Til We Meet Again...

A little more than a month ago I wrote a serious essay about death and life. Although I planned to post it immediately, I didn’t. Instead I let it sit for a while until I felt ready to post it. Here’s what I wrote:

Mostly my blog is a collection of funny (true) stories and craft projects but sometimes life serves up something very serious and I feel a need to work it out in my blog. Why talk about death in a blog? Is it too personal of a subject? In some ways, yes. But it’s also a universal theme. Instead of avoiding something that we all witness and mourn, maybe we can share experiences and be supportive of one another because we all go through this.

This fall three people I knew died within eight weeks. That is a lot. Life and death are on my mind these days. In late August we learned that our former neighbor John passed away. We’d lived across the street from John for nine years before he had to move to assisted living. He was the neighbor who inspired me to be a great neighbor. The second time I ever spoke with John was on a Wednesday, trash day, and he was bringing trash cans up the driveway after collection. He was doing this for the entire block. John did this every Wednesday. It was his way of being a good neighbor. That stuck with me. He did this for years before his health worsened. Nearly two years ago John moved to assisted living. He was in his eighties and his body and brain were not in prime shape anymore. So his death was not a complete shock but it was still sad. We went to John’s memorial service to support his kids, whom we know. He was a wonderful neighbor and I feel grateful to have known him.

The second death this fall was the hardest. My husband’s godson Keil died in late September, after a nearly four year battle against bone cancer. He was only twenty-two and his youth makes his death so hard to try to accept and understand. The cancer started in his knee. At age nineteen he had most of his leg removed. There were lots of stays in the hospital. The cancer spread. He had surgeries. Yet things seemed to be looking up even a few months ago, and this gave us a false sense of hope. But cancer is a sneaky creature and it quietly crept into Keil’s abdomen. They tried again to treat it but it was too late. In September we learned that Keil had only a few weeks to live and we made reservations to fly up to see him. When Keil took a turn for the worse a few days later, Hubby made a last-minute trip to see him. We didn’t know whether Keil would live long enough for us to use the tickets we’d bought to see him the following week. But he did. That kid was a fighter. It was awful to see him in a bed in a hospice facility, medicated and unconscious. But we also cherished the chance to see him one last time. We held his hands and talked to him about all kinds of things, telling him our favorite memories from his childhood. We had hours with him that day, and late that night we told him we’d return the next morning. But he passed away overnight. Somehow I was shocked. A living, breathing, warm-handed young man with soft hair and a pulse was now dead. We were so grateful that we were there to support him on his last day. His family is coping as well as they can. They are surrounded by many friends and family members.

We flew into town for Keil’s memorial service. There were lots of tears. This young man did not live as long as he deserved. In this country, where we have excellent medical care, it’s easy to assume we will have many decades of life. At first it felt impossible to accept the unfairness of it all. But it’s slowly sinking in. And the memorial service seemed to help many of us to heal a little bit. There’s no way to wrap up this loss with a bow and make it okay. But I see moments of catharsis. Keil’s younger sister spoke about her brother during the service. She shared funny memories, and everyone laughed. There’s some healing in laughter. It helped us to remember Keil’s humor. His friends spoke at the reception, telling amusing tales about Keil. It was so moving to listen to a bunch of 22-year-olds pay tribute to their friend, a guy who made them feel more comfortable in their own skin, who made them see that they were okay, human warts and all. I marveled at the maturity of Keil’s friends, who visited him in hospice. I don’t know if I would have been able to handle seeing a peer so close to death when I was twenty-two. But his friends visited, again and again. That alone shows the kind of impact Keil had in his short life. He deserved a longer stay here but in the time he had, Keil brought laughter to those around him, and made a difference to people.

Keil’s final battle shared the same timeline as my great aunt Kay’s last weeks. She’s the extraordinary woman who celebrated her 104^th birthday this August, which my daughter and I attended in Canada. In the weeks after Kay’s birthday, I received emails from her daughter about her health. There were some medical concerns and at one point she was eating only a little each day. Some emails suggested there were only a few days left, but at one point her doctors predicted she’d make it into the new year. Ironically, as I stepped out of the church after Keil’s memorial service, I received an email with the news that Kay had passed away in her sleep that morning. The timing of the news felt significant, as Keil and Kay both began their final laps at the same time. I felt sad that she had passed, but this felt different from the horror of Keil’s passing. The contrast struck me again and again: Keil’s life was unfairly cut short, while Kay’s life was exceptionally long. Both people have inspired me in different ways.

