Someone at an Irish bar asked me a few days ago where Marcie's grave was and if I visited. I said, "She visits me!" At her quizzical look, I explained Marcie's cremains were in the house and slowly being spread over the world.
When I see this lass again, which may be far in the future, I will share this poem I found, which itself is Irish:
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thoughts. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Work is in progress...
I have started writing the book in earnest when I have time and inspiration, but am holding it all offline until it is ready for submission and editing. Thank you for the words of encouragement, folks :)
I will be posting a personal blog for myself soon enough as this process evolves, and let some of you readers in on my current activities and work. My journey does continue, and in some new directions you might want to hear about.
In the mean time, I will post some poems and such when I can and as I decide what to put and what not to put in the printed book.
After (and if) it goes to print, I will be revamping this site, moving it to a new server and generally using the new version as a promotional nexus and to provide other loved ones their own spots to write again.
As always, if you would like to contribute your own memories and thoughts on Marcie and her life, please email me and I will post it here. Anything that ends up in the book will get you a credit :)
Heck, maybe it will be an anthology of sorts (or perhaps a separate supplement :).
I will be posting a personal blog for myself soon enough as this process evolves, and let some of you readers in on my current activities and work. My journey does continue, and in some new directions you might want to hear about.
In the mean time, I will post some poems and such when I can and as I decide what to put and what not to put in the printed book.
After (and if) it goes to print, I will be revamping this site, moving it to a new server and generally using the new version as a promotional nexus and to provide other loved ones their own spots to write again.
As always, if you would like to contribute your own memories and thoughts on Marcie and her life, please email me and I will post it here. Anything that ends up in the book will get you a credit :)
Heck, maybe it will be an anthology of sorts (or perhaps a separate supplement :).
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Old friends and plans to put in place
Marcie knew my friend Chris Cerutti pretty well and was able to help him out with a ride home once when we worked together. I've known him since the old Gashaus days. It was good to hear from you, man!
He lives in Portland now, and contacted me on Facebook. Interestingly enough, this is a place I am considering moving, along with San Francisco, Hong Kong and Canada. Maybe I will pop in for a visit. I have an offer of a spare room on the table. Sweet!
Then again, things can get sticky here in San Diego. We'll see what's what as some new and interesting opportunities continue to develop. Television work? Heh. We'll see for sure. Anyways, more this week as I try and wrap up a big project for a client.
He lives in Portland now, and contacted me on Facebook. Interestingly enough, this is a place I am considering moving, along with San Francisco, Hong Kong and Canada. Maybe I will pop in for a visit. I have an offer of a spare room on the table. Sweet!
Then again, things can get sticky here in San Diego. We'll see what's what as some new and interesting opportunities continue to develop. Television work? Heh. We'll see for sure. Anyways, more this week as I try and wrap up a big project for a client.
Friday, January 2, 2009
So hard to let us go
Marcie was strong. She cried, and then she sometimes held it all in, too. But she always broke down when she talked about the people she would leave behind.
"Oh, my mom," she said. "My mom is going to be devastated. I don't know what she's going to do."
I held her hand and she squeezed it as the tears oozed from her eyes and she gulped. I ached to my core.
I hated to see her cry. In all my time with Marcie, I had never gotten used to the idea of seeing her unhappy or in pain, or sad in any way. I always thought that she should feel nothing but happiness, unrealistic as that was.
Of course, if she cried in any case because of me, and that was not unheard of, it usually ended in immediate efforts to reconcile and a sense of great guilt. It didn't matter if I was right.
It was never right for me to see her upset.
But when Marcie cried the most with me was when she reviewed her life, very discreetly, in the form of her friends and family, and her thoughts of how her departure would impact them.
When her thoughts turned to all of those lives her own was entangled with, she spoke clearly and thoughtfully, viewing each person through their own unique lens, colored and shaped by the moments they shared together.
She would call me and sit with me on the couch, or lay in the bed with me, and nearer the end, call me to her side.
I was left in these beautiful and heartrending moments in a state most who know me would say was unfathomable. Speechless and overwhelmed is not my native mien.
She feared for everyone she knew. She hoped for them, too. She lamented the loss of their future experiences together and her support of them. She smiled and then cried at the goals people had set, which she was sure she would not see achieved.
