writing


Saw this in this week’s New City; have to think this is how my brain works, when it works:

“I studied with Ed Paschke,” she says, “and at one point he took us over to his studio and he had about six paintings up on the easels and was working on all of them at once. And he said, ‘Well I could do one painting in a week, or I could do six paintings in six weeks.’ His idea was that by having all the paintings take longer and come up together, he would have more ideas about them as he was doing them. This is really true. One of the reasons why I like to spend years and years on things is that you have a chance to put more layers into it, make the connections more interesting, make the whole thing much richer than you could if you knew immediately what you were going to do and just pounded it out.”

So Every other monday night I hang with a posse that gets together at a coffee shop to work on all of our creative endeavors. We call the writing group the Carriage Returns; it’s sort of a bit of typewriter geekery; added to the overall pun of thinking of a horse and carriage coming home. Kinda dorky; i just threw it out there; but it sort of stuck. It was either that or Super Cool Writing-o-rama. It’s really a toss up.

There’s usually a portion for chit-chat, a portion for eating crepes, and then the relative quiet of working; and by quiet, that usually entails everyone plugging into ipods to drown out the awful world music that gets played on a loop (i’m not kidding; i nearly had a panic attack having forgotten my headphones for the evening; thankfully i had a pair of earbuds stashed away in the inner lining of my bag. Praise Jebus.

One of my favorite parts of Carriage Returns nights though are the obligitory IMing that happens across the table.

A typical interchange:

ME: i need a french dip or a parm-encrusted steak.
ME: right now.
K: Holy shit. I was thinking of those two very things while we were walking here.
ME: well i probably need a couple weeks to recover from the steak
ME: but french dip is good any time
K: meeeeeeeeat
ME: i got a black bean burger at tweet yesterday… which was really good… but apparently didn’t address my bloodlust.
K: rawrr
ME: i’d make a bad vegetarian.
ME: do you want another tea?
K: Kinda.
[lights dim]
K: Hey, it just got seXXXy
ME: are they closing or do they want us all to make out.

I am getting a bit of journalling done today; and that’s nice. I feel like my brain is set to overload; and it’s just nice to unload some of the baggage. I think I worry sometimes, that I keep writing the same thing over and over; but really for a journal that’s probably a good thing – get it out of my system. Largely I just wanted to capture that interchange; it somehow lightened my mental load a ton tonight.

Listening to: Polyphonic Spree, Go Team!, and some early Blur. Let’s hear it for audio motivation.

Had a wacky waking dream this morning. I was on some variation of Project Runway, but it was more like making some sort of crafts involving painting, and working with a partner. I recall not necessarilly getting along with the partner, but she was the lead on the project, so I just tried to cover up her shoddy workmanship lest I be thrown under the bus.  The other contestants were the standard mix of the couple of nice ones, and a couple über-bitchy ones as well. It was building up to the reveal and critiques that I woke to the sound of Mufasa yakking all over the bedroom carpet.

Lovely domesticity. After cleaning that up, I tried getting back to sleep to no avail, and don’t know how my project runway of the mind would’ve turned out.

I’m not entirely sure how to put this out there totally for public consumption on my blog, but i figure I’ll just go with my gut and hope for the best.

Saturday evening on the 9th, after nearly a year of 3 different hospitals, 2 nursing homes, and rehab facilities, and several medical procedures my mom, Sandy, has passed on. She was truly a remarkable individual.

While I was growing up, she fought and won against breast cancer, totally making it seem easy. She never complained about the chemo, and she would later go on reach to recovery calls to share with other women that life goes on after breast cancer. For me as a kid, it seemed totally normal and almost fun to have Christmas Dinner in a hospital.

Later her heart had become enlarged from the chemo therapy, and it was decided she’d need a heart transplant. In 1994 she underwent the transplant at Evanston Hospital, and pulled through it with flying colors. She lead an active life teaching High School kids Culinary arts (long before Iron Chef was even a glint in Chairman Kaga’s ginsu knife) even taking a student to the National Vocational competitions.

In 2004 she started experiencing kidney failure (due to the anti-rejection meds for her transplant), and again like a champ, she started dialysis. First, going a couple times a week to a dialysis center, then she got equipment to be able to do it at home overnight. She never let it slow her down.

She eventually moved to Chicago so she could enjoy the city she loved, and sample all of the neighborhood cuisines she could. While living in Chicago she became very involved at the building she was living at (the Edgewater Breakers), and in no time was the head of the food and greenhouse committees. Much like she was at the Vocational school, she was mentoring the kitchen and dining room staff on the finer points of running a restaurant. She spent a lot of time making and repairing jewelry and knitting afghans for hospice patients.

All of this came to a pretty dramatic change about one year ago, when she discovered an infected cut on her foot. She had been managing diabetes ever since she had her heart transplant, and she’d never really had any issues prior to this. She needed to have tissue removed from her foot. In my experience, she’d handled these sorts of issues like a champ, so I didn’t even think twice about it. Unfortunately her circulation had become very poor, so the wound site wasn’t healing. It took another series of procedures, then run ins with MRSA and CDIFF infections before she could actually get on the road to recovery and back to walking about 5 months later. Unfortunately, she was given a pair of shoes that cut into her feet even more and she had more infections that ultimately resulting in her needing a double amputation of her legs.

Now, this all sounds heavy, and yes it was. But even while all of this was going on, the woman always had a sense of humor, she was always chit chatting with the doctors and nurses, and never complained about the setbacks. She just charged on ahead with the belief that she had so much invested in her body, that she can’t spend time feeling sorry for herself.

So, here she was 3-4 weeks ago, she had just gotten her legs amputated, and she’s excited to get back to her life at her apartment building working with the Dining room folks, catching up with her many friends, when in the middle of her rehab, she gets hit with infections again. Her spirits were still high when she celebrated her 71st birthday in the Intensive Care unit because she was still ready to go back and proverbially kick some ass.

It was in the last week and a half or so that her situation started to deteriorate. Her body has been through so much, and it had started to weaken. Her heart sustained some damage, and she experienced some blood clotting. Her blood pressure kept trending lower and lower, and it was beginning to have a negative impact on the rest of her organs, and they were slowly starting to fail.

I spent most of the day with her on Saturday, and for the most part, she was totally there. She was a little delirious because she probably hadn’t gotten much sleep during the week before, and at one point she was on some pretty hefty painkillers, but she knew everyone that came in the door, and she was still pressing on. Later that Saturday night, she had stopped breathing and her heart had stopped and she was gone.

My mom was a miracle. She lived 27 years after beating cancer, 14 years after a heart transplant. All the while she was always looking to help other people, because as she saw it there was always someone that was worse off that needed a hand and she would be the person to lend it.

Anyhow, I just felt I needed to get this out here, the last year for me has been a roller coaster of emotion, and while I’m immensely saddened to see her go, I know that the world is a much better place because of her.

here.

Bonus, there’s a link of creative commons images.

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