, and Hillbilly Music that defy religion reason.

I celebrate the man I'd give All the Gold in California to have back,

the father I miss everyday...and to whom my adoration never lacks.

And thus, part of your presents are a collection of old country songs,

taken from the tape case of a man who never met a story too long.

He was the cowboy and farmer and occasional ruffian they all tried to portray,

and so take this CD - and a little bit of him - as you go on your merry way.
***
All the songs italicized and all the artists mentioned in the poem are on the playlist.  Here is my favorite...

This I (don't) believe in...

In the last post, I closed with Silas House's essay, "The Knowing," written for the recently released anthology, This I Believe: Kentucky, a collection published by an organization of the same name. As described on the company website linked here, "This I Believe is an international organization engaging people in writing and sharing essays describing the core values that guide their daily lives. Over 100,000 of these essays, written by people from all walks of life, are archived here on our website, heard on public radio, chronicled through our books, and featured in weekly podcasts. The project is based on the popular 1950s radio series of the same name hosted by Edward R. Murrow."


I included it in the last post, one dedicated to animal-themed projects, because I love Silas House and I love my dogs.  I appreciate that of all the noble concepts he could have so eloquently explored - some element of faith or friendship or tradition or love - he chose a theme seemingly mundane. While many of us consider our pets "family" and understand the reciprocal devotion nurtured in these relationships, if given the opportunity to tell the literary world about our "core values that guide [our] daily lives," I doubt many of us would go with "dogs make us better people." No, we'd probably try to tug heartstrings with moving soliloquies about things that seem more "literary worldish." We'd use a bunch of adjectives.  We'd employ emotional catharsis to relay passion. We'd likely make the stoics and skeptics among us gag. 


And I offer that last little pleasant prediction because I myself have felt it. Sometimes when I hear people talk about their certainties and beliefs, I secretly scoff. And while aware of my figurative eye rolls, I have never really thought too much about the motivating rationale until the past few days.  So, while I included the House essay because of a very literal and obvious connection to the last post's dog theme, it has (somewhat frustratingly) sparked a much different philosophical conversation in my head. I have been forced to consider, "What do I believe or believe in?"


The answer I've come up with: very little.


And I want to say up front that I don't think what follows puts me on some intellectual or analytical pedestal. While doubt is sometimes a product of open-mindedness, science, or research, it can also be a sign of weakness, selfishness, or lack of resolve. In fact, I associate some of my own skepticism with these obviously less noble motivations. I certainly wish I could, in good conscience, espouse lofty (yet entirely authentic) faith in more than I do.  When it comes down to it, however, I take neither pride in, nor feel guilty about, my conclusions on the four basic categories below (categories that seem to be the "go-to"s when discussing belief/faith). It simply is what it is.


In religion...
I pray, but to whom or what, I don't know. I don't believe that things happen for a reason and I take very little comfort in notions of "divine paths" or "destiny." I would never suggest that I have an understanding of heaven or hell or that I know who might end up in either. I know kind people who are atheists and kind people who are devout Christians; I don't think either kindness trumps the other.  I don't have any real sense of what faith means to me.


In others...
I have complete trust in only two people.  I know what to expect from them. I think they have a strong grasp of their own core values and feel fairly confident that if I were to ask them questions today, I would get the same answers I would get if I ask them those same questions in ten years. I feel like they know, and appreciate, the me that I like.  This isn't to suggest that I don't respect, or even love, other people in my life; I simply don't find a sense of comfort and stability in those relationships.


In myself...
I can come across as confident...and sometimes I actually feel that way.  Speaking my mind about things that matter to me is not a problem.  I consider myself a moral person with good intentions.  Nevertheless, my issues with stability in others are the same issues I have with myself.  I worry I don't have the resolve to stick with/to things for the "long haul;" I'm always dreaming of other possibilities or pondering what I could - or should - be doing.  I have little confidence that the things I want now will be the same things I'll want in 5, 10 or 20 years.  I crave a sense of settledness, and yet fight against it with everything I have. 