She would often think of people before they visited her, and talk to me about them. She practiced her strolls down memory lane to help her organize her thoughts before she met them.
"I want to make sure that she... I hope he doesn't midn if I bring up... I wonder if she would mind if..." she was always planning and listing and preparing.
I am always grateful that we were so enmeshed in each other that we could finish each others' thoughts and read each others' minds. Marcie was not as at ease with it, even if it was second nature.
Though I might annoy Marcie when I finished hers in better times, she let that go in her last few months and would smile and grip my hand. It was not me wearing her down, she just needed the help.
Her thoughts started out where she wanted to be, but the disease would take them afar or stall her. She would look at me and ask without words. It was relief when i got it right.
"Yes, exactly," she said. "ExACTly. Thank you, sweetie."
"No, thank you," I would say.
She usually smiled at that. I did not tell her that every thought I helped her finish was another precious thing to know her by and another taste of her to savor for me as she drifted away.
She did this for weeks at a time, and I was devastated. I did not know what to say to all of her touching memories and thoughts on our friends. I felt the loss all of her friends would experience as she relayed it in her wise and sweet way.
She was getting depressed one day when speaking of a friend who was distant, one we had not been able to contact. I was at a loss, feeling despair as she wondered what had happened in her life.
I looked down and she said, "I promised to get in touch, I should have a long time ago," she said.
I sighed and finally something worthwhile came out of me. But to say them to her, to give her an inkling that I knew the road was to end for her, after resisting the thought for so long, broke me completely.
"I think that she, like everyone else you are thinking about, will miss you very badly, baby," I said. "But I think that they are all going to be very grateful to have someone like you to make their lives as rich as you do, just like I do."
She started crying but my thought was not complete, and I was falling apart, too.
"I think," I said, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood, "That you have done more for all the people in your life in the time they have had with you than anyone else ever will, and with such joy and spirit and fire..."
She covered her mouth wand closed her eyes as I rubbed her other hand in mine. I kissed her on the cheek.
"I just think you don't have to worry about people, because even if you aren't here to do things for them, they will be here to do things for other people like you have," I said. "It's something you do by just being yourself, you inspire people."
I gulped and smiled at her and I said, "I am sure you'll find a way to keep doing what you do best."
I hugged her and she wept with me. There were more conversations like this. Her loved ones came and went. Her memories and worries of them were and are are theirs to share, not mine and not here.
But for me, I am hoping that one little legacy, Marcie's inspiring ways, her cheerleading and wisdom-sharing and life well-lived, will remain as strong their lives as it is in mine, and in these pages.
"Oh, my mom," she said. "My mom is going to be devastated. I don't know what she's going to do."
I held her hand and she squeezed it as the tears oozed from her eyes and she gulped. I ached to my core.
I hated to see her cry. In all my time with Marcie, I had never gotten used to the idea of seeing her unhappy or in pain, or sad in any way. I always thought that she should feel nothing but happiness, unrealistic as that was.
Of course, if she cried in any case because of me, and that was not unheard of, it usually ended in immediate efforts to reconcile and a sense of great guilt. It didn't matter if I was right.
It was never right for me to see her upset.
But when Marcie cried the most with me was when she reviewed her life, very discreetly, in the form of her friends and family, and her thoughts of how her departure would impact them.
When her thoughts turned to all of those lives her own was entangled with, she spoke clearly and thoughtfully, viewing each person through their own unique lens, colored and shaped by the moments they shared together.
She would call me and sit with me on the couch, or lay in the bed with me, and nearer the end, call me to her side.
I was left in these beautiful and heartrending moments in a state most who know me would say was unfathomable. Speechless and overwhelmed is not my native mien.
She feared for everyone she knew. She hoped for them, too. She lamented the loss of their future experiences together and her support of them. She smiled and then cried at the goals people had set, which she was sure she would not see achieved.
She would often think of people before they visited her, and talk to me about them. She practiced her strolls down memory lane to help her organize her thoughts before she met them.
"I want to make sure that she... I hope he doesn't midn if I bring up... I wonder if she would mind if..." she was always planning and listing and preparing.
I am always grateful that we were so enmeshed in each other that we could finish each others' thoughts and read each others' minds. Marcie was not as at ease with it, even if it was second nature.
