TP: Sepia (Jizo)

Depression is deep if I'm not taking pictures. It's been a rough couple of months, I've few pictures to show for it. 

Coming out of the fog just in time for the end of Sepia Week for Thematic Photographic with my Jizo, in his new home just outside my window.

Hannah's Jizo

My Worst Fear

summa teeth - eek!

Tuesday I was sitting at the computer and my tongue found chunks. A tooth had crumbled, succumbing to the cavity I'd denied for weeks. A tooth people can see. I can no longer deny the declining state of my chompers! With the holidays fast approaching, my Dental Work Savings had accumulated exactly zero.
I managed to scrape up 150$ before calling local dentists on Wednesday morning.  I did find *one* dentist in Corvallis working a full day. His office, however, was unable to serve me within my budget. (to be detailed in a much longer blog post of it's own)
I began to search in nearby Albany, and quickly found Gentle Dentistry: 1) open, 2) available, and 3) willing to work within my budget ♥ Not to mention, upon answering the phone, the lovely Tina had me taking deep breaths, calming down and feeling well cared for ♥

temporary filling,
permanent smile

Dr. Phan cleaned my hole and threw on a patch good enough for the holiday weekend, sans biting, all for 117$.
He gave me an appointment for this afternoon at 3:30; yes, he said, he'll be staying late for this one. He's giving me a discount for paying cash. Cash for a 700$ procedure I have approximately 33$ available to fund.
Refusing to accept an ugly smile until 1) dentistry becomes affordable, (pick yourselves up), 2) I win the lottery, or 3) I'm able to nickel and dime my way into a dentist's office, I ponder the options.
I kicked off my SaveMySmile campaign on Twitter, asking for 70 followers to donate 10$, then I moved to Facebook, asking each of my 600+ friends to PayPal just 1$. I'm well aware it's a bit like the NPR Pledge Week, still amazing and just a bit annoying. I apologize. And smile :D
I found this nametag in my shuffling and turned it into this sign ♥




~♥~ ~♥~ ~♥~To date, an hour from my actual appointment, I've managed to raise 75% of what I need, contributing an additional 10% myself. I've more than 50 families to thank from the bottom of my heart, with the biggest smile of all, for making this happen! I'm about to have the most anticipated rootcanal in history and I've rarely been happier.

Eggs and 'tetchup

Eggs & 'tetchup

I once had the best wife in the universe, who just happened to be one studly hunk of a man. An unbiased opinion, that, I swear. Mitch was of the "Wash, Clean, Cook? YES!" mentality that I still cannot quite understand. Happy to appreciate these skills, in my confusion, make no mistake, I'm very grateful! Especially considering Wash, Clean, Cook were happily joined by Play and Change Diapers ♥

When he fell undeniably ill, mid-October, there was no denying a shift of responsibilities was inevitable. I wasn't ready for imminent, inevitable was fine.
Mitch's mother came to visit for Thanksgiving. I prepared by asking, pleading, begging, admonishing and threatening Mitch to remain still and docile, for a few weeks, to allow his bruises to heal.  We knew they came from his Lumbering About Adventures, including walls, doorways and floors; she did not. Already, he was a scary sight post-stroke, I'll admit, and I was there every day to watch the rapidlyslow decline of his body. She was in for the shock of her life, I wanted to soften it as much as I could, with whatever energy I could muster.  (FYI - he didn't listen)

I'm honored that food was her only issue with his care. Mostly I remember she made him oatmeal, his childhood favorite, like when he was 8.  Mitch really liked it with steamed milk and thank the heavens Mitch's mother was there to provide this peek at someone who'd been a stranger for almost 25 years of my life and my husband for merely 5. These peeks were numbered, sacred and running out at alarming speed.  I make oatmeal with water, he made it with water, she found comfort in providing the milk ♥