In love...
While some people do affect us in profound ways, often both indescribable and unexpected, I don't really believe in soul mates.  I think we can love a variety of people in completely different ways and occasionally at overlapping times.  I don't think "love is enough" or that "love conquers all." I think sometimes those who would be best for each other can't be together because of circumstances beyond their control. I don't think things necessarily "work out in the end." I think we can miss and regret and mourn someone for an infinite amount of time.  Does love exist? Of course. And do some people have what most would classify as "true love"? Sure. Will we all have it? No.


What I do believe in...
*Dogs DO make us better people.  Whatever my understanding of faith is, I have more of it in my animals than I do in anything else in my life.  I know Charley will scratch my nose when I try to put the leash on her in the morning because she's so excited to go out.  I know Lucy and Willie would protect me at all costs. I know Lightning is not going to kick me when I'm cleaning the stall while he eats breakfast.  I know which blanket DC likes to use as a bed and which of my shoulders Wendell prefers to sit on while he loudly gives himself a bath. I know they all make my life better. I know they make me less selfish. I know they know I love them.


*the Avett Brothers. This sounds dumb considering I doubt my faith in a higher power, in others, and myself. I don't care; it's the truth. I see my life in their songs.  I feel more alive when I'm at their concerts than I do at just about any other time.  They inspire me to be more honest because they make me think about how I really feel.


*the influence of books/art/synchronized dance and the power of collective joy.


*the legacy of my father and my desire to lead a life that he would be proud of.


*the possibility that one day I'll have faith in more.
***
I also believe that sometimes we have to fake it...for our own sanity, so as to not put others in weird positions, to keep or regain perspective, and/or because wallowing never fixed anything.  I saw this on a friend's Facebook or Pinterest page a couple of weeks ago and although neither an uncommon nor particularly witty cliché, it was a affecting slap in the face when I needed it most.

I had been sad and sad for a while. I had not worn much makeup because I figured I would just cry and mess it up at some point in the day. I just didn't care what others thought or saw. I was stuck in my own frustrations.

The best thing I did for myself: I got up one morning and put on mascara. 

Not allowing yourself to fall apart...this I believe in. 



"Dogs make us better people. That's what I believe." - Silas House

Unlike Terry Staley, who resolved to be nicer and drink fewer Diet Cokes (pledges that lasted almost two days), I didn't even pretend to set new year's goals for 2014. I would rather drink nothing but water for the rest of my life than run another marathon; securing a certain amount in a savings account by the end of the year makes my 15 cats and 3 dogs laugh; since I have blueberry bagels with my coffee every morning and frozen cool whip topped with cookies, cake, or candy every night, losing weight seems unlikely. I guess, generally speaking, I just want to be more creative, work harder, and think of others more. 

 

A few pet-themed suggestions on the creativity front...

 

1. Poetry can invoke eye rolls. Poetry can be intimidating. Poetry can be really damn hard to write.  Nevertheless, poetry can also be fun. Have someone give you an opening line, then you add one, then back to the other person, etc.  Tag team your next poem. Lee and I did this one last fall.

To love a dog is to be parent of a child who never learns to speak, each need assumed from squeals and small dances deciphered,

dances that to the untrained eye seem gibberish in motion, but as subtle as Vegas neon to the doting maker of homemade dog treats.

 

To love a cat you must first admit you are its pet, and always ready when they are accepting affection;

for you see, even the most adoring of felines is prone to play the cowboy that rides away, not the corseted woman with an unfortunate namesake.

 

For them to love each other is more common than cartoons would have us believe, though Garfield and Odie are pretty spot on.

Whether it is the cat's instinctual inclination toward indifference or the pup's incessant hunt for new playmates makes no difference;

as long as they rally around the same bipedal, they are family, and may tease one another to reinforce that fact,

"tease" occasionally evidenced in a good ol' paw swipe to the nose or WWF take-down in the grass, neither performed in malice or spandex.

A bit of stolen kibble or an overzealous tongue bath may be the first shot in these short-lived feuds,

feuds ended by an inevitable truce born and bred of sibling love and a shared giant pillow.