Though I might annoy Marcie when I finished hers in better times, she let that go in her last few months and would smile and grip my hand. It was not me wearing her down, she just needed the help.
Her thoughts started out where she wanted to be, but the disease would take them afar or stall her. She would look at me and ask without words. It was relief when i got it right.
"Yes, exactly," she said. "ExACTly. Thank you, sweetie."
"No, thank you," I would say.
She usually smiled at that. I did not tell her that every thought I helped her finish was another precious thing to know her by and another taste of her to savor for me as she drifted away.
She did this for weeks at a time, and I was devastated. I did not know what to say to all of her touching memories and thoughts on our friends. I felt the loss all of her friends would experience as she relayed it in her wise and sweet way.
She was getting depressed one day when speaking of a friend who was distant, one we had not been able to contact. I was at a loss, feeling despair as she wondered what had happened in her life.
I looked down and she said, "I promised to get in touch, I should have a long time ago," she said.
I sighed and finally something worthwhile came out of me. But to say them to her, to give her an inkling that I knew the road was to end for her, after resisting the thought for so long, broke me completely.
"I think that she, like everyone else you are thinking about, will miss you very badly, baby," I said. "But I think that they are all going to be very grateful to have someone like you to make their lives as rich as you do, just like I do."
She started crying but my thought was not complete, and I was falling apart, too.
"I think," I said, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood, "That you have done more for all the people in your life in the time they have had with you than anyone else ever will, and with such joy and spirit and fire..."
She covered her mouth wand closed her eyes as I rubbed her other hand in mine. I kissed her on the cheek.
"I just think you don't have to worry about people, because even if you aren't here to do things for them, they will be here to do things for other people like you have," I said. "It's something you do by just being yourself, you inspire people."
I gulped and smiled at her and I said, "I am sure you'll find a way to keep doing what you do best."
I hugged her and she wept with me. There were more conversations like this. Her loved ones came and went. Her memories and worries of them were and are are theirs to share, not mine and not here.
But for me, I am hoping that one little legacy, Marcie's inspiring ways, her cheerleading and wisdom-sharing and life well-lived, will remain as strong their lives as it is in mine, and in these pages.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Letter To Marcie - Cooking
To my dear Marcie,
I wanted to thank you about something I do almost every day, which I enjoy, and which I might have given up if it were not for you. Cooking.
I know, I know. I knew how to cook when we met. But you gave me the right and the appreciation for my cooking that made me wanty to cook. You inspired me to branch out, to try new vegetables, foods and tastes.
Most of all, you did not snicker when I told you I knew how to cook.
I learned how to cook passively until my early youth. Watching my father and grandma Pruett, my mother in much younger years, and my Aunt Gemma lent me a curiosity I never had the approval to pursue at home. But I watched and memorized their tricks.
My Aunt Gemma let me cook an omelet once. She was impressed that I had learned to flip it without breaking it. I was 12.
In foster care, I gravitated to the kitchen to observe the preparation of mass meals and learned how to cook in bulk, but with flavor. It was wonderful, and I occasionally got to help, even preparing my first meal for others in a group home at 16.
We had baked chicken breast with carmelized onion and lemon-soaked garlic on top, a side of home-made french fires, a salad with my own dressing, and vegetables were carrots and broccoli, lightly steamed and served with a ramekin of teriyaki and veggie broth.
I did not cook much except for myself after that farewell meal, but I always wanted to again.
You cooked for me and opened the world of French and Italian cuisine. You showed me that different potato types had different uses, not all peppers are green and bell, and convinced me to make my own sauces, fusing the tastes I knew well with those you loved.
You expanded me (in more ways than one). You gave me cooking. I don't know if that kind of inspiration will come from any women I might meet in the future.
You also let me experiment, you let me cook for you, and you honed my skills with knives and tools and techniques, and you taught me a little baking, though I will never be the better of the two of us in that department, either.
What I appreciate most was that you understood that I did not cook to threaten your domestic standing or make you irrelevant, and that if I was better at some style of food than you were, you left it to me.
You did not make me feel less anything for my little hobby, and making you smile when I cooked was always a proud and happy thing. Thank you for doing that every time, even when I know I had as many misses as hits in my cuisine.
There is so much more. Until next time...
Love,
F
I wanted to thank you about something I do almost every day, which I enjoy, and which I might have given up if it were not for you. Cooking.