Oh look! Eggs & 'tetchup

On his last day with his mom in town, I made breakfast. And documented it.
My kids liked Eggs & 'tetchup because their dad made it for them whenever they asked. They liked Cheese Toast because Daddy told them the very best cheese comes wrapped in individual slices & tastes great slapped on dry toast.
It was two days later when I offered the kids breakfast and they ran to Mitch's dresser. Puzzled, I followed and observed as they opened his sock drawer, I helped them rifle around until we found the (unbeknownst to me) mega-stash of Everlasting Gobstoppers.  Apparently, the breakfast of other champions named Jenner. Daily part of the lounging-in-bed-before-actually-getting-up routine. Probably followed by a trip to the kitchen with real food, before the family shower at 11:30 am.
A part of the day that was theirs alone with Dad; with routines and rhythms and scents and sounds so different than my own; different even than when I am present. I was suddenly extra sad for them, for this intimacy they'd lost and perhaps never remember. And I stopped. They'd been given the gift of a father, for the briefest of moments, who was their playmate, their champion, their sun & moon. Perhaps not to be a memory for the brain at all, but a memory designed for one's heart and soul.
And that memory is moving towards making it all worthwhile ♥ 

Prayers Answered

Chocolate IceCream for Brekky, because we can!

I remember chatting in bed that morning, the two of us whispering as I dosed his morning's medications and the children dozed nearby. The headache was bad, they were all bad since we'd stopped the steroids, we hoped for comfort from some Breakfast Morphine and a nap.
Meanwhile I was off to work at a church. Not just any church, mind you. A church filled with Believers, including a family I met when I was 8 years old. A family who's chance meeting led to my career as an ASL interpreter; a family who's faith inspired me deeply and wholly through my life.  A family who asked me how I was and anticipated an honest answer. So I gave them one: I am done, spent, empty. I cannot carry this burden one more day. So we prayed, the whole of the congregation prayed my honesttogod prayer with me: Let it end. Soon. 

I now believe Mitch might've been praying the same prayer. When I arrived home and set about his care, his headache was a reported 15 on a 1-10 scale. I began the Instant + Long Morphine + Marijuana Cycle to bring down his number. Nothing worked. I turned to light the vigil candle before the VirginMotherofGod and when I turned back 'round, Mitch's mood had shifted. "She scares me," he said again; apparently she'd been scaring him for a few days now. I wondered if she was hovering near, waiting to deliver him to the other side. I comforted him with some soothing words of her kindness and grace, of her gifts of faith and love. He seemed to buy it and fell asleep. 

When the chance came for a quick escape, even for an hour, I took it! Mitch and the kids were looked after by family & my brain needed respite for what was to come next...
I heard him when I walked into the room. My brain told the rest of my body before I could cognitively puzzle the pieces & I flew into action. The Death Rattle(tm), The Official Sound of Death Itself. Right there in our bed, our whole family's bed, just like we'd talked about. Like we'd so desperately tried to deny. Death was a'knockin' and I had to decide Hostess Protocol. Aunt Donna appeared (she's really so very good at that) and set to work right away. The hospice nurse was called and the bed cleaned and changed.  I brought out the tub for bathing, filled with warm, Satsuma scented water and a cotton washcloth, like I'd promised.
And I wanted to break, so desperately.
Humans don't break, though, even when they're willing.
I was snapped back with "If you don't do this here, they'll do it at the hospital"
Again, I was giving care, Ultimate Care to the man I promised to love, honor and cherish for all the days of his life.  I wasn't gonna run screaming on my very last chance to do just that.  (I wanted to though, I really did)
Calls were made, people streamed in and out, the children were lightheartedly entertained, laughter was heard and vigil was held.
When his last breath had once again been foiled by my arrival in the room, I snuggled with him in our bed, this one last time. I sent for the priest & asked for the children to go along for the ride. When the door closed behind them, I bent down and whispered his sweetest permission to Run Forrest, Run.
And run he did, right that very moment, to whatever was waiting for him not-here ♥
I sang to him because it felt good.

Pedro meets Mitch, Mitch meets Pedro

Missing him today as much as I knew I would on the day I promised. ♥

Tool of the Oracle: Your True Nature

A meme stolen from Sara McGrath and passed along by Frank Maier
Instructions:
1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
The 23rd Blogpost on this here blog, is a photograph, no words, from November 2005: 

My True Nature

I believe the Oracle's power is most evident in the 5th sentence of this year's 23rd post: 

I'm a baking maniac with a son on vacation, making said mania guilt-free.

From Spring Sadness May 2010

TP: Flowers (of the Sun)

Just when I'd given up on life in the Dead Zone, these late bloomers have restored my faith in the Sun, The Oregon Sun. Their faces are at last opening to the final rays of our Summer's Shine.