 

They never grow up, always quick to tap into that inner kitten or pup, and deserve more years than nature gifts them;

for in a fair world, those most inclined to forgive and equally unlikely to disappoint, would be memoralizing us in poem instead.

 

2. Vow to actually make some of the things on your Pinterest boards before you pin anything else.

Leash and Treat Holder

Very professional and well-written instructions: Cut board however long you want it (mine were about 12"). Paint paw print wherever you think it looks good. Buy coat hanger/leash hanger and edged wall mount at Brown's Supply and screw in. While at Brown's, also get that metal ring thing that I think has something to do with a radiator. Get tiny screws and attach unknown metal ring to board by bending the slats a bit with a flathead screwdriver and screwing in. Tighten the ring so that it snugly holds a mason jar. Fill with dog treats. Hang on wall by dog entry/exit. 

3. Read everyday, even if it's just an essay....like say, this one (includes audio...you're going to love his voice), from my one day husband, Silas House. 

"The Knowing" as featured in the This I Believe anthology
(This really does make me think of Waffle, Lucy, Willie, and Charley).

"I believe that if more people were like dogs, we’d all be a whole lot happier.

My dogs make me a better person just by being themselves. They don’t care about what color I am, or whom I love, or my religion, or any of the other ridiculous things that separate us as people. They only care that I am kind to them and others. That’s what should matter.

My dogs also know that giving and receiving affection are the most important things in life. Yes, eating is right up there, too. But I believe that if my dogs had to choose between lying still in a patch of sunshine while I sat beside them on the grass giving their bellies a good rub or devouring a meal of the same dog food they get every single day of their lives . . . well, I truly believe they’d choose the loving, despite their genuine devotion to gobbling down their kibble as if they might never have another morsel of food offered to them in their whole lives.

When they offer themselves up to receive adulation, they cause me to become still, to remember that most things actually can wait a few more minutes to get done because this moment right here, this moment of sitting beneath the trees with their swaying limbs, the sun warm on my face, the scent of the creek down in the woods, the birdcall in the deepest parts of those woods, and the holy world (all of it holy, every single bit of it) shimmering all about me, this moment is what life is about.

Having a dog—or any pet—makes us better people. They force us to slow down (each time I return home I have to spend a few minutes patting the belly of our outside dog, Rufus, because he’ll lie down on the driveway on his back, right in my way as I’m rushing to the door; I can’t refuse that and I often fold myself down onto the ground with grocery bags standing all around us to give him some loving), to pay more attention, to be kinder (especially to Pepper, who came from an abusive household before ours, and carries all of that grief in his eyes, in his damaged back, in his wariness), to give and receive affection, to be patient (especially on days when Holly Marie just doesn’t really feel like going to the bathroom anytime quick), to love and love and love.

Writers aren’t supposed to throw that word around much. We’re supposed to be stingy with putting that on the page. But it is necessary when talking about dogs because that’s what they embody. They remind us, time and time again, of the most important thing. Such a shame that we actually forget that. But we do.

I know that some people think it’s a sin to think an animal has a soul, but I do. I don’t care what anyone says or thinks. Because if anything in this world is close to God, it’s a dog. I believe a great amount of being in touch with God is required to hear the thunder from way off, or to feel the trembling of a train miles away, or to know when someone they care about needs them, and offer comfort no matter what, and not have one tiny bit of judgment in their whole beings. I believe a sort of holiness is required to remind us that everything in this world deserves affection. Dogs know these things. They know and know and know.

Dogs make us better people. That’s what I believe."

"Fishin' in the Dark" would be my second choice.

In the last post, I mentioned this article, "18 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For Again." I don't know why "18" was picked. I somewhat question the use of "Again" in the title; I'm not sure a few of the list-toppers have ever been commonplace. Several make me feel guilty because I know I should be doing them, but aren't (ex. "making phone calls to relatives" and "answering things in a timely fashion").  Nevertheless, I'm so glad Zach posted this on my Facebook page. I love that even today, some three weeks or so after I read it, I can still name most that are on the list.  I love that the author mentioned "getting dressed up for no reason" and "cooking a nice meal for the sake of doing so." I love that it inspired me to come up with my own list...