I know, I know. I knew how to cook when we met. But you gave me the right and the appreciation for my cooking that made me wanty to cook. You inspired me to branch out, to try new vegetables, foods and tastes.
Most of all, you did not snicker when I told you I knew how to cook.
I learned how to cook passively until my early youth. Watching my father and grandma Pruett, my mother in much younger years, and my Aunt Gemma lent me a curiosity I never had the approval to pursue at home. But I watched and memorized their tricks.
My Aunt Gemma let me cook an omelet once. She was impressed that I had learned to flip it without breaking it. I was 12.
In foster care, I gravitated to the kitchen to observe the preparation of mass meals and learned how to cook in bulk, but with flavor. It was wonderful, and I occasionally got to help, even preparing my first meal for others in a group home at 16.
We had baked chicken breast with carmelized onion and lemon-soaked garlic on top, a side of home-made french fires, a salad with my own dressing, and vegetables were carrots and broccoli, lightly steamed and served with a ramekin of teriyaki and veggie broth.
I did not cook much except for myself after that farewell meal, but I always wanted to again.
You cooked for me and opened the world of French and Italian cuisine. You showed me that different potato types had different uses, not all peppers are green and bell, and convinced me to make my own sauces, fusing the tastes I knew well with those you loved.
You expanded me (in more ways than one). You gave me cooking. I don't know if that kind of inspiration will come from any women I might meet in the future.
You also let me experiment, you let me cook for you, and you honed my skills with knives and tools and techniques, and you taught me a little baking, though I will never be the better of the two of us in that department, either.
What I appreciate most was that you understood that I did not cook to threaten your domestic standing or make you irrelevant, and that if I was better at some style of food than you were, you left it to me.
You did not make me feel less anything for my little hobby, and making you smile when I cooked was always a proud and happy thing. Thank you for doing that every time, even when I know I had as many misses as hits in my cuisine.
There is so much more. Until next time...
Love,
F
Monday, November 3, 2008
Letter to Marcie-Sweet days in the sun
The fall sunset, so special still...
Saturday I was watching one happen from the rooftop of Park Manor Suites as two new friends tied the knot. I so remember seeing one just like it one cool November evening and I glanced over to old Mister A's.
"This was way too expensive," you said.
I nodded. It was. But I wanted to have a special night with you, and I had gotten it. And all the extra hours in the world could not make that any less of a thrill. I was so in love with you.
The fires up north created a spectacular backdrop to the ceremony Saturday. It was so close to our night above the city, I swear.
I felt you hold my hand again as I closed my eyes and clasped my little glass of Crown Royal. I listened to the wind and the crowd and went back. I remembered the smell of your Fendi and the slinky slide of your top against my chest as we swayed.
I remembered the long kiss and the feel of your nose in the crook of my neck, then the soft weight of your head against my chest and your hair in my hands as I rubbed your nape gently.
"I love you," you said.
It was just one of the many times you had, but it is distinct. And Saturday I danced with mothers and grandmothers and wives and two new brides, and thought of you. And I smiled for them because of it.
Love,
F.
Saturday I was watching one happen from the rooftop of Park Manor Suites as two new friends tied the knot. I so remember seeing one just like it one cool November evening and I glanced over to old Mister A's.
"This was way too expensive," you said.
I nodded. It was. But I wanted to have a special night with you, and I had gotten it. And all the extra hours in the world could not make that any less of a thrill. I was so in love with you.
The fires up north created a spectacular backdrop to the ceremony Saturday. It was so close to our night above the city, I swear.
I felt you hold my hand again as I closed my eyes and clasped my little glass of Crown Royal. I listened to the wind and the crowd and went back. I remembered the smell of your Fendi and the slinky slide of your top against my chest as we swayed.
I remembered the long kiss and the feel of your nose in the crook of my neck, then the soft weight of your head against my chest and your hair in my hands as I rubbed your nape gently.
"I love you," you said.
It was just one of the many times you had, but it is distinct. And Saturday I danced with mothers and grandmothers and wives and two new brides, and thought of you. And I smiled for them because of it.
