Our Lady of Guadalupe

PRAYER TO OUR LADY OF GUADALUPE

Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mystical Rose, help all those who invoke thee in their necessities, and since thou art the ever Virgin Mary and Mother of the True God, obtain for us from thy Holy Son the Grace of Faith, of Sweet Hope in Life, of Burning Charity, and the Precious Gift of Perseverance.

Amen.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Funeral Day, Take Two

On our way to the reception, I drove through the nearest McDonald's for the kids, with my Mother in Law in the car. Remember, her one and only child has been dead for 9 days and his ashes in the mission's cupboard a mere 30 minutes, when the following exchange occurred:

Hannah: Is Hayden gonna be our daddy now?
Me: (glancing at mil) Uh, no, Hayden will be daddy to his own kids. He's still my son and your brother.
Hannah: Well, who's gonna be our daddy then?
Me: (glancing even more nervously at mil) For now, we don't have a daddy who lives with us. Our daddy died.
Hannah: We can't be without a daddy.
Me: (now imploring the gods to strike my daughter silent) For now we can.
Hannah: You better get us a new daddy, quick!
Me: I'll work on that.

I kept her mouth busy, the rest of the afternoon, with amazing funeral food. This cake was especially popular with my two.

One Moon Ornament, Two

Remember when Christmas brought the
look of excitement this mouse is carrying?
I do!
Wait, it still does ♥
I love a hearty "Merry Christmas!"
merrily shared between strangers,
I love happy people, I love generosity,
I love the music, the singing, the pealing bells,
sharing the hope and joy and wonder,
the prayers of peace and brotherhood.
I love the returning light of the Sun,
I love to ponder the return of the Son.
And if I could,
I'd fly to the moon
and tell him all about it, too.

The end is near

Last night, I dreamed of the cows' demise. I heard the lilting voices a-callin' and I saw the cows a-runnin' for the fence on the other side of the field. Odd thing though, the couple was calling "Suuuuueeeeeey" and they were dressed in Amish splendor. With big shiny knives and perfectly pressed Sunday best. The little bit of Oregon sun reflecting off the black bonnet and shiny suspender buckles.
I'm reassured thinking they're treating this event like a worship service. Worthy of looking and acting one's best. Under the careful watch of a benevolent, mirthful, God. One who loves these bovine creations as much as any other being on this planet. Perhaps even more, should S/he be a connoisseur of grass-grazed-apple-treated-ethically-transitioned pot roast ♥
I'll be sure and feed my neighbors their apples with extra love today, reminded again how short this life is. And all there is to be grateful for.

Raggedy Ann & Andy, a tribute

I think it was the funeral visit, when we were staying at Gramma Baby's house in Pacoima, CA (the home of Ritchie Valens), when I spotted a Raggedy Ann & Andy garbage can. It was an old-fashioned vintage can, heavy & metal, probably painted with lead-based paint, in the USA. It'd been Mitch's ♥ when he was little and stayed often with his Gran, his room was Raggedy decor.
In place of the immediate feelings of having been robbed of knowing Mitch long enough for him to share that information with me directly, came an easy opportunity for me to bring that Little Boy Mitch into our lives in a real way.
Each experience with Ann & Andy reminded us that our family once contained someone who found joy in their presence. As if the characters were silent witnesses to experiences we can only imagine, experiences of that child who-once-was and who should-never-be-forgot. Never underestimate the value of sharing your childhood memories; it is through those memories - the conversations about them, the connections to them - that keep one truly alive long after the body is gone ♥

One Moon Ornament

It's Baby Hayden in a Santamoon ornament - 1999 ♥ Of course it's one of my favorites! Lookit how round and red-headed he is ♥ At the very moment this was captured, we were participating in our local LLL World Walk for Breastfeeding-- both kids were still nursing; Hayden was just days away from completing his first year (which means Hannah was days from finishing 3) and not yet walking; Mitch was back to work, in his created-for-him position in *computers,* after radiation and before chemotherapy - a moment of stasis in our lives, though we now knew the tumor had moved up front and the lobotomy humor had just begun; we'd moved into the big white duplex on Dakota Avenue; I was free-lance interpreting and the kids got to hang out with my friend Sandra and her Madeline almost every day ♥