25 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For...in my humble opinion:
1. Watch your favorite movies.
In the past two weeks, I've enjoyed Love Actually, When Harry Met Sally, and The Great Debaters.

2. Ask your grandparents questions.
Don't go for open-ended questions like "What's one of your favorite memories from childhood?" No one likes that kind of on-the-spot question. Stay simple: What was one of your favorite toys growing up? What was Dad's favorite food when he was little? What was your first job?

3. Make to-do lists. Keep them handy.
The time it takes to sit down and write out your list will be much less than the time you spend looking befuddled in a parking lot and wondering why you just drove to the Dollar Store.

4. Do pranks on co-workers.
Don't waste a lot of time doing it, but do it nevertheless. Why? Because it's fun.

5. Tell people you like an accessory they're wearing (earrings, socks, scarf, etc).
Sometimes we throw on whatever clothes are handy/clean/required, but we tend to purposely choose accessories that we think "look like us" or make us happy. It's nice when people see us the way we see ourselves or comment on things that we think reflect our most authentic selves.

6. Get a library card!
Because reading something every day makes you better. In every way.

7. Really pet and love on your animals.
Our animals are more devoted to us than nearly every human in our lives.  They don't stay mad at us when we've been jerks. They are always excited to see us pull in the driveway.  Don't take them for granted. Obligatory pats or head scratches are not good enough.

8. Tell people why you respect them.
Of course it's nice to let people know you appreciate them, think they're funny, and/or enjoy their company.  Respect, however, is hard to earn and much harder to keep.  Those who are able to do so, deserve to know.

9. Read something in the news that really doesn't interest you.
Every morning, I pick out at least one article on the Huffington Post that I really can't relate to or have very little interest in. Why? Because it's good to learn something. It's good to be disciplined. It's good to do things that you really don't want to do.

10. Make your own breads, pie crusts, pizza crusts.
It's not hard. It's cheap. You'll know what's actually in it.  You'll be more inspired to then make pies, pizzas, and actual meals.

11. Plan weekly menus.
You'll be less inclined to buy crap you will not use.  You'll save money. You feel more organized when you walk in from work and are hungry.

12.Write.
Anything...cards, poems, gratitude jar entries, diaries, blogs, quotes on chalkboards.

13. Make your house "look like you."
If you don't smile when you look around your house, change some things. Pottery Barn is nice, but it does not speak of a life well-lived.

14. Have coffee/tee/cocoa in the afternoons.
In a favorite mug.

15. Think about one good part of your day before you go to bed.
Go to sleep with a grateful heart.

16. Figure out what song you think would be the perfect flash mob song.  Ponder scenarios in which you could make said flash mob happen.

17. Take a small gift to someone.
Suggestions: a good pen and cute notepad, a bag of their favorite candy, a gift certificate for a Blizzard.

18. Tell people "thank you" even if it's "their job" to do the task in question. More generally speaking, don't be shy with long overdue "thank you"s.

19. Dream. Imagine possibilities. Give yourself a chance.
We are typically too quick to belittle or question ourselves. Don't settle for what is; always have "what could be" in the back of your mind. This doesn't mean, of course, that it's okay to take what you have for granted. It is simply a reminder to stay inspired.

20. Make something prettier than it was.
Paint something, clean something, add flowers, tie a ribbon.

21. Write down a few things that scare you or that you don't understand.
Do a few. Educate yourself.

22. Write down your weaknesses and/or times when you've messed up.
When you get frustrated with someone else, remember this list. 

23. Pick up litter.
"Someone else will get it" is dumb. 

24. Park farther away than you have to.
We could all stand to be a little less lazy.

25. Make your own list of things you want to make more time for.
***
I know "classy" isn't the word most would use to describe my house.  I'm completely aware that I will have to eat my words about Mom's house having stuff everywhere.  I'm fairly certain that if one were to put something down in my house, there's a good chance it could go undiscovered for years.  But...I like that it reminds me of my friends and family. I like that there are books and handmade projects and art all over the place.  I like that, at least to me, it reflects a life well lived.