Love,
F.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Venus
Tonight, I looked in vain for Venus. Of course, the star charts would have told me why, but my heart had a ready explanation, too. I miss you, my Venus. I look forward to having you rise on my horizon again, when the heavens deem it the right time.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A quiet time at a loud place
So, yesterday I went to a birthday party at Dean's for Braxton, a freshly minted Devilish Deuce of a boy. It made me reflect on Marcie and I and how we saw the question of kids. Well, I won't cover that here, but soon in another post.
Yesterday, as I sat with a friend and watched a small army of toddlers bounce, eat cake and generally enjoy life, I noticed on thing lacking: a redhead child. There was not one in the over a dozen present.
Well, it was still an interesting time.
At any rate, Marcie was not one to spend time with our friends or do kids' birthday parties unless they were for her close friends, like Chrissy's. But she may have enjoyed this one in the cool winds of autumn on Mt. Helix.
Thanks, Dean-O and Joey, for a great time and a nice, life-affirming event. These weeks, I need those. And happy birthday, Braxton :)
Yesterday, as I sat with a friend and watched a small army of toddlers bounce, eat cake and generally enjoy life, I noticed on thing lacking: a redhead child. There was not one in the over a dozen present.
Well, it was still an interesting time.
At any rate, Marcie was not one to spend time with our friends or do kids' birthday parties unless they were for her close friends, like Chrissy's. But she may have enjoyed this one in the cool winds of autumn on Mt. Helix.
Thanks, Dean-O and Joey, for a great time and a nice, life-affirming event. These weeks, I need those. And happy birthday, Braxton :)
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Secret posts
So I am posting in the back end of the blog as I work on the book. Some things to look forward to: I will be posting China films, writing some about Marcie and I and the kids question, and just reminiscing. I feel as if the dispersal last week(ish) helped me unclog a lot...
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Birthday Girl! (a blog post that should have been)
Dear pals,
So Marcie turned 41 Sunday, as all of you know. here in San Diego we had a nice brunch at Jake's and sipped a bit too much in the Mimosa department. We were late for her dinner at Bob's and Barbara's, but we made tardy worth the while, for sure. Thanks to everyone, what a crowd!
She scored the Lost DVD set with all the episodes she missed when she was bedridden, a ticket to San Francisco (for both of us... for the first time!) and some MORE Jo Malone. God, how much loot does one woman get? As much as she wants, methinks. Send more, she hates that but secretly enjoys it, too...
I can't believe last year I was facing a life without our girl. I would have been utterly lost. Somehow, I just know I would have been broken down and maybe died myself. I am so proud of her. So tough, and so sweet. She's my hero.
I am sorry it has been a week or two since I updated, but I am thinking I might change the blog to "crazy husband loves redhead" or something. This old blog was more about keeping everyone up on her struggle. She's not entirely comfortable with it, now.
Thanks again, everyone! I'll update on the changes and anything else to come when I have it fleshed out. What a strange chapter in our lives. I am glad to turn the page. This one will stay up so we can all remember just how tough it was.
G'night folks!
F.
I wish... so much.
So Marcie turned 41 Sunday, as all of you know. here in San Diego we had a nice brunch at Jake's and sipped a bit too much in the Mimosa department. We were late for her dinner at Bob's and Barbara's, but we made tardy worth the while, for sure. Thanks to everyone, what a crowd!
She scored the Lost DVD set with all the episodes she missed when she was bedridden, a ticket to San Francisco (for both of us... for the first time!) and some MORE Jo Malone. God, how much loot does one woman get? As much as she wants, methinks. Send more, she hates that but secretly enjoys it, too...
I can't believe last year I was facing a life without our girl. I would have been utterly lost. Somehow, I just know I would have been broken down and maybe died myself. I am so proud of her. So tough, and so sweet. She's my hero.
I am sorry it has been a week or two since I updated, but I am thinking I might change the blog to "crazy husband loves redhead" or something. This old blog was more about keeping everyone up on her struggle. She's not entirely comfortable with it, now.
Thanks again, everyone! I'll update on the changes and anything else to come when I have it fleshed out. What a strange chapter in our lives. I am glad to turn the page. This one will stay up so we can all remember just how tough it was.
G'night folks!
F.
I wish... so much.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Temple of the Sea God
Here is the little temple that sits at the entrance to Pak Kok village. Pak Tai is the Taoist sea god, and one of his power symbols is the turtle. Appropriate, no? There are many little temples to him like this on the island, likely because of all the fishing that is done here. Enjoy!
