Drove though Indiana twice within the past 7 days. I don't like Indiana. It creeps me out. Here is why:
1. Basketball worship.
2. So darn flat. Makes one ready to get out of there, away from the unrelenting corn fields and plentiful pig farms.
3. The place breeds inchoately unpleasant people. Pale, taciturn boys in the college speech circuit liked to make excuses to touch me with clammy hands (hand shaking in greeting or touching my arm while passing) and never made eye contact. Lately, I have met several women whom I would classify as borderline personalities who delight in wrecking the lives of others. All three were from Indiana. Coincidence? (Probably. But they're terrible ambassadors.) Many nice people come from Indiana too, but they generally move away.
4. Cross the border from Ohio to Indiana, and suddenly you are assaulted with overt and rather hostile Christian billboards all the way to Illinois. Would you convert for "JESUS IS REAL." "JESUS IS WATCHING YOU" "WE ARE A CHRISTIAN NATION" over an angry looking bald eagle and "DO YOU KNOW HOW YOU ARE SPENDING ETERNITY? DO YOU?" There are several roadside crosses vying for most obnoxiously monolithic. Today, when we stopped for Skyline Chili, the restaurant was playing nothing but Christian praise songs. I'm pretty sure that isn't part of the corporate image. It's also one of the most relentlessly monotonous music archtypes one can inflict upon others. I did eat faster, and maybe that was the point.
The thing is, I am Christian, and I was offended by the heavy hammer of fundamentalists in Indiana. I don't like being pounded on the head with it. I don't want to be associated with people who think relentless propaganda is love.
5. Indiana never lets you know if a rest stop has been closed until you walk up to the restroom building. Bastards!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
What's going on, what goes on...
I haven't blogged for a while because life has been happening. Also, I configured my cookie permission thingy in the computer in such a way I couldn't access Blogger for a while. It didn't really matter, I didn't feel very chatty anyway.
Back in August, my Mom passed away suddenly. It was a triple whammy of a cancerous lung tumor pushing against her heart to give her a heart attack, that broke apart and spread a clot, that caused a stroke and caused several organs to start failing. Or, the cancer had spread to her brain and caused a stroke, and the blood clots were just a bonus. Anyway, it was incredibly rapid and now she is gone.
I feel I was very fortunate that I could get into town fast enough that I was able to see her while she was still able to see me and recognize me, and we could talk a little. I could tell her I loved her, and she told me she loved me. She knew I was there.
I also feel fortunate that we were able to be friends for many, many years, since she was through menopause and I was through adolescence. We had time to bond as mothers and as friends, and I will always cherish that.
The first month after she passed, I just hermited myself. I cried almost every day. Unloading the dishwasher made me sad, because that is when I would call her. I didn't really feel like auditioning, I didn't feel like going out. I didn't socialize. After about a month, I felt ready to face the world, and since then, I have been functioning pretty well. However, it doesn't take much for me to get choked up at a moment's notice, and it's always unexpected.
All it takes is someone talking about their mom, or a song or a poem, a smell, or seeing something in a store or a show that she would like, to start a little breakdown.
A couple weeks ago, Peggy, my voice teacher, and I were going through the songs of Phantom of the Opera, since I have been asked to sing it whenever I go back to Columbus at the karaoke my brother and I frequent. She started playing the song, "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" and one phrase into it, I started sobbing so hard I thought my eyes would fall out. It totally took me by surprise, but Peggy understood. She's 75, and has lost a lot of people out of her life. She knows how it goes.
Last week, I had a speech student start working on performing a poem called "The Smell of Oranges" by J.J. Jonas, which is about the son of a fruit seller. Because my student is just 15 years old, he really didn't get at first that it was a love and remembrance poem of the father, whom the son loved dearly. He just saw the grousing about the father from the point of view of an adolescent remembrance part of the poem. The student didn't understand the adult perspective. When the father died, the son then craved the scent of oranges that reminded him of his father's hands. The student asked how he should interpret that section. I read it for him, and of course, tears sprung into my eyes reading the last passage. It was kind of embarrassing, but I was able to talk to him about how things that annoyed you become cherished, and the kind of longing and nostalgia this creates. (He totally got it, and came in First at the tournament this weekend with his newly informed poetry interpretation. It is a lovely poem, you should look it up.)
My Dad is mourning in all the normal ways one mourns for a wife and friend of 50 years. He seems to be progressing very well, all things considered. I now call him just about every day, even if nothing is going on. My Dad and I have always been close, and closer in personality and likes than my Mom and I were, so it's great to have a reason to be in contact more often anyway. I am hoping he will come spend some time here with me for a while, but he isn't ready to go traveling yet. There's a cocooning stage to mourning, and the house with her and all her stuff is a nice and cozy place. He has moments of restlessness, but he isn't ready to head out just yet. No need to rush things, they will happen when they happen. Also, he may get a sweet consulting job back where he has worked before, and getting back to that routine would be financially gratifying, so he can't miss out on that. Tomorrow he turns 75, but doesn't act, move or look like it. I hope I do that well!