I’m still grappling with all this. It takes time to make peace with someone’s passing. It’s easier to accept death if it happens to someone who had a long, happy life, like John and Kay did. It’s different coming to terms with someone whose life was cut short. But going to Keil’s memorial service helped me, and it appeared to help the others who came to honor him. Keil’s parents, sister and other family members seemed to find comfort in being around others who love and miss him, and in laughing about the funny times and the good memories. And it is cliché, but it did remind me to be present, to treasure the moments and the connections with people. It reminds me to call those I love and to tell people when they inspire me.

Keil’s untimely death led his friends to become closer at the end. They’ll miss him, always. But as I told one young man at the reception, he will make other close friends in his life because he has felt how important it is to connect with others. This young man will be a true friend to others and will have other good friends in his life. It’s awful when we lose someone but attachment to others is part of what makes us human, and part of what it means to live a meaningful life. I’ll miss John, Keil and Kay, but I feel so fortunate to have known them all…                                                                                  

Twister Dress

 

Have you played Twister lately? For me it’s been a long, long time. In fact, this game was completely off my radar until last fall, when I saw some kids playing Twister at a party. If it’s been a while, let me refresh your memory: Twister is the game that asks you to weave your body into a knot as you simultaneously put your hands and feet on different colored circles. I took one look at the Twister floor mat and decided I wanted to make a dress inspired by the game. I decided I’d use the bright colors used in the game against a white background so they colors would really pop.

Here is my initial sketch:

This is a photo of my creation in progress:

And here it is, finished:

It took a left turn at some point and veered a bit from my initial design. But then again, initial designs are not carved in stone. They are a jumping-off point and if you come up with a more creative idea after the initial sketch, that’s great.

I used hundreds of plastic buttons and hot glue to transform an ordinary white sundress (thrifted) into the magic you see here.

In case you haven’t been into a craft or fabric store lately, you’d be amazed at how many delightful buttons there are: many shapes, colors, sizes and designs. I am not the first person to put buttons onto clothes as decoration. But I think it’s a fun idea and an imaginative way to bring color and pattern to clothes. I’m here to put the fun into the function of buttons.  

I love wearing something that involves an unexpected element and hundreds of buttons seem to qualify as unexpected. This dress also scratches my itch to use lots of color.

Let me know if any of your clothes could use a little more button pizazz. My hot glue gun is ready!

Special Delivery

Earlier this year I discovered a piece of the past that has loads of charm and a good back story. That’s all it takes to pique my curiosity.

Have you ever heard of Mailsters? Officially called Westcoaster Mailsters. They were three-wheeled vehicles used for mail delivery in the USA in the 1950s and 60s.

I discovered these darling little cars quite by accident while in a post office I’d never been in before. (As you may know, this is how I find many blog topics: by stumbling upon something intriguing.)

This model was from 1966, after various modifications to the original design had been made:

 

I love the design of anything from the 1950s and 60s: the rounded corners of things made in that decade make everything look friendlier. There’s something so charming about the design itself. It looks like an adorable toy! It reminds me a bit of another vehicle that has fascinated me for years: the Isetta. (I actually once drafted a blog post on the darling Isetta but it’s been on back burner for a while. Three years, if we want to split hairs. I’ve been a little busy…Perhaps this post will kick me into gear on the Isetta post!)

Like most inventions, the Mailster was created in order to save effort and time, and therefore money. Some carriers rode bicycles to deliver mail but most walked. By driving Mailsters, which could carry 500 pounds of mail, postal carriers could cover more ground in less time than they could on foot. In their heyday (1966) there were approximately 17,700 Mailsters in use.

Below is a photo of a 1955 Mailster, before they were designed with doors:

 

Although it looks like a large toy, the Mailster could travel as fast as 35 miles per hour. Drawbacks to the design included the fact that it only took three inches of snow to render the vehicles unusable. Another issue was the Mailster’s likelihood of tipping over if it rounded a corner too quickly. One carrier even complained that a large dog tipped over his Mailster (the dog must have shared my take that this was a toy). Eventually Jeeps replaced Mailsters because the US Postal Department needed reliable vehicles. I get that. But for the fun factor, I cast my vote with Mailsters.

 

Doppelganger Strikes Again

I think it takes a certain amount of guts (or insanity?) to take photos of oneself within a minute of getting out of bed and voluntarily post them online. So let me pat myself of my brave back. Either that or I’m a slave to comedy, willing to show the world my least flattering photos, all in the name of a laugh…Might be both.

Anyway, I awoke this morning and glanced in the mirror and suddenly I saw Conan O’Brien staring back at me from the mirror. Was I still dreaming? No. I was awake, noticing that Conan and I are twins!