I was so cute in 1977

My mom, Dee, made this for her grandmother's Christmas Tree. That'd be Gramma Bunnie's (Helen Jaques) mother, Great-Gramma Emma Ellis (nee Peterson), who lived as long as I knew her, in her white house on the corner in Canton, SD. It was this little girl who sat, curled up, under the buffet when the drunk antics of Uncle Lydell disturbed the peace of our Sunday afternoon at Gramma Emma's. This little girl learned, too, that death brings a deep complexity of emotion turmoil, when Uncle Lydell's drunk antics were ended, once and for all, by an exploding hay bailer. Every single birthday, this little girl got a birthday card from her great-grandmother containing one taped-in quarter and one-to-several sticks of Wrigley's gum du jour. Every year, it was addressed to a different variation of Diana Lambert in her shaky, old-fashioned, granny hand. Coffee reminds me of her; her house radiated warmth and coffee (and busom, I gotta say it, the woman was like 75% busom to me). Always the big enamel pot on the warming stove in the dining room. She'd dash to the kitchen to make a fresh batch when my dad arrived. If it was a baking day, she'd put aside some coffee to cool, to later mix with powdered sugar to frost a spice cake. A spice cake not from a box. Nor a recipe, for that matter. And this little girl would be invited to help. Not an imposition, a guest. Sometimes, in the summer we'd sneak to the kitchen and she'd give me an ice cream cone from her giant freezer that had a room of it's own. Aaaahh it was this little girl who forever linked baking in a kitchen (and busoms) to the most profound gift of love possible. Her scents hearken thoughts of acceptance and attention. When I make Spice Cake, I think of them, that woman and that little girl, the magic of a simple cake... yeah, and the busoms too. Thanks Emma ♥

The Warner Bros. Cartoon Posse

Hayden really enjoyed hanging these up ♥ Happiness bubbled right out of his every orifice while he manipulated these into this year's tree display. They're his on the tree every year ornaments. Magical, touchable, dare-I-say taste-able? holiday decor.
They surely came from Gramma Mimi, our Warner Bros. connection. They must've arrived early in our holidays together, I don't remember a South Dakota Christmas without them. They're definitely young family ornaments with memories attached: I remember both kids gnawing at them during several seasons. They've held up well ♥
[insert conversation about the missing foghorn-foghorn ornament and my newest quest to find him/one... updates soon]

A Gift of Gratitude

Friday I saw the end-of-her-rope mama and I approached her with unclenched heiney. And that's saying a lot. I practiced for hours at home. I talked to my friends. I sat in quiet contemplation. I processed what gift I could best give; I felt called upon to inspire this mama in a positive, loving way. In a way that would make a lasting impact on her right here, right now with her beautiful children. I breathed often and deeply. I processed and put aside my own baggage of judgment and sat in complete compassion. What would I need to hear from me? What would awaken me and inspire me? Wherein lies the gift? O the Gift. In the swishy quiet I found the answer: a blank card. A blank card with a baggie of Hannah in the bottom corner. I hugged that mama tight, first thing, loving too that desperate part of mySelf. Then I showed her the envelope which reads: A Reminder. I pull out the card and I ask that she, during the happy easy moments, take the time to list some points of gratitude & stash the card in her bag (adding to it constantly). The next time she finds herself needing the corner of the knit shop, she can pull it out, think of Hannah and remember...
She softened instantly. She knows I know. We know there are productive alternatives to destructive thoughts. A reminder is a good thing. Reminders and support and modeling are great things. Kindness in the throes of red-hot-anger is a freakin miracle ♥

The Mission, 1993

It's funny that I should buy this ornament to commemorate my first Xmas with Mitch, as just a few years later, Mitch spent Xmas inside the actual San Fernando Mission. At least his ashes did. Do. He's still there, in the cupboard in the mausoleum. There's a plaque that says "Son, Husband, Father" above

Mitch L. Jenner
June 15, 1968 - December 3, 2000

There's a doohickey attached there, too, for tokens to be left, like flowers; or, if you're like my kids, water balloons and dum-dum suckers.

One Last Day, Remembered...

There was panic before my mother-in-law's visit! Mitch had just begun slamming himself into every available doorway, as he lurched his half-working flesh through the house. His entire left side was darkly bruised, on top of becoming ever more limp since the stroke. I'd never want to see my own child in such a state, I knew she did not, either. I begged him to be careful, to move slowly and only when absolutely necessary. I realize, too, that it was only ass-lead inertia that moved him from room to room; only that deep breath of courage and a heave of body -working or not- in the general target direction and eventually, after bouncing off enough obstacles, that brought him to his destination of choice. Destination of determination. Determination to cling to the last vestige of independence. Bruises or no, I could not take it away.
His mom came and saw the reality. The really fucking sad reality of her big strong boy shriveling of body and expanding of soul. For two weeks they were gifted with one another, given the luxury of her special care and his specific need for her care. It was almost as though he put on a brave face about becoming weak. He was both patient and champion. He was both sick and recovering. He was needy and fiercely independent. He was dying. I remember snapping these photos thinking, Though I don't make him oatmeal with milk, I do produce a mean scramba-legg and toast breakfast & I want it documented for posterity. Both realizing and denying how close we are to the end of days.In *this* moment, these are kids who have less than 48 hours with their dad. And they know it's a possibility. And we're all eating scramba-leggs and life is good right now.
No sense in getting all caught up on whatever, whenever when daddy's here right now and we got hot food and good laughs right in front of us! No panic in them.