Since my Mom's passing, I feel more vulnerable, but I also feel more in touch with what's important. At first a lot of things irritated me very easily, but now I have a slower approach to getting upset, especially at other people. Perhaps because my own heart is so heavy, I find myself being much more empathetic and slower to become impatient. This is a good thing.
Some days, I miss my Mom more than others. Some days, I feel her just behind me, or I feel her soft, warm cheek on mine. I feel like in some way, she is with me, and I like that.
So, that's what's been going on, and now, I am back to this blog, with a heavier heart, but new understanding of...well, something or other. We'll find out together. I'll write again soon.
Back in August, my Mom passed away suddenly. It was a triple whammy of a cancerous lung tumor pushing against her heart to give her a heart attack, that broke apart and spread a clot, that caused a stroke and caused several organs to start failing. Or, the cancer had spread to her brain and caused a stroke, and the blood clots were just a bonus. Anyway, it was incredibly rapid and now she is gone.
I feel I was very fortunate that I could get into town fast enough that I was able to see her while she was still able to see me and recognize me, and we could talk a little. I could tell her I loved her, and she told me she loved me. She knew I was there.
I also feel fortunate that we were able to be friends for many, many years, since she was through menopause and I was through adolescence. We had time to bond as mothers and as friends, and I will always cherish that.
The first month after she passed, I just hermited myself. I cried almost every day. Unloading the dishwasher made me sad, because that is when I would call her. I didn't really feel like auditioning, I didn't feel like going out. I didn't socialize. After about a month, I felt ready to face the world, and since then, I have been functioning pretty well. However, it doesn't take much for me to get choked up at a moment's notice, and it's always unexpected.
All it takes is someone talking about their mom, or a song or a poem, a smell, or seeing something in a store or a show that she would like, to start a little breakdown.
A couple weeks ago, Peggy, my voice teacher, and I were going through the songs of Phantom of the Opera, since I have been asked to sing it whenever I go back to Columbus at the karaoke my brother and I frequent. She started playing the song, "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" and one phrase into it, I started sobbing so hard I thought my eyes would fall out. It totally took me by surprise, but Peggy understood. She's 75, and has lost a lot of people out of her life. She knows how it goes.
Last week, I had a speech student start working on performing a poem called "The Smell of Oranges" by J.J. Jonas, which is about the son of a fruit seller. Because my student is just 15 years old, he really didn't get at first that it was a love and remembrance poem of the father, whom the son loved dearly. He just saw the grousing about the father from the point of view of an adolescent remembrance part of the poem. The student didn't understand the adult perspective. When the father died, the son then craved the scent of oranges that reminded him of his father's hands. The student asked how he should interpret that section. I read it for him, and of course, tears sprung into my eyes reading the last passage. It was kind of embarrassing, but I was able to talk to him about how things that annoyed you become cherished, and the kind of longing and nostalgia this creates. (He totally got it, and came in First at the tournament this weekend with his newly informed poetry interpretation. It is a lovely poem, you should look it up.)
My Dad is mourning in all the normal ways one mourns for a wife and friend of 50 years. He seems to be progressing very well, all things considered. I now call him just about every day, even if nothing is going on. My Dad and I have always been close, and closer in personality and likes than my Mom and I were, so it's great to have a reason to be in contact more often anyway. I am hoping he will come spend some time here with me for a while, but he isn't ready to go traveling yet. There's a cocooning stage to mourning, and the house with her and all her stuff is a nice and cozy place. He has moments of restlessness, but he isn't ready to head out just yet. No need to rush things, they will happen when they happen. Also, he may get a sweet consulting job back where he has worked before, and getting back to that routine would be financially gratifying, so he can't miss out on that. Tomorrow he turns 75, but doesn't act, move or look like it. I hope I do that well!
Since my Mom's passing, I feel more vulnerable, but I also feel more in touch with what's important. At first a lot of things irritated me very easily, but now I have a slower approach to getting upset, especially at other people. Perhaps because my own heart is so heavy, I find myself being much more empathetic and slower to become impatient. This is a good thing.
Some days, I miss my Mom more than others. Some days, I feel her just behind me, or I feel her soft, warm cheek on mine. I feel like in some way, she is with me, and I like that.
So, that's what's been going on, and now, I am back to this blog, with a heavier heart, but new understanding of...well, something or other. We'll find out together. I'll write again soon.
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