 

 

(If you’d like to create your own Conan moment at home, put a little mousse in your hair and wear it all day and then go to bed without washing your hair. You may wake up with your very own Conan hairdo! I can’t guarantee that your resemblance to him will be quite as astonishing as mine (she says modestly), because you may not have Conan’s and my freckles. He and I both have Irish heritage and you can’t manufacture that with a little hair product. Of course, the similarities end there. I think he’s seven feet tall or something. I am not. He is a man and I am not. He gets paid a trillion dollars a second to entertain people on tv. I love to make you people laugh—for free! But this morning, for a few minutes, we were twins, and I’ll just savor that for a while…)

Realizing that my hair had a lot of potential for fun this morning, I gave it a bit of a shake and came up with this, my impression of Little Miss Muffet, who was scared by the spider:

illustration by Mark. A Hicks

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

With a little sculpting my hair morphed yet again. I  call it The Smurf:

 
 

And last, but definitely not least, is Conan’s impression of my impression of a smurf…

Enjoy, folks!

Questions? Yes. Answer? Not so much!

The letter Q may be a little underappreciated. Until now.

Earlier today I was scanning  the alphabetical list of all the blog posts I have written in the last (almost) six years. I had no posts whose titles started with K or Q. I remedied the lack of K titles. (V, X and Z were left out as well, but I’m only human and I don’t plan to write five posts today. It is Saturday, after all!) I’m all about the fairness so I am in the process of crafting four new blog posts, odes to four underused letters.

(Before I launch into what surely will be the most mind-blowing thing you will read today, let me pause and marvel at how many words exist that start with Q. I looked at a website that lists words for Scrabble games and there are a lot more words that start with Q than I realized. That having been said, how many do I really need? Some are ridiculously long and confusing and let’s face it—pompous—words that I don’t need to use. Simple is sometimes best. So I’ve pared down the hundreds of words I found to a few that are useful and interesting and in a few cases, amusing. (At least that’s my goal.) Below are some words that start with Q (not in alphabetical order). Feel free to add them to conversation, just for kicks:

Thoughts on the letter Q.

And its sidekick, u.

Don’t even try to write a word in English that starts with Q, unless you invite its best friend U along.

Quagga (the extinct animal I did a report on in 6^th grade. It was related to the zebra. It’s kind of amazing to realize what I remember from nearly 30 years ago. Sadly, I have very little use for this information and I gladly would trade my ability to remember the quagga for the elusive ability to remember what I walked into the other room to get. If any scientists or hypnotists out there can do something to my brain and can swap out quagga for something more useful, please submit a comment and I will get back to you right away about the swap. If I remember.)

Quotidian (daily)—Words that do not get quotidian airplay in my life: quarantine and quicksand. (Although as a child I saw quicksand in cartoons and feared that quicksand might be around every corner. It was dangerous--to be feared and avoided!)

Quinoa (a grain that has enjoyed a surge in popularity in recent years). It is healthy and has fiber and protein in it and goes with lots of foods. I find it bland. Very bland. Be sure to season it somehow.  Hubby ate it in great quantities a few years ago, which led to my teasing him about his quotidian obsession with quinoa, of quorse!)

Quiz (a short test, possibly involving less pressure than a full-length test, or its big sister An Exam—and if the quiz is given in Math class, it may involve q words like quotient, quantity, quadrilateral and quadruple. If you did not study you may find yourself in a quagmire (predicament).)

Loquatious (What one of my 7^th grade teachers called me. Fancy word for chatty!) (True, this word does not start with Q but it gets an honorary mention because it is memorable and uses the Q.)

Quiet (something I am not.) See previous word.

Quarrel (old-fashioned-sounding word for fight. Verbal rather than physical. Therefore it lacks the previous word, quiet. Is it just me or are a lot of these Q words related to one another? Hmmm.)

Stacey Q (A singer I really liked when I was 13 in 1987. I’m sure you’ve noticed that things make a big impression on you when you are 13. You don’t like things--you LOVE them. That’s why I remember this all these years later.) *Stacey Q starts with S, not Q, but she gets an honorable mention because how many people have Q as their initial, even if it is a stage name? This is a fun pop culture reference. Maybe you’ll use this information about Stacey Q while playing Trivial Pursuit one day. If it helps you win, remember me. If you feel compelled to send a thank you in the form of food, please remember that I like milk, not dark, chocolate.)

Quimby, Ramona (fearless heroine of the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary, which I LOVED as a child. Ramona put ears and whiskers on her Q so that it would look like a retreating cat. She always did things her own way, which I dig. Like the Q itself, she was unusual.)

If you don’t like quiche, you may feel queasy if pressured to eat it, and you may want to quell the queasiness with a quick quest for the pharmacy. Make a query about the availability of an anti-queasiness medicine. If they are sold out, play some Stacey Q music (see above reference) in a quiet room.

Quintessentializing—really? Now someone’s just showing off. This was in the Scrabble words list online. Has there ever been a Scrabble board with this 16-letter word formed upon it? I doubt it. Let’s keep to the words that we actually might use in conversation.