Monday, September 22, 2008
The view from my front porch
Here are some of the sounds and sights I wish she and I could be sharing here on Lamma. Marcie loved early morning wildlife sounds. Turn your volume up to hear these.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Arrival
I am exhilarated but pensive. I don't know what is going to happen when I drop off some of Marcie's ashes at the beach, but I am feeling her presence and that is enough. I will film the dispersal for everyone, and my words to her during this first moment, too.
She would love this place. She would love the surroundings, the heat and humidity, the thunderstorms in the evening, the hustle and bustle and the raw energy.
What I wish goes unsaid and unwritten because it is thoroughly understandable and predictable, and impossible to fulfill. I will share with all you who knew or have come to know her.
Look for pictures and film later on this weekend. I have been busy and will remain so.
She would love this place. She would love the surroundings, the heat and humidity, the thunderstorms in the evening, the hustle and bustle and the raw energy.
What I wish goes unsaid and unwritten because it is thoroughly understandable and predictable, and impossible to fulfill. I will share with all you who knew or have come to know her.
Look for pictures and film later on this weekend. I have been busy and will remain so.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The guardian and the preparation
Seamus has taken to sitting on Marcie's table of memorial, alongside her container. This began a short time ago. Usually, he slept under her. It is almost as if he has to be even closer. Of course, my dreams have accelerated, too.
I wonder if his have. At any rate, a few pictures:
I will post pictures of her recontainment another day. I sleep and prepare for the journey for now, folks. Good night.
I wonder if his have. At any rate, a few pictures:
I will post pictures of her recontainment another day. I sleep and prepare for the journey for now, folks. Good night.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The List
Socks
Shoes
Shirts
Pants
Hats
Jacket
Umbrella
Deodorant
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Medicine
Nail Clippers
Laptop
Money
Camera
Memory cards
Memories
MP3 player (hers)
Ashes (hers)
Her
Shoes
Shirts
Pants
Hats
Jacket
Umbrella
Deodorant
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Medicine
Nail Clippers
Laptop
Money
Camera
Memory cards
Memories
MP3 player (hers)
Ashes (hers)
Her
Monday, September 15, 2008
Hong Kong Preparation-The Plan Begins
I have begun to pack for the trip and prepare my house. I am sorry to have to leave Seamus behind, but he will be in good hands. In the mean time, I have decided to bring a little bit of Marcie's cremains to Hong Kong.
Marcie's family and friends know of her love for sea turtles. She was enchanted by one during her trip to Hawaii. She spoke of it constantly afterward, and looked forward to going back to that lagoon for another "encounter," as she described it.
The island of Lamma, where I will be staying, is home to the Green turtle, an endangered species that lays its eggs there after travelling thousands of miles. Their breeding season ends in October, so we are just in time.
I will leave some of her ashes on or near the beach with the turtles, so that she can commune with them and be visited every summer. I will try to place her in a place with a nice view of the beach it all happens at.
I will, of course, snap pictures.
Marcie's family and friends know of her love for sea turtles. She was enchanted by one during her trip to Hawaii. She spoke of it constantly afterward, and looked forward to going back to that lagoon for another "encounter," as she described it.
The island of Lamma, where I will be staying, is home to the Green turtle, an endangered species that lays its eggs there after travelling thousands of miles. Their breeding season ends in October, so we are just in time.
I will leave some of her ashes on or near the beach with the turtles, so that she can commune with them and be visited every summer. I will try to place her in a place with a nice view of the beach it all happens at.
I will, of course, snap pictures.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Editorial Update
I'll be posting short sequences and a little story about Marcie, travel, and me being at home when she did this week. I will also tell you more about Marcie's image of RiverMannonite and the history she built for him.
Pictures will be coming soon, of a little phenomenon we experience in our yard every year. I think you'll enjoy, even if the shots do not encompass the whole...
Pictures will be coming soon, of a little phenomenon we experience in our yard every year. I think you'll enjoy, even if the shots do not encompass the whole...
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Her Mp3 Player-The Smithereens 2
When I spoke of "Kiss your tears away," I supposed it was intended to be about me to her, kissing her tears away. But Marcie was layered and deep, and it is likely she felt the song encapsulated things we both felt.