 

 

 

***

The pizza crust recipe I like to use...

 

***

My flash mob song and another one of my favorite movies...





It's hard to be sad when you're eating cinnamon rolls.

One of the themes of this blog over the past three years has been that we all have a touch of "crazy."  Loss-of-perspective sadness and frustration, seemingly nonsensical or outright stupid choices, and proclivity for pity parties is an affliction of human nature, not specific medical diagnoses.  And in saying this, I am in no way belittling conditions that necessitate prescriptions or treatments; the point is simply that we all do things that we regret, we all second guess and get stuck in our own head sometimes, almost all of us will experience something that seems pretty damn close to depression. 

In my non-scientific, entirely non-researched opinion, we come out of these periods by choice.  We choose to focus on others. We choose to get off our asses.  We choose to stay busy.  We choose to see the good.  We choose to make decisions, rather than wallow in indecisiveness.  We choose to give our minds a rest.  We choose to make time for new things. 

People sometimes ask me why I always want to be in the middle of some project.  The answer lies in the reflection above. I think sadness is oftentimes just a product of being bored. If I allow myself to just sit down and do nothing, I think too much, I feel sorry for myself, and I worry about things that may never happen.  Sure, my approach probably exemplifies a whole different level of emotional immaturity or instability, but I choose it over the alternative. 

As such, I like piddle projects. I get up before dawn and bake or paint or read. I cook for myself and try to create a pretty plate. I write letters to, or make things for, friends. I clean anything I can think to clean. I write blog posts.  I planned themed parties for no particular reason. 

I keep myself sane by keeping myself busy. 
***
My wonderful brother-in-law posted this on my Facebook page a few days ago (and I think many are spot-on).  I thought I would do my own "18 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For" list in the next blog post. I encourage you to send me the things you think should be included.
***
Some recent projects....

Jewelry party and brunch at Silver Chest Creations (This was so much fun.  If you'd like more information about SCC, see this earlier blog post.  If you're interested in planning your own party, just let owner, Melissa Anderson, know).

 

Making homemade cinnamon rolls (I really liked this recipe and definitely recommend...or you could just go visit with the folks at Kountry Kitchen and eat the most delicious breakfast pastry ever.)

 

Breaking out the mod podge again... 

Got the chair at Main Street 210.

Made copies of some Adrienne-themed pictures.

Mod-podged to the chair, used a sharpie to write a favorite Avett Brothers lyric, and sprayed with a clear sealant.

 

Making ornaments...

Buy clear glass ornaments, remove lids, squeeze in acrylic paint colors of choice, cover top with a paper towel, shake a bunch, let drain over an egg carton.

 

 

Happy piddling.  

"Dress me in the clothes I wore in the day's round." - Wendell Berry

I was a little hesitant to do a post.  Even though I have written a lot about my dad since I started this blog, and particularly since his death three years ago today, I questioned myself, for numerous reasons, this morning. First of all, when someone dies, we all have a tendency to romanticize them. Faults suddenly become endearing quirks, frustrations, laughable moments.  This is natural and understandable...but something that would've made Dad scoff.  And though I would never want to trivialize a complex man by only describing him through rose-colored glasses, written tributes tend to do this. Secondly, I would never want my stories about Dad to seem gratuitous, all "there's Liza talking about CLT again just to get sympathy or attention." nor would I want to provoke "Okay, Liza, we get it. You think your dad was awesome" statements. He deserves better than that. Finally, I don't want to be one of those people whose life seems to revolve around one tragic incident. A lot of people have lost their parents, in fact, a lot of my friends, and to wallow in this distinction seems to reflect a loss of perspective. 