Baby

Bursting (hello mr. bug)

Happy Half Bloom*

*aforementioned FXCam app, Toy Cam

Unconscious Mutterings #395

Hannah, circa 2001

I say ... 
and you think ... ?

Leads :: Connect
Concierge :: Serve
Thousand :: Miles
Engines :: Run
Argument :: WIN
2006 :: Whew. Hannah
Knot :: Tangles
Fuck :: Me
Handsome :: Hero
Ridge :: Runner

TP: (Black-eyed) Flowers

Black-Eyed Susan, three perspectives.

one

two

три*

*used the Russian Camera on the Retro Camera app (droid). Since deleted. I'll stick to FXCam.

TP: Flowers (from ABQ)

We've a very non-traditional (read: Oregonian, not South Dakotan) garden in our backyard.  This year has been a grand experiment, as we learn about our 25 different types of dirt and what it needs to grow what. Flowers are mixed right in with our food crops; some of them even being food (Nasturtiums). In the back of the space, where  most everything has failed to thrive, I spy Morning Glories joyfully embracing my stunted corn ♥ 

Pretty in Pinks

Beautiful in Blues

Not only are Morning Glories my favoritest flower in the garden (something about the fleeting beauty, the fragile-seeming strength), these are especially sacred as they're part of the bounty I've received from Sandra Dodd's backyard. The same flowers grow there, as here. And this comforts me ♥ 

TP: (Still my) Kid

Hayden + Buster = 10 Years!

This here's my Kid and his dog, Buster. He's freshly 12 and still attached after 10 years...

The original Buster was a gift from Tena, just after Mitch died. Hannah got Ginger, whom I now treasure in her stead ♥
This is, in reality, Buster III; an identical twin to Buster I. Buster II was a close approximation for the 4 year old who'd lost forever his sacred pet, until Buster III was found and adopted. For once, I thank the corporate gods for consistency in product: Toys R Us carries identical doggies at all their stores!
Buster mostly hangs out on top of our television, watching the action. Where he's safe from Charle's affections.  This day, Hayden had Buster because he'd just saved him from said affections. (Charlie does not shred babies; he carries them and slobbers them) After a bath, Buster will be just fine!
I'd say good as new but I believe this dog can never again be reduced to good as new.
He gets better-as-old with all this Love.
And moments like this, captured forever, make Buster invaluable to all of us.

Happy Birthday, Hayden!
I'm so glad you were born.
I'm so glad you're my kid ♥

A Decade and a Half

After 3 days in the car and a mad dash to get our marriage license, the thing I wanted most in the world was to be spotted and photographed. Yay! Family Paparazzi caught me like this

Diana Lambert
August 18, 1995

What I really wanted was to curl up with my best friend and do all that girlie wedding stuff - crammed into 24 hours! Someone was listening! In the happiest of mix-ups, the Jenner Wedding block of rooms was in one tower with Mr & Mrs Jenner in the second tower - with Christine and Mark across the hall!! ♥ We got all funked up and watched Pulp Fiction as our bachelor parties. We smoked cigarettes in the hallway & cried. Like this

And once we found the hot-pink brothel chapel,  then I was a bride, like this

The last moment alone...

And Christine was a maid of honor, on her honor, in my dress, like this

That dress is HOT!

Someone, somewhen, slipped me some alcohol. Tis the only explanation I have for pictures like this

Me & My Daddy

Someone musta slipped some to Mitch, too, as he's dancing with his wife, like this

I swear

Which is the kind of dance he got in trouble for at Disneyland. They want you to dance like this

Now you know.

We did (our first) wedding cake, like this

And we kissed like this

A Lot! ♥

I've missed Thematic Photographic

I'm taking pictures with Carmi's themes in mind, always...
it's the getting them published is where I find myself delayed.
Here is a small sampling of what I've been hoarding all these weeks, in my phone:

TP 100: Into the Clouds
Our day at the Waterslides in Rapid City, SD

TP 101: Night Light
Katelyn and Elizabeth dancing in the rain.
Sioux Falls, SD

TP 102: Geometric
Screened Bre
Harrisburg, SD

TP 103: Signs of the Times
This sign says: Children Welcome
VooDoo Two Portland, OR

TP 104: Dotty
A very Dotty Sage

TP 105: Family
Ed & Dee
and me ♥

TP 105: Family
Bre & Brayden prepare to roadtrip to Diana's house!

TP 105: Family
My Spawn
I'm so proud!