Queen, quote, quail, quaint, quartz, quad (six useful words beginning with Q. See dictionary if you need definitions. I’m getting tired of typing definitions. Quite tired!)

Quill (feather used with ink for writing before one of the best inventions ever was created: the Sharpie). Quills were sometimes used to write quatrains (a stanzas of four lines).

Quack (useful word with two definitions. In its verb form it is the noise a duck makes. In its noun form it means idiot pretender giving medical advice without any experience).

The Quintessential Dinah Washington (Quintessential meaning the best example.) This was an album my roommate played a lot nearly twenty years ago, which I grew to love.) She was a blues and jazz singer with a voice full of soul. One of my favorites of her songs is “Baby, You’ve Got What it Takes,” a duet with Brook Benton (1960), which reached the Billboard Hot 100. If you haven’t heard it, please finish this post then immediately go to YouTube and listen.

Now, I realize that not everyone on the planet cares to read blog posts that may come off as lists of words. Am I quixotic (too idealistic) in thinking you might find all this informative and amusing, too? (Obviously, I am not among those who dislike lists of words. Remember, I named myself Freckle Faced Word Woman when I started this blog. I LOVE words! We are so lucky that we have so many to use, to describe all the nuances in life.)

Well, I don’t know about you but all these tongue-twisting Q words have tired me out. I’m signing off to go have a quick rest. I wish you a quality day!

 

Kindness to K Day

And now for a Random Stuff moment: I have no blog titles that start with the letter “K.” I have been blogging for nearly six years. This post is #322. And never have I entitled a post with a word that starts with K? This madness must stop. Yep, today’s the day to celebrate “K.” (Sounds like a Dr. Seuss book. I’ll go with that.)

There are lots of good words that start with K.

I could recite them for you all of today.

Without K what would I call my knees?

And my piano would have no keys.

With no K there would be no Kewpie,

Kermit the frog or Kabuki.

There would be no kittens, kilts or kites,

We would have no knitting or kisses goodnight.

We’d miss out on the word “kerplunk,”

We’d have no ketchup in which fries could dunk.

No kind kangaroos could sing karaoke,

No boards in Karate would be broken.

With no K I couldn’t keep kebabs in my kitchen

And Kansas and Kentucky would go missing…

Radio stations west of the Mississippi would start with a blank

And what would you put in your kerosene tank?

With the keyboard I’d have no knack,

And nothing to put in my knapsack.

No kimonos, kachinas, kale, keys or knolls,

no kettles and kilowatts, and no Kaiser rolls.

We would have no koi and have no Kaftans.

K would be kaput all through the land.

This cannot be.

So I offer this plea:

Let’s celebrate our friend K

Starting today.

It took six years to start a blog with a K

But elegant, graceful K, today is your day.

Today is the day we honor the K!

 

 

 

Happiness is...

...Meeting my baby nephew on Saturday. I'd thought of him every day for eight months, thinking positive thoughts for him, dreaming of the day we would meet the newest family member. We didn't know his gender until he was born. My sister and brother-in-law wanted the surprise, and so we took to methods other than the ultrasound machine to predict his gender. I used the tried and true method of gazing at my sister's adorable bump. She was carrying high, I decided, and with complete certainty I jotted a note, predicting the baby's gender. I sealed and kept the note in my wallet for more than three months, so that upon meeting the baby, I could produce my prediction with a flourish, and graciously accept people's compliments about my genius gender-prediction techniques. Well, I was wrong. The baby was not a girl but instead, a darling little boy with a dash of brown hair. It seems my gender-predicting career may need to be rethought. I'm 0 for 1. But it's all good. I knew that we would fall madly in love with the baby and that gender would have no bearing on our love. Mom predicted the baby would be a boy because he moved so much in utero. That method of analysis did not sway me, because when my mom was pregnant with my sister, my sister behaved like a break-dancing, Rockette-aspiring, head-spinning contortionist, and she was a girl.

When I got the message that a baby boy had been born overnight I did feel surprised because I was so certain that he was a girl. But within a second my surprise turned to absolute joy and I cried with happiness on the Friday morning he was born. It was one of the happiest days I've ever had, the day I learned that I have a baby nephew, perfectly healthy and strong and full of life and hope. Despite the tough time my poor sister had while growing their baby, the little guy is a champ. He's so tiny but he already has a huge place in my heart. His clothes look like doll clothes. His face is perfectly-formed. His tiny feet are the size of my thumb. He's amazing.

My sister and brother-in-law are such a good team. They are sharing the care of this tiny wonder, and they are exhausted, but they are hopelessly in love with this little guy.

I think I need another date with my sewing machine. After meeting my adorable nephew I need to get out some fabric and make a red cape because my new calling is to be Super Aunt to this beautiful, tiny but mighty, wonderful, super boy...