But then I thought to myself, "If you want to do it, do it. Forget how it looks to other people. It's your own damn blog.";)

And thus, here is another post about Curtis Lee Turner (Nov. 13, 1948-Nov. 5, 2010)...from the daughter who knew he occasionally talked too loudly or too harshly, was set in his ways and far from flexible at times, made way too much noise in the middle of the night when unwrapping Little Debbie packages...and even more when he got up at 4:00 am to cook sausage, and had a whole assortment of other quirks that weren't exactly endearing. He was real and he had faults.  But this occasionally gruff man was also the father who took his girls fishing, taught them how to drive straight shifts, and drove the track bus to every meet so he could push us to do more than we otherwise would; the quietly compassionate neighbor who took whatever amount people could pay, rather than the actual cost, for firewood in the winter; the student who often let his dog ride shotgun to WKU's campus and wait for him to get out of class; the son who mowed yards and did house repairs for his mother without prompting; the cowboy who loved starched and ironed Wranglers; the music fan who enjoyed Farm-Aid concerts on KET, was known to watch the Beyoncé Christmas special, asked me to replay Sam Sparro's, Black and Gold, one day as we headed to a chemo treatment, and who appreciated old country and blues in equal measure; the cook who made the best fried potatoes and eggs I have ever had and who often opted for restaurants that served breakfast anytime of day; the reader and news watcher who could insert dry, political quips into pop culture discussions at the drop of a hat (My favorite: J Lo was performing on a New Years Eve special in 2009 in a black, lace onsie, the same year Umar Abdulmatallab tried to detonate some explosives on a plane that he had hidden in his underwear. J Lo comes on stage and Dad just quietly offered, "no room to hide explosives in those pants."); the man who will remain my inspiration for the rest of my life. 

I could tell a million more stories, but I think this slide show captures much of who he was.  Norris & New did this when he died and it played during the visitation at the funeral home.  I watched it for the first time since November 2010 last night. 

***
One of my favorite pictures in the slideshow...



Testament

By: Wendell Berry
1.
Dear relatives and friends, when my last breath
Grows large and free in air, don't call it death --
A word to enrich the undertaker and inspire
His surly art of imitating life; conspire
Against him. Say that my body cannot now
Be improved upon; it has no fault to show
To the sly cosmetician. Say that my flesh
Has a perfect compliance with the grass
Truer than any it could have striven for.
You will recognize the earth in me, as before
I wished to know it in myself: my earth
That has been my care and faithful charge from birth,
And toward which all my sorrows were surely bound,
And all my hopes. Say that I have found
A good solution, and am on my way
To the roots. And say I have left my native clay
At last, to be a traveler; that too will be so.
Traveler to where? Say you don't know.

2.
But do not let your ignorance
Of my spirit's whereabouts dismay
You, or overwhelm your thoughts.
Be careful not to say
Anything too final. Whatever
Is unsure is possible, and life is bigger
Than flesh. Beyond reach of thought
Let imagination figure

Your hope. That will be generous
To me and to yourselves. Why settle
For some know-it-all's despair
When the dead may dance to the fiddle

Hereafter, for all anybody knows?
And remember that the Heavenly soil
Need not be too rich to please
One who was happy in Port Royal.

I may be already heading back,
A new and better man, toward
That town. The thought's unreasonable,
But so is life, thank the Lord!

3.
So treat me, even dead,
As a man who has a place
To go, and something to do.
Don't muck up my face
With wax and powder and rouge
As one would prettify
An unalterable fact
To give bitterness the lie.

Admit the native earth
My body is and will be,
Admit its freedom and
Its changeability.

Dress me in the clothes
I wore in the day's round.
Lay me in a wooden box.
Put the box in the ground.

4.
Beneath this stone a Berry is planted
In his home land, as he wanted.
He has come to the gathering of his kin,
Among whom some were worthy men,

Farmers mostly, who lived by hand,
But one was a cobbler from Ireland,

Another played the eternal fool
By riding on a circus mule

To be remembered in grateful laughter
Longer than the rest. After

Doing that they had to do
They are at ease here. Let all of you

Who yet for pain find force and voice
Look on their peace, and rejoice.