Read my Blog, Win a Prize

...for the days my words aren't prize enough! 

I made this here bowlish thingie countertop art all.by.myself. And it's one of my personal favorites ♥ 

Chances are you're one of the 50 people who know how hard it was to be in the studio, to quiet many voices before confronting my first grade art failure.  There's even a shot of this piece before completion!

Thanks for checking in on me; I mostly know you've been here, even when you're silent. When I see you, I assume you've been here and all this craziness is common knowledge. Then there are the days when I hope it's not. Which is how I know it's still MY blog ♥

Traaseth Moorhead Location 2004

I am no less a basketcase today than I was in 2004, when I sat down to begin this blog. A freshly widowed unschooler, living the good (albiet isolated) life with her two kids.

NYC 1994

  

I don't mind that you know I was a basketcase back in 1994, too. I got the earthquake as my excuse that time.

I don't much mind that I'm still a basketcase in 2010; unshaken in my nuttiness after my daughter's death and the discovery of my true home.  

The Oregon Beach. Bring your parka.

Now it's your turn to come on out of the woodwork. Leave me a comment before the end of the month and I'll randomly pick a winner! I'll pick a random winner, randomly. A winner shall be chosen at random. Like that.

This 3rd Year's Food

"Something happens around Year 3, living in Oregon," muses my friend Phil, "you just start eating better." As he chops green vegetables (including Kale!) and mushrooms to be consumed by ME, in my own home.  Joyfully, even. 

I do recognize a slow-to-begin-and-suddenly-gaining-stupendous-momentum shift in my food desires.  

It wasn't until the first of my recent trips to South Dakota, that I realized I had been changed forever.  I couldn't even approach the whiter-than-me offerings at the "Salad Bar" that I truly suspected had never quite been alive in the first place.  

Mixed Greens & Salmon at K's in Sioux Falls, SD

When all you're offered in a salad is a mixture of greens, you come to realize this is what a real Salad is: Salad that tastes like Salad, enhanced by some drizzling and sprinkles. And even more enhanced by a chunk o'happy protein. Expensive fishes are handled lightly by a limited number of people, which makes me happy, even eating this far from the ocean. I was in heaven with this meal; and most grateful for the places in my life that make this the standard for Salad. 

The local Bounty

I never imagined I'd be able to go to the Farmers Market and find enough things I like to eat, let alone bring them home to cook, for myself! I picked the mushroom because I'd not tried it before and it didn't freak me out. I think I might actually like this one: Maitake (and it's *surprise* local). Last night's stirfry was purely veggie and purely a vehicle for the new potatoes and baby beets.  Loved it! I have plans for the very happy Lamb parts: the ground shall become a meatball curry and the neck stew meat shall become a lovely french stew, with carrots, peas, turnips, onions and herbs from the garden.  The Happiest Chicken in Oregon shall be roasted this evening with the rest of my beets and new potatoes. And some Kale and mushrooms, because they're here and by-golly, they're good! 

2 people, 25 perspectives

I'm not sure the exact volume of this room, especially as half of it is open to the night sky, I only know this was not enough space to contain the fear that exists between two human beings. Good thing, too, for if the fear could have been contained, the whole place might have exploded like a powder keg.

Fear. Oh I felt it. Just as soon as I walked down the sidewalk and saw this same view from outside.  I was shaking. I had purposely arrived late, hoping the fans would be drunk and dancing already. Alas, the opening act was still playing and no one was yet dancing. A few were drunk, though only enough to make rude comments in what they mistook for whispers. They didn't stick around to dance with me, however.  

Twice I walked the two blocks back to my car, past his car, hands shaking, breathing in giant gulps, determined to leave. Maybe go park somewhere, stare at the stars, listen to my favorite Janitor Bob CD, dance in my fancy dancing shoes and Karen's adorable clothes, by myself.  No one but me would ever have to know. Instead I turned toward the voice screaming in my head, the one sure I'm about to make a fool of myself, an unforgivable fool at that.  I took a long time to decide that my own death in the face of courage, while dancing to Janitor Bob, was not a horrible "worst case scenario" in my world. [Considering no one had died from fear of being in a bar alone in living memory did help a tiny bit.]  

Shaking & Smiling,
I'm all chicked out and totally cute!