She may have felt that sense toward me in the moments that came so slowly and yet inexorably, but I certainly felt them towards her in the moments that went by so quickly and so unmercifully.
But if that song was meaningful then Cut Flowers was even moreso. When Christina and Jane visited, we flipped through albums. In one of them we found my first flowers to her, a couple of roses. They were pressed and I remembered her putting them there.
I suppose she assumed they would remind her of me. Instead, they remind me now of how much she cherished everything. And the song? I'm sure you'll understand the connection beyond the simple titular accident.This selection is a feat of knowledge and intimacy only she could accomplish.
Cut Flowers
(Jim Babjak/Pat DiNizio)
Sentimental gestures never meant that much to me
But if I had her here today
I'd shed a tear for all the world to see
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
A gentle girl who needed all the love I had to give
But I was blind to her and would not give
What she needed most to live
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
Cut flowers pressed between the pages of a book she gave
I go to her and say, "I'm sorry,"
Then I put cut flowers on her grave
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental way
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
I know how very thoughtful and loving and very heartrent she must have been to listen to this and place it on there to ponder. I know it right now. But I also know I don't have to say I am sorry. Our regrets were thankfully resolved.
But wow, it is a beautiful song. Cut Flowers by The Smithereens.
She may have felt that sense toward me in the moments that came so slowly and yet inexorably, but I certainly felt them towards her in the moments that went by so quickly and so unmercifully.
But if that song was meaningful then Cut Flowers was even moreso. When Christina and Jane visited, we flipped through albums. In one of them we found my first flowers to her, a couple of roses. They were pressed and I remembered her putting them there.
I suppose she assumed they would remind her of me. Instead, they remind me now of how much she cherished everything. And the song? I'm sure you'll understand the connection beyond the simple titular accident.This selection is a feat of knowledge and intimacy only she could accomplish.
Cut Flowers
(Jim Babjak/Pat DiNizio)
Sentimental gestures never meant that much to me
But if I had her here today
I'd shed a tear for all the world to see
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
A gentle girl who needed all the love I had to give
But I was blind to her and would not give
What she needed most to live
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
Cut flowers pressed between the pages of a book she gave
I go to her and say, "I'm sorry,"
Then I put cut flowers on her grave
Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental way
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days
I know how very thoughtful and loving and very heartrent she must have been to listen to this and place it on there to ponder. I know it right now. But I also know I don't have to say I am sorry. Our regrets were thankfully resolved.
But wow, it is a beautiful song. Cut Flowers by The Smithereens.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
What a trip
There will be no photos shared publicly about my trip, save a few generic skyline shots and, perhaps, an approved shot of the hostesses (once they okay one). I will also not share much about this one here, except the Slow Food Nation event, as Marcie would have been in heaven there.
Suffice it to say that this was the first trip that I went on really more for myself and my future than for her and my past. This is not the place for such things.
Pictures of it all later. For now, we're going back to my memories of moments of my Marcie. I have some thoughts to share about Marcie and how I felt looking out on my next home city, one she almost joined me in. That will be all that one finds here.
Friends, of course, can ask in person or email. I will have some private albums to view...
F.
Suffice it to say that this was the first trip that I went on really more for myself and my future than for her and my past. This is not the place for such things.
Pictures of it all later. For now, we're going back to my memories of moments of my Marcie. I have some thoughts to share about Marcie and how I felt looking out on my next home city, one she almost joined me in. That will be all that one finds here.
Friends, of course, can ask in person or email. I will have some private albums to view...
F.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Here in San Francisco...
Well, my journey to San Francisco is complete. I checked into my hotel at 11:00 PM after a great little trip to the Slow Food Preview with Jane and Christina. I tried to get pictures, we'll see how they turned out...
I will take some pictures of the grand debauch as it unfolds. I keep wondering what Marcie and I would be doing if she were with me, but then I catch myself and I am back in the moment where I belong.
I guess that seeing her (now my) friends is going to have me slipping back into those memories and that nostalgia again. But I am not complaining. It's a comfy place and an influence I prosper from.
I will take some pictures of the grand debauch as it unfolds. I keep wondering what Marcie and I would be doing if she were with me, but then I catch myself and I am back in the moment where I belong.
I guess that seeing her (now my) friends is going to have me slipping back into those memories and that nostalgia again. But I am not complaining. It's a comfy place and an influence I prosper from.