       

 

***
In closing, I just want to say to those who have lost someone they loved, that it's okay to feel sad years after it happens.  I'm not sure things have gotten any easier for me. I cry nearly every time I stand by his tombstone. I can hear a song that reminds me of him or think about something funny he said and break down immediately. I miss him literally every day and feel like there's an irreparable hole in my heart.  And although these are horribly sad emotions, I also recognize the significance of their meaning: I was blessed to have a father that I still grieve about three years later in a very real, very vivid way. It is a testament to his devotion to his family, his love of his farm and community, and the respect I had for him.  It is a testament to a man who was good and strong and funny, no matter what color of glasses the audience happens to be wearing.

Maybe my car just didn't want to live in a world without my cowboy boots.

I said that I would drive it until the wheels fell off. 

I said I would keep it, passing down to my mortified kids who, regaled with tales of its storied existence from childbirth to age 16, would then be given the opportunity (i.e. be forced) to drive it to CCHS, kids replete with the same excitement their mother felt when pulling the ceiling-drooping, multi-shades-of-brown Pontiac 6000 into that same parking lot in 1996.

Well, sometimes we eat our words.
...
I said goodbye to the Elantra last week, the car that looked like me; the car with more dog hair, paw prints, and glass nose smudges than most grooming shops; the car that has traveled the Midwest and East Coast with inviting curiosity and surprising reliability; the only car I've ever outright owned; the only car improved by a backseat, gingham snowman sheet; the only car Lucy and Willie have ever known; the only car that continually inspired me to say, "I wish this inanimate object could talk. Oh, the stories it would tell."; the only car that has sat impatiently in Lexington traffic and gotten stuck in the owner's own Marrowbone yard; the bumper-stickered advertisement for sources of inspiration, the mobile reflection of the person I have become.

I am a practical person, however. Although the wheels may have technically still been on it, the sounds it was making would have suggested otherwise. Over the past 2-3 months, I said numerous times, "I really think my car might blow up." That wasn't hyperbole.  I had multiple mechanics check it out; it would be "fixed" for a while, only then to return to its no-heat-at-random-times, increasing-cacophony-of-weird-sounds tricks. It had 194,000 miles...and it was a 2006 model (the legitimate disclaimer offered by every person who tried to work on it). A chunk of vinyl was missing from the steering wheel (my best guess: a dog bit or scratched it and then I picked at it while driving and bored), the driver's side visor stayed in a permanent "down" position, most of the dashboard lights did not work, and a new scratch on the outside, a scratch that inevitably joined a family of paint scrapes and small door dings, only provoked a "huh," if noticed at all. 

As I've told many people over the past seven years, however, this stuff just gave the Elantra "character," becoming the arched doorways, inexplicable light switch, or slightly-bowed hardwood floors of my second home.  The cosmetic stuff didn't bother me; to quite the contrary, I considered it quirks of a good life.  It was the whole "this might blow up at any moment" bit that unnerved me.  I simply came to the conclusion that if I didn't feel comfortable carting my dogs or another person around, if I couldn't jump in the car and confidently travel to Glasgow, much less, Chicago, it was time to let it go. 

And thus, goodbye old friend. 

 

Obama, marathon, Avett Brothers, and Centre stickers

Some of the necessities I pulled out of the console alone. Who doesn't need to carry around lettuce seeds, Euros, Mardi Gras beads, four tire gauges, and random keys? And boy, how many times have you wished you had a stopwatch?

You should've seen the stuff in the trunk.

Ipods just don't tell stories the way CDs do.

I have not sat on bleachers at a Cumberland County sporting event in years.  I'm fairly certain that even then I never offered, "Man, I wish I had a panther-head-embossed cushion."

On the other hand, that tape from 1988 sure has come in handy. 

See Willie in the background?  This was one of my requirements for a new car...Willie needed to be able to ride in the back window....because it makes him happy. 

 

So, what kind of car did I settle on?...

 

A Hyundai Elantra hatchback.:)

We'll continue this saga after another 194,000 miles.

***

I realize my car was no classic fit for restoration, nor a family heirloom in which I taught children to drive. It was important to me though. That's enough.

 

Plus, this song reminds me of Dad. I miss him everyday, but anniversaries are particularly hard (tomorrow marks three years that he has been gone). Songs like this make me smile through the tears.

***
Tell me stories about a car you've loved:)