Still I waited for the band to start, pacing in front of the bar, frantically texting with Christine, before I braved a walk across the not full enough for anonymity bar. I found an empty spot along the wall where I could watch the band and dance, with my back to the entire crowd. I wanted to vomit 78.37% of the time, scientifically. I kept my hands from shaking by breathing slowly and deeply and moving them through the air. When my courage waned & my self-consciousness grew, I withdrew to a seat, recharged by sending updates to Christine. 

Ultimately, I got back up to dance. Afterall, I came there to dance, because one.more. opportunity to dance to Janitor Bob, live, in person, was just what the universe decided I needed and thus provided.  Anything else was extra frosting on the world's most delicious cake. 

In one of those off-my-feet moments, as I enjoyed the dance of others swirling around me, there came a familiar face onto the dance crowd.  Not the face I was necessarily expecting (hoping for); a familiar friendly face filled with happy recognition, nonetheless. Eye contact was followed by a direct pointing to one another and the synchronous mouthing of "YOU!" Then he was gone. Just like that. A mission of recognition, not of communication.

The moment had arrived. The one where we meet, face-to-face, as grown-ups, for the first time in four years. I meet the brown-eyed consistent female companion, I'm nice to her and we're all genuinely happy for one another. He'd see that I'm happy and healthy and oh-so-grateful for his existence. Past-induced fears melt in the face of our maturity and forgiveness.  We hug and promise to keep in touch. When I walk away, there's a general sense of what a nice lady in the air. 

My Dancing Shoes did their job!

Alas, c'est non. Not like that, not this night. This night he ducked; literally, behind his girl as I walked by and discovered his table. This night I respected his right to duck. Fear wins. His fears. His completely understandable fears. Again. 

Me, though, I'm a winner. I championed fears beyond my own imagining. I showed up. I smiled. I shined. 

And I danced to Janitor Bob. Alone. And I didn't die. Not even when my fears did. 

Today's Garden Tour!

*Sorry, I skipped the strawberries, they're at the end of the peas, towards the chicken coop :)
I know you're dying to know: Yes, the wind chime seems to be working. Now I need sun to sweeten the berries! (I'm fussier than the Bluejay, apparently!)
**The comments made about the Crazy Lawn Dude are quotes of his own:
"I been to VietNam, I ain't right, a bit crazy." is his introduction. He's cool; undeniably crazy.

Han Solo, Day 18

Picked this one up on Saturday night... so three days of dinking around ;)
Leaving on a Jet Plane, I'm playing for Scotty and the garden ♥

Puff the Magic Dragon, joyfully revisited ♥ complete with a flash of the garden!

And this really fun one! :) Sorry if you have to look up my nose ;-/ and sorry for the loud scratchy lap-spill ending! 

My mad Goodbye Yellowbrick Road skillz are improving, too, so I'll gather up some courage and revisit that one soon! ♥

TP: (Mountains go) Into the Clouds

Hands down one of my favorite I'm no longer in Souf'akota reminder: Mountains!
Mountains so high they touch the sky, right in my own front yard.
Even with the ribbon of highway between me and them,
I'll take this view over seeing all the way to Nebraska any day!

TP: (Strawberries) Into the Clouds

This is my favorite little corner of the garden, the one you have to walk past to get to the rest of it. 

The beginning of the garden represents the beginnings of me;

In the beginning, we lived with Grampa, next door to Grampa's humongous ever-bearing strawberry patch. 

Bunnies and Berries; they're the perfect combination, as far as Grampa Harm Tilstra was concerned.

Instead of straw, he used his pellet-y rabbit poo; I don't remember a stink.
Then again, we had an outhouse so my standards of stink were pretty low. 

I dream of then and now, of Big Girl Diana creating a space for Little Girl Diana to always feel safe and loved;

a space with strawberries, sunshine and flowers. And music and art.
Tis monumental for me to have my own art and music, let alone art and music to share.

I've placed one of my garden statues here, so all might know, even in my absence, this is a sacred place. 

Unless you're a bluejay, The King BlueJay of Southtown,
then apparently the love of the berry trumps the sacred representation thereof to nearby human.
Asshole.
Daily, I find half chomped strawberry remains on my stems.

In honor of Grampa's stern Dutch heritage & a desperate need to eat my own ding-dang strawberries,

I brought home a Jay deterring wind chime. 

I think tomorrow, there'll be big red strawberries for all of Diana to enjoy.

Thanks Grampa ♥